What do you wear to a party on the sun?

Take a bath and wash your hair,

And think about what you're gonna wear.

Shave your legs. Put lotion on.

(Lots and lots of lotion on.)

Think about shoes. Comb your hair.

What in the world are you going to wear to a party on the sun?

Maybe you should dress in layers?

Start with good foundational underwear?

A camisole, a petticoat, a sleeveless dress

Covered with a robe and sash?

A dash of cologne?

But as I put my panties on 

I decide it doesn't matter.

I'd rather not go to the bother.

Maybe someone who's never been

To the sun can dream and fantasize

About how it's going to be,

But I know from times when it's you and me

That the party on the sun is heat,

That sweats off everything that isn't eternal.

The daring inferno of love will sweat every stick of make-up off,

And every rag and cloth you want to call caparison,

Won't mean a thing at that party on the sun.

So I'm skipping the bath.

I'll take one with you

In the bright shine of the looming sun,

And I'll skip thinking about clothes,
And shoes,

And I'll skip wearing them,

And show up nude

To the party on the sun.

-jenn

I received a letter from heaven last night.

It wasn't what I expected.

It looked liked the envelope had been recycled a time or two.

There was a clear plastic window 

In the front where the recipient's name was supposed to be seen,

But there wasn't a letter in there with a name,

And you had to look through that tiny window 

To try to see the message that was written on the envelope's wall.

It must have been hard to write it,

Because it was hard to read,

But finally I saw the scratched out letters

ILY, NY, WY

And tears filled my eyes and heart

Tears of joy and of sadness

For I knew, you'd gotten your message through to me

In letters sent so cryptically 

And so beautifully 

To my heart.

Thank you.

And I hope you're getting my messages too.

-jenn

A beautiful Braille fresco in my mind---

If I could but touch it I could read

The mysteries of the multiverse,

The mysteries of me.

The glorious design in binary code,

Perfect balls of clay rolled up and set

With perfect precision to combine

And recombine to determine as of yet

What fate may belie an A-type blood,

A greeneyed genotype like me,

Predisposed to be a scribesmaid

And never a scribe.

And yet if I could but touch my brain,

Rub out the cramps caused by muscle strain,

Relax into the roll of know-it-all,

I might make a poet after all.

-jenn

Does the gasoline have an agenda?

Does it languish waiting to fire?

Does it care that it is wasted

Idling in traffic or at the red lights?

Does it realize that without that spark

It's just a chemical in waiting?

Always a bridesmaid and a temple virgin 

Awash in a pool of other temple virgins,

Staying in a hotel right across the street from the red light district?

What am I thinking?

I'll tell you what I'm thinking.

I'm thinking that match ain't gonna light itself.

-jenn

I'm the only one that's ever had sex in my family,

According to them and all their kids.

I'm the only one they can all picture naked

Running around like a human id 

Without any superego to guide me,

Without any ego too,

Just a horny little monkey 

That got the keys to the zoo and escaped

The closed circuit tv system,

Escaped the wary eyes of the zookeepers,

Escaped everything

Except the dirty minds of my friends and family,

Who have me doing a lot more in their craniums

Than I could have ever dreamed up 

For myself in my own wild fantasies,

Much less real life!

Meanwhile, they have the nerve to tell me my niece is pregnant again,

And so is my cousin!

-jenn 

He was coloring in his adult coloring book

All the lovely colors adults come in, these days

Red and yellow, black and white

They are all precious 

On this porn dating website he discovered.

And if it's not mandalas that he's found,

It not because he hasn't stopped to ponder

The perfection of a square that has no corners,

Or a great work that seems so trivial,

When this woman seems to him

To have perfect nipples,

And suddenly, he understands somehow

The ten thousand things of the Tao,

And how the soft and yielding things

Can overcome the hard.

-jenn 

The problem was, as they say, entirely with my tv set 

And not with the broadcast system,

I'm sure, as many of you understand.

Maybe I was just tired of putting up with nonsense.

Maybe I had come to my senses after thirty years,

And could hear the wisdom of my great grandmother 

Telling me I deserved better.

Maybe I suddenly wondered why

I hadn't run off and tried to become a nun,

Even tho I'm not catholic,

Or maybe I could have aspired to be the pope.

The Bhagavad Gita says it's better

To try and fail in your own dharma

Than to succeed in another,

So maybe I'm better off right here after all,

Flailing about in a shallow stream of motherhood and wedded blissery,

Thinking 'bout what a good Pope I might've been.

-jenn