Rabbit Hole

Untied all the laundry from the lazy week of wearing clothes and walking through the rain in the dark. Slept in a ship with the lover and the dog and invented the spinning of the sea: the pool of threats and throats that holds you to your promises and strangles your attempts at escape. Fingered hairs into a ball-you really have to wonder deeply what is the difference between me and the sad one? Why are you sad and unhappy about nothing?
AKA------>
Rainbows. Animals. Fluffy stuff. Pie. Aprons. Miniature housewife:
I’m only a small part of that tidal mass of womanhood that tries to get you to love her through peaches, cans, biscuits, ham, coke, whiskey, cornbread, tomatoes, shoes, frilly brassieres, apple bottoms, dolly face.

The only thing better than all of that has a smoke sticking out like a silly sad rock and roll cupcake sundae.
I want you to drive me down a dirt road with your hand in my head and skirt and eyes.
I want to go to the picture show even after I die while im dying, before during and after I die.
I would like to travel with you to the land of weddings and sea food buffets. And shiny little pink and epic cocktails.
If everyday is a small party, a treat, a sneak away from home, a sexy romp in the basement shower, a telephone call to the high school sweetheart, then what, what do we do with today?
I know one thing is true, you can never predict anything.
Let me be your radio signal when the clouds roll close.
I’ll siren at the sunshine and comatose the rain.
I will be an electrocutionist in the afternoons spent waiting to go outside to finish collecting the rust after the fire.
This is the aftermath of a minute steak. Will you make me eat it all?
Grandpa likes to make racial slurs at the dog: The fucking dog is a dirty jap.
Inside my hands are the rivers and boats of dirty jap fishing boats filled to the brim with dogs. The dogs of the heart that are eating away while you ignore the news and stomp on the grapes
I used to love you but then I read the paper.
I used to love you but then I drove the meat truck.
I used to love you but then I moved out of oz and figured out pretty quick what makes an old heart soft.

KANSAS:
The plains, the big cereal rolls sitting sleeping on the slight curve of a pasture dusted with snow for breakfast. In winter, the hummingbirds wings freeze in mid flight, makes a statue of a many-winged thing. The freeze catches the multiplicity and holds it till spring when the garlic comes up and knocks the poor bird into action again, like a sobering for sugar. A winter nap to digest the need and the little pink and epic cocktails hanging in the trees.

I used to open a handle of whiskey and stick it into the dirt to fuck the worms all up. Too drunk to move, they dissolved into my garden and the tomatoes on your plate whistled at you like you was hiking your skirt up and showing your thighs.
When you bit into one it would go straight to your head. I got an underground distillery and the worms work for free, I don’t need any sugar, so they’ll never get after me. I'll just feed you tomatoes and watch you dance and when you’ve had your fill I'll lay you outside again and let you melt into the fruit bed. How I want you as part of this circle. How I want to dig out a home from the clay hill and hear no rain or wind when it comes. Like a Rabbit Hole.