i avoid pen and paper
i can't stand the sight of it
when i'm not able to get
the words out right

lately i'm an oldsmobile,
sputtering smoke and
coughing cogs as i
attempt to make my
way up a hill that seems
to have no end

i'm desperate for horizon,
but all i can focus on
are the next four inches

i picture my life
as a large coloring sheet
of peonies who've just
begun to bloom,
opened to their full potential,
and withered away as
they've seen enough
sunshine to last a lifetime

a rich tapestry of color
covers just a corner, but
so much is still left blank,
just waiting for the right
colors to fill the white spaces

momma always said,
the women in our family are strong

the kind of women that are out in the field doin the same back breaking work as the men
the kind of women carryin their own groceries and two babies from the chevy to the back door in one trip
the kind of women who take a backhand from their husband and hit him back hard enough to make his eyes water
the kind of women that bring babies into this world and watch their families fade away like candles flickerin in the wind

momma always said,
the women in our family are strong

so, i don't really have a choice,
i got to be

i miss the feeling
of cigarettes making
me want to throw up

i guess that's the
trade off i get
for whiskey making
my eyes water,
******* burning my
sinuses so bad, i swear,
i'll never snort again,
two glasses of wine making
the next morning feel
like elephants have
invaded the walls of
my skull

i guess i'll take this vice,
for now

i want to read you
the words that spill out,
ink on whatever is closest,
but for years now
i've been writing about
***, sadness, and sensations-
all wrapped round whoever
it is that's claimed a
piece of me

what will you think
of my weaknesses
spoken aloud?
swirling around the
room, bumping into
you, waiting to
be judged

i want to show you
what begins as a breath
and ends as a tale of
twisted love, but
i'm afraid all you'll
think of is me reading
the poems i write
about you to the
next one

sunrise is lazy this morning
as our awakening coincides with shivers
running up and down cool spines
on crusty concrete floors

sheets and sweating water cups,
that's what we ride for
past waterfronts and freeways,
fast as we can with sleep in our eyes

paisley prints surround us
as i lay and recount our night

flashes of flash lights reveal
strange structures inside of silos,
climb on, climb on,
exploring exploitation of the norm,
art in ways art hasn't yet dreamed

wild animal sounds bounce and billow
around in old grain homes,
while hands keep beats and hearts
are pedaled in shadow onto walls

fire breathing pipes belch into the
calm, black night and attempts to
climb towers are squandered by
men holding flashlights and power

so we fade into the nothingness and find
other metal mountains to explore,
garage doors open up to windmills
and i find myself with knees as
****** and black as the night before us

still, the animals cry out, but this time
it's low and between rushed breaths
that betray a sense of ecstasy only felt
when it sneaks up from behind

this morning, entrenched in slumber,
i dreamt of clammy hands on mics

as spoken word slipped like water
droplets from faucet formed lips.

i woke up,
and finished the poem aloud.

success.