Daydreaming is roller-skating backwards to a couples’ song with a red jean banana bag—alone, not thinking—tons of lights on iodine-looking walls. Wallflower girl couples and the County Fair daisies, roses on their cheeks crack when she goes by so her banana bag spills: broken roll-on strawberry gloss, bummed bong, red twelve-toothed pocket comb, thong.  Cunty cunts!  You’re lucky I’ve got a peace sign carved into my ankle. 

.  .  .

Daydreaming they’ll all turn down the rollaway cot, they’ll comb the cinder block hovels, the hollow, then the mountain fog—get cut up in blackberry thickets she put a spell on—all night for her:

1) her eating the nuts off a beech
2) her eating the nuts, carpenter ants the falling beech
3) nutshells and lines of eating carpenter ants daydreamed from a     
    hollowed-out beech
4) beech stump, Blue Dream spray-paint, redheaded woodpecker, crushed              
    Colt   
5) couldn’t she just count crows—fake crows made from coat hangers and 
    pantyhose—all day at the fog line until she falls off

.  .  .

She can get mean-feeling when she gets looked at a little long. Daydreaming is shining deer with a jacklight. Lit, shining whitetail from a truck jacked-up on concrete blocks, on tire rims and 2×4’s. Freezing doe eyes with a jacklight from a chalky bed, chalk of deep woods volcanoes with a boy, or two.

.  .  .

High in a red bra and thong swimming all night in the motel swimming pool inside the padlocked chain-link that cuts into her thighs under the unlit motel swimming pool sign. Swimming pool inside the bad luck chain-link like a sky: milky clouds circling her thighs, toy airplane bumping the steps, beach ball sinking.