blue umbrella

the sun.

I sit outside

under a blue umbrella.

Why don’t I go?

They’re so far away

from where I’m at.

It sounds like excuses,

I know

but still.

black lamb

My mother gets in the car slams the door and drives away . I collapse onto the pavement. I have no money and nowhere to go. there is the blonde guy with hanging beautiful hair who stabs his girlfriend to death in slow motion. a skinny woman smacks the baby’s head. .the baby doesn’t make a sound. it’s used to it. so I have to clean the murder sheets? Really? I ask the fat guy who stands there. I need you to be fast and if you are, you can stay here. what? we’ll use ’em again .you have a problem with that? I am a whore in layers of clothes because that’s what they allow me to do in this town. I walk the street, a black lamb jacket jammed in my pocket for extra warmth. Strung out, I shuffle up the hill . I get a job, an honest job, as a dishwasher and very little is expected of me. We are the second tier dishwashers for the woman star who runs it. we work in the sub basement with defective equipment. one day I decide to take an interest, become more than a junkie so I get to it. The woman notices. You just need to get the chicken out of the sinks she tells me, that’s what’s plugging it up. so I remove soggy chicken pieces and skinny chef boy sez whoa, look at her go or something sarcastic like that and before long i’m moved up to the main floor with tile walls and prestige, much to chef boy’s chagrin.

great white

On the line that is Commercial Street I head east. his key in the lock and he hits the street he has a thick beard which frustrates identification and his eyes of burning blue. I take the bike before I know it on the sand trail past harry kemp way overshot the mark. L’s house : undulating driftwood siding. Crystalline windows stay away. the trail runs through scrubland; leads into the sea. a line of people crossing barely above the ocean a hapless levee. up ahead and slight downhill is a waving cornfield semi-submerged , its rows colored green to blue rushing between stalks. “there’s sharks in that laneway,” sez the guy behind me. “Look at the currents, and the depth; its just perfect for great whites.” I turn around. Cake pans and his thick beard his darting shuffle he has seen me and that is enough.

arms of trees reside inside

I am back in Provincetown again. A giant moon hangs at the end of a long road. (Commercial Street, East End). Previously, I entered the halls of voodoo decorations: crystal balls on wire rings. A black man in a turban passes, caressing my ass. Jeff comes up. I have left him.

I am always leaving him.

He comes up to me on the street and beats me.

( Stones tape shaped like a stealth bomber). I pick up a harmonica in the shape of a clutch. I learn the ins and outs of it. How to play it as I am walking. The subterranean rock show sucks. Girls like flappers run up the red enamel winding stairs to be onstage. I leave. there, in his bed made of logs and tarps and crystals. He is thrilled to see me, which is beyond surprising. I try on his glasses; their heavy sides made of black leather.

arms of trees reside inside.

as well as blindness.


there were so many curtains covering up the window, full of mold, and and I just kept taking off fabric after fabric until a tiny piece of glass that was not boarded up right in the middle showed out to the yellow house next door, which was actually really funny when you think about it. All the lamps had water in the bulbs. Water in the wires. Many breezes shook the curtains, but there were so many layers that they barely moved. Which was funny also. So I go over and you are there, standing behind the counter with your head turned to the side, slight smile cracking your bad teeth. You are my sterno. I am a yellow tulip’s insides for you.


so cold. All the night rain. The day rain. He crosses the street behind the glass. In the cloud-light on top of his head, a white streak. He is old! I hold the bowl of vegetables nonchalantly.

nature hotel

At the nature hotel, I have to stay in a room with the men. Lois is done with me. The men watch deer frolic outside beneath the massive evergreens. This is no big deal to me. I see that all the time. Out in the garage there are stacks of wood that get removed mysteriously overnight. The men are there. One with gray hair and beard. Gray hoodie. (Carhart.)

a woman comes. Puts her black leather -gloved hand on the man’s face.

whore!” he screams.