Frustrated, Le Jennifer Imagines a Fantasy Land

Of all the places I don’t remember
Demonhorse is the cloudiest
Yellow lungs that dangle
From crisp March branches
Excellent horses with whisps of yellow mane
Yellow frogs on the knuckles
Of a slippery river stone

The horseshit keeps coming.
Places have no images, not
In the least. A memory is a folded princess
Gown in the yellow oakwood chest
Place is a death for the poet to think
When ideas are stripped
To their bare motions. Jesus.

The horseshit keeps coming.
Mother told me I should go back
To selling real estate. I wish