BOISE RIVER POEM UNDER A BRIDGE

i am glad nobody
stole yr tiny bike
& we are under this bridge
that you have probably been under
many times
w/ poets
& unemployed scientists
& street musicians w/ a buzzing sax
& alley drunks
shadows in the nerolux
or sad young men
who will fall in love
w/ alice notley
long after she is dead
& she will be dead one day
so i wish i could have gone to her reading
up in some room in some building on campus
& smoked a joint
w/ you
at the same time
in some new universe 
i am trying to create
where we are all poets
& darkness is as warm as the sun
snow is in my brain
or idk where you have been
just what i ask
waiting to be pulled into a room
or river bank
the sky is touching my recessed skull 
where is mollys hand
when does a hill become a mtn
when will i see alice notley read poems
instead of schmoozing w/ grad fucks
at this bougie hotel bar
what is the future in this architecture
why did that woman tell me she had 5 kids
after offering to buy me a drink
but didn't buy me a drink
i am weird
i am normal
this is my question voice
i think it is exciting
when i think i am beautiful
when i am naked
& i can hear rain
who has been here??
everyone
all fished out of my animal sweat
phobic of my own water 
cleaned only when you need me against you
i am sorry i dropped the entire bottle of wine
in this new universe
i have created
glowworms hang from the roof of my mouth
trapping time as it moves through my false teeth
there are gaps in my perfect memory
nice things to say
i like yr back yard
i am fine w/ yr dog sleeping next to me
this is my ugly smile
this is my beard
i speak w my fingers & my eyes
down yr back
in yr eyes to swim
i hide in a poem
for everyone on earth
who listens to poetry
i am a poem
i am poem
poem
my dad is a poem
this is a poem for my flash in skin
my dripping desert stomach
growling for flesh
when will alice notley read to me
when will alice notley read the poem that paul wrote for her
i have questions
how much do you know abt boise??
i am just talking this way
bc i am a poet
bc i am a hospital
bc i am a eroding building
chisled by water & time
we are poets living in the world
our life is wonderful
this is my life
safe on flatland
safe walking through the home of ghosts
safe in yr bed
safe w paul driving forever
climbing sea mtns
at night
on the beaches of cheyenne
hemingways grave is just a stone
w/ a corpse
there is nothing religious abt what i am seeing
next to the boise river
finding yr scattered kitsch
tossing this unfinished joint into the rocks
that you were hoping to smoke w/ nickey
at the jeff mangum show
i waste so much
there is so much earth & time & universe
that i could see if i jumped
off every balcony
& ran out into the street in the rain
to throw my heart through the trees
silence birds speak
at me w/ yr short legs
spun through cotton
high all night
w/ poems in my shivering nerves
where boys cry
& i need a taxi for my busted ankle
call me pussy
dry yr bangs
i will feed human food to yr dog
bc i am nothing important
i am a poet
i am too gross
too slobber
too snot
too ooze
too slime
too beautiful
to be underneath a bridge w/ you
watching geese land
after flight
or whatever birds call
the fight against gravity