'12

(Just a little reflective piece)

It was the year of clay underneath my fingernails. The year of handwritten goodbyes, the year of alcohol, of gazebos, of blue-eyed angels in trench coats, of chartreuse cardigans and lemon water. The year of peppermint tea at two in the morning, poinsettias that made me cry, of bedside lamp sonatas. The year of stubborn Chinese food, pizza box jokes and carpeted misogyny. The year of words, of nostalgia, of letters to Chicago and breakfast beignets in New Orleans. The year of endings but also of many beginnings.

Savage

She said you wanted to wrap the moon in a tortilla and I might have agreed if I believed in Mexican food. You told me it tasted like room temperature. Or like the coldness from behind the sun. No, I cannot see the sun from behind my rose-tinted glasses, but they’re the only ones I own. Dollar store hookers propose I join them for coffee after their shifts but I say no, the bitter beans of java never felt good to my tongue. But they wanted to philosophize. Kierkegaard never had as many fifties as the men in the station wagons lined up for their drive-through happy meals. I cannot help but stare at the coldness of your collarbone. It turns away with you behind it.

Babylon

the swollen dancing
like
sweat     dances
slick, baby
pushing palms to flesh to
the fantastic bright dark
wave surging electric
pulses
plug me in      to it the
circuit    might probably     might
burn up/   burn us.
your body was meant
to conduct electricity.

forgiveness

Words build character

and I am a novel.

I cross-checked the Jesus cross

but it was made of countertop formica

and the children

no, the family pets

prayed to it anyway

the pile of firewood

looked like a child in prayer

I could hear the sound

of celestial joints snapping

it sounded like

forgiveness.

[The day we met]

The day we met

I was trying to

forget the love

I had left

almost 5 years

the day before

but still couldn’t

let go of.

You didn’t/

still don’t

know I was

ready to make

a mistake

I wouldn’t regret

but

you told me

about your

ex-boyfriend

and instead

I asked

if you had ever met him.

1693

At 15,000 feet I get reflective.

There’s a wildfire outside my cabin window

Should I tell the captain?

The stewardess just said my seat can be used as a flotation device.

I wonder what it would like

to float on the Mississippi River

with my seat as my savior.

The Indian woman peels a Clementine to eat with her curry.

She’s watching a video on care of exotic birds

and I can’t help but think she’s a stereotype

and wonder if she knows it as well.

Outside the winding snakes of progress weave stitches through flatlands.

                                                                  If I fell

                                                                       would you catch me?

Reasons

Because life. Because orange and definitely because blue.

Because the river outside the window ran dry. Because I said so.

Because the distance between my elbow and my wrist to my elbow to my shoulder.

Because hurt. Because noodles need water.

Because hitting the ground hurts. Because yes. Because no.

Because the sky turns gray sometimes. Because paper yellows after years.

Because blankets and apples and pears.

Because people forget sometimes. Because of things, porque cosas.

Because words are powerful. Because coca-cola fizzes like battery acid.

Because there are a million reasons why, but only one against.

[That was the year I wanted to end it.]

That was the year I wanted to end it. You know what. All the water in the world couldn’t keep me happy then. The man had chipped his tooth trying to kiss Oscar Wilde’s grave. Amaretto kisses among friends. Only when my teeth were cracked could I see the sun. It shined on days I’d never seen before. Goldfish scales shined a brilliant maroon. And more and more, life continued on. The roommate laughed at the wall and called it a lamp post. The foul smoke reminded me of machinery exhaust. I walked for hours but only for minutes. I wanted to seduce you more than I could want you.  We watched Clue. And more and more, life continued on.

Cooper

you slink

around the room

nighttime ninja

dressed in space pajamas

belly-rumbling

Sandy

No,

the rain is

soothing to

my skin but

I’m not fond

of wet sneakers

tracking mud

on the floor.

Wind through the

shutters make me

shutter

into my body

aches.

Go back to

bed. There

is nothing to

see

here.

Take a

Polaroid of

oblivion

it’ll last longer.

Pour me

a cup

of earl

gray to

chase away

the cold.

I need

windshield wipers

for my glasses.

Maybe then

I’ll be able

to see

more than

five feet

ahead of me.

sandbox

you talked

of pills and lapsed friends

blinking sleep out of your eyes

I crushed dragon berries into tea

and poured cups, liberally

to chase night’s embrace from us.

[There are things I cannot tell you]

(inspired by Shane McCrae's collection of poems "Mule")

There are things               things    things I cannot tell you

I cannot tell you                                things    like         /Fear    

cannot bare        Fear yes fear      fear is    frozen

I listen to your words     gifts       behind glass

But I listen           cannot  touch    listen

Frozen words   

Listen to gifts     burned from lips

I cannot have you            but         it doesn’t matter

You are real        my          muse.

work in progress

When you love someone wrong, your heart

refuses to listen to reason. Instead

there is perched anticipation

in syllables meant for communication

but not really for what you want, right?

Answer: only if you continue to believe.

Sweat condescends in the orchids

gardens of ghosts. Popcorn kernels &

mint leaves. I know it’s

impossible, improbably, infeasible, indestructible

yet I persist. I cannot stop wanting

until you feel something or anything.

Meridian

I want
you to break
down that invisible
wall between us
and touch me
where the lines
of twine cross like
the line of the
Meridian
which sounds
like a girl
I used to know
in grade school
who could never
keep her
goddamn mouth
shut. She should
have kept it
shut more
often, instead of letting
it rattle.
My friends all have babies now
what does that make me?
I once liked
to steal
coins from the
street. I’d leave
them in my jean
pockets. And later,
only lint
remained.
I never
wanted to become
cynical, it just
happened to me
eventually
we all become cynical
don’t we?

six degrees

(an exercise in voice & associative movement, inspired by poet Eileen Myers)


I want
to eat
cheese puffs
all day
and not get
fat. Is it too much
to ask? I
know that they
are horribly
processed
a factory far
away from my
bedroom
is quiet and dusty
and I wonder
how far I have to
go to go somewhere
the six degrees
has never been.
I don’t want to
live a life where
I have to
worry all the
damn time
about things
only I care about.
Baths for no reason. Pomegranate
seeds in my tea. I want to tell
you that the chalk make-up
makes you look like a doll.
I hate dolls.
But there will be
dancing naked in the streets
when the fire goes out and
when the looters
stop breaking Lego skyscrapers
in front of children
their faces Halloween in December
and yes, I’m laughing
like I’m insane
prophesizing the end.
I will grow a
Jesus beard
and maybe then you’ll
believe my stories
and maybe then
we’ll finally
have some peace.

Shortbread and marmite

There’s a street in New York City
where it doesn’t feel like the city usually does
and poets spit nonsense truths
that make more sense than religion.
Let’s eat day old bread with tea
and run screaming through the streets with
eternity at our backs
and Nike’s on our feet.
We’ll buy strangers shortbread and marmite
the virulent strumpet Sally wants lemon meringue
and we’ll cry, but we’ll buy her an entire pie
and write poems
to try and understand
what it all means.

a love note

I want to touch you
Where the lines of your body converge
Enfold and unfold myself around
the circumference of your latitude.
Speak to me in whispers; let the sound of your words
fall off your tongue.
Bubbles through my body
float inward.
Wrap me deep within your arms
until I cannot see anything else but you.

A Day in the Life

To his wife
Pour me down your long legs
twisted like a secret
hiding eternity between your thighs
talk slow and let the coffee get cold
and we’ll stew a while.

To her husband
Shave off that day’s scruff
unless you intend to use it to scrub the dishes.
Softly, speak in whispers,
let the house echo silence
and I’ll make you your damn coffee.

Anatomy

Might actually be
The only difference
Between you
And me.

Touch.

Make me feel that my skin is skin.
Trace letters on my skin
Then erase them again
With your thumb and forefinger
Please touch.
My body is a mechanical system
Straining against heavy weights
Turn them off.
My mind is running wild
Thoughts flashing too fast to catch
Shut them down.
Reach out and cross that barrier
That separates you and me.
I want you.
Whisper beautiful lies into my ear
While your hands do the real talking.
Touch me.
Touch and make me remember.
Touch and make me forget.

halo

i screamed
and fire ripped from my mouth
burned my tongue
scorched my lungs
and all it did
was crown you
with a halo of smoke.

The Starfish

(10 lines in syllabic meter)

Arms,
stretched and open,
hugwater’s sandy underbelly;
a celestial gift
in its five point symmetry as

deep
as the blue
ocean is wide. Oh, you create a
motherly affection
that other creatures wish they had.

untitled

It was the day the black pen ran red
And pencil was replaced by pen.
The day that the night was brighter than the sun
I'm awake
And my mind
It's tired of wandering....

hurricane

What's it like? my thoughts, hurricane offspring whirl around me circling and cycling grounds shift around me, words go mute but mouths keep moving hands shake, hearts race I am left panting, recieving liquid courage that I don't need to fight it but it pours into me and I'm dizzy, I'm angry, I'm confused I want it to end, make it end, please stop the hurricane I can't keep going like this, make it stop. Make. It. Stop. And it does but it never feels like it will. So, it's like a hurricane twisting and turning and it feels like it will never end. It's a hurricane but within my own mind.

childish drawings

there's a faint trace on my skin of your childish drawings and they won't come off no matter how hard I try to scrub myself clean.

All I can hope for

All I can hope for is everything to come together and it has to be on its own. I really hope it will without me trying so goddamned hard to do it. But I wish I could bump it in the right direction.

i hate rhyming, why does this rhyme?

there are secrets hidden within hearts
that only need a gentle push to restart
there are words of sincerity
that won't be said, they are a rarity

there are so many things
things unclear
but alas, they exist
so embrace them, my dear

dancing on tripwire

(these were written seperately, but somehow, I feel like they were meant to be together.)


dancing on tripwire
tumbling through minefields
her life is an hourglass
pushed to the edge of the table

----

she laughed as the world burned around her
dancing naked among the ashes
kicking her feet in the air,
spraying the sky with dust
her arms outstretched
beckoning armageddon.

Proveyer of words

(here's one of my latest pieces, it's a slam poem, so, it might be formatted a little odd, because of how it's spoken outloud)

I am not the most masterful, fantastical proveyer of words
I am merely a vessel, a transubstantiating vessel
Contained by flesh, skin and bone, meat to speak
speak and be heard they once said, well all of them are now dead,
dead along with dreams, one I half-remember, even
maybe something about ballet shoes, a tutu, a dress…
but, I digress.
I do not create
create would be to procreate, masticate and reverberate
reverberate the syllables, the dialogue, the diction,
Don’t forget the hyperbolic friction!
It isn’t about the words
Las idiomas que…
Oh English, I’d say is my forte
but then again, I’d have to say
I’m not the best proveyer of words.

soul-less smile

I wish I could be your pretty little doll
wrapped up not only in cloth but patience
and determined to please you
with a soul-less smile.
Because I've never been that porcelein figure
nor have I seen myself ever become one
or become one.
Because what you want
is a trophy
who sits on the shelf and smiles
smiles and smiles all day
and you feel like you put that smile there
and only take me out
on a rainy day.

untitled

I try so hard
only to fall down again
hitting every stair on the way down.

They say blood is thicker than water.
I beg to differ.
Gasoline is definitely thicker
and lights much easier.

silver

we are, silver
our bond, hidden
beneath half-smiles and half-lies
truth revealed only out of necessity
and perhaps love.
we are the quiet sufferers
will we leave our warm, comfortable dens
for the coldness that we knows awaits.
we know who we are.