I woke up this morning and my throat was rubbed dry
with the kisses I’d shamelessly taken,
simply not believing in the gobbledy gook or charts and whatever sticky honey we can melt our health into nowadays.

But here I am.
An hour more of the morning and I may drown in all this wild berry grove, and
I may get to see the sun come up! What a treat.

One more romp through the grove,
a stupid way to say that I sip tea,
then maybe I’ll stop searching for the gray in the drenched, blackened sky.

Pardon me,
I’m sick, thank you for the patience you drape across my shoulders. Like
watchful eagle mothers. And did you know that

4:20 AM just passed?
This is my lucky morning; who ever thought I’d live to see the hour! Must’ve been
the pad ki mow and washing it down with 3 fortune cookies. All this luck,
and it’s not even Chinese food. Chinese sky, I’m seeing you now
and I see you all the time, and it is no different except for the smog Gabbi gurgles out the nasal cavity with each new day in Cheng Du- is the sun any different over there?
Wear sunscreen. All of you.
Esepcially you Gabbi,
mom told me to tell you. She’s dreaming about you. I can feel it. She’s sad right now,
and her nest, eagle mama, is empty- I took the Civic out and around yesterday,
I pumped my own smelly, jittery fingered gas, and I didn’t
see her until she made me that beautiful pad ki mow after work. Gracey’s gone,
Kelly’s gone, Gabbi’s gone and I’m edging to fly- we’re all
going places, and when I get there

I’ll let you all know in our group text.

Just this morning, I can’t decide- to school or not to school? So much to do, so many
pressing matters and I’ve gotta go, go, go somewhere.
Gabbi wants to work on an olive grove, speaking of pressing.
Is skipping a beat okay?
Mom always says yes, take your sweet time, grips
her stomach because she’s sad- it’s been so long since there was a baby in there to need, want, breathe her oxygen. Someday she’ll find it,
the umbilical connection, the lovers, the dreamers, and she.

Yes, it's Kermit. I’m feeling a little green myself.
My throat feels too bad, my eyes hurt.
and why am I writing at this hour, God doesn’t even know. No
tea by the computer- I’m leaving. But you know what?,
The sky almost looks like someone left a pen in their breast pocket, poor chum, or threw it in the washing machine to
clang clang clang into modern art-
Pollock on your clothes!

Who stole the stars tonight, who mom, who?