To be a poet by ivy

I want to be a poet
Writing within the fog of bugs
Across the Oregon sky
Lost in chaos of darting bats
Reciting electric grill skin
Teasing the crooked tree
Screaming dance with me
While Maples drop twirling Sufi’s
Sitting in a graveyard
Someone forgot to mow
Neighbors smile at my punk rock eyes
A summer that smells of Christmas
The sound of cars like sitting on a city curb
Deer drinking water from the creek
Makes me want to pee
Everyday full of novel
Bumblebees and cornstarch
Every night full of him
Manhattan’s served over giant ice cubes
Being everywhere at once
A Paris river walk and shaved ice
Like nowhere I’ve known before
Photos of palm trees bringing tears to my eyes
City skyscrapers curling my lips
To be a poet
On the couch staring at green
On the floor licking my cheeks
In the jacuzzi resting with fairies
Open doors to all that desire
Candles burning true nature
Music blaring bones
Glasses a flowing waterfall
Laugh that holds
A slap spit promise
An escaped fugitive
An upside-down liar