Blousy Guitar

Blousy guitar   I don’t want to count the beats   Hey Hey

My pen     I have bed hair in the best way    Daughter

of sunlight and air     and I’m glad you were born

on this day or put another way: that you were

born      Let’s be superstars    Let’s call each other “suckas”

Turn everything into writing      Lord of my Love

and eat new raw oysters with many condiments

to lord & love      to be generally great

The flopping flowers that die in a poem

Summer solstice smacks me in the face      ridiculous

and I dream the different        like a naked sonnet

Your raw throaty laugh submerged under hot noodles

I wrote “valley” when I meant “longing”

Your laugh a river            A trout kind of green