few new words, here.
just the punk scene-
feral, free.
and the accompanying
knowledge that
others battle the tide, too,
mouths as salty with sea water.
others
giving to become,
dancing in the trenches,
transported beyond classroom cubicles
by the music of
celestial fabrics,
of me,
of me meeting you,
of whispers from the lips of
God.
we all set up shop there,
use intermittent sunlight
to grow and sell our bluebells,
our quirky flower children.
we all capture
the poetry of moments,
all maroons
in cozy sanctuaries
rich
with the music of
intuition, of
loss of pride, and
old book smells.
How Much Time
do i need for me,
really?
i want to sleep nights on Central Park benches.
i want to buy a bookstore.
i want to feel a horse between my thighs.
i want to drape myself in Moroccan silks.
Simple Solutions,
i'd like you to meet
Bureaucratic Barricades.
is there real need
for the two sides
to every coin
buried in bank vaults
and sock drawers?
but vessels to be
filled.
i want to reform the public education system.
i want to become a nun.
i want to be in the darkness with you.
i want to see unicorns.
just being (t)here,
lost in idealism
and the lines on my palms.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 7:00 PM UTC
Why would I
wear heels on an airplane?
Bathrooms fill with
middle-aged women in tangerine
jackets. Calling Patience and
ordering salads from McDonalds.
I'm not wearing any makeup-
are you disenchanted by the hair
on my upper lip? More hair
than we know what to do with.
Hair
everywhere. Especially
down there. You know the places.
It was the night before I left
forever. Touching *******
in public places.
Now they're calling daughters in Anchorage and
becoming lactose intolerant.
So many places
to hide. Melting into
corners,
buying shadows from McDonalds.
3 and 1/2 hours, 3 and 1/2 months.
We can only sleep
in transitory places.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 6:56 PM UTC
Blank journals become
American novels and
pop songs.
****** ink commits everything to nothing.
Alone among girls giggling.
I don't want
children.
Those bedtime conversations before I sleep in my sleep.
Nightmare Before
moving words badly organized
come out the mouth
mouth
mouth and
eyes and color
Windy shorthand,
abbrev. days
appetizing crazy
interpreted tattoo
And Chinese food.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 6:55 PM UTC
promise to fill in the blanks and the stains
on your teeth -
that reckless kind of make-believe.
We'd eat each other if we had to
frame that ***** ****** or shove
it in
an arbitrary pocket.
We'd eat each other if we had to
wear vital organs on the outside
or choose between burning witches and the books we hate.
We'd eat each other if we had to
dream more words to describe
states of mind
and the juice of a nectarine running down your chin.
We'd eat them if we had to.
The love of being is not enough
to keep you in my bed.
The love of beings is not enough to buy a ticket to Turkmenistan.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 6:54 PM UTC
If I decided to peal paint off the upside-down radiator
for eternity,
I wonder if you would sit beside me
reading Wallace Stevens.
If I decided to nurse the convent garden bursts of peonies
for eternity,
I wonder if you would smuggle me some
David Bowie tracks.
If I decided to eat only fudge brownies and cherry Starbursts
for eternity,
I wonder if you would google gourmet
recipes for me.
If I decided to paint my own Walden in the Washington wild
for eternity,
I wonder if you would build a nightclub
next to my cabin.
If I decided to leap out airplane hatches and steal rodeo saddles and read my poetry out-loud
for eternity,
I wonder if you would be happily
married in Norway.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 6:52 PM UTC
Mouth
every mouth
every mouth breathes
every mouth breathes autumnal.
Every mouth breathes autumnal investigations.
Every mouth breathes autumnal investigations
tinged with sepia tones-
Torch trees
live in lazy desperation,
these last cider days
in burrows and blanket caves.
Heat in color - amber, saffron, goldenrod, maize.
Sepia tones
sepia tones tinged
sepia tones tinged with investigations.
Sepia tones tinged with autumnal investigations.
They see every mouth breathe.
See every mouth.
Mouths.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 6:48 PM UTC
Fiddlededee days devour the sparks of inspired nights.
Kindling the middle of winter afternoons, end too soon.
Here
and
Now.
Sometimes, it is good.
Ladies linger in the shower, shave their legs but blood is thick.
Paying for the middle of winter afternoons, end too soon.
There
and
How.
Sometimes, it needs enormity.
Yes, yet
Sometimes, it takes too long.
Buts
or
Ands?
Libraries of looks in lieu of winter afternoons, refuse to end too soon.
Libraries of discontent in ***** diaries, ***** living rooms.
Sometimes, it is something.
Whats
or
When's the clean part start?
Sometimes atoms seem enormous as winter afternoons refusing to end too soon.
Showers of sparks scratch ****** demarcations into rickety winter bones.
Sometimes, it is enormously good.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 6:43 PM UTC
we worried for Your s.a.n.i.t.y.
when Michael Bublé and Metallica
wore matching sailor suits. we warned You.
failed interventions toed the line
between crafted clichés and comprehensible,
misguided attempts to paste bits and pieces
of the Pyramids back together.
You know they were stolen, right?
the pharaohs were ****** — drunk on
the melodies of doorbells and
bits and pieces of clichés crafted at a Metallica concert.
brave the mosh pit.
You may catch a glimpse of
sarcophagi gleaming in torchlight.
don't lift the lid, for the love of
g.o.d.!
those sailor suits have been preserved for centuries.
"Do Not Disturb."
the doorbell
won't work now,
not now that Michael Bublé's bubble burst.
can You blame us for screaming into
microphones? maybe the bits and pieces of clichés You swept
into neat little piles after footfalls die down
torch-lit corridors will
shake the Pyramids.
at the very least, ring a doorbell.
"d.o. n.o.t. d.i.s.t.u.r.b."
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 6:34 PM UTC