Two Poems

We Ride It Where It Takes Us

Dear Jalapeno, Dear Leisure Suit, My legs are crossed. She’s overmedicated. He’s watching me watch the man with the beret draw the blonde on his tiny pad. No one is not jealous. Dear Ventricle, Dear Double, Dear Rising Temperatures— Forget about it, their faces chorus. The concept of time is tinted sunglasses. Put that in your pipe, Dear Wolfish. I see a love letter under the seat. Dear Equal Sign, Dear 40 oz.— I’ve got the volume up so high the sky just cracked a little. Free at Last Dear Jalapeno, Dear Zero, Dear Placebo— A writing group is so Western medicine. A writing group is bruised fruit. Dear Coffee, Dear Deputy— A writing group is the average psyche. A writing group is tight and sexy. Dear Lilac, Dear Nuance, Dear Senses— A writing group eats LUNA bars. A writing group frays loose ends. A writing group makes goose honks.

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