thought train

distant loss floats on a memory cloud of ripe sunsets,
winter scarves grow holes in the garden of my uterus
gnawing gnashing preening
 jealousies
pay tribute to insecurity
while jack the ripper dons his evening make-up.

(we string out our syllables
in order to form a more perfect union
we gather round the mockingbird
we sing in our own delight
i am there, with you,
does that matter?

we are summer.)

phrases that don't make sense,
words that can't be heard
come crashing in,
and a Depeche Mode song
takes over,
and I surrender to where I am,
still waiting for someone to say
"oh, that's it." or "wow yeh
that's exactly how i feel."
or "right on" and i keep wondering
how it is i'm supposed to communicate
and what's appropriate or who really
cares about any of this anyway?