Judy

Judy finds only two mistakes:


First,

Second.





OR





Judy is in a car near the sun, nods to show that she is listening to the radio.






OR



The way her father cracks an egg,
fingers become great boats coming to dock,
pulling the breaking sun from its own skin. Sure.




OR




Alone in the cathedral, Judy lays on the altar.
Yellow drips from her thumbs -
Ochre oozes from her ears.
The anvil, the hammer, and a river of light
enter Judy’s mouth, silently.










Judy could you sit across from me for a meal the length of a candlewick the length of
time the circumference of an entirely average apple the height of the snow the diagonality
of a flat screen of the the earth that old cow, the length for you to fill with hot pulp and release












The sky geometric: Judy, finished, then stands, pats the sides of her legs two times and says, "Atlas." Usually, those who watch her do this have watched her do it many times, and are therefore unfazed. Those for whom it is a new sight are blades of grass, which are new every year and cannot be expected to remember what Judy does. They see her do a great many things of which their writings do not make sense. Grass goes to church, asks the sun if they understand (they say 'Mhm'), but still cannot make here nor there of it. So, as they say, it goes.








We walk down a road, Judy holding peanuts and I a jar
She pops them in her mouth, one by one each time a crowd
cheers a crowd jeers a crowd demands that Judy take one more scarf,
unwrap it from her body one additional square millimeter of
skin flesh land unparceled like peanuts








off the spoon, Judy licks honey/presses honey against her
tongue/sticky lips parted decimally-
Judy eats honey, okay!
I feel blossomy, despite all. Judy digs it up.
In me, there Judy died with a shovel in her
clutched mountains.
I would stop if I really believed the bottom layer meant the bad thing.
I wonder if I could write a poem without myself in it?
I probably wouldn't like it very much.  forgetting
Judy, she is my friend/abides by my laws. I don't
say that/I make her a bed so she can warm and grow,
blot the unders of my palms with honey napkins, am crying into her.
Judy knows. Judy nods.











Judy the distance I feel from the world is the millimeters between an banana and its peel.