shoots

see the hull has got to crack
have sinusfuls of sun

emotions that can only
be adequately expressed
through pop music

maybe absolved by
eating alone with hands that are clean
but smell like dirt

girlfriend could be a lilac bush
boyfriend perhaps a fir

try to learn some new songs
but sing the same old one again

calliope/leviathan

last week i said to someone harmony is my gift,
they said, you're good at harmonizing, and i said, it is my gift.
i was joking like most things i say
but i keep thinking about how
context-less i fold in on myself
and without someone else's well-being
to worry about, the sensations/memories of things that really plowed deep scars through me rise again, gently this time, almost sweetly.  lately all of these things point back to my womanness in the world.  it's surfacing like a long-sunken battleship whenever i write.  it doesn't feel like i should stop it.

i feel so threatened and ecstatic every day i live
I AM DYING WITH CURIOSITY
i have never not been an object
even to my own self
it's troubling

i started a list titled "GOALS"
but so far it's only
errands and consumer goods

gems benign

the crop sown in hard soil flowers
my brain is white ice cream

or coconut rum and pineapple juice 
sipped talking to cher about
our abortions

i can see you drink she said
in your face the blood has
nowhere to push through
and i'm laughing

purgation

golly
don't you love the first
magnet pulse

don't look like the devil
at all

muster up a
boast about ways it used to
be, or never was

my voice is changing on a broad scale
mouth can never seem to close
around an agreed-upon space

a rope will choke it for awhile
burning in a deja vu of
murky cell division

PRETTY SURE
i'm throwin up my ovaries
just wanted a squeeze is all

the most small and feeble start of a profound apology or similar

SO i had to grow my own--
i don't know
how to write this.
let me give it a go.

i couldn't claw into the picture
where you're a baby eating ice cream
and unmolest you.

i couldn't brick them in the face.
i mean -- in the fucking face.

told my friends i was sad
and they said "why"
so i stopped.

sorry about
my imperial ennui;
the time i clocked your jaw in dallas.
IAMSTILL STUPID

and my body has never felt like mine but
some guy told me i had
a gnarly soul.

shinytown

(haiku ambulance)

back in my terrarium
never small enough
meanwhile burst magnolias

stop glaring
i just wanted to feel
the sun on my tits

eliza frye - "Regalia"

this week i picked up Eliza Frye's "Regalia" at AlleyCat Comics in chicago, and read it on the bus ride home.  i really had a moment with this book (which she funded with a kickstarter i'm sad to have missed); it's a collection of eliza's short graphic stories and other tidbits, and they read like the enchanting "love letter" she purports the book to be.  i think she loves me.  there's one in particular about a tiger i felt jives with how i describe my dreams; her illustration style is strong and intoxicating, and makes me want to start drawing again.  anyway go buy it read it rub it on your skinnnnn

i will maybe talk about other lady comics i dig on here sometimes!  that sounds fun.  xxoo

coming lin g o i ng

i dreamed i went to stay in this abandoned barn in the country, to find it had been taken over by a violent gang of criminals who were hiding out there.  all ruddy faces and scraggle hair.  i did not really mind, and stayed with them for some time, exploring the old wood barn.  then, it was time for me go to, and all of the criminals had a small party for me where they gave me a gift and sang a song they had written for me in loud off-key voices.  the song lauded my kindness and gentleness, comparing me to a small bear in their den of bears.  i hugged each of them and it was strange to feel the different shapes of their large, sweaty torsos.  then i drove away with you and you were mad at me for something.
 --
there are times when you enter violent new states during which you don't even get the hazy emptiness sleep offers.  you are so wholly drenched in the state that you're robbed of the few seconds when you wake up before you remember who you are.

it's not pain like usual that you can saddle and ride.  it's heavy black tentacles that reach up from the ground and wrap you and pull down hard.  distraction is the only balm until the clock catches up to your time warp to weird town.

i am marbled.  i am made of marbles.  they are lolling and clatter.  i'm too dry inside and too wet outside. 

you start thinking about all the coulds.  i could dye my hair coppery red.  i could.  i could just

hahaha

oops i literally just posted this random blog post by accident

but while i'm here i'll say i just went back and read the first post in this blog (may 2, 2008) and it made me love me a little in a distant fond way

i am going to be okay great

di version

 

god i feel like a freak

cowboyface

i'm anchoring chains
in crumble edge mud just

sit on my shoulder
reserve for me your most dire       sighs

wrap my little neck
with a green switch tail whip

these dreams sap me:

watch
my toes clutching shale
where yours almost        touch

the wind gnawing out my ears

i snatch loose flying paper, pry open
notebooks, find vast grids

my name
scrawled in every cell

re:volver

middle times 

                                       gold child perfume that 

hurts some people just 

                                    eat parts of their       bodies 

                                      if you touch it they won't take it back

rocks i mean rots in buzz 

                                merchant telling me i cannot silver as i

 please                     they worried about trains 

going too fast and creating a vacuum

   12 steam mph

                        a body used to get sick at 

                                                                 such speeds

now we kite astride bullets and sticky bombs

                                                                 begging 

be faster                                         core every last

rippling bloodbeat

-icious

mostly i just can't stop giggling at this

grew eyes maybe

jawspring thrall
was a longed way
under silver low shell
horde rotor
                shoal billet
                a rope to lean on
                moleculoop style
                fodder
broan to unfurl
red fans fanningly fan
eke the polyp bow
erosion on rivet
sucker pops
                down mown
                fresh like vernal
                gets to cahoot

&sic

march feels alright on me.  usually it's the first break of cold times but this winter has been strange.  there have been squirrels losing hair in my neighborhood because it was too warm/wet for whatever fungus to die, i think.  (i get so unsettled by these things.)  the hot belt january tightens around my skull is loosening, anyway.  semel in anno licet insanire.  the leaves will be back soon, again.  i can be in the earth with my hands growing things.  i'm fixated lately on how the years are piling; the pattern and repetition and flow.  three years ago when i moved into my current place.  smith.z was with me for a month and helped me heal.  how callouses of abuse can melt away into strange new formations of you.  jessica became my first best friend since i was a kid.  i could have friends and go places again and not be yelled at.  the last poetry class i ever took when tony gave up on us (no blame).  i gave up on poetry for awhile because it only made me feel insecure and upset.  i never had a loyal mentor or knew how to find one so i would just yell apathy into my own face so i didn't have to feel lost.  i still feel insecure and upset sometimes, but i'm learning to be more bullish, maybe.  keep presenting myself to those i want to be around.  just keep being around.  just keep writing poems.  keep writing crap poems.  keep writing about strength and bravery and animals and love and lust and insanity and non-fucking-sense.  keep writing.  keep wanting to.  keep being around people who want to make things.  keep trying to be friends.  keep singing.  keep singing love songs.  keep being aware.  keep mentoring each other.  i want to be like paul and announce "i'm here if you need/want me."  keep being here.   

it's maybe the longer days, but i get awareness of the developing debilitating postures.  mine lately is that my hands always ache because i sleep with them curled under me in knot fists.  i straighten them out and try to relax, treat them like birds.

when i look back on the year piles i want to feel them uncurl fern-like into some satisfying narrative.  or at least something that would make you laugh.