Tonight, as stars draw nigh
And peer into the milky sky
To see if anything is new under the sun,
I pray that you will be in view for them.
And I pray, too, that you will dare
To steal fire again from the heavens,
Great Prometheus.

I will drive the get away
So that you, or rather, we,
Will not be caught.
For this world needs fresh fire,
But no one wants to be tied forever
To a stone where, eternally,
Eagles eat one's liver.

So this time we humans promise
That you will have aiders and abettors
And accomplices.

-jenn

When she died, she was surprised
As she looked down from a window in heaven,
That her husband didn't go to bed at eleven anymore.
Now he retired more early,
Seven-thirty or eight.
But of course his new honey
Didn't like to stay up so late.
Good thing when a window closes in heaven,
The good lord remembers not to shut the door
All the way.

-jenn

If it seems to you
That I wander through the day
Aimless and forlorn,
An unattended winterbourne
That comes and goes away,
A lazy row of unthinned corn,
A little boy blue with unshorn sheep
And daisies in the hay,
And little bits of sticks strewn in
Amongst the peat moss mix,
I say I'm doing pretty good
To keep water in a bowl
For wild game and fowl to come and drink,
For, I'm only six,
And wild birds seem very important to me.

-jenn

Once a sleeping boy awoke
And spoke about a cat who'd come
And curled up to take a nap beside his head.
And that, my love, is the breadth and brevity of life,
One statement, one half-awake epiphany
To divulge surprised in a sleep talking slur.
And then, right back to bed,
To heavy dreams and heavy breathing,
And leave the heavy lifting to the morn
Of another lifetime and another day.

-jenn

All my gears have been worn thin.
Now, all I do is turn,
But I don't click with anyone.
Nothing catches, nothing goes.
Even my spin has started to slow down.
I'm finally getting a look at what's going on.

Is this all I've been doing my whole life?
Just adding my two cents
To the daily strife and strain?
Ah.
Well.

I hope when some great someone sees
How unproductive I am now,
I'll be taken out of this weird machine
And thrown out,
And like all the rest of the garbage,
Maybe I'll wind up in the ocean.

And maybe, as I lie and rust
Some magic silt will nestle amidst
What used to be my teeth,
And I'll grow back with starfish arms and ossicles,
And be a part of a new hydraulic system,
Instead of a new world order.

-jenn

They've asked me to play Cynthia Rothrock
In the upcoming Hollywood blockbuster,
The Life and Times of Cynthia Rothrock,
The great female Kung Fu mistress of the silver screen
From the eighties,
(The 1980's that is.)

Because although Cynthia could play herself
She doesn't look like an older version of herself
Like I do,
Or at least like what her fans think she would look like.
She dies her hair brown now,
And has lost about twenty pounds.
Oh, and she's not willing to sleep with Harvey Weinstein,
Oh
(And he can't make her.)

-jenn

He limped into the Indian clinic
And then he limped back out.
He was there for his regularly scheduled dental cleaning,
And nobody asked him about that open sore on the back of his leg.
Wounded knees are hereditary around here.

But when they called him to remind him to come back in
Six months from now,
He had already gone septic and given up the ghost,
Like Jesus did,
Even before anyone could poke him with a spear.

But they just said, "Well,
That's one less NDN
To keep on the books here
For the feds to take care of."

-jenn