A Rosy Balm

Why not turn a day in the sun into
sitting forlorn in the corner of your basement?
You knew you should love crystals,
acupuncture, chia pudding at the Silicon Valley
wellness summit, the message of

brands like this: Intensive Yoga in Tulum.
Buh-Bye, Beach Beer. Boot Camp on Acid.

Superior beings shop the new collection every day.
What you need to talk about right now: swimwear,
a sizzling summer scorcher, this season unfolding

in threads of fashion, a sharp meditation
on California mysticism, New York mystery.
In a basement, drawing all over the wall.


Soothing, Fresh Marine Minerals

I’m a realist about these things on my doorstep.
I was complaining about my zebra. Call me Emily.
It’s important that you know the doctor’s mouth,
apparently. The first product I tried was minty,
Jennifer. Vacation in a Tube. Remember the safe,
golden beads of nongreasy sleep? Just keep cool,
ocean jewel. Not too pristine—a smudge, a balm.


She Was Faced with Skepticism

Everybody discouraged women in our culture.
Beauticians earned minimum wage, pivoted to
the obsession. Lustrous hair, frizz-free style.

We deliberated: Summer complexions or

supermodels, naturally superb, ever evolving?
Bravo for the unchanged. I have a big crush
on this chap, baby. Plenty of options for all.


I’m Obsessed with the Treehouse

I’m all for long, hot lazy days, seaweed
and tongue-scraping. It’s a deluge

of a different kind: We’re all glamorous,
jewel-toned. The queen herself just added,
“Acid is right for you—smells like roses.”

We’re catching the elephant that might
be gentle enough for a drink of water.

I’m holding onto my hat—the speed is
intoxicating. I’m here for just 36 hours.
Time is limited, it appears. Even richer.


My Perfect Day Would Begin

I was willing to share my dinner with your skin.
Maybe it’s a laid-back birthday, a reflection
of all you’ve accomplished, a tabletop vignette,
an indoor garden for everyone to enjoy together.

A home that gleams. A fast, easy shine. Gasps

of your postal code. In Iceland, they’re rocking the
anchor, the notion of compromise, a sultry warmth
no matter how you sleep. My dimples speak volumes
from abroad. It’s humid in Taiwan—dreamy, bold.

Discover your mermaid glitter, daily kickboxing,

a multistep routine, morning and brighter looks
for a while, the sexiness that creeps on the street
to ask what I know. When I want to feel power-
drunk, I paint a cascade of glitter, Sunshine.


The Fake Ad, the Doctored Images

Sitting on a pink lawn chair, sitting on a dusty air conditioner.
Throughout the day, the morning moves slowly. Visit the motel.

Sunlight pours in, searching for something to fill the dark.
I keep myself busy with this: some sleep, a box of Starbucks.

In a more subdued mood, pacing around a dark motel room,
I became that girl, juggling enough, writing a horror movie,

a duet with Beyoncé. I know I’m not doing shit. No doubt.
Proof of life, a lesson in human behavior. I’m not ashamed.


These Men—They’re Everywhere

You just try to pick them. That man won’t be able to
agree with unpredictable evil. She looks evil in the eye.
With a hoodie over her head, she might wear jeans.
These guys look like normal people. Why couldn’t she
be something? She hopped on the plane with a camera,
to get to Mexico. In the middle of her first motel, she
leans of the shoulder of a deputy available for sex.


Dressed in a Puma Tracksuit

As soon as I say something, it’s the end of the world.
What are you really mad about? We are out here
birthing people, running shit in a curse-filled tirade.
I would see her writing after work and before work,
battling at parties, making mogul moves. It’s almost
a shame, your own story. The possibilities double:
It takes two cobwebs on a Hollywood set, a war.


My Digital Page-Views Quota

I kept thinking there has to be a better way to
attract women. An experiment: On the park bench,
I lean in, get a temporary life for a few hours.

I rarely meet a corporate leader with skilled workers
watching our kids play. We can create a misunderstanding.
A horse has a bit less of a direct connection to your life.

In the beginning, all you have is yourself, a breath.
Imagine being pregnant—that shouldn’t be the triumph,
the bushfire season, all hands on deck, 13 weeks along

and battling to bring about more new life. Certain trees
need flames, Angie. They just wanted to fly their fight.
We can be scantily clad and liquored-up alter egos.


Your Skin, Après Beach

Wake up. Discover the taste for life in airy May.
Eternal beauty unfolding, a peek into threads of
a new feeling. See of-the-moment obsessions,
these two terrors. I couldn’t stop them—I wish
that I had. Wake up. Keep swimming, earthling.
Discover the taste for life by the seashore. May
is the timepiece, your sundial, only timeless.

It’s a new month, which means it’s time for a new magazine. This time, it’s Marie Claire. One thing I’ve noticed right away is that it’s the first magazine I’ve seen that acknowledges COVID-19 in its editor’s message, though most of the content was written so far in advance that it creates an alternate universe of art exhibits, expensive clothes, and fun in the sun. To buy this magazine, I went to our local Walgreens on the first day that covering our faces in stores is mandatory in my state. Yes, I bought essential items, too, but shopping for a fashion magazine while wearing a bandanna and trying not to offend with my physical presence felt otherworldly and almost made me cry.