Not the way to start a day. Full frontal
male nudity on the screen
last night left her

cold. She would be so lucky to have him
appear in her dreams—
and yet. Just show a little ankle, a bare

forearm, the back
of his thigh. No more holding it in—time
to wash her hair.

Good Earth Friday

Bucked on her own bicycle
through Central Park in the rain. Blue

Man Group was still blue
babies recovering from that original choke

without tubes. Never knowing
the price of gas anywhere. She could no more

identify the car you drive than you could
label her a type of flower that grows through cracks

in the sidewalk. Could be any day—she chooses
to call this one her station.