Sundays since March
I go to a church
We read from New Scientist
Paul showed up, an artist
when he talks he closes his eyes
He wanted to know why we didn’t
want to go on and on about fetal tissue studies
being an abomination
I sent him a message
My body my decision
If I wanted to talk about
sin, I would have gone
to the Anodyne.
She grumped “New Mexico is all brown. Diarrhea brown”
Purple sage, yellow chamisa, red native paint brushes.
The Artists homes wait with plates of fruit and cookies
but today is not to be an adventure. She cut off her hair again last night.
I always fear this signals the abyss so many people warn about.
Mango orange breakfast, piped in music
Just another plateau of the confused brain.
You must be used to talking to stupid people
I know NICE!
I celebrate NICE!
I am attracted to NICE!
It’s a walk in your vegetable garden
you picking the best eggplant you have
It’s you telling me how you learned to
paint in a new way and how much fun it was
Nice is so easy to spot
What isn’t nice is to
say I am “supposed to”
like your bullshit
Go Away!
biochicklet 