this ash hill

this ash hill
in my drive way
is rich, is black,
is beautiful,
&possibly volcanic

this ash hill
whispers
“beauty for ashes,”
like a stop wall for
rape in elevators

this ash hill
is a ministering,
a form-fitting tanya
tucker mini skirt
pressed right on

this ash hill
is a mother
too beautiful
with hands
because of love

this ash hill
maps a footing
which is impossible
you say to ascend,
until you’ve climbed it

this ash hill
peaks at the top
of your house
so you can toe tap
that corner piece of pie

this ash hill
is a chance
to decipher coming down
like any normal would do
without using elevators

::

for Real Toads

animal(s) will

i am not forgetting
my extremely old components
when i sleep
i house a mr. cellophane
man beneath my lids
he’s there on a cliff, —
i’ll call it a nude bluff
full of (at)tension
&i can see him/me
&it’s not as dissociated
as you’d think; hey,
i’ve often perceived
tender lady fingers
bringing me
to the threshold before,
so this is normal
that he/me/we are
there for bread
as i wait in a car
with a bird’s eye view
with my daughters around me
collectively (they are me
also of course) 10 eyes
eye-balling the masculine
to steal what we need, —
a loaf of bread’s our limit
&does he/she/we succeed?
of course not, though it’s
in our hands! he’s caught,
dammit, so now the we/she
must control our impulse
to simply drive off
over the cliff instead
of to the police station
like we intend to do to
be law-abiding animals,
the non-evasive type
right now, — until
i pull it together
in the morning, put feet
to floor and trace foot-
steps to the bathroom
not convicted of anything

::

for Real Toads and
playing it again with
Carl Jung dream type
work for Hedge