“Babies come from Friday nights melted into Saturday mornings;
the Isley Brothers and 3 or 4 glasses of white zin; miniskirts
and aching zippers; sofa cushions sweaty and
ogodthecondombroke;
Babies come from blue lights and e.p.t. tests and the wet spot on clean sheets;
Lonely knees that bump beneath the table; love letters sealed
with a miss and $758 phone bills; eyeliner and lips to match; muscled
Thighs and a sweet, milky quarter of yes in the center of pink panties.
-Gayle Danley
It’s all Fantasia chaos
cartoon marauders
And Mickey magic.
Stoned wonderland
creatures whispering
vague nothings
into the night,
“you be my princess
i'll be your teal vest
we'll take the late night
and have a flesh fight
I’ll be your coors light
You'll be my all night
We’ll hit this rodeo
n make the crowd crow”
We're all nonesense here anyways
gumpkins and post-marked mail
piles of bones, splattered with color
the whole ancient ethos of man is
found in my bacon wrapped hotdog
