There's No Magic Anymore
There’s no magic anymore. The rain washed it all away. It died with the dog. Ran off around the holidays. There’s no laughter with friends. I’ve forgotten how. I wouldn’t know how to set the table or where I placed the vase. Or how music works. I wouldn’t know who drinks tequila or if they just want tea.
There’s no magic anymore. Nothing kept up my sleeve. My wand is broken. I lost the candles for the cake. My intuition knew this was bound to happen. It was just a matter of time. The lack of a clock on the wall doesn’t make a difference nor the fact that I hate yellow.
There’s no magic anymore. I knew it when I forgot to close the gate. Or collect my chickens eggs. When the dogs stopped coming when I called or cable dropped my favorite channel. I need old movies to see me through. No one is more enchanting than Jimmy Stewart.
There’s no magic anymore. Coffee tastes like coffee. My ex roommate is a whore. Swings make me want to throw up. The sun sets without a flash. My mother can’t see through walls. Perspiration smells are sour. The bottles are all empty.
There’s no magic anymore. I can see in the mirror in the dark. I taste dinner all through the night. My cars engine is frozen cold. There are no presents under the tree. Flowers are dead on the grave. The airplane can’t take off.
There’s no magic anymore. My vision is blurry. There’s a ringing in my ears. Prayers were never answered. Negative ions don’t lift my spirit. Candles burn out. The wind sings out of tune. Everybody’s sick. Schools out forever.
There’s no magic anymore. I can’t find the map. States have rearranged themselves. Polar bears search for rainbows. There’s ice cream in my hair. There’s no Santa Claus after all. The highest skyscrapers did fall. Someone is moving the bunny rabbit around. I have the exact wrong screwdriver. No one smiles when they talk about me.
There’s no magic anymore.
There’s no magic anymore. Nothing kept up my sleeve. My wand is broken. I lost the candles for the cake. My intuition knew this was bound to happen. It was just a matter of time. The lack of a clock on the wall doesn’t make a difference nor the fact that I hate yellow.
There’s no magic anymore. I knew it when I forgot to close the gate. Or collect my chickens eggs. When the dogs stopped coming when I called or cable dropped my favorite channel. I need old movies to see me through. No one is more enchanting than Jimmy Stewart.
There’s no magic anymore. Coffee tastes like coffee. My ex roommate is a whore. Swings make me want to throw up. The sun sets without a flash. My mother can’t see through walls. Perspiration smells are sour. The bottles are all empty.
There’s no magic anymore. I can see in the mirror in the dark. I taste dinner all through the night. My cars engine is frozen cold. There are no presents under the tree. Flowers are dead on the grave. The airplane can’t take off.
There’s no magic anymore. My vision is blurry. There’s a ringing in my ears. Prayers were never answered. Negative ions don’t lift my spirit. Candles burn out. The wind sings out of tune. Everybody’s sick. Schools out forever.
There’s no magic anymore. I can’t find the map. States have rearranged themselves. Polar bears search for rainbows. There’s ice cream in my hair. There’s no Santa Claus after all. The highest skyscrapers did fall. Someone is moving the bunny rabbit around. I have the exact wrong screwdriver. No one smiles when they talk about me.
There’s no magic anymore.
I Feel Fine
I FEEL FINE
I NEED A HUG
I FEEL FINE
I WANT A TOUCH
I FEEL FINE
LIKE A SPIKY BLOB
A TORTURE CLUB
IT’S EVERYWHERE
A TORTURE SPIKY BLOB CLUB
FUCK
I DON’T WANT THAT THING IN ME
I’M NOT PANICKING
YET
I’M NOT AFRAID
YET
I’M NOT SELFISH
YET
I FEEL FINE
CROWN
LIKE ON A QUEEN
OR A BIRTHDAY HAT
WREATH
LIKE ON A DOOR
OR A GRAVE
GARLAND
SOUNDS SO FESTIVE
LIKE A PARTY IN MY LUNGS
LIKE BEER
LIKE CHRISTMAS EVE
I FEEL FINE
BULBOUS SURFACE PROJECTIONS
LIKE A PENIS
OR SHUSH KABOBS
OR THORNS ON A ROSE
I FEEL FINE
VIRAL SPIKES ATTACKING MY LUNGS
SPIKY PROTEINS ATTACHING TO THE HOST
LIKE A DRUNK FRIEND AT A PARTY
I FEEL FINE
RING-A-ROUND THE ROSIE FINE
PLAGUE FINE
SCARLET FEVER FINE
RHEUMATIC FEVER FINE
BRAIN TUMOR FINE
POLIO FINE
FINE AND TIRED FINE
THERE’S A PART OF MY BODY
THAT I DON’T LIKE TOUCHED
WHO GAVE ME THAT VIRUS
WE ALL FALL DOWN
POLITICIANS GOING DOWN
ACTORS GOING DOWN
SHOWS AND ATTRACTIONS GOING DOWN
EVENTS AND COUNTRIES GOING DOWN
SCHOOLS SHUT DOWN
RESTAURANTS SHUT DOWN
FUCK, BARS SHUT DOWN
CITIES SHUT DOWN
FUCK, WE ALL FALL DOWN
HELL DON’T HUG
FUCK DON’T TOUCH ANIMALS
GODDAMN IT
BUY A GUN
AND SHOOT THAT FUCKING SPIKE
RIGHT OFF THE LAWN
I NEED A HUG
I FEEL FINE
I WANT A TOUCH
I FEEL FINE
LIKE A SPIKY BLOB
A TORTURE CLUB
IT’S EVERYWHERE
A TORTURE SPIKY BLOB CLUB
FUCK
I DON’T WANT THAT THING IN ME
I’M NOT PANICKING
YET
I’M NOT AFRAID
YET
I’M NOT SELFISH
YET
I FEEL FINE
CROWN
LIKE ON A QUEEN
OR A BIRTHDAY HAT
WREATH
LIKE ON A DOOR
OR A GRAVE
GARLAND
SOUNDS SO FESTIVE
LIKE A PARTY IN MY LUNGS
LIKE BEER
LIKE CHRISTMAS EVE
I FEEL FINE
BULBOUS SURFACE PROJECTIONS
LIKE A PENIS
OR SHUSH KABOBS
OR THORNS ON A ROSE
I FEEL FINE
VIRAL SPIKES ATTACKING MY LUNGS
SPIKY PROTEINS ATTACHING TO THE HOST
LIKE A DRUNK FRIEND AT A PARTY
I FEEL FINE
RING-A-ROUND THE ROSIE FINE
PLAGUE FINE
SCARLET FEVER FINE
RHEUMATIC FEVER FINE
BRAIN TUMOR FINE
POLIO FINE
FINE AND TIRED FINE
THERE’S A PART OF MY BODY
THAT I DON’T LIKE TOUCHED
WHO GAVE ME THAT VIRUS
WE ALL FALL DOWN
POLITICIANS GOING DOWN
ACTORS GOING DOWN
SHOWS AND ATTRACTIONS GOING DOWN
EVENTS AND COUNTRIES GOING DOWN
SCHOOLS SHUT DOWN
RESTAURANTS SHUT DOWN
FUCK, BARS SHUT DOWN
CITIES SHUT DOWN
FUCK, WE ALL FALL DOWN
HELL DON’T HUG
FUCK DON’T TOUCH ANIMALS
GODDAMN IT
BUY A GUN
AND SHOOT THAT FUCKING SPIKE
RIGHT OFF THE LAWN
It's Over
It’s April now
It’s all fun and games until April comes
When the sand sets in
April can’t go on forever
April is almost beetles
I’d be heading to New York at the end of Time Square
Hanging in New York is like sleep walking on Robert Di Niro
April goes by
April’s almost over now
I’ve seen it snow
April goes by
I’ve seen it hot
April goes by
Mom riding the bus
April goes by
My son swinging off sidewalks
April goes by
My brother talking about big things
April’s almost over now
What big things I say
He never makes any sense
He’s either earnest or lying and they both look the same We’re in the Chinese restaurant on the corner of 54th and 7th
The owners are both Chinese and married
The wife hangs by the cash register at the front door
Her tentacles flying around the room on alert
My brother’s body drapes over his chair
And onto the sticky flypaper edges of the floor
The husband is in the kitchen dripping sweat into our plates
Making them sizzle
We can see people sneezing freely outside the windows while city dust makes them cry
There’s a little girl with long brown hair like me
Shedding crocodile tears at the table next to ours
As her mother uses a cotton ball to wipe her eyes
It’s hot in here
I see my brothers sweat forming on his John Lennon t shirt
I have the same one
We’re not the same.
There’s a fly sucking on something under the little girls table
The place stinks of grease
Oh never mind I say
And April continues on
Taking a walk after lunch to see flowers blooming in the park
Leaning into each other
Brushing elbows
Spitting in the street
Kids out of school
We’ll wait our turn for a swing
My brother pushing me high
Laughing louder then the children at play
We don’t laugh anymore
He’s gone but I left first
Checked out
Moved away
Stopped caring
I don’t care
I’m numb
I never care about anything but myself
I’m a selfish little girl
April’s almost over now
It’s funny though
We still walk our dogs
Just not close enough to bark
It’s funny though
The wind is the same but not the sidewalks
It’s funny though
No one brought a skateboard
My husband never came
It’s funny though
Saying the city is too crowded
Vacationers spending freely
Rain drizzling through April showers
Squirrels know though
They know it soon will be crowded
So they dash through the streets
Gathering their belongings
April’s almost over now
Am I still there when I’m here
I once gave up pot for my son
What do I give up now
I give up
I’m a loser
I take
I take what I want when I want it
Food Drinks Drugs Trips Clothes Jewels Men Sex
Love
Wherever I can find it
I’m unlovable
I’m bad
And April
It’s over
It’s all fun and games until April comes
When the sand sets in
April can’t go on forever
April is almost beetles
I’d be heading to New York at the end of Time Square
Hanging in New York is like sleep walking on Robert Di Niro
April goes by
April’s almost over now
I’ve seen it snow
April goes by
I’ve seen it hot
April goes by
Mom riding the bus
April goes by
My son swinging off sidewalks
April goes by
My brother talking about big things
April’s almost over now
What big things I say
He never makes any sense
He’s either earnest or lying and they both look the same We’re in the Chinese restaurant on the corner of 54th and 7th
The owners are both Chinese and married
The wife hangs by the cash register at the front door
Her tentacles flying around the room on alert
My brother’s body drapes over his chair
And onto the sticky flypaper edges of the floor
The husband is in the kitchen dripping sweat into our plates
Making them sizzle
We can see people sneezing freely outside the windows while city dust makes them cry
There’s a little girl with long brown hair like me
Shedding crocodile tears at the table next to ours
As her mother uses a cotton ball to wipe her eyes
It’s hot in here
I see my brothers sweat forming on his John Lennon t shirt
I have the same one
We’re not the same.
There’s a fly sucking on something under the little girls table
The place stinks of grease
Oh never mind I say
And April continues on
Taking a walk after lunch to see flowers blooming in the park
Leaning into each other
Brushing elbows
Spitting in the street
Kids out of school
We’ll wait our turn for a swing
My brother pushing me high
Laughing louder then the children at play
We don’t laugh anymore
He’s gone but I left first
Checked out
Moved away
Stopped caring
I don’t care
I’m numb
I never care about anything but myself
I’m a selfish little girl
April’s almost over now
It’s funny though
We still walk our dogs
Just not close enough to bark
It’s funny though
The wind is the same but not the sidewalks
It’s funny though
No one brought a skateboard
My husband never came
It’s funny though
Saying the city is too crowded
Vacationers spending freely
Rain drizzling through April showers
Squirrels know though
They know it soon will be crowded
So they dash through the streets
Gathering their belongings
April’s almost over now
Am I still there when I’m here
I once gave up pot for my son
What do I give up now
I give up
I’m a loser
I take
I take what I want when I want it
Food Drinks Drugs Trips Clothes Jewels Men Sex
Love
Wherever I can find it
I’m unlovable
I’m bad
And April
It’s over
The Gun
The clouds paint moods across my views
guilty of shortcomings and regrets
wisdom circles cinnamon kaleidoscopes that I slowly drink in
my world
my country
my fellow man
my shame
demeaning each other
turning the skies grey
living in dark clouds
remorse stabs each phrase into my skull
cracking thunder down my spine
water gushing from my eyes
spilling my soul onto the hardwood floor
I can no longer read or listen
expressions shimmer rainbows that no longer exists
uttering ghosts that should have never been set free
recalling times that were no better than now
usage matters
rhymes matter
what comes out of ours mouths and spatters across the universe matters
I’m sick to my stomach
steading myself against the inevitable spray
infected by my gold longing for the sun
black in my heart where animals crater their teeth
the violence that lives in my bellybutton sits at stay while my eyes burn
there’s freedom in wanting to kill something
it releases chickens and gives us flexibility
I’m not saying it’s right or moral
I’m just saying it’s bloody
I hit the deck ,what a strange term for a dirty floor in a New York City club, I mean filthy with sweat and grim and cigarette butts and soot and high heals. My reflex put me here. My survival instincts need to get me out. The music is streamline loud thumping disco, not Gloria Gaynors “I Will Survive” but Donna Summers “Last Dance” and people are dancing, lots of people, elbow to elbow people all around me in spandex and sequence and dresses and tank tops and lots of make up even the guys, so all I can see now are shoes and the bottom half of everyone’s outfit. I’m on my hands and knees. My dress that lands below the knees is keeping my knees safe from this disease ridden floor. No one seems to notice me down here. My long nails painted neon purple are gripping the sticky brown floor. It’s dark except for flashing multicolored lights circling the dancers. I don’t come to this club very often. I’m either at Studio 54 snorting coke with famous druggies or CBGBs getting my punk on but my cousins wanted to come here tonight for some flavor. I can’t see them but they can’t be too far from me. I was his target from the get go. Just 5 minutes ago he whispered filth in my ear dirtier than this floor. I can smell my own sweat and I don’t sweat. I saw his gun. I don’t know if that was his intention or not but I saw him and he saw me and I saw him reach for his gun tucked in his pants. He reached right under his shirt pushing it aside and placed his hand on the gun and I saw it and I hit the floor and now I’m crawling towards the door.
guilty of shortcomings and regrets
wisdom circles cinnamon kaleidoscopes that I slowly drink in
my world
my country
my fellow man
my shame
demeaning each other
turning the skies grey
living in dark clouds
remorse stabs each phrase into my skull
cracking thunder down my spine
water gushing from my eyes
spilling my soul onto the hardwood floor
I can no longer read or listen
expressions shimmer rainbows that no longer exists
uttering ghosts that should have never been set free
recalling times that were no better than now
usage matters
rhymes matter
what comes out of ours mouths and spatters across the universe matters
I’m sick to my stomach
steading myself against the inevitable spray
infected by my gold longing for the sun
black in my heart where animals crater their teeth
the violence that lives in my bellybutton sits at stay while my eyes burn
there’s freedom in wanting to kill something
it releases chickens and gives us flexibility
I’m not saying it’s right or moral
I’m just saying it’s bloody
I hit the deck ,what a strange term for a dirty floor in a New York City club, I mean filthy with sweat and grim and cigarette butts and soot and high heals. My reflex put me here. My survival instincts need to get me out. The music is streamline loud thumping disco, not Gloria Gaynors “I Will Survive” but Donna Summers “Last Dance” and people are dancing, lots of people, elbow to elbow people all around me in spandex and sequence and dresses and tank tops and lots of make up even the guys, so all I can see now are shoes and the bottom half of everyone’s outfit. I’m on my hands and knees. My dress that lands below the knees is keeping my knees safe from this disease ridden floor. No one seems to notice me down here. My long nails painted neon purple are gripping the sticky brown floor. It’s dark except for flashing multicolored lights circling the dancers. I don’t come to this club very often. I’m either at Studio 54 snorting coke with famous druggies or CBGBs getting my punk on but my cousins wanted to come here tonight for some flavor. I can’t see them but they can’t be too far from me. I was his target from the get go. Just 5 minutes ago he whispered filth in my ear dirtier than this floor. I can smell my own sweat and I don’t sweat. I saw his gun. I don’t know if that was his intention or not but I saw him and he saw me and I saw him reach for his gun tucked in his pants. He reached right under his shirt pushing it aside and placed his hand on the gun and I saw it and I hit the floor and now I’m crawling towards the door.
Changing Winter
I’m walking through winters
where thoughts are blocked
by too many spiderwebs
there’s a well stockpiling tears
where my stomach should be
one day I just might fall back in
the wind nor rain nor even the sun moves me
my feet wades through
my skin stays dry
my hair lays flat
my smile burrows out of sight
moths fly out of my mouth when I try to speak
rocks don’t hurt
the little kid sounds are lobotomized from my brow
I hear it’s about being grateful in the face of he left
I never imagined feeling so far away
I’m an island surrounded by walls
I’m pieces of all the men I’ve loved
I’m over it
I show up
who shows up for me
he just loves me
when I see him my face lights up
he stands straight in his love
it looks like flowers shooting from his eyes
it sounds like words that are never said
it tastes like sweet tarts from my childhood
I’d suck on them until my tongue turned red
I’ve seen red instead of my lover
I’ve seen axes and blades
I’ve tasted that metallic taste
that comes right before the explosion
the combination locked me up
my eyes spit venom
my tongue curled
turning the walls brown with my force
the door was stuck on stutter
the sound of goodbye made me cover my ears
I’ve calmed into sober
I’ve left my mess behind
the days end in blowjobs then dinner
colors have resumed like winter is over
but it’s not
I’m tearing down the walls within me
I’m sipping each day like a magic elixir
I’m skipping stones
and tripping over rocks
now the winters cold
stays far from the bedroom door
where thoughts are blocked
by too many spiderwebs
there’s a well stockpiling tears
where my stomach should be
one day I just might fall back in
the wind nor rain nor even the sun moves me
my feet wades through
my skin stays dry
my hair lays flat
my smile burrows out of sight
moths fly out of my mouth when I try to speak
rocks don’t hurt
the little kid sounds are lobotomized from my brow
I hear it’s about being grateful in the face of he left
I never imagined feeling so far away
I’m an island surrounded by walls
I’m pieces of all the men I’ve loved
I’m over it
I show up
who shows up for me
he just loves me
when I see him my face lights up
he stands straight in his love
it looks like flowers shooting from his eyes
it sounds like words that are never said
it tastes like sweet tarts from my childhood
I’d suck on them until my tongue turned red
I’ve seen red instead of my lover
I’ve seen axes and blades
I’ve tasted that metallic taste
that comes right before the explosion
the combination locked me up
my eyes spit venom
my tongue curled
turning the walls brown with my force
the door was stuck on stutter
the sound of goodbye made me cover my ears
I’ve calmed into sober
I’ve left my mess behind
the days end in blowjobs then dinner
colors have resumed like winter is over
but it’s not
I’m tearing down the walls within me
I’m sipping each day like a magic elixir
I’m skipping stones
and tripping over rocks
now the winters cold
stays far from the bedroom door
Fruit Of A Never Virgin
I’ve never been a virgin running like blood
down my pointer and middle finger
down the palm of my hand down my wrist
threading scarlet trails through life line
popping like a gun between teeth
milking my jaw crackling in my ears
squirting like cum down my throat
across my tongue over my lips
pausing
at the sides of my mouth onto my chin
then wiped with the back of my hand
I skip
skipping feels cool to my spots
favorite hangs in the park swinging on swings
I like to get high braced in tunnels
I like drugs I’m not here for them
now is the time for the ritual
sucking on the fruit of the dead
on the life giving seeds like a zombie reborn
offering it to others like a sprung virgin
having faith like a holy mystery
our lady of pomegranate
holding it like a crown
of abundance of fertility of good fortune
a mystical experience really
on paintings and coins
in lovers dreams and attractive words
the decadence of kernel
rolling between my fingers snapping off bites
scraping them through my teeth
then going in like a vampire for a deep plunge
popping them like a jack in the box
some people are intimidated by them
some people don’t eat the seeds
some people don’t know what’s good for them
childhood comfort rebellion sexy offering
communing sacrificing indulging meat
I’ve never been a virgin
my blood runs cold
my legs spread open
my eyes closed
I place another seed in my mouth
and feel it grow
down my pointer and middle finger
down the palm of my hand down my wrist
threading scarlet trails through life line
popping like a gun between teeth
milking my jaw crackling in my ears
squirting like cum down my throat
across my tongue over my lips
pausing
at the sides of my mouth onto my chin
then wiped with the back of my hand
I skip
skipping feels cool to my spots
favorite hangs in the park swinging on swings
I like to get high braced in tunnels
I like drugs I’m not here for them
now is the time for the ritual
sucking on the fruit of the dead
on the life giving seeds like a zombie reborn
offering it to others like a sprung virgin
having faith like a holy mystery
our lady of pomegranate
holding it like a crown
of abundance of fertility of good fortune
a mystical experience really
on paintings and coins
in lovers dreams and attractive words
the decadence of kernel
rolling between my fingers snapping off bites
scraping them through my teeth
then going in like a vampire for a deep plunge
popping them like a jack in the box
some people are intimidated by them
some people don’t eat the seeds
some people don’t know what’s good for them
childhood comfort rebellion sexy offering
communing sacrificing indulging meat
I’ve never been a virgin
my blood runs cold
my legs spread open
my eyes closed
I place another seed in my mouth
and feel it grow
Death On Thursday
There’s a procession of anxiety moving across the sky
dropping reeks of perspiration across my view.
It turns my thoughts to poison.
Who will line my walls with small talk of days gone bye bye of not so long ago?
There’s a treasure chest that has been sealed with mold from unwashed hands.
I don’t dare lift the lid when I can’t remember what’s inside.
Who will be brave enough to take a peek peek to see beneath the velvet lining?
There’s a memory of a mirror where I dressed in soft cream leather
with Indian head dimes down my torso
causing my ancestors to turn their heads.
It takes my breath to the other side.
Who will comb my hair when I lay my head down down on the empty aired lap?
There’s a room where the phone no longer rings causing me to go blind.
I cry when I’m alone and listen to panting beats quickening my heart.
Who will cup tears for me me when the door is locked?
There’s a shield without an emblem laying naked on the grass
melting towards the lava rock tunnels.
It can live there forever for all I care.
Who will remind me of what it means means when the sun comes up?
There’s a man that’s now a stranger drinking from a half full glass.
It escapes me why his dreams turned away so fast and smokey.
Who is it that can restore my womb womb when it has shriveled in the end?
There’s a knot I’ve forgotten how to chew open with teeth and pull apart with my nails.
It slips from my grip as I yearn to fall apart.
Who knows the combination of release release if I’m ever to breath again?
There’s a magic potion that’s told to bring about whirling Trojans stuffed to the gills.
It seems like a gift of course but looks aren’t everything.
Who can tell me where I set the opener to pry pry and set it free at last?
dropping reeks of perspiration across my view.
It turns my thoughts to poison.
Who will line my walls with small talk of days gone bye bye of not so long ago?
There’s a treasure chest that has been sealed with mold from unwashed hands.
I don’t dare lift the lid when I can’t remember what’s inside.
Who will be brave enough to take a peek peek to see beneath the velvet lining?
There’s a memory of a mirror where I dressed in soft cream leather
with Indian head dimes down my torso
causing my ancestors to turn their heads.
It takes my breath to the other side.
Who will comb my hair when I lay my head down down on the empty aired lap?
There’s a room where the phone no longer rings causing me to go blind.
I cry when I’m alone and listen to panting beats quickening my heart.
Who will cup tears for me me when the door is locked?
There’s a shield without an emblem laying naked on the grass
melting towards the lava rock tunnels.
It can live there forever for all I care.
Who will remind me of what it means means when the sun comes up?
There’s a man that’s now a stranger drinking from a half full glass.
It escapes me why his dreams turned away so fast and smokey.
Who is it that can restore my womb womb when it has shriveled in the end?
There’s a knot I’ve forgotten how to chew open with teeth and pull apart with my nails.
It slips from my grip as I yearn to fall apart.
Who knows the combination of release release if I’m ever to breath again?
There’s a magic potion that’s told to bring about whirling Trojans stuffed to the gills.
It seems like a gift of course but looks aren’t everything.
Who can tell me where I set the opener to pry pry and set it free at last?
The Edge Of Silence
I’ve lost my edge
words form round and vague
my sharp is a dull knife
I keep the gods at my feet
swiping at them whenever they move too far
bringing them closer with the power of my hair
the call of the other side has never been more far away when my coffee arrives it’s been saturated with magic
I’ve lost my rough
words land on the roof
or under barstools and sticky tables
my fingers forgot how to fight
instead they tap
slow and soft
the light in the room rotates muted and pale
the wind floats through like smoke
sheer curtains hold the glass hummingbird in place
smothering her wings
I don’t know how to describe this smell
a mixture of leaves from trees and red mud
there’s a shocking white trash liner
flapping a doves wing at me
from the edge of the copper can
his typing makes noise
I’m quiet like a prayer or a calm but approaching storm
the puppy tries to steal my potato
then sits between our writer’s hips
he has been the one since beer came by the pitchers
and prime rib served at Sunday dinners
rains hits the gravel driveway
reminding me of rivers past
sitting on rocks meditating about the day
the sky looks like a cloud
wrapping around my windows
holding us in place
I could turn and look at him if I wanted to
but the palms wave my attention away
we charged the deck on the night of the portal
and now she tells me I’m a serpent
I feel the twisting in my sternum like a drill
my smile has shaped into a new form
I’m not ready to swallow yet
so laundry sits waiting for me fold
doors remain open waiting for me to close
and the shelves remain out of place
waiting for me to arrange
my wish was for peace
not quiet peace
but active charged peace
hot wire peace
peace that remains alive
the kind of peace that keeps me in bed
but my hands are moving towards my lover
my eyes see through a web of history
but my feet are pointed towards the future
and my tummy cradles the edge
holding her in hibernation
but for now my skin can breath in the silence
words form round and vague
my sharp is a dull knife
I keep the gods at my feet
swiping at them whenever they move too far
bringing them closer with the power of my hair
the call of the other side has never been more far away when my coffee arrives it’s been saturated with magic
I’ve lost my rough
words land on the roof
or under barstools and sticky tables
my fingers forgot how to fight
instead they tap
slow and soft
the light in the room rotates muted and pale
the wind floats through like smoke
sheer curtains hold the glass hummingbird in place
smothering her wings
I don’t know how to describe this smell
a mixture of leaves from trees and red mud
there’s a shocking white trash liner
flapping a doves wing at me
from the edge of the copper can
his typing makes noise
I’m quiet like a prayer or a calm but approaching storm
the puppy tries to steal my potato
then sits between our writer’s hips
he has been the one since beer came by the pitchers
and prime rib served at Sunday dinners
rains hits the gravel driveway
reminding me of rivers past
sitting on rocks meditating about the day
the sky looks like a cloud
wrapping around my windows
holding us in place
I could turn and look at him if I wanted to
but the palms wave my attention away
we charged the deck on the night of the portal
and now she tells me I’m a serpent
I feel the twisting in my sternum like a drill
my smile has shaped into a new form
I’m not ready to swallow yet
so laundry sits waiting for me fold
doors remain open waiting for me to close
and the shelves remain out of place
waiting for me to arrange
my wish was for peace
not quiet peace
but active charged peace
hot wire peace
peace that remains alive
the kind of peace that keeps me in bed
but my hands are moving towards my lover
my eyes see through a web of history
but my feet are pointed towards the future
and my tummy cradles the edge
holding her in hibernation
but for now my skin can breath in the silence
Poor Is
I floated through the 60’s with flowers in my hair
my eyebrows heavy
my tummy hungry
mom worked 2 jobs
poor but proud
food came with the Puerto Rican’s
red beans and yellow rice
chicken fricassee or fried eggs
plates were divided in order of size
wine was drunk by the jugs
juice came by adding water
cigarettes bought by the carton
see, I was raised in the city
an integrated city
at least where I hung
all shades played together
we amused ourselves with dolls
everyone had a place to live
rent control or the projects
no matter what their checks said
we’d run through the sprinkles or the fire hydrants
we climbed trees with the squirrels in the park
slid down the rocks on our butts
spend hours on the swings
singing every song we knew
bouncing each other off the seesaws
pushing each other off the slides
we’d laugh
no crying
I cry now
now poor is a dirty word
homeless with no job in sight
hell, there ain’t even no more middle class
food comes from stealing
can’t even pick at neighbors garbage
without getting arrested
can’t even drink wine from paper bags no more
some buy cigarettes by the singles
where we bought joints
fireman hand out dolls but not Barbie
fucking correct bullshit
hell, it’s all a bunch of bullshit
rent is for the rich
rivers full of infections
trees dwindling away
songs scream of violence, curses, hopelessness
we had Motown, romance and love
guns are the throw down
hell we used spray cans to spread our words
now there’re cops on campuses
I’m frisked at the movies
at the movies
I saw a metal detector at my elementary school
what the fuck
we used our fists
we hated
but now the hate has risen to the top
comes up on us like trash on the shore
and it smells like being poor
my eyebrows heavy
my tummy hungry
mom worked 2 jobs
poor but proud
food came with the Puerto Rican’s
red beans and yellow rice
chicken fricassee or fried eggs
plates were divided in order of size
wine was drunk by the jugs
juice came by adding water
cigarettes bought by the carton
see, I was raised in the city
an integrated city
at least where I hung
all shades played together
we amused ourselves with dolls
everyone had a place to live
rent control or the projects
no matter what their checks said
we’d run through the sprinkles or the fire hydrants
we climbed trees with the squirrels in the park
slid down the rocks on our butts
spend hours on the swings
singing every song we knew
bouncing each other off the seesaws
pushing each other off the slides
we’d laugh
no crying
I cry now
now poor is a dirty word
homeless with no job in sight
hell, there ain’t even no more middle class
food comes from stealing
can’t even pick at neighbors garbage
without getting arrested
can’t even drink wine from paper bags no more
some buy cigarettes by the singles
where we bought joints
fireman hand out dolls but not Barbie
fucking correct bullshit
hell, it’s all a bunch of bullshit
rent is for the rich
rivers full of infections
trees dwindling away
songs scream of violence, curses, hopelessness
we had Motown, romance and love
guns are the throw down
hell we used spray cans to spread our words
now there’re cops on campuses
I’m frisked at the movies
at the movies
I saw a metal detector at my elementary school
what the fuck
we used our fists
we hated
but now the hate has risen to the top
comes up on us like trash on the shore
and it smells like being poor
Take My Hand
Take my hand. Let the colors blend. Let my yellow touch green. Let the wrinkles stretch thin. Bleed green. Thin. Hands. Where they held anger, now there are clouds. Where they fell, now they pray. Where they have held up, now they wipe away. Colors. Yellow. Stretch.
Take my hand. Turning into birds we fly this way. Spinning in tight dances. Taking turns at the wheel. Pulling into places. Opening palms. Reading stories. Tapping into blank spaces. Wheel, dances, way. Birds, tight, turns.
I don’t want to take his hand. My skin is on too tight. I’m allergic to sweat. My elbow doesn’t want to bend. Bend, sweat, tight. There’s sand in my eyes. Clouds peak out between the drops of blue. Leaves fly away from the trees. Sand. Peak. Drops.
I don’t want to take his hand. The drink has worn off. The tired starts in a chair. Music sets my teeth on fire. Fire. Chair. Off. The wind is another reason for hot air balloons. For kites. For sails. Sails, reason, wind. Take his hand.
Take my hand. I don’t want to take his hand. Hand my take. Hand his take. To want. Don’t I? Blend colors? Green touch? Thin. Stretch. Clouds are dances tight. Wheel the places into stories reading. Tight to. Sweat to. Bend to. My eyes blue of trees. Don’t I take his hand?
I want him to take my hand. Twisting my wrist into his wet. My hand takes him. Pulling his smile past his teeth. Teeth. Him. Wet. I don’t want to take. As my fingers curl. Nails in palms. Ripping thin. My take. Life’s too long. Flowers whither. Getting thin. Take my hand in him. Twisting. Pulling. Teeth. Stretch. Turns. Drops hand. Hand. Hand.
Take my hand. Turning into birds we fly this way. Spinning in tight dances. Taking turns at the wheel. Pulling into places. Opening palms. Reading stories. Tapping into blank spaces. Wheel, dances, way. Birds, tight, turns.
I don’t want to take his hand. My skin is on too tight. I’m allergic to sweat. My elbow doesn’t want to bend. Bend, sweat, tight. There’s sand in my eyes. Clouds peak out between the drops of blue. Leaves fly away from the trees. Sand. Peak. Drops.
I don’t want to take his hand. The drink has worn off. The tired starts in a chair. Music sets my teeth on fire. Fire. Chair. Off. The wind is another reason for hot air balloons. For kites. For sails. Sails, reason, wind. Take his hand.
Take my hand. I don’t want to take his hand. Hand my take. Hand his take. To want. Don’t I? Blend colors? Green touch? Thin. Stretch. Clouds are dances tight. Wheel the places into stories reading. Tight to. Sweat to. Bend to. My eyes blue of trees. Don’t I take his hand?
I want him to take my hand. Twisting my wrist into his wet. My hand takes him. Pulling his smile past his teeth. Teeth. Him. Wet. I don’t want to take. As my fingers curl. Nails in palms. Ripping thin. My take. Life’s too long. Flowers whither. Getting thin. Take my hand in him. Twisting. Pulling. Teeth. Stretch. Turns. Drops hand. Hand. Hand.
No PLACE TO HIDE
It’s effecting us now
here
everyday
the pieces are too big even for butterflies
it happens one sentence at a time
trying to hold us in place
there’s no place to hide
I run without looking at color
but feel it scratch me on the back
I live in see through boxes putting quarters in the slots
I melt with my tongue
while stealing money like a stranger
it’s happening all over
not just here
not just now
the vomit sticks in my stomach
rah is another word for I’m better
stars get in my way
no one believes a smile
no one hears the out of tune plucking
no one gets through the busy line
the trains stop running
airspace is blocked
it’s important to take the stairs
but my mouth is pooling with saliva
there’s no place to hide
waving stripes hurts my brain
people falling hurts my eyes
indulging in love is the best way to hurt the other guy someone cut down the trees
so now the sun spills heat across my couch
cushions bounce onto the floor
with a shove of my dogs nose
there are windows everywhere I look
I try to find places to hide
at night the moon reflects off the palms
with its silver glow bouncing light from my bed
there’s no place to go
in the mornings yellow bounces between the greens
it’s happening here
now
still
light plays tricks between the setting trees
I can feel it
the alright comes between the drops of rain
but still there’s no place to hide
I hear the buzzing from the bees
they must be real high
it’s gonna be alright
he promises me that
there’s no hiding when the winds blows the covers away It’s gonna be alright
the hum of the motorcycle tells me he’s home
I should get up and make lunch
but I was thinking about peace and my dad
and how none of it rearranges my sentences
I need to tell him I can’t find a place to hide
because the carpets have all been picked out of sight there’s a bruise on my leg that I can trace in the day
but it’s the ones in my dreams that leave me behind
it’s happening here
now
I can hear them fighting behind the walls
the gate clicks so I can see him now
I can ask him where to hide
my sentences are falling apart
words pour out too close together
I smell salt and cilantro while he chops us up a meal
he frowns when he cooks but the feeling is mine
he tells me everything will be alright
and I say but please
show me where to hide
here
everyday
the pieces are too big even for butterflies
it happens one sentence at a time
trying to hold us in place
there’s no place to hide
I run without looking at color
but feel it scratch me on the back
I live in see through boxes putting quarters in the slots
I melt with my tongue
while stealing money like a stranger
it’s happening all over
not just here
not just now
the vomit sticks in my stomach
rah is another word for I’m better
stars get in my way
no one believes a smile
no one hears the out of tune plucking
no one gets through the busy line
the trains stop running
airspace is blocked
it’s important to take the stairs
but my mouth is pooling with saliva
there’s no place to hide
waving stripes hurts my brain
people falling hurts my eyes
indulging in love is the best way to hurt the other guy someone cut down the trees
so now the sun spills heat across my couch
cushions bounce onto the floor
with a shove of my dogs nose
there are windows everywhere I look
I try to find places to hide
at night the moon reflects off the palms
with its silver glow bouncing light from my bed
there’s no place to go
in the mornings yellow bounces between the greens
it’s happening here
now
still
light plays tricks between the setting trees
I can feel it
the alright comes between the drops of rain
but still there’s no place to hide
I hear the buzzing from the bees
they must be real high
it’s gonna be alright
he promises me that
there’s no hiding when the winds blows the covers away It’s gonna be alright
the hum of the motorcycle tells me he’s home
I should get up and make lunch
but I was thinking about peace and my dad
and how none of it rearranges my sentences
I need to tell him I can’t find a place to hide
because the carpets have all been picked out of sight there’s a bruise on my leg that I can trace in the day
but it’s the ones in my dreams that leave me behind
it’s happening here
now
I can hear them fighting behind the walls
the gate clicks so I can see him now
I can ask him where to hide
my sentences are falling apart
words pour out too close together
I smell salt and cilantro while he chops us up a meal
he frowns when he cooks but the feeling is mine
he tells me everything will be alright
and I say but please
show me where to hide
Blood Tastes Good
The heat is rising to my face.
I’m sex with a fever. I’m tight pants. I’m morning licks.
I smell Marlboro cigarettes oozing from last nights veins.
Blood pools around the corners of my mouth.
It tastes good.
Yellow lighting highlights my dim.
Black crows fly low through the graveyard.
The smell of decomposing bodies.
It doesn’t matter that my jeans are a needy lover.
Or that mascara lines my eyes instead of my lashes.
Or that the hardness of my nipples shows through my tank top.
My lower belly clamps hard against my cervix.
Blood lays on the inside of my lower lip.
It tastes good.
I’m notes passed in class.
Short sentences of one or two words.
Sometimes mmm or ah.
It’s all a game.
A game of who can hold cool the highest.
Of who could hold smoke the longest.
Of who could hold court with out boring the shit out of the rest of us.
Staring at faces and hands and walking feet.
Imitating my favorites.
Laughing at my least.
Conversations go on forever in my head.
Negotiating. Circling back.
Steam leaks through my eyes.
No one thinks they’ll live over 30.
The streets are windy.
Spraying dust in my eyes.
The tall buildings block the sun.
I never know what time it is.
Lights always flashing.
Inside and outside clubs.
Boys.
Cockroaches crawling over my skin.
Blood drips from my nose.
I lick it dry.
It tastes good.
My temples pulse while Leonard plays dark to my heart.
Fingers tap the sides of my black leather purse.
I pick up my pace.
Walking flashes on a Ferris wheel.
Heals clicking on cement taking weight off the balls of my feet.
Store windows begging me to look.
People in restaurants swerving their heads to catch the girl covered in blood.
It tastes good.
I’m killing myself.
With depression.
With drinks.
With drugs.
It soothes my toes.
It unwrinkles my brows.
It puts the bounce in my dance.
Dogs howl out their windows where teenagers jumped.
Cars swerve one way and hit another.
Lights change out of beat.
There’s rivers of blood covering the cement streets.
It’s where I play.
It’s where I run.
It’s where I sleep.
It’s how blood is.
And It tastes so good.
I’m sex with a fever. I’m tight pants. I’m morning licks.
I smell Marlboro cigarettes oozing from last nights veins.
Blood pools around the corners of my mouth.
It tastes good.
Yellow lighting highlights my dim.
Black crows fly low through the graveyard.
The smell of decomposing bodies.
It doesn’t matter that my jeans are a needy lover.
Or that mascara lines my eyes instead of my lashes.
Or that the hardness of my nipples shows through my tank top.
My lower belly clamps hard against my cervix.
Blood lays on the inside of my lower lip.
It tastes good.
I’m notes passed in class.
Short sentences of one or two words.
Sometimes mmm or ah.
It’s all a game.
A game of who can hold cool the highest.
Of who could hold smoke the longest.
Of who could hold court with out boring the shit out of the rest of us.
Staring at faces and hands and walking feet.
Imitating my favorites.
Laughing at my least.
Conversations go on forever in my head.
Negotiating. Circling back.
Steam leaks through my eyes.
No one thinks they’ll live over 30.
The streets are windy.
Spraying dust in my eyes.
The tall buildings block the sun.
I never know what time it is.
Lights always flashing.
Inside and outside clubs.
Boys.
Cockroaches crawling over my skin.
Blood drips from my nose.
I lick it dry.
It tastes good.
My temples pulse while Leonard plays dark to my heart.
Fingers tap the sides of my black leather purse.
I pick up my pace.
Walking flashes on a Ferris wheel.
Heals clicking on cement taking weight off the balls of my feet.
Store windows begging me to look.
People in restaurants swerving their heads to catch the girl covered in blood.
It tastes good.
I’m killing myself.
With depression.
With drinks.
With drugs.
It soothes my toes.
It unwrinkles my brows.
It puts the bounce in my dance.
Dogs howl out their windows where teenagers jumped.
Cars swerve one way and hit another.
Lights change out of beat.
There’s rivers of blood covering the cement streets.
It’s where I play.
It’s where I run.
It’s where I sleep.
It’s how blood is.
And It tastes so good.
September
September rains occupying my mind as we sit sipping from crystal glasses.
Pulling down the shades.
The bed calls.
We don’t hesitate smelling of musk and skin.
The sheets cool our hot bodies.
The mirror reflects hair and open mouths,
shoulders and sex.
September is quiet until the wind blows.
Then the sounds rustle my nerves.
The edge drops like shadows hidden.
Even breathing is too loud.
September falls with me down a hill.
Laughing over skinned knees and sweaty tears.
My elbow yelling like the Mexican sun.
September shines at night where glasses clink.
Where in my champagne brain a relationship burns. Where we keep it real.
We keep it bright.
We keep it lit.
September happens to us.
As we take walks holding hands.
As we sleep touching fingers.
As we eat each other up with our eyes.
September reminds us when we talk about the past
not to skip pages.
When we want to fall apart
we skip to the end of the series.
When we want to close doors
we peek at the foundation.
When we want to collapse
we share tea.
September is full of clouds layered like a Monet
even when it’s dark.
He holds me in my pain.
Laughs when I fake sleep.
Tells me words that make me cry.
Sings me his songs.
Grabs my thigh through the night.
September holds our kisses over the years.
Smiling in silence.
Growing grass.
Raising dogs.
Living in a dream.
Wet foreheads.
Open palms.
September leaves me sitting at a table.
Standing in a doorway.
Laying in my bed.
Shedding skin.
Beating slow.
Praying to whoever will listen.
Craving more.
Fading fast.
September is almost gone.
Pulling down the shades.
The bed calls.
We don’t hesitate smelling of musk and skin.
The sheets cool our hot bodies.
The mirror reflects hair and open mouths,
shoulders and sex.
September is quiet until the wind blows.
Then the sounds rustle my nerves.
The edge drops like shadows hidden.
Even breathing is too loud.
September falls with me down a hill.
Laughing over skinned knees and sweaty tears.
My elbow yelling like the Mexican sun.
September shines at night where glasses clink.
Where in my champagne brain a relationship burns. Where we keep it real.
We keep it bright.
We keep it lit.
September happens to us.
As we take walks holding hands.
As we sleep touching fingers.
As we eat each other up with our eyes.
September reminds us when we talk about the past
not to skip pages.
When we want to fall apart
we skip to the end of the series.
When we want to close doors
we peek at the foundation.
When we want to collapse
we share tea.
September is full of clouds layered like a Monet
even when it’s dark.
He holds me in my pain.
Laughs when I fake sleep.
Tells me words that make me cry.
Sings me his songs.
Grabs my thigh through the night.
September holds our kisses over the years.
Smiling in silence.
Growing grass.
Raising dogs.
Living in a dream.
Wet foreheads.
Open palms.
September leaves me sitting at a table.
Standing in a doorway.
Laying in my bed.
Shedding skin.
Beating slow.
Praying to whoever will listen.
Craving more.
Fading fast.
September is almost gone.
Get Fucked
Do you understand swiveling chairs
Or lipstick stained cigarettes?
Do you look in a mirror and can’t look away?
Does eating mangos include licking your wrists?
Then cross your legs
Tilt your head
And get fucked.
See me?
I’ve changed the words to fit my history.
I’ve picked up bad habits and dropped clues.
I’ve come full circle while driving in a straight line. And I got fucked.
Does waiting in lines include touching those around You?
Do you lean into the ticket taker?
Do you wink at the traffic cop?
Then smack your cheeks
Squint your eyes and get fucked.
Now
I know this strategy isn’t for everyone.
I mean fuckability is fuckability.
I mean we all don’t have it.
But when you do you know it because
Well
You get fucked.
See me?
I’ve put on perfume before my shower.
I’ve trimmed it to the stump.
I’ve combed hairs and split fleas
And I got fucked.
Now
I know fucking isn’t for everyone.
Hell
I know some people that have never cum.
Hell
I know some people that hate giving head.
Hell
I know some people who gag just brushing their teeth. So if you’re one of those people
Then getting fucked may not be so easy for you.
So I’m here to give you a few simple tips.
First try masturbating.
Now this starts out as a solo sport
Then
When you have that down
Invite a team member
Either from your team or a competitor.
Now that invite alone should get you fucked
See me?
I’ve played on the grass on the greener side of the Fence.
I’ve swung so hard I ended up in another state.
I’ve taken myself out of the game
Landing in the wrong bed.
And I got fucked.
It didn’t feel like when I touch myself.
It didn’t feel like being touched.
It didn’t feel like curling toes or muffled screams or Sweaty breasts or sticky bellies or messy hair.
It felt like smacked cheeks and squinted eyes and
Wet pillows and broken mirrors and thrown glass and Slammed doors and lost forever
And I got fucked.
Or lipstick stained cigarettes?
Do you look in a mirror and can’t look away?
Does eating mangos include licking your wrists?
Then cross your legs
Tilt your head
And get fucked.
See me?
I’ve changed the words to fit my history.
I’ve picked up bad habits and dropped clues.
I’ve come full circle while driving in a straight line. And I got fucked.
Does waiting in lines include touching those around You?
Do you lean into the ticket taker?
Do you wink at the traffic cop?
Then smack your cheeks
Squint your eyes and get fucked.
Now
I know this strategy isn’t for everyone.
I mean fuckability is fuckability.
I mean we all don’t have it.
But when you do you know it because
Well
You get fucked.
See me?
I’ve put on perfume before my shower.
I’ve trimmed it to the stump.
I’ve combed hairs and split fleas
And I got fucked.
Now
I know fucking isn’t for everyone.
Hell
I know some people that have never cum.
Hell
I know some people that hate giving head.
Hell
I know some people who gag just brushing their teeth. So if you’re one of those people
Then getting fucked may not be so easy for you.
So I’m here to give you a few simple tips.
First try masturbating.
Now this starts out as a solo sport
Then
When you have that down
Invite a team member
Either from your team or a competitor.
Now that invite alone should get you fucked
See me?
I’ve played on the grass on the greener side of the Fence.
I’ve swung so hard I ended up in another state.
I’ve taken myself out of the game
Landing in the wrong bed.
And I got fucked.
It didn’t feel like when I touch myself.
It didn’t feel like being touched.
It didn’t feel like curling toes or muffled screams or Sweaty breasts or sticky bellies or messy hair.
It felt like smacked cheeks and squinted eyes and
Wet pillows and broken mirrors and thrown glass and Slammed doors and lost forever
And I got fucked.
He
It’s not because his smile includes dimples
or his tan deepens with green.
It’s not because he sprinkles cinnamon in my coffee
or kisses my forehead when he’s done.
It’s not because he takes the turns slow
or calls me before I go missing.
It’s because there are bugs in my eyes where my pupils should be causing me to see the world from dark corners. And he wraps me in the cool sheets of his arms as I crawl in my sleep.
It’s because he pours the milk as I stare at his back.
My smile comes out of hiding.
He steams our coffee then looks my way.
Teeth showing through my curved lips.
It’s because the phone is ringing and no one moves towards it.
The smells of coco pulls in my nostrils.
Everyone knows what this is.
It’s because he flips my page.
He comes and tumbles me from stone.
He doesn’t see my lumps and bumps but pulls the diamonds from my eyes.
I melt my nose into his shoulder’s smell.
I carve his smile into my heart to nourish my blood when she’s bled dry.
I set down my free and watch as blood cry’s.
There is blood that weaves through our hairs braiding us for all time.
I miss him when I blink.
I look out through a skull of fire.
Love caught in my throat
wrapping around my neck
chocking me like a bone.
Imprisoning me like I’m in custody.
Fooling me like I’m selfish.
I need a trip so far away.
Into the mountains where the wind sings through the trees.
Where the cold is held at bay with wood and stoves and carpets bear.
The itch is deep inside my skin.
The clovers hold this wish.
I live like I’m on a throne
rubbing the fabric right off my seat
curling my finger on the armrest
testing my nails on the wood.
Haiku is my home.
Trees sing in the wind.
Birds call to the sun.
The ocean flashes her blue at me.
I drink it in like a cocktail of creation.
I keep my cries tucked in my armpits.
The air races into my nostrils.
I must have been holding my breath.
I live high dodging smoke.
It’s so hard when forests get in my way.
or his tan deepens with green.
It’s not because he sprinkles cinnamon in my coffee
or kisses my forehead when he’s done.
It’s not because he takes the turns slow
or calls me before I go missing.
It’s because there are bugs in my eyes where my pupils should be causing me to see the world from dark corners. And he wraps me in the cool sheets of his arms as I crawl in my sleep.
It’s because he pours the milk as I stare at his back.
My smile comes out of hiding.
He steams our coffee then looks my way.
Teeth showing through my curved lips.
It’s because the phone is ringing and no one moves towards it.
The smells of coco pulls in my nostrils.
Everyone knows what this is.
It’s because he flips my page.
He comes and tumbles me from stone.
He doesn’t see my lumps and bumps but pulls the diamonds from my eyes.
I melt my nose into his shoulder’s smell.
I carve his smile into my heart to nourish my blood when she’s bled dry.
I set down my free and watch as blood cry’s.
There is blood that weaves through our hairs braiding us for all time.
I miss him when I blink.
I look out through a skull of fire.
Love caught in my throat
wrapping around my neck
chocking me like a bone.
Imprisoning me like I’m in custody.
Fooling me like I’m selfish.
I need a trip so far away.
Into the mountains where the wind sings through the trees.
Where the cold is held at bay with wood and stoves and carpets bear.
The itch is deep inside my skin.
The clovers hold this wish.
I live like I’m on a throne
rubbing the fabric right off my seat
curling my finger on the armrest
testing my nails on the wood.
Haiku is my home.
Trees sing in the wind.
Birds call to the sun.
The ocean flashes her blue at me.
I drink it in like a cocktail of creation.
I keep my cries tucked in my armpits.
The air races into my nostrils.
I must have been holding my breath.
I live high dodging smoke.
It’s so hard when forests get in my way.
Make It Stop
It’s all dark
except for fireflies just out of sight
my face is hot
barring the sweat on the back of my neck
keeping me cool when there’s a breeze
I want to smoke pot
but the boys are nowhere to be seen
I look around taking in the movie scene
I see souls passing in slow motion
over the forest trees
I wonder if they can see me
light litters the ground like licks of fire
it’s a dream when I’m oh so far beyond
and I prefer it that way
the buildings disappear when I feel this distant
but only as long as the moon is bright
tonight, when it is new and dark
I see the bodies falling
I hear the cry’s for daddies and babies
I see mothers with tears as big as planes
the owl screeches me into my surroundings
it’s better than sirens
tears cover my face but no ashes
the lone crumbling is me
as I fall to the pine needle ground
I think about where I was born
I think about people I thought I knew
I think about who’s gone
no one can see me planted on soil
my face in the earth
breathing in dirt covered worms
wild flowers never grew from cement
although they tried
I left before the singing began
I had to or I would have flown places I shouldn’t
the sound of cracking jerks my head off the dirt
I can almost smell the fire from here
or is that wrong
looking up from my position I rise to my knees
and I pled
make it stop
make people stop hating me
make it stop
make an elevator to pass out the top
that shoots like a star
throw money out the doors
like leaves flying off the trees
sleep with women that live on other grounds
holding them on pillows made from clouds
cross lines with promises
from long before men forgot they wanted to be alive make it stop
make it stop
make it stop forevermore
except for fireflies just out of sight
my face is hot
barring the sweat on the back of my neck
keeping me cool when there’s a breeze
I want to smoke pot
but the boys are nowhere to be seen
I look around taking in the movie scene
I see souls passing in slow motion
over the forest trees
I wonder if they can see me
light litters the ground like licks of fire
it’s a dream when I’m oh so far beyond
and I prefer it that way
the buildings disappear when I feel this distant
but only as long as the moon is bright
tonight, when it is new and dark
I see the bodies falling
I hear the cry’s for daddies and babies
I see mothers with tears as big as planes
the owl screeches me into my surroundings
it’s better than sirens
tears cover my face but no ashes
the lone crumbling is me
as I fall to the pine needle ground
I think about where I was born
I think about people I thought I knew
I think about who’s gone
no one can see me planted on soil
my face in the earth
breathing in dirt covered worms
wild flowers never grew from cement
although they tried
I left before the singing began
I had to or I would have flown places I shouldn’t
the sound of cracking jerks my head off the dirt
I can almost smell the fire from here
or is that wrong
looking up from my position I rise to my knees
and I pled
make it stop
make people stop hating me
make it stop
make an elevator to pass out the top
that shoots like a star
throw money out the doors
like leaves flying off the trees
sleep with women that live on other grounds
holding them on pillows made from clouds
cross lines with promises
from long before men forgot they wanted to be alive make it stop
make it stop
make it stop forevermore
