When I first heard that cats were stuffed in poison boxes
“For the sake of physics!”
And that I was being pulled by particle puppeteers
Bending at the will of the quark queens
I wanted to snip the invisible strings
That entangled me into time-
      My brain is plastic, but not that plastic.
But we all know that no thread means dead,
And with the closing of shears comes the closing of years,
So somehow I have to accept the entwinement of time,
Calling it an envelope versus suffocation,
Embracing my identity as another fish in the net.
My life is a tumultuous tumbling into truth
So I’ll bite-
     I’ll let it wrap its layers around me.
After all, I’m no stranger to strange connection;
If I ever have time to spare,
I turn apples to eyes and hearts to metal
in the matter of a nanosecond.
But how can I meet a stranger
And call it love
In a picosecond?
How can I stretch into the sundae of sky
With stars scattered like sprinkles
And reach the caramel core of connection?
This isn’t one scoop of constellation confetti, please-
It’s not as simple as a cup or cone.
This is the sticky saltwater taffy
Before it is wrapped into ribbons.
So I grab my hammer and go to town.
It’s not easy, and sometimes
My neurons want to melt
dri
     p  p
    i
        ng
Down the page
But I grit my teeth and demand
The particles to stop propagating
For one second
And talk to me as a galaxy pedestrian.
They tell me that
The only way to see my string
Is to sit with you.
And with what time?
With no notepad?
With nothing but two forces
Tied together with
Nothing but coffee in between?
These particles can’t process
Time constraints, deadlines, schedules.
I sigh, and I try anyway.
When suddenly I am not on your sofa
But your rollercoaster
The thread of our souls made visible
With each dip and dive, each loop and lurch
You give me a piece of your world.
And suddenly we are not strangers
And tugging at heartstrings
Means something new
The layers of universe
Lead me to you.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"
No, you shall not!
I already know I am lovely
But I am more tumultuous than temperate
And I prefer the icy chill of January versus
The darling buds of May
Sorry!
But any eternal summer you see within me
Shines for someone else
Any gold complexion that you see
Contains my words of lover's wealth
But it does not sparkle for you!
I apologize for the unrequited affection
But I think your Shakespeare needs correction
If Juliet is the sun from the East
Then I am strictly from the West
No roses in my lips or cheeks
Face flushed from cold at best.
So save your sonnets and your rhymes
For another girl at another time
I will be stuck in the winter's shade
Bearing icicles unafraid
But if you and your lover's lines
Saunter over and take a seat
I must let you know I shall have to go
And into the night I will retreat.

You have scooped out the sky’s stars
Scattering them into sparkle soup
Compressing them into a can
That crackles when I crack it
I often think of how
You sit so sweetly on my shelf
Cold and crisp, you patiently perspire
How you cover my tongue in twinkles
And coat my throat in glitter
My lips fascinated by your fizz
Bubbles on my breath
And spangles as I swallow
Oh, La Croix
There are few things
That bring me as much joy
As sipping on your summertime
And seeking you in supermarkets
How I long to reunite with your refreshness
For you cure my carbonated cravings
Through your effervescent ecstasy  
With a hint of lime.

I knew it was bad when my fingernails were ringed
with red
as I ran them over ribbons and excused myself
from confetti cake to make them
redder.

my head was burning
a sparkling candle burning
my hands were yearning
a spazzing sticking yearning

my family was singing
a muffled stifling singing
my ears were ringing
a loud ear-piercing ringing

sing
ring
sting
stop stop stop my scalp is stinging

Nothing was clear until my fingernails
were red
and coated with pieces of my head:
rubbed raw and picked clean
You’re telling me
this is something you haven’t seen?

It doesn’t make sense because:
I don’t put pencils in a perfect pristine line
I don’t count my cheerios before I can dine
I can turn the lights on and off just fine
but my fingernails
are red
and apparently that’s a sign.


I can tell you where
every single pinprick lives
and spreads fire down my scalp
into my brain
How it tells me
your math homework can wait
save me
or you’ll go insane

My nails are short
but still red
My brain is intact
but still missing its head

Oh, how I could See the Disorder in a
demented disturbed decision
to forfeit my favorite vanilla cake
for blood

stop stop stop, i’m begging you, brain

you can’t stop; you know you need pain
leave me alone, and you’ll go insane.

my mind is muddled mush
scrambled to eggs
from filling up on
mind-numbing affairs
snoozing sedentary sores
and piling up on couch potatoes
eating up seconds
in a Netflix solo party haze
brain over-binging
and melting in the
lack
a
daisical
days
heart restless from resting
and raging from being robbed
walking the dog
to get some "fresh air"
but the road is the same
empty and sad
and if anything
the up down, up down
stop sit go, stop sit go
insensates my thoughts more
until it becomes a
swirling mash of sorrow
and bittersweet bric-a-brac
every article, every email
strikes a match that flickers out
but if it catches a wick,
it erupts, although quick
and anger devours my body
and my brain s c r e a m s
and screeches for escape
each lobe pounding
and punching
my nerves on fire
that dies as fast as it started
and then i'm back
waking to reading to running to dying
oily and oleaginous
all my ponders
pounded back into pulp
my horrible macerated mind

Start by hitting snooze
Twice for good measure
Leave the house just a few minutes later
Turning right into a jam
A thick, slow traffic jam
Viscous car molasses
But much less sweet
Sit there for a second
Simmering in sweat
Your blood begins to boil
Your hands begin to clench
Grip the steering wheel
Watch the clock tick time away
Curse your screeching alarm
Curse the convertible in front of you
Curse Monday mornings
Curse anything but yourself
Know that screaming at the cars
Won’t make that red turn green
But do it anyway
Honk your horn
Flash an unfavorable finger
To the vehicles doing the same to you
How is it rush hour
When everything is lagging
Your will to move is sagging
Roll your eyes at the radio
Wishing listeners a good morning
Oblivious to your mini meltdown
Once you can peel away
And break through that barrier
Sprint down that street
Swerving aggressively
Whip into the parking lot
Pretend your throat isn’t hoarse
And your knuckles aren’t white
Go about your day
Get excited for tomorrow morning
Tuesdays are better
Right?

You are stranded in a sea of people

Battered bodies that generally

Bob up and down until you cannot see

Who was just to your right and what

Shoes they were wearing as they

Are swept away by the swell when you look

Through thick throngs that search for

Someone slow to swallow whole and

Chew and churn until you hear

The suppressed screams of stragglers, but what

Did they expect to find when they

Wandered into the waves? Did they not listen

To the warnings? Is this not what they asked for?

To start your mornings with
blood on your hands
smearing across pages
is
incriminating
and inspiring
And you must know
if you were to slice open
my veins would also
spill black fountain ink
If you were to sever my tongue
my hands would speak
for me
Go ahead and gouge my eyes
I can still see
And when I die I desire
to be cut as a cadaver
All the words visible
under paper-white skin
so they will know, too.
I do not aspire to be a skeleton
with brittle bones
I want blood
to pour with every pinprick
of a pilot pen pressed
on a page
But blood makes people squirm
Blood makes people gag
so I intend to
leave this world
with a crime scene behind me.
Let them shake and shudder
for they know not
the life they’ve lost
They live in fear of papercuts
and I carve myself open
again and again
And I will continue to
until I bleed out
and my ink dries up
If it sounds violent it’s
because it has to be
The world could use a
few more bloodstains
Makes it more uncomfortable
Makes it more interesting.

she
       was
              sharper
                            than
                                    shards
                                                of
                                                    icicle
                                                             glass

she is put together
twenty-four seven
breath of peppermint
perfume of floral heaven
she is perfectly mannered
exceptionally kind
you'd never notice
everything else on her mind
she is incredibly smart
her words are so witty
tied off with a ribbon
just to make them look pretty
she is never not smiling
all happy-go-lucky
the best mask to put out
when her days are just sucky
she is friendly to all
personality of bubbles
the kind of person who wants
you to forget all your troubles

but she is more than just
a tin of altoids always on hand
a spritz of marc jacobs to make her smell grand
a perfectly proper dollop of grace
an unworried smile on an unconcerned face
a paper fine-tuned and turned in on time
a colorful poem with many-hued rhymes

she is constantly tired
a string ball of stress
sometimes she can't be bothered
so today her hair is a mess
she is sometimes unhappy
sometimes stuck in the pain
so being silent and distant
might help keep her sane
she is incredibly stubborn
needs to have the last line
born with a hard nose
she refuses to resign
she is not so perfect
she will constantly fail
but if there's one thing she is
it's someone who will prevail

yes, she is a can of la croix
and all things filled with joy
but silver packages all wrapped
can keep treasures trapped
so take her as she is
all the sour and sweet
because without all these things
she wouldn't be complete.

electric touch

begin again

fearless

everything has changed

cruel summer

come back...be here

the very first night

august

-an entry from the National Library of Medicine National Institutes of Health-

processes protruding
excitatory synapses
cerebral circuits
dendritic differentiation

growth is     s         lo           w.

a complex dance, unfolding of a blueprint; how do we understand this dance?

stress stress stress stress stress learn grow develop stress stress stress stress stress

the brain is sensitive! plastic changes are not all permanent
                                 permanent
                                 permanent

choose...you­r...psychomotor stimulants!
amphetamine
*******
nicotine

choose:
gray or white matter
schizophrenia or drug addiction
ADHD or depression

the brain structures will not be changed;
pathological plasticity = pathological pain

                                                           ­                      not all plasticity is good
just like a sculptor
who creates a statue
with a block of stone
and a chisel
to remove the unwanted pieces

in vivo → cell death

Live on.
And find ways to crack
                                         the
                                              dawn.

Les Roses de Saadi by Marceline Desbordes-Valmore

J'ai voulu ce matin te rapporter des roses;
Mais j'en avais tant pris dans mes ceintures closes
Que les noeuds trop serrés n'ont pu les contenir.

Les noeuds ont éclaté. Les roses envolées
Dans le vent, à la mer s'en sont toutes allées.
Elles ont suivi l'eau pour ne plus revenir.

La vague en a paru rouge et comme enflammée.
Ce soir, ma robe encore en est toute embaumée . . .
Respires-en sur moi l'odorant souvenir

The Roses of Saadi by Marceline Desbordes-Valmore

I wanted to bring you roses this morning;
But I had closed so many in my sash
That the knots were too tight to contain
them.

The knots split.
The roses blew away.
All blew off to the sea,
borne by the wind,
Carried to the water, never to return.

The waves looked red as if inflamed.
Tonight, my dress is still perfumed.
Breathe in the fragrant memory.









Eau de parfum: mémoire en bouteille
by Grace Haak

The remembrance reverberates.

I see a silk sash stuffed with splendor
Trinkets collected from a local vendor
Knots ******* as if a form of art
Thorns pressed up against my heart
But for you, I’d pierce my soul.

The recollection resonates.

I feel wind entangle my hair in twists
Matted and messy from soft sea mist
Dripping and damp from a walk too far
Only thought is getting to where you are
But for you, I’d run forever.

The reminiscence resounds.

I smell a sweet scent of rose
The kind that always tickles my nose
Stuck in an overpowering haze
A sickly aroma drags me into a daze
But for you, I’d plant a garden.

Sometimes, when I forget to forget you
I leave the sea with crushed petals
and stained hands.
The blood on my hands
is yours.

I’ll wither and wilt,
wondering why
you left all your flowers
when you said goodbye.

When I knock back my own perfume,
the roses re-echo
he loves me he loves me not he loves me he loves me not

Poor girl. He doesn’t even give you a thought.

She was a warm summer night
Nothing could compare
To the tints and shades in the clouds
Like the streaks of color in her hair.
She was as serene as a sunset
Nobody knew why
She bled words of poetry
Like the colors that bleed into the sky.
She was a beaming gleam of light
None knew what to say
About the sunshine in her veins
Like the end of a golden day.

past rows of cookie-cutter houses
the left bike path gives way
to the red metal playground
where my brothers and i lived
our dad chasing us
hiding in the tube of the slide
spending hours on our spaceship
jedis outsmarting darth vader and the dark side

the stretches of field
lace their ways around the street
like the green apple sour belts
we ate until our tongues hurt
watching pick-up games
my brother and his basketball wins
dribbling with his friends
while lemon popsicles dribbled down our chins

the giant lake
filled with brightly colored kois
storks serenely standing out on rocks
i sang to them as if they listened
water rushing into our ears
balancing on a worn-out waterfall
everything man-made
and everything beautiful

the burnished blacktop
not a blemish in sight
no cars barreling down the road
our wheels would glide so silently
racing up and down smooth street
so shiny it hurt your eyes
pedaling and peeling away
if you go fast enough you could fly

the lamppost on the corner
carved into by kids
generations of neighborhood
gone as we grow up
and yet the light was never lost
the pink sky fades to dark
but to revisit and recollect
is just a walk in the park

i want to shower you in sugar
and unleash the spate of syrup
but that might be too strong
i want to give you candied comments
and reveal all my honeyed hopes
but i'm afraid that could be wrong
i have all these citrus suckers
and balmy butterscotch
and treacly truffles
i would give them all to you
but i don't want you to get sick
of me and all my candy

it's white
so pure
so fresh
so clean
so tell me why the red that flows
looks like a scar, so mean?
it's sparkly
so fluffy
so new
so light
so tell me why the red that flows
looks just like blood, so bright?
it's racing and racing
and flowing and falling
leaves a scrape and a streak
as it runs down the peak
a strange sled of red
down a white snowy head

i sit there and wait
until you get up and leave
kitchen is now safe