that’s deep – a me/ducation

see, when i say that’s deep i mean what u just said will leap off the page, is the tip of a peak so i lean, glean, pulling your fins, reining you in by the skin on your temple’s bling not gold just perfect eyebrows swooshing in come sing softly, move towards me and whisper that beat from your heat to my need over peat moss and leaves crossed and train tracks and brain wrecks blank checks on bounced decks i brought you the key but u had me before on that chain lost my train of thought strain that caught salmon king on sisal string as humpbacks sing and swangsters swing to the drum of my ears’ fears anxiety pierces the walls of trust so i must run up that hill until my pump is still and my breath can chill at 2 degrees looking down on myriads of atomic insomniacs wearing lilacs on leather straps dancing on seedy laps taking them under wraps folding skin into wax bees knees bend easily breezy and sleazy don’t know what it means to geave and leave and be a fiend to sheeet but urban diction taught me today that kick rocks means get lost and that there are seven ways to say fuck you and not all are rude and then there is “holla” which should come with intonation guides for definition number six alone prides three unrelated meanings:

1. hello.
2. i want to get all up in your goodies. who says that?! or, number 3. good bye. this serves as a prelude to all sorts of deluded combabulations and funfaktations slice of life lice are rife use your tongue like a knife on this blithe fakadillio ~ i’m your wyfe4lyfe if u can handle the strife kiddo life in ak is not your average game watching hulu as i skin a moose with my ulu and when i hear strip i see little malls losing grip on small business economy unless you are living subsistence there’s no true autonomy in this wily land we measure wealth and treasure by the pleasure we get from breathing ice fog parting blizzards like floetic wizards eating salmon dog call ’em chum or chinook our gargantuan kings rocking rings of black ’round their bellies when kiluitchaq* is cooking fireweed jellies in august we swing our hoops those 5 foot loops of gillnet still wet a day after the run comes in at the resting mid july sun waves of sockeye thrash by roll and rock my neoprene too fly oversize suit; i’m not sure why it seems like there’s nothing more sexy than that salmon heart flexing and beating for seven more minutes in my hand severed yet committed to ending the journey not on this gurney of white plastic coolers but spawn grounds upstream will never be graced with this buck salmon’s semen but i gotta go and get my flow from the arctic glow of aurora at night as my northern starr gleams thru the seams of our night sky universes standing by meteors fly as i lie on the snow looking up to see why we would think to be so special do you know?

*inupiaq: lock