Try This On and See How it Fits

2010-10-06T16:02:00.000-07:00

To become better
acquainted with space,
let's spread ourselves
thin
If our shirts get too tight
let's ball ourselves up
into nothing
Let's make certain
we always have a plan
If our memory is lost
let's remember we
kept another in the
bottom drawer
If we are unsatisfied
with the air
let's hold our breath
and our tongues
should we feel like
speaking out of term

2010-10-06T14:49:00.000-07:00

You're a good man, Charlie Brown.
You're the immigrant that hit the ground
running to and from the La Guardian taxis
it's good to see you in this perpetual state
of rock bottom honesty mixed with terse self involvement
It's as if we're watching a critical analysis of you
fucking yourself. It's groovy to me
and you're very aware of this.
I see that your demons don't make it too
far out of your head. They're always within
arms reach just waiting to grope you in the dark.
But you're not afraid, are you Charlie Brown?
You're the boy who cried devastated for no reason
You're the last hoodlum troubled by the threat of one
of those new existential meltdowns that take 24-hours
to clear up.
You make us all proud.
You're a good man, Charlie Brown.

2010-09-20T14:39:00.000-07:00

Young Lady listens to Depeche Mode
to think
or she prefers absolute silence
She considered
transcendental meditation
until she found she couldn't afford
a spiritual guide
Young Lady considered just guiding herself
but didn't feel comfortable
with responsibility or holding things
or being a twenty-something young lady
who just started smoking
That's what she gave a homeless man
instead of a dollar
"It's all I have," she said while lighting
Young Lady is convinced that her children
will be free even without
enduring the misery of choice
That said, Young Lady claims
she can still recall aesthetic
as she once could
She just has to sit and
enjoy the silence.

2010-09-20T14:36:00.000-07:00

I've made room for you
but my sneakers
are by the door
and your phone
is on the nightstand
Please don't forget it
because I'm on my way out
Stare if you want
while I wrap my hair
Just don't get caught up,
I can't drag you with me
Watch me if you want
while I tie my sarong
Just don't get tangled up
I'm in a hurry
I will call you
I will see you
later
I will make room for you
again
but my cigarettes and books
are in my bag
near the door

2010-09-14T17:32:00.000-07:00

When we're high you say things like:
"Our reality is not a THING
but a RELATIONSHIP."
I repeat this, but louder
and putting emphasis on the wrong words.
I don't mind your philosophy
so long as you know we're individuals
and I get my own pillow after our
romp and laugh.
Other than that, I'm not an extremist.
When I remind you of this, your eyes
get shiny and lost
like you're taking inventory of all that's
absent in the world and present somewhere else.
I like your eyes
They tell me there's nothing to the past
and we're just lumping shit together.
We romp and laugh until tears come
to my eyes and I scream:
"Stop, stop, I don't want to be synchronic!"
And then you let me take my pillow
and retreat to my side of reality.
With a smile you let me settle.

Don't Let Capitalism Get you Down

2010-08-06T12:29:00.000-07:00

I talked to my sister on the phone but cried half the time
we talked about being positive and making yourself do
things you wouldn't want to do.
"You should make friends," she said to the 12 year old
sniffling on the end.
I'm a fucking adult, I wanted to shout but didn't
"You're right."

Sometimes I feel like giving it all away and going on a
journey like that guy did. Eddie Vedder did the whole
soundtrack and I wouldn't mind living like that.
I don't tell people this.
Instead, I say. "What do things MEAN? And how do
they relate to me? Do I need THINGS?"
People nod thoughtfully.

"Don't feel guilty about consuming," my sister told me.
I do feel guilty. I'm supposed to. I think about the THINGS
and let it slip, that I want to give them all away.
There is silence on the other end.
It stresses me out. "Is there anything I do that's working
for the world?"
She doesn't understand the question.
"What am I doing here?"
She takes that to mean I'm defeated. "You just need to be
PROACTIVE."

I was given a book. Marx says you are at a disadvantage from
birth, any gain you make is at the expensive of some other poor
soul and capitalism isn't worth all the huzzah.
The book didn't tell me anything about my disengagement
from society and my own former consciousness.
"Yes," says Marx. "You are a consumer and you
should feel like a loser." I already knew that.

"You sound depressed," says my sister.
"I'm actually very happy," I say still crying. I am. "I'm just
thinking too much lately. I'll make friends."
"Good," she says too quickly. She's done with philosophy.
"Now get out of the house and treat yourself to something."

2010-01-19T15:31:00.000-08:00

Behind horn-rimmed glasses
with a Camel Light between lips
stained the same red
as her cropped duster of a bob
Absolutely soulless
and knowing of it,
she arches her brows
as the non-marginal walk by. . .
muttering under heavy breath:
"fuckin' posers."
Because she still has to watch out for them
She doesn't know that she looks just like
Sally Jesse Raphael
and her friends are not going to be the ones
to tell her. They'll let her mother.
"Dear, those glasses look so. . . severe
on you."
Under her gravel tracked breath
she'll say: "fuck off, mom."
Then take a fatal drag fogging up
the windows covering
her dull mud brown eyes

2009-12-04T13:16:00.001-08:00

	Fatboy Slim - Demons .mp3

	Found at bee mp3 search engine

What a Young Man Learns from KW

2009-12-01T18:37:00.000-08:00

Kanye said, "Why don't we play something these hoes would like."
and I think that's thoughtful of him
'Cause you know hoes, bitches and shorties,
they like to dance
they all shake ass and give good head
And Mr. West's concerns don't just stop there,
like: "Is it raining hard enough on them bitches?"
"What can I do to make it rain on them bitches?"
"Can I do more?"
and I think that's fair.
He doesn't want a gold digger
which makes sense 'cause we know
hoes bitches and shorties like money
and everybody knows the only way you give
a girl some money
is you throw dolla dolla bills at her
after drenching her with cryst-all.
It sticks better.

It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp

2009-11-29T18:42:00.000-08:00

Cause at night, I was 'tasty' or 'bitch'. . .
but my real name is Carolina,
said a beautiful girl
almond eyes,
brown skin, wavy hair
never once
fully
realizing her potential
I didn't like being in
jail
for some dick-head
said a lonely girl
named Carolina

2009-11-12T16:25:00.000-08:00

It must be hard, I told my husband,
for Milton Bradley to market
those same games.
Every year, a new commercial for
Monopoly.
Family Fun Night?
What about fathers who must be banker?
Mothers who shout from the kitchen:
"Give your sister her hotel back!"
My husband says that these issue
might just be mine. . . only.
I think it must be hard though.
Making a purse out of sows ear,
is what my mom would call it.

2009-11-12T13:52:00.000-08:00

Things disturb me

my habit today is
watching
train wrecks

I don't even say
a thing
when they derail

2009-10-28T18:08:00.000-07:00

"If you could only eat three foods for the rest of your life
what would they be?"
The adorable vacancy in Om's eyes told me that Tip
had fibbed about the English proficiency in this class.
He smiled.
"Three foods," I held up three fingers and
spooned imaginary soup in my mouth.
For all Om knew,
I could have said three favorite
General Mills Cereals
or three most despised Jello flavors.
His neighbor translates my question in Thai.
"Chicken. . ." he started.
It was hopeful. I sat on the edge of my seat
nodding like an eager child. Come on. That's it.
"Rice . . ."
Yes. . . Here we go. . . you got it.
"Coconut."
I let out the heaviest sigh and thank God he knew
three.
I didn't give a shit if they didn't make a wit of
sense. Or if Om wouldn't be able to make too many
combinations out of the three ingredients. OR
how much diarrhea poor Om would get from
all the coconut.
My dear sweet Om knew three foods in English!

The brother and sister duo

2009-10-28T13:36:00.000-07:00

He runs everywhere and blows spit bubbles because he likes organic creation.
He spins around and arms spanning and knocking into things
He climbs on things and makes unintelligible noises with his lips and hands
She holds open the door for him.

Unsuspecting Things about Charish Roderick

2009-10-28T12:16:00.000-07:00

I might be one of the worst dancers I know. I depend on a lot of standby moves in my arsenal. "Reckless Arm Flailing," "Aimless Shimmying," and "Awkward Shoulder Shaking." When I'm at home alone, I will "dance" to Bjork's Earth Intruders until I get a headache and the police are called because my next door neighbor thinks that there is a domestic dispute just beyond the wall.

My mother bought me a recorder when I was ten. I learned how to play Taps really well. I performed it everyday in a long somber key. No one told me it was a song for military funerals.

I write newspaper headlines on my hands so I can use them for conversation starts later. "Johnson Boy Falls Down Abandoned Mineshaft for the Second Time." I find it gets the ball rolling and gets people excited. That's how I got through the first few dates with my now unsuspecting husband. He talked with his hands and I read from mine.

I never proof read my work. My hope is that people will think I'm a literary genius that refuses to adhere to the rules of grammar. Though I feel like this will never catch on . So I feel a little embarrassed when people say, "You've spelled Tuesday wrong." or "this is the wrong usage of the word derby."

Someone said that you shouldn't make fun of people's smiles. Laughs, however are fair game. I'm working on making mine a little less wheezy. When I'm really going at it, I sound like I suffer from smoke inhalation. I'm actually thinking of taking up smoking to cover it up. And then I can finally be the first front woman for a Pearl Jam tribute band--- "Freeeeeezin', rest his head on a pillow made of concrete."

When I was a child, I lied compulsively, stole only what could fit in my pocket, and broke what I could fix later. I told my third grade teacher that I got a new dog, a mixed breed of mutt and mongrel and that I named him Trigger. When my parents found out, it .didn't help my case in getting a dog. I was six when I stole a pack of Juicy Fruit, when my mother found out, we drove back to the store so I could be scared straight with the threat of incarceration. I broke a kitchen cabinet door by swinging on it. I could not fix it.

I lose gloves all the time and I'm okay with it.
I lose pen caps and find it too devastating to live with. I usually take a moment out of my day to mourn the missing half a perfectly useful pen.

As a writer I am more than willing to whore myself out to the highest bidder in hopes that one day Oprah will endorse my books with a sticker and ask me how my writing pertains to her life. I want to walk on her stage, give her a hug and talk honestly to her about my ill fitted bras, my fear of food and how I too pretend to read Faulkner. I will make the suggestion that multi-colored cashmere sweaters from the Gap need to be on her list of favorite things.

I am This Man's Wife

2009-10-28T11:40:00.000-07:00

I thought as I walk along the trail
He will run ahead in red shorts and black socks
He will leave those same black socks in the middle
of the floor with his underwear and
he will say it's his method
This man who will not clean after he cooks, but will cook,
is my husband.
He will drink "good" tequila and then scoff at the news,
correcting its absurdities.

I will get tired and he will wait on me.
He will be sweaty and smiling and ready to kiss
me.
Because I am his wife, I will kiss him back.
We will have dinner
He will cook and I will clean the counter
In the evening I will move aside those
socks with my toes and take care not
to knock those red shorts off the door knob.

Tonight
I will look into his eyes and ask myself: why
on earth did you marry me
I will kiss him again, looking for the answer
I will fall asleep in his arms
musing with a smile:
I am this man's wife.

2009-10-28T11:30:00.001-07:00

When I was younger
I'd swing around on things
to test their durability
and my weight
the suspense of destruction
thrilled me.
The power to impose my will
to throw my weight
around
was a tease that faded with time
Tension replaced it all

careful to touch this
cautious to take space there

You brought pressure back
you made it fashionable
to press toes against the springboard
As I pushed against your space
and explored my own,
the voice that says
horseplay gets people hurt
fades with time
Recklessness replaces it all

2009-10-28T11:26:00.000-07:00

Pants with change in the pockets
lay in the floor
a nondescript black sock sits
nearby
and just as dependable as the last,
sneakers that have taken
awkward steps away from one another
are in the next room
This is why
it is hard to leave home
there are no traces of you on the street.

2009-10-26T16:58:00.000-07:00

When my sister and I were kids
we'd sit in our mom's car
in the parking lot
of Kroger and talk about life as we knew it.
I was seven years older than she,
I naturally knew more and so I out
talked her.
She liked to sing loudly from the back seat
I would make requests:
"Sing a Michael Jackson song."
Sometimes to be real jackass goof-offs
she and I would catch the gazes of
old white ladies walking past the car,
we'd act frightened, which wasn't hard for
my sister, the ham of the family.
We'd lock our doors to prove a point.
and then we'd laugh.
Oh how we'd laugh.

Welcome Back

2009-10-14T06:03:00.000-07:00

I came home to a dream
an obvious american dream
my legs took me to the midwest
I met with a tribe of friends I didn't
know I had

We smoked a long pipe and bragged
of the ways we'd already been high

I could see that things hadn't changed
things were moving along
stagnate and compliant to the mores
that I'd left before

2009-09-28T21:36:00.001-07:00

The angry lesbian says
she likes my hair
and I say thanks
it has cleared the air

It follows me around
like some cloud of soul
defying common idioms,
asking for acceptance
while lacking grace

2009-09-28T21:32:00.000-07:00

Less calories will make us remember
Is that study brought to us from
the Swedes?
This is why I don't trust them
They are very fair and skinny
They gave us ABBA
and the clock
No--
That's the Swiss.
The Swedes are
super tall
and very skinny
and apparently have great memories.

2009-08-03T05:38:00.001-07:00

fairness
against a door jamb
created sorrow and asked
praise

we can imagine
twelve pained steps

from the fridge to the stairs

you've never heard this song before
have you?

in all fairness
we can imagine

2009-08-03T05:25:00.000-07:00

It's a pitiful substitute, a beer and D'angelo singing a cover of Smokey. Serving me the oldest line known,
music is made for love
It really is and I imagine music driving us, two forces with reckless steering.
I should have kissed you. . .
I've switched to something more somber
and for good reason,
it's a pitiful substitute, this song and these memories.

2009-04-30T17:12:00.000-07:00

stretched thin as it is
his head heavy on my shoulder
and we sit in the dark.

Comma splicing is seen as a beacon
You know there are greater spotlights in the
universe.

2009-04-22T12:45:00.000-07:00

I got nothing to worry about, she says to herself
In the bathroom, she shimmies to Diana Ross and the Supremes,
raises her hand to the mirror and protests a man sullying the name
of love.
Her man sits in the next room half listening to her murmur to the
acoustics of the bathroom, half reading his day's work.
She's got nothing to worry about, so she calls out,
"Hey babe?"
Yes?
"I love you!"
She imagines him nodding with a smile.
I love you too.
okay, nothing to worry about.

I Want to Write a Poem

2009-04-19T22:25:00.000-07:00

Everyone knows that they want to write a poem
they feel it in the space between their eyes and hairline
They have lights to guide them in the right place,
towards the sign that says: "Emotions for sale!"
They write like sex shy boys fuck, in the dark against
their will and they finish very fast.
There are usually no takers.

2009-04-19T22:18:00.000-07:00

When I thought we couldn't surprise each other,
it's three weeks into the fray and i barely know you.
That's not awful, no, far from it.
I don't need you knowing me just yet either.
We're allowed to love one another with secrecy and
a special kind of deceit.
I'm allowed to come to you wanting your affections
and not tell you why.
You see? Not all is said aloud.

Tonight, I plan to dream

2009-04-19T22:02:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I plan to dream about walking though walls and
peering in on a secret meeting of the Masons.
I need to know what's going on there.
I'm going to get caught and there will be
a shoot out, a one sided shoot out
because the Masons still use Crusading Weaponry.
So I somersault through the air with two uzis,
steal back the Cup-o-Christ, and speed away on
jet powered rollerblades. In my dream
I will not be afraid of rollerblades.

I Can't Change

2009-04-19T21:45:00.001-07:00

I would never eat black-eyed peas and cornbread if I could help it.
I don't need to get back to any proposed roots, I am not a plant
Have you ever been sick to death of pushed legumes and heritage?

Inside the Bookstore

2009-04-13T13:51:00.001-07:00

The tinkling laughter of older women from the table next to us is able to distract me from my own thoughts that puddle around my feet. “He thought I was younger!” Their laughter peels the paint off the walls and sends the lead-laden flecks into the air. “He looked at me and said, “‘Forty?!’” “‘Four-oh?!’”

The next table has two theologians. One older woman, one younger. They are lovers. Interlocked and intertwined with their chairs close and studying, the sounds of their voices are hushed as they sink under the oak of the tables, folding themselves into tiny satin packages.

Bouncy Celtic music cocks my head towards my husband. I look at him and watch his eyes move wordless over the lines of a magazine. His knee bounces to the sound of a fiddle and drum without provocation and without shame. I want to reach out and lay my hand on his thigh, but private times are meant to be private.

The lovers whisper and glance at me as I pass to get water. The younger is kissed on her cheek
The laughing ladies throw napkins in the air to follow the howls of their guffaws.
The walls shake and separate, they lift and my thirst seems less of an issue.
The husband I left is quiet but bursting with unknown energies pulling at the strings of these walls.

Still.

And all that’s heard is page flipping. hums. and tap tap.

2009-04-13T13:41:00.000-07:00

And then I said,
Where the words are, the actions follow.
I don’t know what I was talking about
It seemed plausible at the time
looking back, it doesn’t seem true.
It seems a little like a put on.

And then you said,
The nights are long and it feels like
I am falling.
I know you’re joking and I laugh
Which seemed plausible at the time.
We ran past the post of taking
you seriously.

2009-02-26T21:30:00.000-08:00

A man with rose colored glasses
has no wallet but he stands in line
for coffee and scone.
I'm going to look for it,
he tells me.
He has people meeting him shortly.
He leaves to sit down.

My List of Grievances

2009-02-22T19:01:00.000-08:00

have not been properly aired
nor have they been written and mailed
to the appropriate officials.
Nevertheless,
I have them.
You and I have not much time
left
After this
we will be done and there
won't be much left
I don't work well with
ultimatum. . . I've got no threats
You've got to make good on those
can't do that well
I've just got to say it, without the proper postage
without going through the appropriate channels.
This is it.

It Escaped My Attention

2009-02-22T18:52:00.000-08:00

That we've been moving in the same circles that offer nothing but sliced butter pats
on the back
When the time comes to step off of the carousel my shoes will be especially heavy
handed was my approach to getting in
Please hand me my parasol quickly give me my dignity back
the laces of my heavy shoes are caught in the grooves

Someone is Without a Sunday

2009-02-22T18:44:00.000-08:00

I asked what time it was on sunday there
and wondered if there was someone not familiar with sunday somewhere.

I Want Hair Like the Ronettes

2009-02-18T15:48:00.000-08:00

Beehived and all shiny
with maybe like a curl in the back,
just hanging off my shoulder
all cute like, you know?

2009-02-18T15:39:00.000-08:00

I don't like to talk about it.
It's my job and no one likes to talk about their job
My craft is secretive and frightened by strangers.
The words are just there
the ideas just arrive
in time for the lunch special
and they leave in time for the bill

2009-02-18T14:05:00.000-08:00

Littered streets and deserted
sidewalks. I walk them
thinking of you.
The wind blows through
my hair, its fingers touch my scalp
and turn my head towards the sun.
You're in that direction
I follow the fingers that pull me along.

2009-02-18T14:02:00.000-08:00

We sat down on the bed, taking a couple moments out of our day to listen to Kris sing. You were hunched over your shoes, pulling them on and I sat behind you. Kris spoke like he knew your woes and I reached out to hold you, to rest my head on your back. You stroked my leg and sang softly. And I wept a little against your back, blinking and silently asking you not to look at me. If anyone deserves a good cry, Kris would say, it's you.

2009-02-18T14:00:00.000-08:00

No one helps the lame boy
get off of the bus
Knowing better than most,
he stares at the floor
and then gallops away
we watch
out of pity
in amazement
All by himself
he gets off the bus

2009-01-16T20:33:00.000-08:00

The apologies are admittedly
halfhearted
gathered from the scraps
that hang around
the bottom of the barrel
you know it
and you make the grandiose acceptance
thank you for skipping
the middle man
let's not talk about
my steps
always my lacking
and my nothingness
and my loss

2009-01-16T20:32:00.000-08:00

Remember that serious
discussion we had
about cleavage?
Who were we kidding?
We were in love then.

2009-01-16T20:26:00.000-08:00

Basically,
says my friend
I'm ashamed to be white.
I nod
I would be too.
We laugh
It's raining on the way
to the airport.
Common is on deck.
My friend shakes his shoulders
to the beat
and sighs.
It sounds resigning.

2008-12-23T16:29:00.001-08:00

God, I hate the children's department
With their stupid kids books and their
stupid activities. . .

After an Ice Storm

2008-12-22T15:56:00.000-08:00

The ice is killing the trees,
I told my boyfriend.
He drove on slick streets.
They're fine.
They're bending and breaking
under the pressure;
The heaviness.
Sometimes heaviness is good
Sometimes it's nice having
something on top of you;
let's you know you're not alone.

Dear Lover:

2008-12-22T15:54:00.000-08:00

"Will have hard
time without you
will miss
will write and call
please don't worry
do have a good time
will return
will see you again
until then
love you much."

2008-12-22T15:46:00.000-08:00

Two old men
sit and stare
and smile like smoke
one is toothless
one is on his way
the toothless mumbles
and sinks within
his body
he picks up his hands,
it take work

2008-12-22T15:41:00.000-08:00

Stroking the skin
of a smooth forehead
for hours
Fingertips back and forth
on the river's edge
The line of thicket is
my riotous curl

2008-12-15T12:06:00.000-08:00

I want to give you something I made, it comes from the heart, it comes from someone's heart, it's made specially for you. I want to wrap it, I want to tie a ribbon on it, I want to doll up for you, I've made this specially for you. I want to give you something I made, please let me know when you'd like me to drop it off. I'd like to put it in the car, I'd like to swing by your home, I'd like to leave it with you. I could drop it off if you like. Are you home? I would like to call you to tell you about something I made. Please pick up. I'd like to give you something I made. It comes from a heart. From someone's heart.

2008-12-15T12:01:00.000-08:00

Only now will I exploit my feelings in form
I will confess like the children do and pander
to accolades and it will be fine:
"Where have you been? And why weren't
you around?"
This could go on
for as long as we've all got paper

2008-12-08T11:57:00.000-08:00

In a computer lab and Smokey is singing
I think the white boy in front of me
is rocking to Tears of a Clown
I don't feel so alone because I think he knows
He's feeling something
I can tell in his nod

2008-12-04T11:07:00.000-08:00

I have seen you somewhere before
last week, we say next to
one another
without words; with many glances
I can tell you what you wore
I know I have seen you before

I have been waiting for you
since this morning
since last month
since that time I fell out of my
crib when I was two
That's how long I have been waiting for you

You have said, "I love you," to me
in the middle of the night
when our faces are dark
sometimes when we're outside
while it's snowing; while under a tree
You have said, "I love you," to me.

In the Window of the Coffeehound

2008-12-04T11:03:00.000-08:00

People are passing
cars are getting tickets
some woman slipped on ice
I am hesitant to join them

A man stares at all of the mailboxes
before settling on the middle
Teryn just walked by
wearing a hat similar to mine
I don't want to leave to see her

It's going to snow today
I am reluctant to leave my seat
because I am waiting for you

Going with the Fro

2008-12-04T10:50:00.000-08:00

The seventies called,
They said, "Right on!"
You're nervous about being
a passive Angie Davis
Your rebellion is limited to
"Look mom, I'm nappy!"
You've been goaded, inspired
and trapped
into returned to your roots
and every time you pass
a mirror
you groan
or you're in awe
"Did it get bigger?"
You found it takes
a lot of work to look
this black
You never thought it took
this much work to be
yourself.

Voltaire was a Bad-ass

2008-12-02T08:42:00.000-08:00

"I want to know,"
said Voltaire.
"What were the steps
by which men passed
from barberism to civilization."
An iron tool was made
plumbing was installed
a roof was raised
and then---
things took a turn
for the worst
armies flanked Wal-marts
fights broke out at
kiddie soccer games
we tried to make the valleys
run black with blood
and priced it 20$ a gallon.
The steps casually stepped
backwards
back to civilization.

Diseased Arts

2008-12-02T08:33:00.000-08:00

Chopin was a pianist
who died of TB
Alexander Graham Bell
picked up the phone
and caught it
Mozart touched Chopin's
keys years earlier
and got it
Gauguin painted a yellow christ
and was struck too
Lord Byron wrote a poem
about a mistress
and that might be how
he got it
Chekov and Dostyevsky
were both Russian
and they caught it
Kafka changed, Keats
was friends with Shelley
They were infected---
not Shelley, just Kafka and Keats
All five Bronte sisters
but not their lesser known
brother Branwell,
he got opium
Emerson transended
and got it
Thoreau lived in a cabin
and got it
Poe cried over Annabell Lee
and got it
Chopin was a pianist
a virtuoso with hellish fingers
and he got it

2008-12-01T11:49:00.000-08:00

Touching arms on the bus
is not like cricket talk
pay no mind
to fleeting glances
we're further away
than we believe
fuck-faces on laptops
looking over shoulders
whispering,
"Please, touch my arm,"
they are cricket talk
I rub my legs together
with them

Rosehips

2008-12-01T11:46:00.000-08:00

Rosehips
wind along
a brown road
your eyes travel
slow and cautious
your hands follow
the same
We watch the curves
and smile at the
signs posted:
"Blushed skin!"
We talk of longevity
our strong blood
our hot skin
as my hips rose
beneath your touch,
we paused as a courtesy---
mind the speed
mind the lines

November 29th,2008

2008-12-01T11:44:00.000-08:00

While sipping Yerbe,
I thought about snow
and harmonicas
and all things that get old,
except you.
Snow circled us
while it was black
you read to me
and I wanted to play
for you
something "soulful"
I had nothing
but the usual, but
that doesn't get old, does it?

History of You

2008-12-01T11:40:00.000-08:00

for Noah

French fancy way of serving
with carafe of water
dark chocolate
cube of sugar
66 known species
Robusta
there are cherries
discovered by a goat herder
caused a ruckus
whole monastary wanted some
Treat the sick,
Sheik Gemaleddin of Aden
Travel with the muslims
to india on a donkey/camel caravan
ahh venice
P. Clem VIII said, "It's heaven"
mixes the espresso based beverages
it's for the smart ones.

I'm a New Dog

2008-11-30T17:44:00.000-08:00

I’m going to write

something different

I was told that I

was too old

I’m going to write

something different

I’m too old to learn

new tricks

I’m a dog that’s going to write

something different

I was told that I

was too old

I’m going to learn

a new trick

I’m going to write

something different

I’m going to be

young again

I’m too old to be

young

I’m bound to be

something different

2008-11-12T16:11:00.000-08:00

among the crickets and the sky fliers there are no stars to help guide me this evening and with the course of any evening particularly this evening I find that the air is full and breathing the chirps and caws of love but who knew this was possible or legitimate or given

4 am

2008-11-01T06:23:00.000-07:00

I'm quiet in the bathroom
the door is shut
I'm thinking of the last poem
I wrote
and peeing

2008-10-10T09:31:00.000-07:00

I think I've got this right. I'm supposed to mention that Dani tagged me.
Okay.

The Rules? What rules? Does she mean the directions? If that's the case, i'm just going to copy and paste that shit.

Directions:
1. Link the person who tagged you
2. Mention the rules on your blog
3. list 6 unspectacular things about you
4. tag 6 other bloggers by linking them (or less if you don't know that many people like myself, I won't judge you)

There we go.

Okay, now 6 unspectacular things about me:

1. I write news stories on my hands so I can use them for conversation later. "Area Man Fell in Well." I find it gets the ball rolling and people excited.

2. I lip sing on the bus.

3. I groom myself (braid hair, paint or trim nails, shave legs, floss,) to settle my hands and my nerves.

4. I rarley proof-raed my wokr.

5. I'm working on making my laugh less wheezy.

6. I love all of my friends, even the stranger ones like dani-girl and mellie mel and jenneroo, and jimbo jer.

I have the distinct feeling that i might have done this wrong. I don't give a shit. I tried and that's all that matters for kids in our generation.

let us keep it real

2008-09-30T12:08:00.000-07:00

i don't know what i'm doing.
i think too much about things
that don't concern me
* this morning, mosquitoes were abound
on my walk.
"this looks like
the spread of something dire."
how much i should be flinching.
will they stick? they fly well,
don't they?

* a girl
she wore a subway uniform---she
knows condiments---
she was changing a tire. lug nuts
on the ground
of the parking lot
getting off from work
i could change
a tire. no, i couldn't
not without a booklet

and it's kind of cold today
where do mosquitoes think they are?
haven't seen them all summer---
now here they come
have I unpacked my winter clothes?
like my ideas?
I could undress, but
the request
was to unpack
* i'm concerned about white boys
who walk around without jackets,
in short sleeves
i am dating one of these white boys
sans jacket
how do i feel?
how does he feel when i mark him
with the gaze he tutored me on?

i don't know if i'm really a feminist.
yes, i made this transition without
a buffer.
this worries me too.
i'm not smooth and i have no principles.
i don't know if i like the gifts
and if i like being worth the trouble
and if i like to be aesthetically pleasing.
i'm not sure whether i should be
flattered anymore or if i should maintain
that i'm oppressed. i am certain that a
mosquito got me.

i think about smaller things that
seem bigger. that woman with the cheap heels
is deranged. i remember her rant vividly.
she's asian and she talks loudly.
is she me? am i shrill, sometimes irrational,
and actually insane? i'm waiting for a
collective reply.

the woman next to me, not the asian woman,
i keep marking accurately, is black is talking
about keeping it real--- "you know what i'm sayin'?"
no i don't.
no woman is capable of this.
not for the life of me. i can't even admit
my inability to change tires.
part of me knows i can! can't be too hard.

and so i continue to think
and call people up, mostly friends, and ask
them: "am i worth this trouble?"
hoping they don't reply honestly. i know
they won't.
the white boy i'm dating, who doesn't wear
jackets---i'm very curious to see
his winter wardrobe, doesn't need to
reply honestly either.

so i wonder, i ponder, i ruminate:
"is anyone capable of keeping anything real?"
am i simply too young to know better?
what's better?
"that chicken-headed ho better not come
'round my house again with that mess.
i will straight up cut a bitch."
is that better? can't be. seems too upsetting.
the woman next door, the black woman, not the asian woman,
seems fine with this. therefore i am too.
not really.

the future is as fuzzy as this morning.
i had a meager breakfast and coasted
on fumes. i imagine this is what's in store.
i imagine this is what's waiting for me:
a light-headed feeling mixed with irritation.
the future is me lacking substance and only
getting by
on a hotpocket
again, it's barely something to worry about,
but i'm sure i'm mature enough to see
the trouble ahead of me.
i don't know what i'm doing and yet
i walk on like hotpockets are enough and
writting topics of interest and conversation
on my hand
for people, so as to appear half way coherent, is real.
and as i scratch my cold, tired, itchy arm,
i settle into the funk or existential meltdown
that is tuesday.
that's is as real as it gets.

2008-09-30T12:05:00.000-07:00

You've read more in the eyes of a child than the book before you.
One is more captivating. I know
you're thinking about what you see. There's nothing here for you.

2008-09-30T12:04:00.001-07:00

I averted my eyes and that's how you knew I was lying.
Before then, I stared at you for nearly an hour.
I'd like to think I'm getting better at this.

2008-09-30T12:02:00.000-07:00

She fawned
over a man
until she saw disturbing images

2008-09-30T12:01:00.000-07:00

I pushed my body against yours until I could barely breathe and it was not enough I wanted to dip my fingers into your body and claim each fiber as my own.

2008-09-30T12:00:00.000-07:00

The praying mantis exists.
It was in my hair;
that's how I know.

2008-09-30T11:56:00.000-07:00

This is a large brownie.
What if we weren't in love?
I cut it too large
And I were the girl in the front row,
and ate it too fast.
Waving my hand around---shouting answers?
I was slightly hungry
I would have lusted for you
and I didn't eat breakfast to the best
and you would have had to ignore me.
of my ability.
We would have been nothing.
You warned me of this.

2008-09-30T11:54:00.000-07:00

Who else is in line
to help distract us
from ourselves?

We do an excellent job
of doing ourselves in.
What we do little of
is doing what makes
us happy.

2008-09-25T06:46:00.000-07:00

It's hot out and you note
a blush in my cheeks.
I want to say that it's because
we're interacting with one another,
but I ask if it's cute.
Of course it's cute.
We kiss again again.
I run out of things to say
and we must part.
I miss your orange shirt.

2008-09-22T10:46:00.000-07:00

there isn't much left
to hang on to.

2008-09-22T10:41:00.000-07:00

we like the temporary
and wish that it listened
to us

we've prayed for ideal
forgetfulness brought
to us by It

we've gotten, instead,
a grey lump of dawn
that makes up for it all

we like the crazy
and wish that the End
were perched on our doorstep

we've asked the loons
for permission to take
what's not ours, the bold

it breaks our hearts.

We are Listening

2008-09-22T10:33:00.000-07:00

When we constructed
images out of his image
we imagined the classical
reference was not lost on the
rest of the world, so preoccupied
with images.
And we were wrong

But it’s been real.

When we waited
in the corners of a blackened
cupboard,
we didn’t find anything, just a
nuance of dust, some Greek complex
and cereal bits.
But we made our beds

And it was real.

When we awoke
this morning and last year
we were quiet not to wake
the animals outside,
our consideration was applied
to the rabbits in particular.
And we are the same.

It’s been real.

“Keeping track of time?”
The only thing we tracked
was the time it took the gold
filament in your eyes to darken
in light of an approaching storm
and the rabbits won the game.
And we let them believe.

It was real.

The Man

2008-09-22T08:09:00.000-07:00

Who is the man and who is
outclassed, going on a track
headed nowhere fast and in
concentric circles?
We've seen your enemy
and we like his flair---
we're calling upon his mercy
to give out reason freely and
consider the next talk and to promise that
our reflections travel at the same pace
as those once mentioned concentric
circles that led to our almost certain
death or like-minded demises.
Those circles that beg bad mistakes,
we're those mistakes (all of them)
I looked at the same stars and
asked where that man is and
should I bother with his reception?
It's only life, only culture, only
my existence, we said.
We are not ready to
begin, but we can begin
all day if we need to.

You're a Good Man

2008-09-22T07:59:00.000-07:00

You're a good man, charlie brown
you're the immigrant that hit the
ground running to and from the
LaGuardian taxis and it's good
to see you in this perpetual state of
rock bottom honesty mixed with
terse self involvement. It's as if
we're watching a critical analysis
of you fucking yourself. It's groovy
to me and you're very aware of this.
Aren't you?
Honestly, the demons don't make it
too far out of our heads, do they? Or
are they always within arms reach
just waiting to grope us in the dark?
But you're not afraid, are you, charlie brown?
You're the boy who cried devastated for
no apparent reason,
but it was evident though
You're the last hoodlum troubled by
the threat of one of those new cutsie
existential meltdowns that take 24-hours
to clear up.
You make us all proud
You're a good man, charlie brown.

Let's Roll

2008-09-16T17:34:00.001-07:00

I feel like I need to get high, immediately
and for no good reason.
But who needs a reason?
I've got a reason. A good one.
Because the world is moving like an
out
of
control
rambling locomotive, headed straight for
an orphanage. The children are all reading
picture books based on loving ideology.
Not knowing,
a train is on it's way.
We gotta hit the breaks!
WE GOTTA SAVE the CHILDREN!
How's about we roll them instead.
Let's roll a fat one.

2008-09-16T08:20:00.000-07:00

We are no longer individuals
you and i
We are nothing more than collective dust particles
you and i
And I am writing this down.

Chance Meetings

2008-09-16T08:16:00.000-07:00

A man stepped out of a portable pot
and faced the world
Instead of the world, I guess,
he got me.
I happened to be passing by
He happened to be done pissing
It was a surprise for both of us.

What's Left of Me

2008-09-16T08:10:00.000-07:00

No ones appetite is gone
but mine.
And that's the way of the world.
The sense of conjunction is blurred
We're all going to see this today.
Today, in the sense of "out there"

I'm just a little thirsty
Everyone's got a bottle of sand
to sell and I've got coins
outdated and coarse.

I am the last man standing
Everyone's still sitting
and swigging on what's left
of this poem

Portrait: Tascha

2008-09-16T08:05:00.000-07:00

It's her palace and i'm her jester
most of the time
she is unimpressed
and indifferent
But there are brief
and shining examples
of a smirk
"I'm kind of a big deal," i tell her,
half serious---
half recounting a joke
And she laughs just like i knew she would
and then she goes back to her business

Show the jester out, please.
She is all about face-value
What can be touched
isn't always kosher.

Fugitives

2008-09-15T10:24:00.000-07:00

In our collective fall from grace
we collected the last parts of our dignity
we strapped them to our bodies and
erupted from the buses, a mass of weeds
growing without memories
We are the collective idiots, praising
one another with "bless yous" and "thank-
yous"
None asked for more than what was
necessary.
Necessary? We crossed a thousand miles
from the sky to the river to the mesosphere
to get to happiness.
Let's talk about necessary.
Let's talk about it all.
We're lost in what we maintain is nirvana and
we're waiting until something better comes
along
Until then we're along for the collective bus ride.

Remix

2008-09-15T10:18:00.000-07:00

On a black and spacious night,
our memory left us
We didn't respect it enough
We created in haste
while listening to nothing
and then to Al Green

On this black and spacious eve
our memory left us
We do what we do
the same
Pound just calls it bad habits
We've only got one good poem
in us
(God hides it in his reserve)
and when we don't look
we repeat
vast amounts of knowledge
sung by Al Green

We are repeated offenders

We forget how we came to this point
We should stay together
"Let's stay together"
Our memory is hiding in the black
It is laughing at us.

Portrait: Noah

2008-09-11T09:53:00.001-07:00

Caravaggio painted him
the Boy with Fruit
the graceful line from his
furrowed brow
to the tip of his nose
is where a brush dipped.
But between his lips---
that is where my tongue dips

The narrow
space between
our hearts
is turbulent,
that is, until
I run my fingers down the trail
of an ancient paint brush and stop
at the parting of his lips.

Night

2008-09-08T06:14:00.000-07:00

the tonic was effective the cantos were screamed the shades were drawn the scene rested in shambles and so did they the dam was not secure the air was full she was full the bones were tired the muscles were strained the faces were buried the souls were almost dead the joints were pulled the time was imagined and fleeting the backs were arched the night was finished the walls were falling out and over and beneath the backs the backs that were arched the hands were free to roam the exploration was thorough the coming and going was never the same and yet consistently satisfying the darkness was lulling and sinister and playful the bodies the hands the mouths the souls the bones the backs collided and the tonic was effective

Afternoon

2008-09-07T15:07:00.000-07:00

He's alive
most certainly
awake
and pawing at reason
making accurate
movements, chopped and deliberate

The thumping bass
matches the uterine throb
like old music,
really old,
contractions of walls
she is awake

Morning

2008-09-07T09:25:00.000-07:00

light that pours in
green
pilgrim
pours over skin
into the spaces between
they are few and far
this is meaning
rolling thru
under and around
old news and no news
the time that's stretched
beyond the sun
the light
that pours in
its not here
its not green
it is not a pilgrim
it is not on the road to my
hip from your thigh
trust that light
is old news but new
just the same
we've been stretched
and time is following
far and few
green and supplicant
pliant and penitent

2008-08-29T14:31:00.001-07:00

You look like Venus,
he said as his eyes canvased
her body.
That makes you my Adonis,
she thought to herself.

Portrait: Mel C.

2008-08-18T16:04:00.000-07:00

One woman has never been so mysterious
to me.
The thoughts etched on her face
are barely visible to us,
but the simplicity shines brightly.
She balances well, not unlike a
Chinese acrobat with tea cups.
There is less bravado, yes,
but the grace and beauty can't
be ignored.
So solid. She will be an old woman
with granddaughters who ask questions:
"What do you call a small rabbit
with no sense of identity?"
With a straight face, much straighter
than I can muster,
She will reply honestly and in French.
The grandkids will squeal and ask for more cookies.
I, myself, would steal time to remain
one seat away, figuring the puzzle in her face.
Those invisible etched thoughts that
I think I can see.

Reacquainted

2008-08-18T07:32:00.000-07:00

I hugged you and my arms were not tight
I had forgotten
what you felt like and I've never been good at
hugging.

We talked.
We talked about the time when it was us
against the "world"
That time when I was inconsolable
and needed to talk my way through
everything
We got to the meat a few times:
Sex with boys and girls
Sex that was confusing and disabled. Ha!
We talked about being not necessarily
old, but definitely wise.
We talked about hanging out that this supposed
new Quad
We talked about our physical attributes
We talked about frowning unfortunate women
and feminism and our own bleeding hearts

The second time I hugged you
You felt familiar. I believe I got better at it.
Now, I believe we are reacquainted.

You Call is Important. . .

2008-08-15T08:59:00.000-07:00

The IRS listens to Swan Lake
therefore I must. . .
If I want something for nothing
and I don't.
I don't need to tell you
we live in a nation
built on something for nothing.
Who composed Swan Lake?
How do I even recognize it?
That must mean I'm not too far gone.
The IRS picked a momentous piece
to keep me going
And that's the point isn't?
Keep the carrot in plain sight.
"Our representatives are still helping
other customers--- please continue to
hold."
Wagner! That's what we need!
I'm going to get what's coming to me,
before the next movement.
I just know it.

2008-08-15T08:55:00.000-07:00

There are few things better than
sitting in the grass with a friend,
listening to music.
We talk trash, sing, and muse
about life. There is laughter.
There are threats of excessive
displays of emotion.
Promises are made and grasses
are plucked.
We have a good time. Not just
good, but bitchin' and that means
good.

There's More Than One

2008-08-15T08:40:00.000-07:00

for Evelyn

Men are about as good as women
imagine them to be. (and to be fair---
it applies to all, really.)
"I love him because he's charming,
because he's handsome,
because we're destined to be together."
No one can tell her different.
She is very insistent.
The man might slaughter puppies
for a living
He might snort blow on his off time.
But she met him at a coffee house
while he was on break, of course.
She dug his Southern accent
and his blue eyes.
She missed the splatter of blood
on his shirt collar.
She missed the white powder
on his left nostril.
We've all missed something. It happens.

Bees Don't Even Have Knees

2008-08-14T09:15:00.001-07:00

I brought the phrase: "the bee's knees,"
into casual conversation the other day.
The debacle reminded me that
I should always keep my mouth shut
while drinking.
Impossible! you say. That defies logic
and physics!
Well I am not learn'd in the arts of
logic and physics. Not if I'm calling them
arts.

I know words.
Not well enough, but we've been intimate.
We have falling outs when I drink.
They leave me--- along with logic,
who was never a steady bedfellow.
Even physics betrays me, but I'd
expect as much.
I brought the phrase: "the bee's knees,"
into casual conversation the other day.
The debacle reminded me--- fuck!
I'm repeating myself!

I know words.
We get along from time to time.
Until I drink and they've had enough
of my company and I say things like:
"Gee whiz, that's the knees bees."
There's probably something to be said
about "Gee whiz" too.
Don't go beating down the door.
"What seems to be the officer, problem?"
I'd hate to become a drinker with
writing problems. But gee whiz!
I think that'd be the knees bees!

2008-08-14T09:08:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting on a bed with white linen,
upstairs, on wooden floors and with pale curtains;
eating grapes that I've peeled with my fingertips
and teeth.
I'm either in the room of a lover
or hiding in a lost childhood memory
or waiting for something that's better than
nothing.
Either way, I'm alone. Who brought the grapes?
A man? My mother? No one, the grapes don't exist?
The pale curtains flutter against a wind
A kind hearted zephyr begs to join me
in my solace.
We share grapes in bed.

Who are the Devoted Arsonists Keeping the Flames of Hell Burning?

2008-08-14T08:44:00.000-07:00

I need a lawyer
They have plenty

I heard if I toss out a dime
a dozen of them will fall in my lap

I have no problems with them
I have no say

The Devil exists, yes
but he's hardly threatening

He plays squash with God
after a long trial and verdict

After the sentencing of a soul
they laugh over Chinese take-out

Hell isn't as damnable as we imagine
Not if you believe it's healthy to perspire
frequently

I need a bought judge
they have plenty

2008-08-13T10:49:00.000-07:00

For Hector, who was anything but subtle

Does anyone really want to know
why someone loves them?
If you knew, would it make
you feel better?
Or would it be another thing to
worry about?
Would it give you something
else to keep up?
Would it be the same if someone left you?
Would you really want to know why?
Would it be better to make
comforting assumptions?
If you knew what made them
fall for you,
would it help when they left?
Would it help knowing that the thing that
made them fall wasn't enough to
keep them around?
How special would that thing be?
Does it really matter?
Does anyone really need to know
these things?