awkward

I knew a gypsy woman who was honest enough to tell me that my fly was open. You can't beat that.

chaiyya

I'm floating on a good drunk
just above the equator, i'm waiting
for the right tree to bend it's palm
then i'll slide down the banana and to the
root
I heard the mud there is just warm enough
to squish my toes and my finger tips in
I'm wallowing in feel goodness all over
from my canopy to my floor

What if?

What if a poem is never read?
Is it really a poem
or is it laying in the forest
next to the fallen tree that
no one heard fall?

I Once Loved a Man

named Hector, who only wanted to make love to me
in the morning.
At night he was tired and I was awake.
In the morning he was awake and I was tired.
When I asked him why he only wanted me in the early dawn,
he laughed.
As if it were obvious.
He told me I was most beautiful in the morning.
I was just born.
My hair in a disarray didn't bother him nor the pillow creases in my face.
Sleeping beauty was roused with a simple kiss,
but it took several scattered along my neck,
a nonabrasive grope to my breast,
and a raspberry blown on my belly.
When i finally open eyes, he told me,
it's as if i were reborn that morning.
It's as if he were the first to meet me
and i him.
It's as if he gave life to me from his rib.
I think of it as beautiful inconvenience.

i cannot promise

that i won't call a man "papa"
in bed.

I'm Throwing it all Away

And going to find a burger.
I've got my bag in hand, with several books in it
I'm walking the streets, i'm let letting the wind slap me around.
I'm going to eat that burger slowly and read those books
I might find a drink of coffee too.
If i feel so inclined, i might take my time coming back to the world that claims to need me.
I might be late, i might show up on time.
I might ditch the whole thing and get drunk.
I'm throwing it all away and for nothing else but to save my life.
It's not much, but it's all i got.
I haven't planned it past the burger, but i'm ready. . .

The Art of Keying Cars

Is not beyond you if you have a thirst for vengeance
That cannot be settled with "just holding it in."
God bless those edges that are serrated
And paint that it is as faulty as your temper
"Bitch!" "Bastard!" "Cunt!" "Dick!" are among the
Many things to scrawl across the hood of a Camry
Tires are added flair and suggest arrogance
Stick with cowardice and with seven payments of
19.95 plus shipping and handling, you too. . .
Can learn the Art of keying cars.

i never liked sharing

I knew the measure of my bitchiness when i was nine
i confronted a blond girl in the hallway of school.
"I used to have a coat just like that," I told her.
I knew exactly what I was doing. She looked
uncomfortable.
"It had the same fur trim around the hood, the same
magenta buttons, the same silver zipper. Where did
you get it?"
She mumbled something unintelligible and i knew i was a
bitch
"It's a nice coat, i remember, cause i had one just like it."
I told my mother about it and saw the disappointment in her eyes.
"I donated that coat, kiddo. You grew out of it, remember?"
It was mine and now it's her's and i let her know it.

I Was Sweating

when i woke up

i was sick. fatally ill.

i licked the cotton off

my lips and buried my

face in a moutain of

pillow. i finally drowned

in that sweat. it carried

me to the ocean where i

floated the atlantic.

The exotic salts of the sea

washed over me and a

porpoise nudged me with

his nose

water ran through my

nostrils, ears, and throat and

washed me clean.

a shark nibbled at my toe,

found me not to his like and

swam away.

the kelps of underwater abyss

swaddled me tightly in a cocoon.

barnacles attached themselves

to the heels of my feet

weighing me down.

when i reached the bottom

of the ocean floor

i grew gills and joined

my aquatic brethren

we floated and darted together

like pals long lost, long separated.

I tried

I asked the Mexican landscaper if he "hablas" Spanish
because I didn't want to be presumptuous.
"Si," he replied, just like I knew he would.
"Buenos dias," I told him.

I Am Mine: A heavily copied ode

Simon and Garfunkel claimed to search for America on the New Jersey Turnpike at a time when i was not a thought. When will i come into existence as the kid with chops?
Dylan said there would be a change and so far i've seen a stationary progression. When will i get past the disappointments that sting like joking belly flops?
McCartney and his compadres pretended to be a band on the run. When this desert settle down in my stomach?
Kiedis and his peppers said that they were standing in line waiting on a show. Its keeps playing in the back of my mind. When can't i stop for a second take?

They write these words with such ease
I can't admit that i'm envious of their genius
I so badly to take their melody,
i want to take Vedder's even flow and place it on my tongue
i'll settle for Jagger's brown sugar

spiders

i don't want to hear about their importance to the world i just know that i despise them fuck spiders and the moms that made them

I took you Out

and smelled you until i sobbed.
it isn't supposed to smell like you anymore.
Where is the statute of limitations?
in the same place where this ignored love lives.
all i want to do is hold you emotionally hostage
with all my bullshit.
My requests are forty grand in unmarked bills
a jet to the keys
and your promise that you'll come down with Stockholm's Syndrome

Turns out

I'm not all that into potato chips like i thought i was.
I actually enjoys most things tortilla.
This discovery makes me wish i didn't waste my time.
I'll bet you wish the same, don't you?
I hope this has no ill effects on our un-relationship.
The fact that potato chips no long "do it" for me
shouldn't bring a cloud of uneasiness over our good time

The Poem of a Lonely Man

Is a case of voyeurism gone terribly awry
I've watched him take her in with glances;
claiming her in the name of [name here]
the tiny mole on her neck not with a flag
but with his lips. . .
his eyes have a pathetic longing not unlike
a dog's. that tongue is similar as well
he's this close [forefinger and thumb quite close]
to doing something rash:
kidnap
rape with words
"you remind me of my mother. i want to kiss
you."
I'm violated just by watching him.
pressing gifts of dead flowers
trips to the park
these are all the things riddling his mind
when he looks at her.
I want to give him one good slap and pull
him
out
of
her.

those who had a hand in my conception

those who had a hand in my conception, i forgive you.
you had no idea what you were about but you forged
ahead with the pretenses of being experience.
although some of you couldn't hack the journey, it proved
too difficult, the remainder had enough gumption to bull
shit to the best of their ability. i see that same ability in
myself and i am thankful for that small fortification.
i look back and see how far you've come and how far
i must go to become involved in someone else's conception.
i'm prepared to do what must be done to shape another's
psyche. i don't mind that i've as much experience as those
before me when they started. the skill to bull shit is ready
at my disposal.
so truly, those who had a hand in my conception. . .
i forgive you

it occurred to me. . .

That i'm getting older and not younger.
billy idol is sounding much older too.
he's too old for white weddings.
i'm too old for billy idol.
This is bullshit.
for real.
really.

that never happens

can you pass me a cigarette?
I can't, I'm out.
you're out? well what are we supposed to do?
talk?
I hate it when you answer my questions with questions.
That sounds fuckin' cliche. I hate it when people use that phrase.
Well what else am i supposed to call it? fucking annoying?
Look us, we're talking.
I guess we are.

You wanna talk about it?
About what?
Why you don't have a cigarette.
I usually have them, you know that. tonight, i'm out.
You're usually good about having them.
What do you want me to say about it?
I don't know. What do you want to say about it?
Are you doing the same fucking thing you accused me of doing? That whole question thing?
Sorry.
It's all right.

ingenue

He came from behind me that evening, wrapping his arms around my waist. His touch surprised me. Our faces were close, I could feel his breath against my ear; his chest against my back.

"Hi," I said with a shaky laugh.

"Is that what you would say to your attacker?"

I wanted to tell him that his arms didn't feel like an attackers. I glanced in the mirrors of the dojo studio. The rest of the students were stretching and warming up. I knew we were attracting their glances.

"I don't see you making any moves."

I passed through all the steps that would disable my attacker without really thinking about them. I mocked stepping on his foot, shifting my hips to hit his groin with my fist and then twisting around to hit the side of his head with my elbow.

"Not bad."

"Thanks," I said and immediately blushed as he removed his arms. I ran my fingers through my bangs and tucked them in my ponytail. "I tried to practice my stuff but no one in my family wants to attack me." I laughed. "I think they're afraid."

He smiled and put his hands on his hips. "Not even your boyfriend? Is he afraid too?"

"I don't have a boyfriend," I told him. I said it as cooly as I could, but it came out in a shaky voice.

He nodded in obvious approval. I saw it, could anyone else? I didn't bother to let my gaze drift to the mirrors that surrounded the dojo. "Let me know when I can help," he commented. "It's been awhile since i've gone through the green belt attacks. . . but I'm sure it's all there."

I saw how he set himself up for a compliment. For some reason, I helped him along and finished it for him. I smiled. "Well of course it's been awhile, you're a black belt."

"Third degree," he corrected.

"Third degree," I corrected myself.

dark parking lot

I don't think i noticed his car, or him, the other day the bus passed the parking lot. After i saw him standing beside the car smoking, i wondered how many times i could have seen him before. It was the car i noticed first. i don't know a thing about cars, but i knew this one rather intimately. It was classy, foreign, black and shiny. It shined like the driver's life depended on it. It also seemed reasonable that Satan could have been that driver. With a car that sharp, he could have made house calls.



But the driver was not Satan, he was a white man in his forties, balding at the back of his crown, and wore a office man's uniform. The plume of smoke that came from his cigarrette was the second thing i noticed. I remembered its smell instantly. As if we were together again, hot and sweaty, him correcting my technique, me mumbling my apologies.



i saw his face for the briefest of moments and looked away in embarrassment. What did i have to be embarrassed about? When i looked back, he got in his shiny car. The bus got further away. i turned in my seat to look behind me. His car was gone. As always, i was left frustrated.