10 Minutes

Ten minutes till the show starts
Ten minutes -

Dibbles says "Working furiously, I can hear you're typing."
Then mimics the sound as she walks away - dee dee dee.

I smile.

She didn't see my screen,
she counters back,
the ladies walk by on their way
to the show -
stopping to tell me of
food babies,
Dibbles glances at my screen,
then leaves.

I wonder what she saw.

A minute and a half, and I realize
I'm not writing anything
of importance
nothing to be remembered
except to say
I smiled.

Alma Jean

for everyone who leaves;
who rescinds on the job;
Fuck You;
and the horse you rode in on.

buffering

truth lies
in love's non-existance,
life's breathe created
in sweat.

truth lies
in intellect, the solving
of small equations
1 + 1 = 2.

truth lies
in the 5am hour;
the lack of breathe
hearts open, hearts broken

truth lies
grows up, grows out
stops self medicating
on life , instead moves to death.

playground

tree houses lined with grass ceilings/ flowering magenta hues/ blue lit houses inside houses with pillows to portals/ curtains of worn linen above the going on below where grown children play jump rope double dutch/ no bra holding their chest close their german lessons computer lessons philosphy discussions closer/ in sectioned off sections painted pregnant alligator love/
no rules/
but ladders everywhere/
a blacony for private screenings feet above astrid free/ face on a giant screen mutated smiling turning rythm of the avant garde choir functioning on a dock of wild rides/race saltine crackers sixty seconds flat/ share home made popcorn spill't on the floor/ drive in back out breakdown/ all in the game of Art.