Lucy in the Sky
Poems in Letters, parts 5, 6, 7


Dear Camille,

I read somewhere that dialogue is tongues-in-a-nest.

My tongue is wagging in my stomach & it wants to be scooped out. For a cluster fuck.
A closure fuck. A placement.

We'll practice breathing as you deviously surround my nipples with tiny barracuda.
Tunnel of air is all I'll have to kiss you with. I'll be nude then.

Your palm pressed to the mirror of my face,
I'll have nothing to say to that palm.
My pants need gathering & squishing.
I need your brainy ideas because you're... because I'm...
You are supposed to love me particularly, to pluck my plum. To wet fur me aside.
Everything else was just a sex toy.

lovingly,
Lucy



Dear Lucy,

I calm myself with magazines. 
Stare at you from the greatest distance I can imagine.
Your hands cup my tremble and I could piss
just from relief. That's my feeling.
It's invented & pleasureable & underage.

Tiny tongue marches in the welt
then whiplash, a joke stares before jumping.

Or something! Stuffed with plans and paranoia...

This is what I'll do:
I'll gather my interests into a Herd, 
& head for that valley of blood known as the brain.
I'll drag myself to the shore, flop by the water, suck a bottle of soda. 
I'll feel so complete, sunning at the beach next to my own guilty corpse
wherein appetites fester. 

Giving up... 
	...  a waffle between flattery and substance.

Opening my life to what's intelligible!

I always wanted to be a gangster but I guess I'm just a punk.


love, camille




Dear Camille,
So many little businesses ---  out in the world, etcetera. 
Who cares! I think about our slinking attraction,
everyone ignores it if they can. But it's the nugget of the story. 

Did I tell you what the boy said when I took him to the fireworks?
The adventure is in the sky. The adventure is falling down.

I thought you were the white legs in the grass
gleaming & moonlit. Seeping their whiteness. 
Or I was wrong.
Perhaps you were my miniature city 
& this room is my hole, with its greasy sheets
& queasy fantasies (slick this ending with regret). 

I took a mud bath & understood what was so great about being an earthworm 
With no problems & a brain as pure as a cloud.
If emotions aren't reality, what is?

Goodbye, architecture of my life ---

love, Lucy


camille roy