eventful sumday

running errands

is that what they call it these days?

when i drop trembling mustaches

buy devil horns

(i should have earned them)

see faces of christ in the neighbors bedroom

practice djembe

then back

to my neck of the woods

to disappoint with reluctant petals

and sew prehistoric eyes wide open

dirty geffy

round two for my late night bowl cruise

non functional 24 hour car washes, deux

moi, rein.

one day we can blaze in tri color foam sprays

hearing the sturdy woosh of an anal automaton

and rejoice

rice night

your brown eyes

were a fine surprise

tore down skies

for the pine was spry

c to zzz

too big downswing

to do anything

but breathe out a feeling

6am car crash

the pressing purple of fingertips bruised

are truly hues of the heavy blues

wheel turned on water

when feelings were fodder

what's odder, daughters who refuse fast and loose

truly new

i have nothing new, my socks have been washed countless times. i mean literally countless, because it's not only me that washes them. i abandon them under sheets or climbing up stairs, and a week later my lover will say, oh i washed these for you, like they're doing me a favor.

i shed layers as the snake does, leaving behind a sock, a book, eyelashes, the stray lipstick smudge, and i want nothing to do with it. if i can't have newness in my things, i want nothing. blooming like a flower, i swell and rise and don't dare look at the petals on the ground, the deadness that once was me but is no longer.

burn what you have of me and i will rise out of it, bald and bones, beautiful and unshackled. breathing and complete for my lack of anything else.

but for now, i stay grounded and give a smile and thank them, choosing for now to reuse.

RE: Meditations in an Emergency

frankly franky, i really feel you. i get the same itch, you know? even when i'm in the city, with anything to do, i want to scream

WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ONLY ME? I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE UNTIL YOU DO

i know that you know that that's as silly as it sounds. you spread your love thin, dear, like a pristine gloss that fills its full into the curvy cracks of a finished jigsaw. while you're left in pieces, you hold your beloveds together.

i've had my heart broken, and it is a rocket ship. the atom bomb splits and i'm send in direction i am facing at full speed, zooming on to prove them wrong. i'll find my spirit animal in the dessert waiting for me and then he'll be sorry. he will never find a spirit animal in that dingy studio playing guitar or diddling girls or whatever. and i'll have cool sunglasses too, and harem pants. he will be vulnerable to sunrays and dust and god knows what else.

no one will see your eyes then. who cares if they carry the crisp waters of change, the ebb and flow of desire? no one, that's who. your color codings are beautiful and self invented, and your eyes the color of skies are far more unseen, for all i percieve of you is what has pulled through those eyes, processed if undigestable feelings on reams of paper, so i'll carry your letter till i know what it means.

have you seen me lately? i'm not on tv but i walk the streets like you and love the trees so long as we're sharing the same city full of unlovers full of beauty

the one jazz class

i see your freckles in my mind

give it some time and they're aligned

see your freckles in my mind

lively and supine

i see a week when we're on time

lived in late sin sheets yours and mine

see a week where we're on time

gives me peace of mind

i wrote this?

rain splayed on insane windowpanes

sheets of sleet like a bad refrain

snow goes where hatpins did blow and

sleep creeps up like wet sugarcane

ode to the big earlobed comely

man you sweat charisma

the smallest eye move tickles and the eye candy glistens

razors on your neck, ruins on hands, deep eyes with perhaps some light at the end.

you pierced me, but that's not the right word. you permeate, and crawl through my nose.

i see you everywhere, on shirts, pictures, even your grafitti when i'm taking a piss.

you wear all black, ready for your funeral,and it's a quiet miracle you're alive

i'm glad i know the breathing and present you, but i long for the man of his stories

haunting

ghosts moan with an open rumble and open doors

to sneak first into warm beds

i didn't see you, but he did, walking before me

are you a little girl, or whats left of bathroom epitaphs?

catching up

i don't mind

buying your time

in fish soaked in an oily brine

what i want and what i find

in water wouldn't be combined

you could guess

what i'd like best

warm rest from wildness in this chest

but what i want and what i am

compromise the calm and storm

nasty sax

one thing about these breaks, man. they turn you wild and screaming into the night. they let you loose into the jazz bar, and you're the only little white girl there, and you're surrounded by some dapper motherfuckers in suits. no syllabus to give a shit about, you are free to drink whiskey and wind up in some yoga instructors apartment playing twister, hearing her cry about how the man with cancer she's been taking care of has been bending some other bitch over backwards. how you ended up safe in your bed by five girl, is something you will never fully understand, but you know there was a man 12 drinks drunker and 12 years older than you smacking the shit out of your gps in the passenger seat. the memories twist and curl like a snarl around the edges, but they're not as fucked up as they could be and neither are you, but you sure as shit smelled the salty air on the brink and had a good look down before worrying about showing up to class again.

pan9

ain't got no bones

with jimbo jones

but he got a bone for me

phht,a found poem

the bartenders a mini faggot, and fuck vice magazine

i got excitable, big time...it's all over anyways

seriously,when i'm trying to dance, get out of my way.

the dj should have paid me

he put the wreck back in records

i should have put on the soundtrack of kansas to come

a ny morning, 1pm

brooklyn, i'm staying in

the doorway to the apartment is hardly conspicuous

i should take advantage

492 broadway doesn't have windows

but there's the glow of old christmas lights

nestled around the brocade mirror, record players

we made it to new york, i celebrate

with warm bare toes that curl at windows

in a 2am ghost town apartment

i feel trapped

but it's such a big city

with wet trash that stays

the dry kind blows through your thighs

AH SRY

sorry i wasn't there to care

to be fair, to be frank

you called about blankets

sorry i didn't phone but moaned

at the dial meanwhile

groaned bus hospital

i wish i picked up to console truth be told

but a holdup to dinner

is what would have unfolded

i'll see you tomorrow if you're feeling small, oh

muscle relaxers are hefty setbackers

so don't swallow all to follow all your swallows

le sigh

a clean house, i know now, is the ultimate sign of boredom

not only is my house immaculate, but my nails are painted

guh

lost my phone

but i'm too stoned

to figure out

if it came home

to no one

i'm too mad. i wasn't always worked up, i was just working on being me. then here you are, herefor the harvest. i was just getting started, being happy to be, being alive to be happy, making eye contact. at the end of the day returning home to collect myself, to read from a book or to call my father or to get to know the brother my brother is growing into. not living with my boyfriend or going and not returning for four days. i'm not a person of habit out of habit, but routine felt warm and satisfying. then you, asking for my time, efforts, love, company,and you know what? it felt so good i didn't mind giving it. getting caught in the joy of your warm dry hands, the way you look reaching for cigarettes on the coffee table. i lose days in you somewhere. i love that you care,but its not what i needed but whats worse it's what i wanted, to make my stomach twist.but the thing is, i'm no good until i can grow, and have room to stretch my limbs to the sun. the snow that blows from skyscrapers is lovely, but it melts, turns brown and stains my socks. i'm not asking you to do my laundry, and i'm not asking you to hide your jealousy. but i hope you won't be upset when i get up to leave. i just had a taste of what it means to be me, really me, i saw myself and i want more. you are better than good to me, but take this as my ride for free. i'm a lost cause if you crowd me with calls on the cloudy freeway back home. don't make sacrifices for me, you wouldn't get jealous if you weren't serious, and i wouldn't get mad if i wasn't wrapped in you. being mad stops tonight, along with feeling guilty for your jealousy.

bbaahh

the sofa goat of my dreams

wouldn't be green but a

mean sort of sheen

that dreams tend to keep