Dream Writing.2

Wrote this one last night - began as a poem/short piece about someone giving birth - inspired by a conversation I had with a friend about women not wanting to have children b/c of the pain involved. Well, it turned into this:


Mrs. Ramberry of the Ramberrys
Of North Dakota will scream

For an epidural and
Nurse Figazzato (who will

Die two days later from the heat)
Will shake his head and say

Too late, too late. I hate being
A man nurse.

Ten hours later, the doctor
Will stroll in and miss the

Opportunity for a clean cut
Because my tiny little fist

Will want to taste the air and
Know if leaving one murky
Why am I talking about one tree hill
The laugh a lot I wonder if wht she wass aing had anything todo swith goingot the lb.

I see you now okay now I know I’m not obsessed but kind owho is shwe taking abot hare we just a bunch of lclufth less. I there’s a bright red viper bug on these htnings will surely get I n the way of sushi by the public. It was cll. Tah they were stfffffffffffffffffffffff

Warm place for
Will be worthwhile.

Mrs. Ramberry’s vaginaskin
Will tear open, with each wriggling

like a shirt ripped at the sleaveseam
or the flesh of a plum bursting through

thin, purple

And even after the eleven stitches
Things down there will never

Be quite the same.

Sometimes

I was praying yesterday morning and I thought really hard give it to me give it to me don’t you love me don’t you love me but then I heard and then I thought well would be a bad influence abut is this something that’s speechless then or when guns come in his a different truth awell you know my mother you nw my other and I’ll never forgt arwreallly like how did I end up swith it yu’ere gonwell think aobut ik,,,,,,,