Wednesday, September 4, 2013

tree poem

lean into me i am
scabbed over so my strong neck
can support you

or you can go, remember me in
a few years and come on by;
i will have risen perhaps
a few inches

sap sucker i just wish to own your
face where i split

and i wish more folks
would pay attention to my
careful documentation of the years;
see i'm unable to practice sufficient divination
for being caught in
the suck

i'm the girl who was an auger.
and where did august go
here in my almost
twenty-seventh year

Friday, August 9, 2013

today i was feeling lost and
stood in front of a mirror masticating
a log of string cheese
watching carefully
and thought "i'm only a poet
because i can't live without
making a sad story out of
everything that happens."

Thursday, May 9, 2013


i'm no good
i'm no good
i'm no good
i'm no good
i'm no good
i am fiercely and emphatically no good

i'm a crouching lil devil girl inside a bigger devil girl
restrained in imposing and slippery ways

i once cut my hand on a fish it is one of the things i have
opened my skin on, fit some slicer
between the cells
this girl i worked with had scars striping all up her arms and
i wanted impulsively to snatch them for kissing

by the by
i'm a silly split-end scissorer
a princess who ate a poisoned ruby
and became a middle-class witch

balking at how spooky it is to be
fully plugged-in 
if i could just stay
behind my eyes

i've tried lately to seem softer
by filling my brain up with flowers
i look at your face area and think
my brain is a wad of peonies
i'm thinking
peonies, peonies, peonies

Tuesday, April 9, 2013


i'm forming a more complete picture every moment.

i'm foaming up thick fluids and slipping down between bubble membranes.

laughing, "i can dissolve at will."

i can't be outpaced if i don't exist.

or dog logic; try to cut each other off.

dog logic; gorge.

my organs aren't crying out yet.

i'm providing a hammock.

a detailed list of bearings.

a hand that could just grab anyone.

a tongue that goes on like a gray bird, "i could do, could do, could do."

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

sure don't post in this blog much anymore

i always hate when people do the vanity "i'm taking down this blog/twitter/webpage.... goodbye forever" posts and i will never.  it feels so withholding.  i think a major thing that irritates me in life is the feeling that someone i'm interested in is being withholding to me.  i am curious.  it is my selfish failing or perhaps talent about which i am most intensive; the way some people are so driven.  i saw a photo of a woman who danced on ballet pointe shoes atop a row of wine bottles.  the caption said her name and that "she practiced 8 hours a day to do this".  this is what i mean, the way some people have an aggressive want to focus so doggedly on a thing, which i often feel defective for mostly lacking.
i think when i was a child i was really bright and everyone around me said "do what you want, you can do anything", and i'm stuck having never grown out of that.  i'm here looking fleetingly from one thing that snags my attention to the next.  being not super comfortable interacting with people in person has only helped this develop the aspects of this into a distant, persistent curiosity.
or maybe it is just a seasons-changing, transient thing i am feeling lately because of the monotony of leaflessness on the gray sky.  the little pebble of bravery trembling in my deeps. like i always feel then forget i felt then recall.

i wish my mind was a cloud of knowledge that could settle gently over everyone and everything.
breathe me into your lungs and let me stay awhile in the lattice of cells.
i will not hurt you unless i sense some fear or weakness that i judge to be "lame."
i'm really sorry about this, it's just that i see how it poisons you.
and bores me.
and tell me all your


Thursday, January 10, 2013

mid-jan dream land

i dream i'm visiting my family but their house is a different one, dated heavy brick/wood and out in the country.  in my care are three small birds, each a different color, that i bring inside and say i need to look after.  at some point two of the birds are startled and fly away from me, and i scramble to catch the black and orange one on the mantle except my family's dog has seen it too, and beats me to it by inches.  i think, oh no, oh no, and there is a wet crunch in the dog's mouth.  i feel just terrible.  the dog keeps crunching my little bird's bones.  i try to be okay with it, and let it go.

when i'm not dreaming there's a chasm in my chest-area that i keep tumbling into unless i distract myself.  it's okay and it won't last forever.  all day i have random, vivid memories of rooms i was in as a child.  the kitchen of my family friends' grandma's house in ogallala.  i walk to and from work and around downtown lincoln like i have for the past few years.  i remember the auditorium of tri county k-12 school.  at lunch i sit in sp ce reading comic books, scooting my chair across the floor to keep my face in the sun as it moves across the wall in the afternoon.  i remember how my parents' friend cindy taught me how to get an eyelash out of your eye by holding the lid outward and blinking.  i think about what to do with my life, about what it would be to get a new job and move somewhere alone.  it seems terrifying but like a strength i could have if i needed to.  i write in my little red book and it's all dumb rambling.  i haven't tried to write love poems yet, because they feel too magical/powerful, but i will soon.  i try to tell people how i'm feeling but it comes out as "i'm crazy, sorry, i'm crazy, i'm fine".

in a dream i go to my childhood friend courtney's house, in the country again.  there are brown horses wandering outside, a sturdy woman lets us in and i go to the basement.  people my age are hanging out like a party.  some things are normal but in other places there are sloping pits in the floor with plates of bent metal, and metal railings on the stairs with a gap you have to squeeze your skull through to get by.  i cut off half of my toe on something on the floor and it bleeds and aches.  i try to bandage it.  the people i'm with frown at it but don't really help.  i keep going ow, it hurts, and looking down to see half of my toe flapping off, then hanging by a thin strip of skin, then the half separates from me.  these other pretty girls who are there happen to have packages of medical gauze and neosporin, which they give to me with drunken sympathy.  i dress the wound and go upstairs.  there are tabby cats and kittens on the kitchen table.  i go outside and cindy's husband pat is there, shirtless and very muscular.  they are castrating the horses, weirdly.  the screaming horses are tied down to the ground and they cut off their testicles, then dump wheelbarrows of smoldering embers and ash on the wound.  i leave to waking.