In Montana, I’m always naked

In Montana,
I’m always naked,
a silicone primer that’s been
Fading West
like, my new favorite thing for summer –
the buoyancy,
swimming in just Breathing,
wearing a Batman costume,
being ready to take on ANY welding job,
and look hot in any harness I have to wear,
thinking it’s not me, it’s you
who looks like a total
first-time drug buyer,
like the Good Humor man on
Mt. Everest,

thinking how much we give
our jewelry of the spirit
to the world
like an extension of our bodies
or 2-3 inches of
a second skin
that is returned
dried and curled
in an envelope with a note:
“This is without a doubt
the worst ammunition I’ve ever purchased.
I’m not 100% completely satisfied
and demand a full refund.”

who knew that
sometimes you’ll have to water love from a poison can,
sometimes you’ll have to wipe love down with alcohol,
sometimes it’s easier just to walk away
tickling the back of a stranger’s throat
with a cotton swab on a long wooden stick
and singing songs of innocence,

that, sometimes, if done properly,
the plugs are comfortable,
though messy and noticeable from all angles.

how could no one (i.e. not Ghengis Kahn, not Elton John,
not Walt Whitman or Walter White, et. al.)
have ever realized before that
it’s one thing to eat Cherrios from
running shorts or tank tops with built-in bras,
it’s another thing to
note that a Water Rat is a type of vole, which is an anagram of “love”
perhaps dripping, like a washcloth,
just like her mama
during a wonderful
low tide.

indeed
indeed
indeed
yes yes yes –
sometimes everything is pleasant
and everyone gets along
until the food runs out.

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