Wednesday, August 31, 2011

snow dream

I was on a ski slope mountain and there were black birds flying up in the gray sky. One got closer and when it landed on a nearby pine I could see it was gargantuan, the size of a manatee, with a long magpie tail. I called to it and raised my arms coaxingly, it seemed to grow further, a megafauna, big and pleistocene. Its black shining eye regarded me as it leaned over, bending the pine tree down, and it dipped its slightly spoon-shaped beak into the snow in front of me. The beak was as long as I was tall, but I did not feel scared of the dragon-bird. It flew away in a numb spray of frost, its wingbeats like paralyzing vacuums. Later when my friend came by on skis I tried to show him the marks the beak made in the snow but they were smudged and lost.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Monday, August 29, 2011

Sunday, August 28, 2011

virginity poem

body muttering a new language
a novel power in knee-high leather boots
freshman spanish estoy estas
estamos estamos estamos

terribly symmetrical aquiline half-egyptian
fucker in his giant matte black truck
that rumbled you from throat to hocks
when he said

fishnets fourteen and flailing
ghost pilot at the wheel of the
hormone fugue,
the year everyone thought you
and were the german girl,
welcome, your english is so good,
do you like it here,
september 2001 a gray bright
shining crumbling deviant
demi-god throws a chair into
a bank of computers and
meet me in the empty hall let's
go let's go let's go let's go

to his old wood musty-porch house
on the couch kiss me it is raining outside
softly on the windows so
sitting at the piano play moonlight sonata
up on the wall is a framed white
square scrawled in blood
"i <3 u guys"
from his little brother in my class
who four months before had
stuck a rifle in his mouth
left that last message on the wall &
sent us reeling

O I don't believe there is a god
any more
was i born with what you like
do you like my

the sunken center v where my ribs go to my heart
i know you know i knew you
wouldn't love me longer joking
how many girls' virginity you took before
but it's just a bitter joke
like it all is
you'll call me sweet
i'll miss it always

Sunday, August 21, 2011


this feels different

i dreamed a lot but the final part i scrambled atop a roof, gritty shingles, to see the sunset and the world was just me and the roof and the sunset, broiling black clouds and an indomitable ravishing pink-red sun conducting them in clots and waves as it sunk with the assured steadiness only a sun can have.

last night in a non-dream i was on my roof, letting neighbors beat-box spittily in my harmonica and stealing nips of jack; it was 3 a.m. and so misty the wet white water-park roof-land glowed.

(I was just trying to explain the white slightly cetaceous material the roof is made of and "floor of the roof" got me troubled.)

also i stepped on a bottle cap
hopin' to be tetanus-free!

Thursday, August 18, 2011

a mother is good poem

i'm in a warm flannel night-gown, white with sparse pink flowers
fabric pilled, long long hair all static
warmth that is welcome and so unlike
the complicated and cloying touches of your adult you,
without the furtive vibrations;
with knubbly rubber remote control buttons,
she worries a furrow into her front tooth
with sunflower seeds cracked and tongued
like they were eaten by one of the several $8 parakeets
who screamed, neurotic and alone, where the cats couldn't reach them;
teaching me there is enough oxygen in my breath
to make a candle fire glow,
she reads books about christian pioneer wives,
her hand echoing in the plastic popcorn bowl

Saturday, August 13, 2011

dream for a cool late-summer morning

i was sitting in a theatre with friends. a girl with long blonde hair came up and started saying things to us, one at a time, getting too close and whispering intensely. when she got to me she was almost in my lap, talking, talking, so i pulled her in and kissed her. it was good, so i did it again, with more intent & tongue. the way dream kisses are all natural and seen from inside and outside of you.

later we were walking. she looked over at me. i said "your eyes are copper." her irises had turned to shining copper bowls with tiny infinite black pupils, rimmed in oxidized blue, glinting like fish scales.

Friday, August 12, 2011

i tried to write today

this happened. i'm gonna put it here i guess. gonna try to do it more. intention announced.

freewrite (blocked)
it's a good thing you didn't
write what you thought back
when it happened those who
you loved with their sweet
silky silk blah fuck cursing
words a cur a butter curse or
a boy who was christian bale
in a newsboy cap or the name
of a medication you were
prescribed, how it sits in you,
what is going on in my
innards; overwhelmed by
hate for strangers instead
of feeling love/embraceful
of them, want to hide
away it is time to be
quiet don't look at me
my hair is ugly right
now but this basil
smells so good. I kind
of hate my dad

How about the sky, that is
trite as fuck and do you want to play I
can't do these gymnastics
gynastic growing
back the hymen so
poetry can fuck it out
again Spend all
your time obsessing on
misfired brain cues,
why can't I see myself
why can't I see myself
shut the FUCK UP
I could never get past
these big NE thighs
The name of a place
you have been.

I'll show you
an image
This is not a
Manifesto. I want it
to be but this brain done
got dumb; I am so
ashamed to bore you or to be misunde
rstood I think --
Would you like to I don't know ask me some
thing I want to draw a cat

(cat drawing)

The cat is drew.
There is someone with
a newspaper behind me
look what I achieve
achievement I
will give you what
you need swirls can
you smell it on my
feeling nihilistic,
anachronistic dichoto
mistic mystic misty
blisty this is lazy
where did my sauce
go brown sweet
tamarind spiced
like we like it, pepper

I fukkin hate your
noisy truck. I fukkin
hate all of it.
Trucks saying
Erosion Control
go up in the shade
I want to kill you
your wrasslin and
in-jokes don't TOUCH
that chair. Looking, looking,
looking, looking,

These cues repeat. I
said don't TOUCH that
custom shit bro. Don't
pay your money for

A concept. Stop me an

Don't be silly that is
a learned condition
a tic of solicitation
a stupid party trick

Draw a repeating
pattern coil
into fractal
piss land.

Frittering, frittering.
I want whatever you have that is better
this SUCKS

Hobbling, I have
a mind and a half but
gut to keep it down
There is a lot of
anger in here. Is it
b/c I hate my dad, and
your mom and anyone
who ever made you
feel bad.

I just want to make
the team. I am so
well rounded.
I am a successful
architect at an
architecture firm
please be less
logarithmics hip
hop poppa ya don't
I want to be free and alone today, I
suck @ writing poems
love you
love me
I guess gonna read my book now
Say some smart shit
occupy some tension
between home and the
rest of the world,
sit in the concepts
draw from them
absorbently, seek
new sponge-ing

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

paper making

A fistful of wasps is brooding under the gutter above my roof-exit window. There is a larger nest in the bulky, aged a/c unit that's resting on the fire escape, kind of blocking the fire escape window. In the hot-box. Bodies silkily throbbing, I imagine them absorbing the heat and compressing it into magic yellow poison. Both factions are the same species and I wonder if they are actually one group with two homes. Either way I feel protected.

Sir David taught me that wasps are ants that learned to fly (order Hymenoptera, Greek: membrane/wing). The Apocrita petiole; a tiny waist.
Ants have discovered my kitchen counter is usually delicious. Damn them. With all-natural surface cleaner spray. Say sorry, sorry. They replace themselves, their ranks' trickle doesn't end.

this is not a, you know. n'est pas. faux poem.
i don't know if i can be like you guys.
right now i can only write the things that are happening, any other seeking of words is like
hazily bumping on the glass