Bald tires spin wildly.
Plashes of gravel splattering
Upward through a wash of pewter
And drizzle bedraggles
A wintry Georgian dawn.


I negotiate the precarious curves
Black pines furled with kudzu
To deliver a letter scrawled in red
Ink on blue-lined notebook paper, fringes
Haggard, just barely hanging on.


The letter refused to be
Delivered at a reasonable hour.
This rash panegyric, scribbled
By lamplight at 3 AM
Sprouted prickly dreams like cotton bolls.


I wedged this pillow against my chest
But Melancholia took hold, gently pressed
Her feathery lips to mine. The taste
Lingered chalky sweet like cigarette candy
Drawing the bated reason from my lungs:


I long for you. Light streams from a bay
Window, cutting tulles of darkness
Like chunks of pie. Coffee mug in hand
You brush aside the damask curtain
Straining to see who's so bold

Rumbling up your drive before
The tinkling clink of the milkman.
Beyond the sedge, between my ears
Always this accursed searching
For some trace, some sign:


Four-wheel drive, an eggplant laugh
Soft bourbon sticky fingers
Let's take a bath…Fuck
I always forget myself 
Only to be stricken by emotion.


I bound from the car, ignore
Your gaze. I scale
My anxieties two by two. I arrive
At your door but refuse to knock.
I slip the blank white sheath


Through the storm door
Then disappear.
The note in abstract:
I am generally depressed about everything
Because I'm tangled in kudzu.


Tangled in kudzu,
Tangled in 'cause you
Tangled in because of you?
Rendered inept and wanting you.