hippa to the hoppa


Mix dry ingredients in bowl. Cut in shortening until crumbly. Add milk; mix lightly until mixture clings together. Shape lightly into ball on floured surface. Roll 1/2 inch thick; cut with biscuit cutter. Place on greased baking sheet. Bake at 425 degrees for 10 minutes or until light brown.

I spoke in my sleep last night. This is a big deal. I share my bed and my words are not falling on deaf ears. For me there are no bootless cries. Barefoot and innocent I am not, I can't even move without incrimination. These were sneaky, deceitful cries trying to give me away. Cries that sound like "I want more, I want more", repeated twice in my sleep. Who was I talking to? What did I mean?
Need more what?
More blankets, more sleep, more time, more friends, more lovers, more money, more sweaters, more work, more vacation, more experiences, more you, more me, more blood, more sex, more rum??

And you are falling into me. Scraping my insides as you go. Clawing at my guts as you try to get a grip on what the fuck is happening here. I wish you could fit yourself inside of me. We could hold real still and nobody would see you. But I think your shoulders are entirely too wide. Maybe if you just left a tiny piece of yourself behind. I could carry it around inside my uterus. It could attach to my wall and cling to me there like a barnacle on the side of a boat. I would feed and water it the way I feed and water my plants at home. Only I would be it’s home. Not you succubus then, incubus? No incubator. I will be an incubator! A life support system. I could be supporting your life. How strange is that? Me, a goddamn life support unit for someone else. Supporting his little oyster, stuck to my wall, it sounds freakish. Disgusting really. Like something out of Frankenstein. I can hear the mad doctor now "It's alive!! It's alive" and it's coming out. One minute I could feel it pawing at my insides, rolling around, wiggling its webbed toes and now it is turning my insides out. Ripping away from my body, my walls, as I am crumbling, folding inwards to release you again. Opening up as your wide, wide shoulders push their way through me as the last shred of our connection slides to the floor in an iridescent sack where you created a home. How could I survive that? Everything says its natural but it seems so unnatural. He has re-created himself inside me. And all I have left are these stretch marks on a body that was once so full.

Somewhere along the line I thought you were too good for me. Your teeth were amazing and calculated like orions belt. Your eye liner thick and stupid in ways somehow made sense.
I crashed my truck the other night, ran away, it there like a monolith, the airbags exploding the white powder across our face and laps… two kids riding up at 4Am back from the disco tech, helping us push. Push it along.
Driving back to doldrums the whole front end entirely fucked. The radiator falling out, the airbags like giant bags of jiffy pop all popped and deflated hanging out like tongues.
My hair sticking up and pushing it all to the limit, with a rose bush and a trampoline in the back.
What can I say, I am Irish. This is what I do… I only know failure.
We had the windows with the view, the more and the more kept banging against my head at night, in my dreams, until I had to see who was there and what it was all about.
I have met her, her there knocking at my door. I need someone there like her and she needs someone like me. Her teeth were a little chipped, yet amazing, her smile was a little crooked, yet even, she had nothing to do with Tacoma. I never knew Alaska looked that good. It was like I was taking pictures of it and taking pictures all the same of what were in me like my blood was pouring out and feeding fish. All my dreams, the snow, so cold, the river so clean, wanting to jump in and start over and be baptized, to start again and again fresh and new. Never knew this was how they lived… they asked me if I wanted some aspirin, the learning curve was steep.