Joanna Oz

Joanna Oz Nov 2014

the factory workers of my prefrontal cortex
are on a raucous strike because,
the train chugging them to lunch breaks at my amygdala
has been broken down for days.
and the now strained relay of packets of faxes from this neuron
to the one all the way south on Abbey Lane,
is creating untold pressure for Wernicke -
so forgive me if i ask you to rephrase.

despite the absent hoarded salivating mouths,
the deli in my amygdala keeps on producing
thousands of ******* italian subs,
so now the place floods with grease-sweat from old meat
that would make a carnivore remit...
and it's seeping, leaking poison to Broca,
who is now refusing to explain herself
to the confused face projected on my retina's blurred screen.

the mitochondria housed in my somatasensory
are all comatose from last night's debauchery.
so everything is still,
numb to the touch
blank on the face
dead in the eyes -
unaware of the incessant twitching
that's rolling through my joints, muscles, skin, sore red thighs.

every nucleus of every cell
restarting again, again, again,
but rebooting isn't clearing the glitch in the system.
so just lie here with me,
broken machine to broken machine -
our hearts still glisten.

Joanna Oz Nov 2014

Indecision(Living in a Land of See-Saws)

my professor tells me that
'we often infer our attitudes through behavior
rather than direct action through intention'
so i'm picking apart
my every move - rewind, re-watch, repeat
the black & white play continuously fluctuates
through infinite shades of gray
as i'm retracing, re-reading between my swiveling lines
to interpret my flip flopping flightiness
i'm flitting across the floor
and my forward motion propels me backwards
into a merry go round of maybe, possibly, & sort of
blurred up & down, up & down, round & round
past decisions that I regurgitated
and now re-ingest to reinforce their meaning
but the recurrent ambivalence I taste
keeps my see-saw heart swinging
and i'd love to have a hand to hold
but all i'm finding are holes to sink into
and the blanket of darkness provides a comforting
lack of sight, but growth lies in the light
so i'll backpedal with all my might
hop on your rocket ship & take a deja vu trip
to the land of indecision where our hearts live.

Joanna Oz Nov 2014

"the moment you love, you are unlimited"

as the fingertips of my heart
reach out to yours, we intertwine -
I am you & you are I,
there is nothing that holds us separate
besides the illusory vision of our eyes.
so close your blinds on this physical plane
and open your intuition,
invite in another domain - infinite connectivity.
let your bruised ego stop playing its game
and join the endless chorus.
dare to put your spirit on display -
there is no jury, judge, or gavel here,
only open arms to grab ahold of
while the walls you've clung to fall away.
bask in your liberated weightlessness,
there is no fear in true selflessness
for a singular organism will not compete
but practice generosity to its full being.
your puzzle piece in this mosaic
is a morphing tapestry,
let the wave of colors wash over you,
soak in every brilliant change of hue,
and know that as you are in all of our hearts, all of our hearts are in you.

Joanna Oz Nov 2014

frozen flames feed a flowerbed

the breeze i stepped into
face first, head strong
whipped into an icy slap
on wet raw skin, burning cold.
frozen toes wiggle for friction
to warm the frostbite
off my instruments so i can
trip the light fantastic,
spin out my sorrow
through following the dance
beating within my bones - but,
my extremities are numbing
as a weak engine pumps in overtime
to keep the train rolling,
and circulation recoils
to a comfortable center of
stationary pulsating warmth,
restrained by fear of icy rejection
spit from a cruel peanut gallery.
oh, their words stick to me
wool strands on mangled velcro -
even when they retract,
the fibers remain embedded in claws
no hours of untangling can release.

instead i am craving hot heavy hands
to cradle the crumbs of this
disintegrating soul.
place them in a mason jar
to feed your withering interest,
but scraps won't satisfy
the starving growl of this monster,
so eat me up and spit me out
rearrange the goop
to create a picture on your plate
of guts and glory
that tell a sickening story
where the joke runs reversed
and the punchline hits you first -
followed by watered down
explanations for situations
you'll forget once you step through
that tavern door, hit the floor,
and spin round three times
dont look in the mirror
god forbid you utter a rhyme,
or reflections of forgotten ghosts
will rise from your glassy eyes...
quick! paint them over one, two, three times
with dusty excuses, tinkering
with time pieces to turn it all back
maybe this ride round
the cycle will snap back
into forward motion...
but intention begets direction,
and your heart is set on distraction by fire.
burn the sight from your eyes
so nothing but the smoke from flames
will rise into your mind,
smothering cries from olden times
that are calling you back to the order divine.
but here you are, fulfilling the prophecy
proclaimed by white men in black ties
standing six feet below, all in a row:
"well well little darling,
your house is in ashes
your feet stuck in the snow
who will you turn to? where will you go?
better run back into our arms,
where silent sedated clones grow."

just wipe the madness from your ears
open your eyes and see through the tears.
where your home was burned down
a cosmic garden was sewn,
and when the ground is watered
by the outpouring of your heart,
wildflowers and birch trees will sprout.

Joanna Oz Oct 2014

shedding skin

darkened dreams
lead to clouded thoughts
and misplaced steps
of hazy intention.

twisted down underneath
gilded dreams of demise
don't you let the demons rise
out from the land of maybes.

well this turned out exactly
how you thought it'd never be.
giggle and throw that heavy head back
now forward into another drag
of a cigarette laced with promises
of eternal pleasure, endless bliss -
you know it'll never be this color again.

the first is the sweetest darling -
all that follows is singed with
disappointment, or discontent.
pour another dissonant tone into my cup
and i'll drink it right up
drowning my expectations
in sweet, sensuous sorrow.

but hopes are easy to borrow,
and i'll sign up for two thousand
just to watch them fall again and again
into utter darkness-
i know the game of muffled secrets
too well to spill this toxic dump
so lets keep pushing the buttons, harder
til the pump steams in overdrive,
and my scarred scaly skin
is burned, cleansed, and shed.

Joanna Oz Sep 2014

untitled

cold sweat startled wake,
to blinding grey light
cutting through torn curtains,
splaying skeletal silhouettes on the floor.
squinting crusted-shut eyes,
trying to determine the ghostly hour
lost between fragmented fever dreams.
head twisting inside-out to wrap itself
around old virtues, stand true
true blue friend, I'll surely desert you in the end.
hand on my burnt Bible to swear
my oath of destruction,
on a war path to eradicate
everything i resurrected
as an effigy to home, love, and identity.
structural anarchy - from imposed symmetry,
to the empty abyss surrounding me
where a single whimper can bounce
off itself, into crescendoing agony.
gather all the rubbled remains
of the once sanctified temple,
but piling stones straight to the sky
won't build a shelter for the aftershock.

Joanna Oz Sep 2014

heavy hands, dark thoughts

heavy hands pressed
into hot skin, slick running
down to escape
a heady, spun mind firing blanks.

find forbidden release -
slide, push, grasp, bite,
moan into open spaces,
to fill empty pauses
of hesitation to ease frustration
through undulations crescendoing,
and breaking into staggered breathing.

covered heartbeats thump, flip-flop, flounder
under oceans tide rolling up to shore,
ensuring the footprints will recede
with the pounding waves, erase
all evidence of pointless bliss
into layers of sand,
churned over & over by ruthless repetition,
over & over into thoughtless submission,
over & over & over & over to climb over
the cliffs of insanity, jump with me,
to infinite depths of jagged teeth
crouching low to cut the heat spilled
by dilated pupils twitching to the driving beat
of some over-worked melody.

painting a precise manifesto
of a knife singularly longing
for supple curves of backs to lunge into,
and carve it's home from bone & sinew,
to nest & fester - rotten refuse.
a bed made of metallic missteps
and unspoken truths
it's only home when your heart is
shredding to fragmented shards
that wish to sink into their own kind.

but beware of the shadows
lurking behind the door marked "escape",
you can run from your monsters,
but you cannot fool fate -
your dark thoughts will inevitably manifest one day.