i was born twisted up in vines & duppies
ker-ching

on martha brae's palm
white-ragged

and down her skirts
i slid into mud with bare bottomed feet

to my xamayca

a mountain, i think
you are one and your dark clouds
brown-uncurl big fat rain on me.

you are multi-amazing like a
monument
of molten orange spraying tigers
that spell
YOU.

i roll out the idea that laziness is the real
worst case devil i ever saw,
zealous with a cigar
sick-dripping smoke all
over my face.

that bit there is red in my eye and stings, i am
still incase it rolls cold upon my neck.

anyways, you're there and you tell me in your
manly clipped words about escape and
the future and that.

i gets it i think, i thought about it before when i saw you
rise from the bath like from scooby-doo, penis
waving and your hairy strange enormous
brain,
and the drip drip drip of the tap-

and i concluded that really i am
the woman is
not man does,
a wisp
what drifts.

you are my non-killing smooth handed robot. i open mine
and see maps. my hands are welted and if you
follow this line,
you'll see it leads all the way to jerusalem.