If I could bed blue dirt
I’d be home free!

This and other reassuringances
like a common ground denominator
under staircase of the elevator

Better be no me than falsely know as mine
the chaff that’s dredged from skin of inward eye

(An insect for a windshield wiper
and the rubber misses claim of continent)

As if from mother’s compass tits
I could trace sum systems of equation &
of conflation with an

As if “I”
could say This
is the Stuff
that’s Me


The map is not the territory

Thing — defining — thoughts
bat my at-bat
bet her
let her


Without oughts to dot her neutral now
for fear of furtive futures
or should of shades in shame . . .

(Remembering your earnest yous
how for fresh interest
I’d wipe my mind & watch the movie
first time round — this thought
belongs here too –)

To rest in zest of be
rather’n grasp
the thins of definition

O, let nonsense wrest free!
As if to slash my shits
& slip my me

Kathy “Lady” Smith

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