... were hair ...

Wish there were

stripes on my forehead

wrinkles on my legs

hair on the sky's face

Wish someone would

walk around this spider's web

plucking flowers for a barn,

picking their nostrils on a ship

Wish there's a cloud,

a crowd of rainy arguments

woozy with bassoony breaths

Wish you'd rest a little with me,

stripped of your bad old godforsaken

prudishness

and blonde hair.