19/30 - Poems From Workshops: Part 2

Phases

I am
purple drums
beating to the 
smirks of opening
acts that have nothing
to do with the play,
a forward of Ara
humming Dawn Richard
while meeting you
in panties, converses
and breasts, loaded
pistol to the hips.

I am
the teacher with 
the ranch-styled
house, cat, bicycles
in driveway,
bananas on counter,
canned corn next
to the sack of potatoes
and ham for dinner,
switching on ABC 7
for Grey's Anatomy,
tweeting quotes
from my iPhone.

I am
a jug of Water mixed
with nitrogen,
a long and lingering
secret love in
Helvetica Bold
under autumn leaves
in Queens,
a cup of tea
tucked between
a stack of literary
magazines and
poetry by Amber Tamblyn.