4-12

I am the small child that loses his mother in a terrible accident

Breathless, hopeless and lacking in all happiness

I am all the tears that fell from hardened eyes and hardened hearts.

I am the arms they fall into, the wrinkled hairless arms that wrap themselves around his heart.

I am there for them when they chose to need me.

I am the chocolate they unwrap.

I’m their first smile since.

You are the arms as well, aiding me in the warmth

You are the safety net with me, friend.

You and I are the arms, the tears, the comfort together.

I am his hair, his roots, his long silk that makes it past his shoulder blades.

I am the comb that makes it through the knots and the ends

Everyone takes my side as we make it through the beginnings, the ends, and the mids.

I am the water within the fruit that is given to his family

I am the first bite of food in months

Their bellies swell, their feet in pain

Their hearts along for the ride

I am the orange, the strawberry, the health and the tears of happiness

I am the cloud that moves them through each day

They are in my clothing

They are in my heart

They are my heart.

He is my thoughts as the wind and wiggle through and through

He is my pillow and my comfort as I lie awake on sleepless nights

He and her, and you and him, they and them, me and you.

He is the house I call my own

The roof over my head and the love in my heart

He is behind every smile that I give on behalf of the good I have done

In wrapping my self around the pain

I am his pain, I have taken it

I am his growth and his learning, his pencil in his hand

She is the strength behind his bones

In between the muscles and the tissue and the pain

She is the heart that beats the blood through the cuts and the pores

She is me, I am her, she is him and he is me.

We are all the same

Tied together, with only a smile I’d hope

We are the tears the pain the heartbreak of loss and love and growth

We are the soldiers that fight on our behalf days and nights and all of the months and years.

We, together friend, are the hair the roots the long silk that makes the dos and do nots of this America.

Leaves of Ass (A Delightfully Perfumed and Ordained Ass)

Baking soda is among one of the many things that makes me beautiful,
....I sprinkle it underneath my arms because it is stuck to a stick…

I am stuck to a stick because I myself am a stick, and invariably so I just so happen to be stuck to myself.
I am a giraffe, and as a giraffe only two things concern me… lions and necking.

Leopard spots keep my flanks warm,
Like the leopard print bed sheets that keep my dreams warm,

And in the morning would…
I pretend to have back pain or pitch the tents of many camping trips.

I am not what I eat because I am not fireflies and I am not sunshine but I am chicken…
....Because I eat too much chicken not to be chicken,
....For I have always been chicken,
....In kissing and playing and laughing I am slightly marinated in fear.

I am pork chop, and as pork chop only two things concern me… barbecue sauce.

If you dip my flanks in the right sauces I will be delicious,
Otherwise I can be a little tough and not quite tender.

I walked through a meadow of flowers that I remained flowered and they remained flowered and I peeled petals from none of them.

But they caressed my shins and they brushed at the backs of my knees,
They reached for my face but could not reach because I am a giraffe,
And my knees are their clouds and I will never precipitate on them.

I walked through a meadow and found a wood.
....I only entered because it was familiar, for I am a tree.

And as a tree I walked among trees who looked at me and understood what it was like to be like what I was.

I rooted into a clearing and pulled up my roots to get a better look,
....I found a Bigfoot, and a Bigfoot founded me.

My bark trembled… my leopard spots cooled… and my antiperspirant perspired.

When a Bigfoot told me that she was actually a woman I asked her if she had been the one leaving footprints at my feet all my life.

She told me that if I let her stamp on my heart she would stay there forever.
....A Bigfoot scared me but I let her stamp on my heart anyway.
I let a Bigfoot stamp on my heart because I have big feet… I know this because my nose tickles the sky,
....But they are not that big,
....I am a giraffe… and a great ant-eater once told me that somedays I might need help reaching the leaves in the tall trees, of which I am one.

homage

Are and Is and Is and Are and Not and Not

What is not is not and I am but a single not amongst this world of am nots
I am not the Gray lid covering the Blue that is not I
Nor am I the Sun that breaks through that lid to shine upon this world of not I’s
I am not the wind that caresses you gently so gently
Nor am I the wind that beats your face with such frustration that is not I
I am not I the I who you love with the love that is definitely not I
Nor am I you the you who I love with the love that is unfortunately not I
God is not I
Such wonderful beautiful perfect dreams hopes goals desires are also not I
How is this glorious day but another something of which I am not
I am not Science or Fiction or Reality or Faith or something Original
What is not is not and I am Hella not
What is is and I am still not but you is and is is are and are is is and are is are as is are is
So
You are is and is are the whole giant delicious pepperoni pizza
You are too the rain that pours forth and forth and the flower that blooms and blooms
You are the life that leaks out of my finger cuts sharp and sharp
You are the brief wisp of white leaving my mouth against the chilled winter night
You are too the gaseous form escaping my anus after eating tacos
You are the twinkling in her eyes and the glow of the Moon
You are the whisper of such wonderful beautiful perfect dreams hopes goals desires
You are too the love which our desert tongues strain to taste
You are gravy
You are the colorful illusion delusion fusion of something that might be possible
You are too the something that is more than possible
Thus you are not I and I am not you and is not you and you is not I and am not I
You not I mirror that of which is myself but yet is not I nor myself
So
You and I do not coexist yet we stare at each other with eyes so gracefully graceful
You and I cannot reach each other yet we are glued together at the ankles
You and I are you and I despite I being not and you being yes
In this world of am nots (such as I) and you
Are we?

Alexandra and Olievert - homage to Whitman

Golden Rod Mornings, life within swaying grass,

walking through the field with lovers,

holding hands and smiling to one another.

I sip coffee at the bar, they watch orbs dance and smile

tv offers no news about the war in Iraq/I ran

so far away, and seagulls flap away.

Strawberries nailed to the plaster wall,

Olievert and Alexandra are two places I wish to be

No fields to travel, no chocobos to climb upon,

Caverns and crayons filled without water and wear,

I need not that touch, but the material that burns the cloth

black mages and white skies summoning Bahamut within

the endless seas reach around the world to back home

where you lie in my arms.

Necking is a terrible form of anatomy.

A single drop splashing along the dead waves

of the moonlit sea, formed in the ways of the night.

Grass and leaves float down from trees leaving on

limbs to climb on and hold tight to.

Think are beautiful, believe in the mirror

that lies here and there, its crevices filled

with doubt and care of the limbless phantom,

watching over you and waving back and forth,

no leaves to hide beneath, only artificial wind created,

fused to the bathtub with lye and vinegar, 12 monkeys

dance on with me and you under the moonlit sea,

Shiva stretches her arms for us.

The place I will return to someday lies locked

in a broom closet, tumbled about and held tightly

groaning and moaning seeking and searing kissing and wishing

I can not hold on much longer...

Fields freak out at the sight of sun, but you

but you my dear... you smile serene lips and I

reach out a hand to grasp hold the simple task of you

lye not with me but only to me, and I shall forever

never forsake you.

Alexandra is a home, built on rumble and rhyme,

deep Texans and butchers hold no d'jinn here, but only

the lonely find me at home. A hospital room

is painted white so the lovers will only see their reflection

in it is the lye of the dream, my dear, my dear Olievert

lies in my bed, the sheet scattered over her body,

and moonlit room hid all that I wanted to see.

I slept on the couch that night.

I climbed the crying mountain to meet the Dolly

llama, isn't that enough to keep it in my bed with us

but the nights are cold and I need a comfort-her.

That thing called a speed limit ya suppose to break it.

My couch is hard and lumpy but she loved it

when we lie and watch the sinful movies of the woman

cheating on her husband and watching him die.

I haven't seen porn in weeks...

and she is ready to cry.

I want to lie in my golden rod meadows again

and see the morning rise in the distance, her hand in mine

and mine in hers

and I slept through the night with her on me chest

half way from head to toe, but cloths aren't scattered

only seeds of strawberries.

Her nails were done with them and I thought the color beautiful,

so I let it be and lied down for more.

I want to be in Alexandra again, the bears and rabbits watching me

A dolly llama asking me for advice

on a box with nothing in it

but I give it nevertheless

and the sea of the moonlit cavern and crayon flows

the sheets scattered on her nude body

and I stand in the door way, a shadow on the field of play,

where I want be forever

never forsake you.

And she is ready to cry.

Homage

The waterfall quietly falling in my room, no water splashes, no pools on the carpet.

Quietness is not a barrier, it is an advantage. When people talk to much they don’t hear what others say but when you listen you hear everything.

I do not know everything, actually compared to everyone, I know nothing.

I am ready to scream at the top of my lungs, letting my voice out will free me but it will also turn me red.

When the garbage man grabs hold of his truck does he ever wonder if he will fall off, and roll and roll in the street until he comes to a halt?

Sometimes I like the summer but sometimes I don’t, it’s hard to like it when it rains, but the rain washes away all the imperfections.

It washes away the chalk on the sidewalks cleaning the slate for the next child to scribble on.

It washes the animals so we do not have to go out and clean the bears, and fox, and sheep, because eventually they are going to need to bathe.

It washes away dirt on the streets, leaves crispy and brown from the hot sun, it cools the pavement and asphalt.

So rain isn’t that bad unless you’re a lifeguard I suppose.

I do not like to act like I know everything, because I could make a mistake and don’t get me wrong because mistakes are made, but not by me.

Winter is the most beautiful and exciting season to me at least. It is unexpected, it can snow, rain, hail, or the sun could be out.

Winter gets the bad end of the deal because it is cold. Boo hoo. There has to be something stopping the bright orange, crunchy girls from laying in the sun everyday. On the bright side it is something to laugh about.

How the airplane even attempts to leave the ground will always be a mystery to me.

When you come to a halt you shouldn’t turn around but keep on going, because there is more ahead of you then behind.

The past is in the past and sometimes you just have to get over it, dwelling over things just drags them further and further with you.
The healthier you are inside the healthier you will appear on the outside, and people will definitely notice the difference.

When I walked around the pond as a child I wondered if I should ever grow tired of this place, could I see myself walking around twenty years later.

The ice was dangerous, and I held my body up with my legs bitter.

The pond had to dry up one day but I didn’t think I would ever see it. Should I be happy that wildlife is dead but we have a few more homes?

The construction worker sees wandering children as wolves ready to strike at their prey.

A newly built house is a playground for bored children, and I pride myself when I find the glued together row of nails, or boards scattered about.

I love the sun. It soaks color in my skin, and makes the breeze enjoyable to smell. I love laying on the warm concrete after a dip in the pool.

Words seem to jumble my thoughts, and somehow I can express myself more in my head then with the words coming out of my mouth.

I get excited when I have an idea because a good idea only comes once in awhile, if you use too many they will only be ideas.

Do You realize that I know when you are staring at me, because I am different, and that makes me special.

I read when I want to be alone and that comforts me, because everyone knows not to bother me.

I read to escape from normal life, even if only for a few minutes. I read to have fun

I think nature has its own way of telling the human race that we are messing up, otherwise we wouldn’t have tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes.

November has always been my favorite month because my birthday is in it, but I also love watching the leaves falling off the trees and raking them up in my yard.

Gloves are no good when you put them on after having them sit in the freezer all day.

I love life and I love living life! Ands I have found someone that I want to live life with.

Contradiction is a way of life and everyone does it, but is there a more intricate purpose to why we do it?

4/12 post

In an empty room full of people, I am every dance that ever was and every dancer.
I am children swirling, whirling, twirling throughout time…
I am lovers’ hands that alone can touch that smooth electricity of first skin
an enduring tingle lasting long
from country gingham dresses to wedding white to my old hands clasping still at his and his at hers…
through their crepe paper skin sparks still fly from anticipation…
from knowing how to read the other’s skin
that speaks words too large to say…too small to say enough.

In that room I see only his shoulders.
I am his shoulders, brown and freckled under that time shifting shirt that life-long lovers wear.
The shoulders of all, his shoulders…strong with sweat from digging and living and making love.
I am every fiber of every muscle…am every freckle there…am his strength and weakness.

Miles and years away and in each one of his bones I reside.
I float in the marrow of everyone's every smile.
I am each perfect missing chipped tooth that has been unveiled
by the curtain of two smooth cracked wind burned lips.
I am the lips too.
I am the hearty laughter that comes from old all-knowing women friends.
I am the sneaky smile of a candy stealing child.
I live in the throat of the old men who play checkers and guffaw at their own wit.

I am the hands that have moved time and changed this floor, the dance, the smiles, laughs, these dancing lovers.
On this newer soon old dance floor waiting never was or will be.
My every cell is stuck to every other in a sweaty glue of anonymity.
No one knows my name or eyes or the words my hands can say…but
we and I and they and you are all and nothing holding hands and legs and...
across time in love in our own way in our only way in this whatever it is.
Alwaysneveralonetogether.
Our arms are long and stretch across time and across this floor. We are all, you and me,
and nothing.

I'll prolly try this assignment again, but this just happened, so...

I am a Voyeur of Ecology

A window is a mercenary tool, turning the eyes into mute cartographers: proprietors of paranoia and envy. Sunlight comes fractured; motes dance and celebrate consistent interiors. I become aware of the cold only as my breath reveals fingerprints in the glass. There are traces and imperfections: a constellation fading as the soft focus shifts to track the gleam of a Cadillac burnt by the sun as it passes on the street. Motion distorts the picture of a withered elm on the perimeter…to the locust, tethered and hollow…to my footprints beyond. I follow the prints around the corner toward a strata of reflections, one my own, cut to fit the landscape framed in the sill. The light reaching my eye is filtered through a thousand carbon ghosts: the dust of soil, osmosis in the yard, the dancing motes inside, bones…

My breath reveals scrawled epithets; the graffiti: a validation. The elm petrifies at an imperceptible rate. I chart the dissolution. I think about the wind as a sentient thing scraping away the façade of sediment to uncover historical truths. Ideas hang in the air, learning to dance. They become validations through my breath, then a blueprint for understanding. I long to tread the paths I trace there, paths tread by children. The land outside the glass is just a dream of the eye. I follow the dream around the corner, past the elm, through a gap in the fence where the sidewalk yields brief pedestrian moments of communion. I stand within the outpost of vision, the frontier. I abdicate the privacy in my kingdom for the promise of decay; illusory vegetative magic. I am surprised to find you there, showing me the way: a destination. We lay in the fields without spurs and dare the earth to throw us off…

Then I hear the wind. I can feel the cold as it clutches at my breath. The tribal eye turns on itself. I circumscribe understanding in cloned traces. The reflection, the blueprint…the safety at the window beckons me home. The furnace exhales a defiantly comfortable prayer. I am again framed by the angular, cloaked by the mirror, watching my breath exhume imperfect maps, bathed in spectral light, surrounded by a thousand dancing motes. These motes catch vents of their own, and share with me the joy in warmth and the consistency of interiors.

wishin i could go to tongue and ink...

Effort halted

Jesus, you broke your finger
(you know I can’t play without a guitar string
C’mere, kitty kitty)
Point out how I don’ t realize
fireworks and shit mean somethin
Now…
That you can’t point right.
I mean it’s not like there’s some
Icing on that fuckin cake
That you baked yesterday for your sister
That I ate
Your sister, I mean
That I ate
And can’t get the taste out my mouth
Now that I’ve come to know
What a mirror is for

make up blog?

Gabe. This is my make up blog for not doing the 12 lines of lets and fors.

Let us praise Gabriel Gudding
For letting me make this up

Let us praise the union of one man and one woman in 1978
For they produced a 5’10 blue eyed brilliant man

Let us learn from the distress of a girl
For the actions of the boy were so very misleading

Let us praise the Marine Corps
For they gave him an extraordinary physique.

Let us recognize their mindful and mindless-ness
For their thoughts are not always their own- or thoughts.

Let us praise George W. Bush’s war in Iraq
For that it made the Marine solitaire.

Let us praise Uncle Sam’s ownership
For now that her Marine is free he wants to be his own.

Let us applaud her resolve
For she kept her tears inside

Let us rejoice in her stoicism
For she never told him how he hurt her.

Let us enjoy her laughter’s resounding ironic echoes
For he just asked if they could still be friends.

Let us exalt in her righteous morality
For she has read between the lines

Let us mirror her smile as she sees the return of Independence
For being a lone star isn’t just for Texans

if i was in a cage and i wanted to write a poem, i wouldnt: a parody

6 and 2
4 and 9
7 and who gives a bird shit
im in a fucking cage
shore nuf, these broom
pusher, men lover, c.s. guys
blabberblabberblabber
throw me a stool
a sky on fire
a tea party w/ my dream man
“pass the sugar” Benito would say
but his rope tie
kept knocking over the creamer
and i nibble typewriter keys
and toilet paper like N.Y.
finger sandwiches
[randomasschinesesymbolb.s.]
i try to get a view of the Grand Tetons
pee-tons poo-tons
but
these damn bars keep getting in the way…
Rachael Jones

Prayer for Paolo

As I sit here, contemplating how truly frightening
This vast world around me can be,
My thoughts turn to good Paolo, of the house of Romanti.
I have known Paolo as long as I have known a true friend,
For he and I have shared many good times and
Have gone through a great deal of experiences together.
Paolo Toma Romanti, with cream colored skin,
Freckles adorning his wide nose and hidden
Beneath his patchy black facial hair, which my mother
Often begs him to shave so she might see his face,
And I could have likened to a Chipmunk, maybe a
Weird kind of squirrel, or some other critter,
Was born to a very Irish dame with bright red hair
Who went by the name of Melanie Metcalf, but
Now is Melanie Romanti, after she married a man.
The man who Melanie Metcalf with her bright red hair
Married was the mechanically inclined and disarming
Antonio Romanti, who must be the source of
The intense laziness of young Paolo.
While Paolo Toma Romanti was born in a place called
Souix Falls, a city in the east of South Dakota.
I believe that Janus, the God of Doors,
must be Paolo's protector, for many times
In his life he has found the doors in front of him
Opened and leading to places of opportunity.
The doors first opened when young Romanti was
in his Third year of life, and they would lead him to
The city where the Mighty Mississippi and
Raging Rock rivers come to a crashing intersection.
The forecast was looking bright for his young life,
And he would go on to attend Ridgewood elementary,
Which is where our paths first intertwined.
While we did not take to each other immediately,
I'm positive that our anterior chambers, or
Perhaps our Oculi, met at that time.
It wouldn't be until after we switched schools,
Both of us in the same year, for different reasons,
That I would run into the much taller Paolo.
Third grade at Earl H. Hanson Elementary school
Was not the easiest time for me.
I attribute this to my being fat. And also shy.
But mostly to my being fat.
So, I didn't have any friends. People don't like
Fat people very much, unless it is to laugh at them,
In which case, people like fat people very much.
So, young, fat, third grade me was walking around,
Until I was drawn to someone running and jumping
Into the stone wall of the building.
"What are you doing?" asked young fat me.
"Trying to remember how to fly." was his response.
I couldn't argue with his logic, and soon both of us
Were running and jumping into the stone wall,
Only he could jump much higher and I bounced
further.
Eventually, we learned to tame our mammoth
and bizerkian imaginations, and joined football games.
Religion is nothing I've given much credence,
But I think there is something powerful in what
Paolo's redheaded mother once said of us.
"Your friendship is so strong because
God wills it. He brought you two together."
If that is why we are still such great friends,
Then I will not disagree with Mrs. Romanti.
God may have set the stage for our meeting,
and for that I am grateful, but if he truly exists,
He will watch over Paolo Toma Romanti
If he ever is sent to fight in Eyerock, or Afghan, or
Another of the countries who would rather the
Red of our flag be Blood.
Janus, may you close your doors and bring peace
To those you hold inside the temple of your heart.
Romanti and I, we're gamers at heart.
We've slain the Behemoth with Cloud Strife,
We've saved Peach and Daisy from the evil Sunflowers,
We've sat in front of the TV set so long that we've
Developed severe cases of Edema and Sub
Conjunctivital Hemorrages, in our I's.
Once, we were playing basketball, because
We are more than just nerds and weirdos,
And on a misfire from me, of course,
(Romanti liked to call me a Marshmellow for a long time,
And I've never been quite sure how to take it)
We killed my mom's potted marigolds and some violets around them.
She was fluered.
Romanti's house, located near Sunset Marina and a few
Miles from West Lake, in Davenport,
Houses his 3 brothers, 2 younger and 1 older,
As well as his Melanie and his Antonio.
Ceres must have been incensed when the land in Romanti's
Yard was being plotted, or else somebody else was,
For there are no trees in his yard. Oh well.
One thing that Romanti and I enjoy doing, in Add
ition to our gaming and chatting and music listening,
Is to drink insane amounts of Mountain Dew and eat
Double Decker Tacos from T-bell. It's belicious.
Romanti joined the National Guard last year.
My dad thought it was a sign of maturity,
That maybe young Paolo Toma Romanti was actually
On his way to growing up and becoming a productive
member of society. I was just scared about it all.
He still serves inactively, but he hasn't been deployed.
I'm hoping those doors close soon, because as long as they're
Open, there's a chance he could be called in.
He's chased rabbits under fences before,
Much to my amusement.
So, a lot of stuff has been said. Here's the breakdown:
Come hell, wind, high water, or storms of any kind,
Romanti and I are gonna stick with this whole friendship thing.
I'm just hoping God, Janus, Ceres... Whoever has the power
Or Authority to do so, keeps the kid safe,
From bullets and Drafts and Car accidents
Heartbreak and Callouses, Blisters, Sore Feet,
Hitting his head, His little brothers driving him insane,
Loneliness, Court Cases, Cancer, Planters Warts,
A Potpourri of life's problems.
and...
At some point...
Saturn, God of Time, turns things up on Paolo and
Gets his ass in gear, cuz life isn't gonna wait forever.

Prayer to Protect My Lovely Misunderstood Friend

Tiny chipmunk, save room in your cheek pouches for the soul of my friend, Talessa Marie Herrin, now of Tucson Arizona, previously of Clinton Illinois, with failing lumber region at the tender age of twenty-six.

Aerodynamic falcon, gouge into my friend, Talessa Marie Herrin, remove her varus L4 and L6 and replace them with mine, then fly her deterious bones as high as the sun dropping them on each parhelion for destruction by explosion.

Gentle owl, fly her far from the acid rains that have plagued her young life, letting the flap of your wings create a zephyr blowing through the Acacia and Cottonwood trees offering a zaleplon, numbing the pain of her reality.

Crafty beaver, build an aneroid home for my friend, Talessa Marie Herrin, to hold back the raptuitious Santa Cruz River, abusive father, neurotic mother, and other Wooly Mammoths that have tried to trample her livelihood.

Prickly Pear Cactus, scratch the phalanges of stalkative ex-boyfriends and giant ground sloth who reach to devour her temporal lobe and all remembrances of pain they have caused.

Sweet Parry Penstemon and Wild Brittlebush, flood her nasal cavities and dendrites with your botaniful aroma offsetting the lowest depths of her bipolarity.

Propel her salient, chili pepper passion through dancing, dreaming, laughing, and loving and drown her disease in the muddy pits of Lake Mead.

Let my friend, Talessa Marie Herrin, mother of one, sister to two, driver of no car, displaced owner of lost feline Charlie, know that I am the salmon that swims in the Colorado River, and Alamo Lake, and the bird path in her backyard, that is ever-present in the waterways and brainwaves and capillaries of her being and to reach to me is to have protection.

Chip

Artemis, hear my prayer
Cast your gaze upon my dog, Chip Bailey Williams
And protect him as he frolics in the meadow of the afterlife
Amongst Cosmos, Candytuft, and Scarlet Flax
Iceland Poppy
And a Mexican Hat

Artemis, sister of Apollo
Olympian Goddess of the wilderness
May you guard Chip Bailey Williams from all
That wish to do him harm

Chip Bailey Williams, named after a
Cookie
Born to a mom he never knew
Taken from her on Christmas eve to live with our
Family
Who weaved in and out of the pines in our yard in barrington
Who slept under willows, sharpened his claws on oaks and
Barked at the robins in the ginko

Artemis guide his steps so they avoid water
He never would swim in lake galena or druce
Provide him with snow for him to get buried in
Protect him from drizzle and lightning

Chip Bailey Williams brother of the saber tooth tiger
Who hunted mammoths
Who ate pizza and sandwiches

He never got to hunt quail or fox
He settled for chipmunks
And frogs near the fox river
He caught a butterfly at bone yard river

Cleanse and protect him from the diseases that plagued him
Diabetes inspidius
Ectropian
Murmurs
Don’t forget to pet his dorsal and rub his
Ventral

Protect him from the spirits of fallen vacuums
And Dobermans
From fast moving vehicles that stole my initials
From retractable leashes that slip from hands
Protect him from any pain and suffering

And tell him I love him and miss him

Keep Her

Savannah Paige Little of New Pleasant Farm Field or, New Berlin-Pleasant Plains-Farmingdale-Springfield,
Lover of softball, basketball, texting, talking, eating, reading, and living…
Is in need of defense…
Let Youthful Innocence guard her from the monsoons that will surely spawn from her eyes on cloudy days, about school and about boys, and keep her from hangovers-at least until she arrives at college- on those cool clear nights in the crisp autumn air, and heartbreak, which strikes whatever the season.
I can only pray that Modern Science will protect her from asthma attacks, a fifth concussion, accidents involving penicillin resulting in an outbreak of hives, and asphyxiation.
That is assuming that Mental Clarity and Focus will resonate their siren songs and defend her as she performs her pitcher-perfect duties. May MCF keep her from tripping over cracks in the sidewok- which she always misses because she’s distracted by their weeds; pop flies & line drives-hit just the wrong way and straight back to her, sure to cause Modern Science to intervene
Lend her focus to the task at hand and in her hand and when she drives please let her think of nothing else.
The 06 Sonata would not look good stuck between the maple and the oak;
Nor would the Santa Fe take kindly to an attack by the locusts or being covered in ash.
And neither would enjoy swimming the Sangamon or sailing the seas of Lake Springfield (Modern Science be wary here- leptospirosis is lurking in the water)
And finally, Good Judgment please keep her from the earth shattering disappointment of finding out who you’re friends aren’t.

Savannah Paige Little, sister of mine, daughter of Wendy, pitcher for the Cardinals, student of the Those Who Can Teach, Those Who Can’t Teach, Those Who Teach Gym, and keeper of the bunny
Is a lover of mashed potatoes and cake
Capable of indignance even with a grape stuck in her nares.
The bunny is a black and white mix, named Oreo by the ten year old innocent, 5 years ago, when she would collect clover (trifolium) and stick it through the squares of his cage as he watched the other bunnies, the cotton tailed deer bound by, and he munched on the unwanted dandelion or occasional violet.

And while this may seem like so many years ago, eras ago, millennia ago, back to the days of the tapir and saber-toothed cat-
which Savannah’s sisters cat thinks he is- it was not so long ago.
The days passed by so quickly nostalgia has not even noticed.

So please, keep Savannah
Paige
Little- in weight but not in heart, in experience but not in spirit
Keep her safe.

Praise Gaia, Protect Janie

Kneel before your reason of petition
As knights kneel before a noble.
Embrace those in proximity
Of your ascending ascending aorta
Touch warm palm paws and cross legs
In a chain of buoyant humanity
As we begin our creed.

Let us not
Masquerade this petition in
Protection of the petitioned
And those petitioning.

Jane Elizabeth Lee
Protector of
Women’s faces.
Jane Elizabeth Lee
Protector of
Animal tails.
Jane Elizabeth Lee
Protector of
Elderly bodies.

Gracious Jane
Oathful Elizabeth
Meadowy Lee

Daughter of Helen and John
Sister of Margaret, Mary, Carolyn, Kay and James
Middled by unchoice.

Jane Elizabeth Lee
Roots bedded in Skokie,
Northbrook and Ottawa
Illinois

For those that call her Janie
The same those who saw her miracles
The same those who work by her side.
Passengers trusted her direction and adroitity
Behind the wheel of great Pace.
Women saved by healing hands
Pulled from swollen darkness and maple splinters.
Women awake in bedded shelter of lives diminished
To femalions, but she will save them from death.
Old men loved by an immeasurable heart and angelic smile

All close to her touched by a harmonious occurrence
On the street in a grave in a cage on a flower.

Jane Elizabeth Lee
With gay desire, this ass
embly calls upon for your protection.

Gaia!
Earthly Goddess!

Gaia!
Heavenly bosomed
Defined of awesomeness
All knowing and Atomless

Gaia
Roll over in
Happy awakening at our need.
Let living and
Non-living regulate
The surface of life.

Gaia
Shoot blazing stars
Out the cracked bottom
Bounce o’ Prairie Phlox
Bounce o’ uneven petals
Til’ She loves you.

Gaia
Rise out of rocks
Starved or Tall
Split Lake
Flush out your grime
And signal your arrival
Skipping rocks
Down the Fox River
Until they rest finely on the bottom
Of LaSalle Lake.

Gaia
Protect the heroine of
Triumph and Love.

Earthly Goddess
Protect her from homeless metastatic invaders.
Protect her from adipose tissue.
Protect her from perverted growths in her gonads.
Protect her from atypical, btypical, ctypical depression.
Protect her from tumors in her lungs.
Protect her from Alzheimer's.
Protect her from celluar demons of her future.
For they are all unwanted.

Earthly Goddess
Protect her from gruesome falls
For her two-wheeled pastime is centered on balance
And yellow pick-ups are targets of canary hunters.
Protect the natives of these rocks and rivers
For she knows who was here first
Protect her spirit from those that wish to damage it
For not all who wander, find good fortune.
Protect her from shame of toppling Jenga towers
For the trash that spills from her mouth would crawl back in.
Protect her from Bush, Ahmadinejad and
Al-Bashir
Protect her from homophobes, philophobes and Janophobes
For they hurt her loved ones and still she tries to save them.
Protect her love from saddness and saddness from deafeat.
For she puts family before others and others before herself.

Earthly Goddess
Protect her from sinkholes, hailstorms and wildfire.
For Midwest plains are bear traps of the grandest kind.
Protect her from famine and oil spills
For they would sicken her spirit, body and hair.
Protect her from shoving population and ecocide
For in hopefulness we protect us all.
Protect her from gatherings of nonsense
For the green bean casserole is gooier than usual.

Earthly Goddess
Protect the beauty in her mind
For her compassion is her salvation.
To keep her cheeks dry
Protect the Earthly beauty slipping away.
Protect the chipmunks and bald eagles
For there cannot be the mighty without the small.
Protect the wolves and snails
For every animal that runs, another will scoot.
Protect the canines, for they have a special place in her.
Protect Sprite, her non-mythical companion
Black, white and jumpy, stocky and wet and spoiled.

Earthly Goddess
Protect her from past nightmares and cerebral struggles.
Let the Giant Irish Elk, noble and gone, swiftly carry her
From yellow atmosphere to purple sea.
Protect her fantastical shrubbery
For Butterfly Milkweed is small and orange
To attract the wings of otherworldly beauty.
Protect New England Asters
For they are the fireworks of horticultural celebration.
Protect the Cup Plant
For its height and imitation of the sun make bubblers
for small buzzers.
Protect ladders into the sky
For each stands out in their field.
Protect the Red Oak
For its climbable branches and broccoli strut
Protect the Black Oak
For it explodes in all directions towards the sky
Protect the White Oak
For it is untamed and fertile.

Earthly Goddess
Protect Janie from thoughts of sorrow,
Words of misfortune and troubling calls.
Protect her from erratic toasters,
Rebelling wires and closing doors.
Protect her from jagged screen doors, broken chairs
And hidden potholes.
Protect her from large mole rats, unwelcome bats
And moldy 3-layer cake.
Protect her from aching knees, woozy ears
And fuzzy vision.
Protect her from poor pleads, silly soliloquies
And useless utterances.

Gaia
Praise you who awoke in our plea.
Praise you for considering our creed.
Praise you for protecting another protector.

For such greatness can not be named

Out of divine love and opportunity, __________,

who has established a series of intricate paths

within its unfathomable universe leading to

destinations which will be reached only

by the ultimate decisions of its voyagers,

protect Austin Bernard Chillman of Plainfield, Illinois,

born in Oak Lawn, Illinois;

son of Peter Julian Chillman and Karen Marie Wagner Chillman;

brother of Zachary William and Drake Julian;

who is of German and Polish heritage but American by birth;

caretaker of the unfathomably exasperating but infinitely lovable cats Cookie and Niblet;

performer of music, competitor on the field;

who is forever devoted towards the needs of others.

__________, protect Austin Bernard Chillman from the evils of the hallways,

the Sposchubullys, tormentors of massive size and barbed tongue,

who with their cruel intentions and position of no envy

press the buttons of a manic depressive,

and in those times most trying,

grant him the ability to react in best of manners

at a speed more swift than water moves in the Mississippi.

And, __________, protect hermano from the misfortune of multiple surgeries

on his weakened left acromioclavicular joint.

Allow him to share others the weight of the world

that he is so willing to bear on his lonesome.

Grant him the ability to put his pride to rest,

to know that the burden of his world

isn’t one that he has to endure alone.

__________, allow Austin Bernard Chillman’s personality to blossom

in the pile of crap that is suburban adolescence;

though resources and nutrients are plenty—

full of toxins that can corrupt the blooming

of a character that should be known

for his tenderness and humilty,

humor and honesty,

genius and madness that;

and these traits should be showered down upon all those that surround him,

saturating the minds of those with lesser intentions,

quenching the thirsts of those with fewer resources,

and aiding those already on a path to greater good

__________, give him comfort and assurance to ward off Thi’ef of Zees,

who comes in the night and robs innocent of their dreams,

aspirations, sound rest and relaxation,

and clear mind, for the addition of insomnia

to a history of emotional difficulty

is not a bit of medicinal arithmetic

that I believe hermano is prepared to embattle

given his young age.

Forget not, __________, to protect hermano from the carpal tunnel

that his predecessors have suffered from.

Let his wrists be tough,

able to endure constant writing,

so that he can maybe one day produce

a rockabilly tour de force that it is so exquisite

that critics and award voters will rejoice alike.

__________, keep him out of the direct path of the Flaherty demon dog,

who’s name I know not,

for it is the very essence of evil,

squatting on all lawns and littering

them with the vile secretions from its body.

And let Austin Bernard Chillman be spared the fate of Gishlink, __________,

for his name deserves to be kept in books somewhere,

as a permanent memory for the world to have,

for once we are gone,

all we become are a bit of history;

a story to be told by someone else;

a fable.

Bestow your protection upon the third son of Peter and Karen,

__________, from the excruciating pain that the Indonesian man

Dede has endured; protect him from the tree

which has bred with the human papillomavirus,

father and mother of the dendropapillomavirus;

thwart its attempts to turn hermano’s feet to roots,

anchoring him into suburbia soil for the remainder of his life;

let his life be like that of the palm in the flower pot:

clean and free to move from place to place at the will of world.

And keep the near resident of Chicago,

the windiest of cities,

with the broadest of shoulders,

and that bears the name of another state,

away from the Cheeseheads, __________,

with their terrible dairy breath

and awful opinions of people from real states,

for they can’t drive.

Shield the younger brother of Zachary and Drake, __________,

for the looming crisis that the use of antibiotics has created

in the farming industry;

protect him from the introduction to unnecessary antibiotics

to his system, which in turn make him more susceptible

to the common disease being fatal.

And do not grant hermano the fate of the Asian Elephant, __________,

for if there were to be no immediate threat

to his well being there would be no external force

pushing him to evolve in some way,

he would no longer be the progressive

person that he currently is.

Keep him, __________, from being to serious,

from not allowing himself to get in the gobblygook,

not allowing himself to get be a little sideways

and crisscrossed

back

wards

wild

zany

crazy

too sur-e-us;

let him be himself in all his weirdness,

let his restraints be loosened in a way

so that he never stops being hermano.

__________, give your protection over Austin,

lover of sound and song,

from the evils that can turn his love to hate,

grant him the strength to overcome the criticism,

to persevere in the face of adversity,

and to always sing and play with his heart.

__________, hermano needs your protection from atrophy,

the rotting of brain,

the weakening of body,

the decomposition of thought,

the breakdown of love,

the failure of caring,

the disappointment of life.

Give him your protection from the hardships

that we face throughout our lives;

give him a shield that allows him to see these experiences,

but not bring him to the point that he wants to quit.

Most of all, __________, protect all of the beings within

this celebrated universe be protected from these misfortunes,

but for if some find themselves in dark places,

don’t remove our free will,

for out of darkness can come light.

Petition: Protect My Love Verily

Sweet love of mine harrowing, harrying, ceaseless endeavoring. Follow me home under the moonlight. Swaying to the ebb and the flow Let us wander through ages of worlds of time as they delve themselves deeper in snow. This is my wallow my stuttering ship, my last resort from this world unfit. Eros fill me in purity, protect what thy know to be ternary, The mind and the soul and the body all seamlessly Bound to this existence by forces unseen, un-believed; Until science discovered its creed, so this is the seed that I plant amoung the dead With the hope for your protection, come save us from death. The crystal meth has taken hold, bought and sold, Stopped the pain that could not be controlled. I don’t know this place I’m at, the feelings that I’ve had And not Refusing to be shaped like the lot, like the mutt, Like the labels of generic food. Protect him from being all that I am not, Protect him from all that he wouldn’t want, Come save what is left, what’s been cherished of his soul This is the way, the time to go Go wander the fronts of the harshest of storms Where the winds of the past and the present come forward This is my prayer to the world unseen, `My sight and design, my most mental of schemes Balloon Angioplasty; Realize you paralyze the beating of my heart Protect him from the constant commotion, The bustle of the insomniatic coffee tweakers And pill-popping self-prescribers, mind-designers, Change this chemical for psycho tropic medicines; alternatives of reason Protect him from addiction, From a little to the junkiest spot, the worst of drugs accursed lot Never provoke, a personal joke, it might be the last time you speak on your own. Protect him from dreams of that which I may not have For this is the last of my solemn life’s mishap. Protect him from thy father’s sins For he is not the one who is him Protect him from the temptations of the Earth The creations of man that corrupt the mind and the flesh Protect him from that which he should never know For knowledge is the power that controls human souls. This is theistic, this world prowess Protect him until he is fully developed And ready to ride against the evils that haunt us Protect him from harm of the physical being Protect what is left of his family’s seed Protect what his family and friends do not see The eyes in his back during the rage of the battles while they seethe Protect all he feels, and protect what he knows Protect him from all the places he goes Watch as he walks with his tray as he balks, As he ducks to the back of the restaurant. Waiting on the folks of the tables, Is all he even tries to do Poor old Taffy, Sweet Taffy Recently deceased We felt so bad for her Unable to see Unable hear In the end, unable to breath Unlike the fish in his Aquarium clear, so liquidified, That he cares for, and loves, His hobby for years. Though I ask for the protection of Brian Patrick Cioni Who so often makes me feel as though my heart shall Become afflicted with supraventricular tachycardia I pray that you never be accursed with spasmodic dysphoria Brian, my love, for the fluidity of your words is music to my ears Your clershiness is unattested for you taste more profound than extra crunchy peanut butter and banana sandwiches with luscious desserts such as treacle tart to follow. You ought to be squozen, but not too hard for subluxation of the spine would be a travesty to your upright posture being the Homo-Erectus that you are. I pray that I may run my phalanges through your hair for eons of time (assuming that you shall not be diagnosed with alopecia capitis totalis…baldness would be a downright shame), that I may look upon your pierced tragus with excitement, that our oral cavities should continually touch, giving us lascivious visions of the external genitalia and gluteus max imus scandalous images of one another, never disrupted by the extinction of mammuthus primigenius and eremotherium laurillardi, as the woolly mammoth and giant ground sloth have thus transcribed for they wish protection unto the raccoons, opossums, skunks, great-horned owls, and ravens that have yet to be exposed to the ills of extinction. The one who governs my thoughts, enters my dreams, sweeps me off of my feat, Brian Patrick Cioni ~ BPC, I pray that you shall always return to me Though your roots are in Washington, Illinois And though the miles may soon separate us, I pray, I ask, that you remember, all of the time we’ve spent together On the Quad right near your apartment in Rutherford Suites on Fell Street, passing the hours staring at the trees: European Beech, Catalpa, Northern Red Oak, Thornless Hunnylocust, …and may you NEVER forget the Weeping Beech Tree, our safe haven… Oh! The kisses we’ve shared in your tortoise-shell Chevy Cavalier! Imagining picnics beside the Sangamon and Mackinaw Rivers, Doing swandives into Lake Bloomington. Me, secretly imagining what it would be like to be submerged in Brian Lake. The walks we’ve taken, the gorgeous AuTtumn afternoons, Searching for unattainable, illusive, wildflowers: the blanket flower, clasping coneflower, evening primrose, scarlet sage, And yes, how could I forget, the dense blazing star… The moments we’ve shared in a galaxy of our own, standing outside only Two weeks ago, staring at the full lunar eclipse on your patio, imagining The explosion of a supernova…that very supernova that has become my heart. The internal feelings, my Playgan-ness, playing and praying and being a Pagan You do not shun me, but embrace me Natural Witch that I am, worker of spells unique Weaver of time, place, and positive energy You have called to me. Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Inanna: I call upon thee, beautiful Goddesses, Watch over Brian Patrick Cioni, the man that I LOVE Ensure his safety in this catariffic world of ignorance and jealousy, Climbing atop tow’ring mountains unseen, untouched by human hands, may he move gracefully with the ebb and flow of the universal energies. never broken. As above, so below This is my will so mote it be.

heather

Mother, Mary Ellen Hyde of Pekin, whom I NAME in address Diaphanous Zephyrs Betwixt Shadow, who once blazed the psychomyogenic wind vectors of fallopia to bring life, I abjure your gaze, if it be upon me ever as was once constant, from shadow and the dense frozen soil of Illinois, where you lay near the river of the same appellation, having tasted the Mackinaw and lakes of both Milliman (ox-bow), Peoria, and Michigan, having run through fields of toadflax and perennial lupine, to rest eternal from toil, from the pain of ipsilateral conjunctival lacrimation and Dead Band Hysteresis, from the horror of your life in unrequited love from a man who knew what he had done and now must pay a price most dear for his children abstain from him (may I never know the terror which must visit him as he is not visited upon by his seed), from the RICH PAGEANT that was your life, with infinite love from Jennifer and James and Jeffrey, whom you begat (no mere souvenir), and entreat upon you to care and gaze upon in my stead for Heather Marie Daugherty OF Lafayette in Indiana, she who was never made daughter in the light of your blessed life, but was loved, and none more so than in mine, who suffers migraines of the hemiazygous intercostals and waxes deleterious at the great saphenous veins which oft poison her cerebellum. For my love toward is as of no other I shall ever hold for any creature or thing or spirit or energy or thought or color or idea in the totality of my life ever again; it is final, whole and incomplete at once (as these things shall ever be on terra), and, in truth unobscured if honesty be sought, selfless; as was given to you by me and yours, oh mother. It is all. As the winds of time in specificity brought the Mammathus Primigenius and the Smilodon Fatalis and the Arctodus Simus to roam and thrive allow that she, too might persist in function most bright for her soul possesses mercy enough for nothing less than all: for the tiger salamander, prairie dog, groundhog, chipmunk, and ferret are not too diminuitive to escape the solace of her love, which is boon to me and to many; as the bones of saints never decay may she continue to serve the autistic and contracted spirits of man in complaint of disavowal from the throng and yet more cared for by her than for herself. In the Heights, now, bearing love as a trebuchet amongst elms and sycamores and oaks and maples and balsams, in vurnculler commune. Her tea should taste of uncanniness, and teas abound the fields of screaming sonic joy. MOTHER, protect her from strangers and demons and pharmacological tremor and gout and lactic acid and the FIRMAMENT of those who hypocryse and the decrease of argent and the increase of adipose and the pain of arachnid venom and the carbuncle of arthritis and bone spurs and bone awls and black-boned-angels and tension and automobile accidents and the accidental digestion of chicken and or beef and bad hair and anemia and lice and licentiousness and mustard and the cold and leatherface and drowning and immolation and being buried alive. But most of all protect Heather Marie Daugherty from the weight of the migrainous throb which keeps the light at bay through subclavian limb and hepatic portal, suffocating amygdale and bringing eyelid edema. Distill the essence of five spot, bluebonnet, dense blazing star to fizammunck succour. Caulbrigise the celsius millibar within a half point of the truth as you ride the winds of shadow home to visit her in Kia Rio bless her kinetic acclivity for motion in metal is fatal. Defticle decline in barrage of prayer and find her amid the various sufferings, and avert your gaze from me. Avert your gaze from me as she be more, Avert your gaze from me as she be right and better then most. Avert your gaze from me as I love her more than myself and ask that you honor the devine within her as I destroy that within me, allow it, for it is not got upon without knowing the fate it constructs and is recognized as destiny. She is best among those who help, she is Samaritan and angel in bone and blood brought to bring as a balm, SHE is the gift, Heather Marie Daugherty, hers is grace and love and found nought elsewhere, hers is a heart rare and most holy, and nothing more. At the end, enjoin her with Baldwin in shadow a dalmation arf loved by her as none other and also protect her canine Irving Louise Hyde who is also a soul arf most reare and peaceful arf and gracious to receive that which is given. Irving is love. Avert your gaze from me as he is more, as he knows not sin and strife but joy in return. Mother, grant her frequency in running and cooking and collage and sewing and yoga and eating channa massala and tom-kha-kai and playing Atari and reading and loving and knitting and crocheting for Etsy; let her sell her arts that the world over may feel the softness of her touch and know the love she gives every task taken and feel the soul of grace and purity in her heart that is called Heather Marie Daugherty: QMRP, lover of Irving, daughter of Crystal Gorman and Tim Daugherty and sister of Tiffany Daugherty and aunt to Evelyn and Sean and Ayla and Teaghan and friend to George and Dave and Dave and Jenny and Sara and Pat and Kwaku and Gail and Kara and Linda and Chris and Eric and Megan and Vanessa and Randalyn and Dennis and Jennifer and Joe and Joe and Pam and Ann and Arrianna and Becky and Mike and all, and me. Mom, please do this for me…I miss you and I love you with all my heart and I haven’t forgotten you and you know I’m trying to be what you would have wanted your son to be, but sometimes it’s so hard, mom, sometimes it’s so hard. I want her to be safe, I love her, she cares for me. Watch over her.

This Is For You Little Spoon

427 years from now:
When the lights go out in the shoulder of Orion
And we look and say what once was
No longer is (but only in our hearts and our eyes because it fell asleep a long time ago)
May Betelgeuse keep you
As you keep him
With burning orange and satellitic thoughts made on falling stars and dirt clods

You were my barista from Mahomet IL
And then you grew purple wheels like digitalis purpurea and in the
---- PrrPal 5 drove somewhere more Normal
Where we met in a pink and red haze of September thoughts
And your name was Nikolaos
And your name was Victory of the People

So may the People keep you
With a plantigradinal motion we will never know
And perhaps only Mak can keep pace
Let all the population of squirrel-cats take comfort
---- That there is someone as quick as they

May Dove keep your hair intact
And tangle free
---- In aster novae-angliae bottles that curve slender to the side
With head cocked
A motion quick like that of a sparrow
A comparison you yourself may not implore but perhaps cannot deny
Only you and they can dart as quick through the branches of quercus stellata
---- That sits near your house
-------- That sits near a school
------------ That is nowhere near the Nakdong River

Where you are now

6617 miles from now:
When you
---- Like Icarus
Made wax wings
And flew to South Korea IL
A distance not even Niko could swim
Despite your nomenclatural commonality

May Betelgeuse’s brother keep you
---- And not let you fly too close to him
But if you do
Then may you land on a Leviathan’s nose
And may she take you the rest of the way
Where you will be deposited on the banks of the Han
---- And small muskrats will tend you
And they will heal your third degree burns
To stop the secretion of that aster tanacetifolius fluid
So that someday when you return you will feel my fingertips again

Your name Nikollë like that of Albanian singers and poets
---- May it remember you well in eccentrical and esoterical ways
And hair that lives only in hurricanes
Except for days when you use a straightener
For that is like the visual tunic
---- When everyone thinks it’s safe to go outside

But you will stun them
The way the morus rubra reached from Van Gough’s eyes
And they will remember you like the Mastadon
For no other reason than they will revere you for all time

One ice age ago:
---- When global warming wasn’t yet a fad
May the Bering Strait remember you
And your ancestral ties
When I was still in the hills of Geatland
---- With Shield-Danes and monsters
And later to Canterbury
Where we first met
---- Lost in words and stories of copulation and flatulence

Beginning there like all good things
---- With honesty
And undeniable humanication

May the eagles keep you
---- A certain kinship with them I share
Across the Anapji and the Sinyang
With fovea centralis as sharp as the air around where you walk
And in turn may they leave Frizz and Snickers alone
---- As tempting as it may sound

And now:
May the lonicera standishii remain fresh in your heart
---- With thoughts of Dinky and Indian summer
May this and the cheeseburger keep your corpus callosum
---- From the dangers of parapsychosis

May your green sweatshirt hold you warm with its fuzzies
As you write the song of the fajita quesadilla

And may you remember me
Like the potato bug with the petalostemon purpureum heart
---- The one who was supposed to be a beetle
That I sympathized for
---- And the others scorned

May you remember me
And let my words keep you
---- As imperfect as they may be

1858 years ago:
May Ptolemy who found circles keep you Nikolle
---- You LeaAnn
-------- You Keeney
---- And in your orbit
May you always retrograde close to me.

My attempt

Love of life, and cherry tree, please protect my baby sister, Kelly Marie Melia, of Tinley Park, IL.

Who has a broken heart, who lost her best friend, who lost her boyfriend, who lost her trust in all she had, who was born 3 years after me.

Love of life, and evergreen, protect her from her ex boyfriend, his dilerious mother who calls mine with imaginary stories, Eddie, a man who is only in it for one thing, Dan who seems to think her pants are mirrors.

Love Of life, and dandelion, protect her from the rumors of her insanity, the lies of her misfortune, the friends who didn’t mean what they said, the kisses and lies behind her back, and the midgets who stole her money.

Love of life, and cotton wood tree, protect her from the lose of a tire on her Red Grand Prix on the expressway, the harassment of Illinois State coppers, the pink tickets that irk her, the marijuana that grows in her closet, the cigarettes that seem to beg for her company, and the grades that seem to crawl underneath her pillow and scream at her.

Let the love of life protect Kelly Marie Melia’s puppy, Dizzy. Who plays with the imaginary butterflies in every room.

Let the love of life and oleanders protect their daily walks from drive way start to drive way end, never once stopping in the middle to research the butterflies. For they are no where near as entertaining as in the beginning as they are at the end.

Let the love of life entertain her while she checks the ins and outs of pool filters while keeping a small faint polite smile on her face.

May the love of life never lead her towards the Mississippi or Chicago river, to where she could possibly drown or die of hypothermia.

Let the love of life and violet allows her to eat grilled cheese with her philanges and femurs.

Let the love of life, the squirrels, baby bears, and rattle snakes from Texas, bunnies, and possums stand hand in hand and surround her in her time of need, while she east ramen noodles.