Where do I find a poem?
In the space of a blink,
Between heartbeats,
When idle or moving,
With family and friends,
In a cemetary,
At school,
On a beach,
On-line,
On a bench, sitting beside me.
In the four seasons,
Beneath the blue, black and starry canopy,
In the wild, sapian or worldly,
In the arts and prophets,
Crawling on the floor,
When I'm cooking;
And, when I'm not looking,
A poem will find me.

I have starry lights on my breath and
I don't know what to do
because I'm
choking.

Why did I start writing,
feeling
like this?
In an attempt to fill the spaces
in my narrative?
They gape open like
self-forced split wounds.
And yet are empty, so
empty
and bloodless.
Just numb.

Every **** self-help book
tells me it's my choice
how I feel.
I've been thinking and thinking and
I disagree.
It was never my decision to
paint my rib-cage blue,
to dull out and flatten, like a piece of
wood, my eyes into a lifeless faded varnish
that others mistake for spark or
mystery.
Or to stuff my head with
cotton wool that won't stop
pressing,
pressing.

I've just realized this is a not-good poem.
Forgive me, I'm
choking.

There was a drought in our home
All were left dry to the bone
Rather than taking careful measures
You carried me up the mountain
To drown me in the sea of trees

and he says -
you are a cathedral, arent you!
youve been lying to me!
by god,
the mercy in his eyes
(and i thought -
i could drown in this,
i could drown in him. and i think
that would be alright,
wouldnt it?
not the worst way to go?)

I wanna give the universe something tough to digest.
I see it with a ******* up look on its face.
Puzzle the universe
Be like me.

I wanna create a gazillion variants of myself.
Each one degree further removed from the last.
Get in line now
Be more like me.

I wanna dissolve the unsurety left over from a thousand
Races that have died out.
Know yourself
Fight the knowledge.

I want to invade the space left by your mind when it rushed
Out to find itself.
Mommy left you
Never forget it.

I want to condition the part of you that takes care of plants
But forgets to turn the light off.
Darkness is a blessing
Only if you let it.

I want to take aim at the eternal you and forever change it.
You are cascading now.
How does it feel
You restless thumb sucker.

You want me to change you, feed you, and take you outside.
I am your new mom.
Momma's gonna buy you
A mocking bird.

You want harassment, a harness, an igloo, and idioms.
I am the fire that will melt them all.
Listen to me
Your time has come.

the modernists believed that
a whole life could be
represented in a day
like a strand of DNA
representing the whole
of a person.

if that were true if life
all of it
could be fit into
a day
any day
this day
then

this day, my day,
is cold tea
and empty rooms.

I forgot to have breakfast
and tried to write.
notes
post-its
pens
are scattered across my desk along with
empty cups
and passing thoughts.

if this day, my day,
is all of my life then
there is
so little
love
in it.


if this day is all there is
it has so little
meaning.


living for a day is dangerous she said she wrote

I wanted to walk alongside a river
to see where it would
take me

instead
I sat
at my desk
again

today
is what my life is.

She looked for love in the backseat of his car
She looked for it in dusty store rooms
In abandoned buildings, the rough palms of hands
She didn't find it in his whispered sweet nothings,
She didn't find it in his apartment building either

He looked for an easy conquer, a one night stand
He looked for an innocent smile, naive doe eyes
He looked for it in needy fingers, hitched breathes,
He found it in her hair balled up in his fist
He found it in her salty skin, her soft thighs

She was looking for love in all the wrong places