dream life
in the dark opressive heat
of too many summer nights
mental fights seem more real
than true passion. yet i know
i do not trust you.
passionate eyes tell lies like
the secrets of closed hearts.
even in the dream
i cannot see your eyes.
you plead the truth
as i stand naked before you.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Thursday, July 27, 2006
san andreas
san andreas
beat my heart
until it breaks open
splits down the middle
a california fault line
in my divided torso
stretch my skin tight
braid the center skin
weave me almost whole
again i am alone
and too much more to fix
beat my heart
until it breaks open
splits down the middle
a california fault line
in my divided torso
stretch my skin tight
braid the center skin
weave me almost whole
again i am alone
and too much more to fix
Monday, July 24, 2006
a coffee cup of chillable red
a coffee cup of chillable red
i want my wine
to make the world fit
a little bit better.
(not like the khaki pants i bought
on sale--extra hip fabric
could house tiny squirles.)
but after a glass
or two the world
is smaller and i can't see
my earlier faults.
sunglasses slide past my eyes
and i can't see through solid black plastic.
i want my wine
to make the world fit
a little bit better.
(not like the khaki pants i bought
on sale--extra hip fabric
could house tiny squirles.)
but after a glass
or two the world
is smaller and i can't see
my earlier faults.
sunglasses slide past my eyes
and i can't see through solid black plastic.
the mysteries of a stranger's eyes
the mysteries of a stranger's eyes
purplescented reveries
hold me captive
until you smile
and say hello
purplescented reveries
hold me captive
until you smile
and say hello
Friday, July 21, 2006
Why I might not be posting
The internet at my house has been terrible. It hasn't worked in days. I have to come into my mostly vacated office to use the internet. Now that the poemoff is done I probably will have less motivation to haul myself into the office. If the internet gets fixed in the next couple of days, I'll be back. Whenever I get internet, I will post.
This is the end of the poemoff (sigh!)
father's tears, cursing (poemoff 16)
if i'd been a butterfly--
transceding my childish form--
perhaps i could have escaped
that hug which shamed me
even as i was
the specialest girl on earth.
still red cheeked memory
imperfectly hermetically sealed
(oh! how i tried!)
forgotten
until perfect passion
transports me to that
broken doll
i'll always be.
The title from this poem comes from "FINGERNAIL LIKE A DROPLET OF WAX," by Zack.
if i'd been a butterfly--
transceding my childish form--
perhaps i could have escaped
that hug which shamed me
even as i was
the specialest girl on earth.
still red cheeked memory
imperfectly hermetically sealed
(oh! how i tried!)
forgotten
until perfect passion
transports me to that
broken doll
i'll always be.
The title from this poem comes from "FINGERNAIL LIKE A DROPLET OF WAX," by Zack.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
when an atheist prays (poemoff 15)
when an atheist prays (poemoff 15)
god said be happy
and he was good
real good
but never enough
it's never enough to
smash god with your
fingernail like a droplet of wax
semihardened
and exposed
heating the faux wood tabletop
causing curves and bubbles
they look like the surface of the moon
you never told me
that tears can
taste like candy
The first line of this poem comes from Zack's "WHATEVER."
god said be happy
and he was good
real good
but never enough
it's never enough to
smash god with your
fingernail like a droplet of wax
semihardened
and exposed
heating the faux wood tabletop
causing curves and bubbles
they look like the surface of the moon
you never told me
that tears can
taste like candy
The first line of this poem comes from Zack's "WHATEVER."
Monday, July 17, 2006
arrogance
arrogance
dissatisfied with the poem of love
never had by me.
even as i try
to step outside myself
(not even at the dentist
could i jump out of body),
i want to retreat--
to build a wigwam in myself
and live there only
with literature that is completely
love or hate of
me.
dissatisfied with the poem of love
never had by me.
even as i try
to step outside myself
(not even at the dentist
could i jump out of body),
i want to retreat--
to build a wigwam in myself
and live there only
with literature that is completely
love or hate of
me.
an abandoned satellite (poemoff 14)
an abandoned satellite (poemoff 14)
two bikinitoppedgirls
wet from water
get out of the lake.
they walk towards me
but not on purpose--
going to their cars
or their homes--
whatever.
i leave an aircushion around them
as i pass to stop me
from gravitating into their orbit.
when those girls are only giggles
behind me, i can
enjoy the waves in the water.
The title of this poem comes from "THE (A/E)ND" by Zack.
two bikinitoppedgirls
wet from water
get out of the lake.
they walk towards me
but not on purpose--
going to their cars
or their homes--
whatever.
i leave an aircushion around them
as i pass to stop me
from gravitating into their orbit.
when those girls are only giggles
behind me, i can
enjoy the waves in the water.
The title of this poem comes from "THE (A/E)ND" by Zack.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
lips if... (poemoff 13)
lips if... (poemoff 13)
natural as hate
but don't cry anymore
(whisper)
tell me...
please please please
my heart pitterpaters
raindrops on the glassbottomboat
reflect my dreams
don't say goodbye
until satin dawn
The title of this poem comes from Zack's "NO LONGER CAN I (RE)MEMBER."
natural as hate
but don't cry anymore
(whisper)
tell me...
please please please
my heart pitterpaters
raindrops on the glassbottomboat
reflect my dreams
don't say goodbye
until satin dawn
The title of this poem comes from Zack's "NO LONGER CAN I (RE)MEMBER."
Thursday, July 13, 2006
my three stages of never forgetting (poemoff 12)
my three stages of never forgetting (poemoff 12)
I. my electric goat got sick
i tried to nurse her
back to health
the way a mother coos and frets
over the illness of her smallest infant--
she named her after her grandmother--
with yellow hands,
so thin skin.
she could see raised veins like mountains
in the flesh.
i wrap my goat
in the finest (imitation) wool blanket
and throw her to the flame.
II. but at least it stopped shrieking
no longer can i hear
the child's screams
or the whispy moonlight wind
blowing through my hair.
no longer can i (re)member.
III. my soul never pitches in
the diamond sparkles edenic.
i grab a twizzler
wash it down with overpriced beer and a hot dog.
the flavors mix bitterly.
i watch the players strive
to end where they've begun.
their efforts exhaust me
even though i only have to watch.
The titles for each section of this poem come from "MEANS MORE THAN LOVE" by Zack.
I. my electric goat got sick
i tried to nurse her
back to health
the way a mother coos and frets
over the illness of her smallest infant--
she named her after her grandmother--
with yellow hands,
so thin skin.
she could see raised veins like mountains
in the flesh.
i wrap my goat
in the finest (imitation) wool blanket
and throw her to the flame.
II. but at least it stopped shrieking
no longer can i hear
the child's screams
or the whispy moonlight wind
blowing through my hair.
no longer can i (re)member.
III. my soul never pitches in
the diamond sparkles edenic.
i grab a twizzler
wash it down with overpriced beer and a hot dog.
the flavors mix bitterly.
i watch the players strive
to end where they've begun.
their efforts exhaust me
even though i only have to watch.
The titles for each section of this poem come from "MEANS MORE THAN LOVE" by Zack.
duck in the rain
duck in the rain
duck in the rain goes
quack, quack,
splatt, splatt,
drip, drop,
and flops around
in the gray.
duck in the rain goes
quack, quack,
splatt, splatt,
drip, drop,
and flops around
in the gray.
poetry writing group
My friend Natasha and I are meeting every so often to drink coffee and write bad poetry. We met on Tuesday and I wrote three poems. One was embarrassingly pointless and terrible, but two, the two posted below, I thought were decent.
tediousness of being
words don't stretch themselves far
in the smalltalk of
buying a newspaper and coffee
or the puffed up pomp
of a crab cake swarae.
their overubundance weighs me down--
thrown in the pool wearing a wool coat
(and i don't swim).
words fill my ears like
water in my lungs.
i'm closer to dying
with each forced breath.
next poem
...but no more than anyone else
a fear that lays in my belly
like hangoveracid
volcanoes into my ribs
and coats them with hardening lava.
my pharmakos,
alcohol--an elixer
that coats the fear and the danger
beneath a layer of
i'mnotme.
heated, dry kisses help too,
until morning when
sober summer sunlight shows
i've been wrong.
have i been cured or posioned?
bileous emotions
each one erroneous
if friends tell truths.
We're meeting again this afternoon and I intend to write my poemoff poem as well as use some old postcards I bought at an antique shop on Tuesday. It's been awhile since I used outside prompts so I'm excited. Excited about poetry! It's been a good summer.
tediousness of being
words don't stretch themselves far
in the smalltalk of
buying a newspaper and coffee
or the puffed up pomp
of a crab cake swarae.
their overubundance weighs me down--
thrown in the pool wearing a wool coat
(and i don't swim).
words fill my ears like
water in my lungs.
i'm closer to dying
with each forced breath.
next poem
...but no more than anyone else
a fear that lays in my belly
like hangoveracid
volcanoes into my ribs
and coats them with hardening lava.
my pharmakos,
alcohol--an elixer
that coats the fear and the danger
beneath a layer of
i'mnotme.
heated, dry kisses help too,
until morning when
sober summer sunlight shows
i've been wrong.
have i been cured or posioned?
bileous emotions
each one erroneous
if friends tell truths.
We're meeting again this afternoon and I intend to write my poemoff poem as well as use some old postcards I bought at an antique shop on Tuesday. It's been awhile since I used outside prompts so I'm excited. Excited about poetry! It's been a good summer.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
don't say his fucking name (poemoff 11)
don't say his fucking name (poemoff 11)
for a time...
only hate...
missing memory moments
a curly hair
on my pillow,
football sunday
and beer,
hating that hate
means more than love.
This title comes from Zack's "BUT THEY DON'T."
for a time...
only hate...
missing memory moments
a curly hair
on my pillow,
football sunday
and beer,
hating that hate
means more than love.
This title comes from Zack's "BUT THEY DON'T."
Sunday, July 09, 2006
first kiss
first kiss
i put on your
brown and black argyle sweater
eventhough it's glossed
with misty raindrops
and all that body/fluid that comes out during a really good cry.
when i step
damp leaves crinkle beneath my feet
(i didn't think they could do that).
you stand next to me
and breathe
oregon night while i inhale
the scent of mansoap and nicotine.
i put on your
brown and black argyle sweater
eventhough it's glossed
with misty raindrops
and all that body/fluid that comes out during a really good cry.
when i step
damp leaves crinkle beneath my feet
(i didn't think they could do that).
you stand next to me
and breathe
oregon night while i inhale
the scent of mansoap and nicotine.
your dustbins of silver and gold (poemoff 10)
your dustbins of silver and gold (poemoff 10)
you've got smiles of pearls, and as much as i've always wanted an emerald for my finger, you give me ruby slippers. say they'll make the world spin faster, but they don't. make me feel that home is farther away--stretched and gone wrong like a Star Wars star.
The title comes from Zack's "Your Silence is a Ghosttown."
you've got smiles of pearls, and as much as i've always wanted an emerald for my finger, you give me ruby slippers. say they'll make the world spin faster, but they don't. make me feel that home is farther away--stretched and gone wrong like a Star Wars star.
The title comes from Zack's "Your Silence is a Ghosttown."
Friday, July 07, 2006
redbricked town on mars (poemoff 9)
redbricked town on mars (poemoff 9)
wipe vibrant vermillion
dust out of your eyes.
leave streaks like mascara
caked on dry cheeks.
your silence is a ghost town
no vegetation lives--not even
a tumbleweed blowing through that
redbricked town on mars.
The title and last line of this poem comes from Zack's "AND REDBROWN—THE COLOR OF."
wipe vibrant vermillion
dust out of your eyes.
leave streaks like mascara
caked on dry cheeks.
your silence is a ghost town
no vegetation lives--not even
a tumbleweed blowing through that
redbricked town on mars.
The title and last line of this poem comes from Zack's "AND REDBROWN—THE COLOR OF."
Thursday, July 06, 2006
masturbating to the dead
masturbating to the dead
thinking of you
in halfremembered frag-ments
with more dimensions than life.
they're only imagined.
hold these pictures
spin them--matrix gone
out of control.
then i'm spent and
clinging to fading shadows.
thinking of you
in halfremembered frag-ments
with more dimensions than life.
they're only imagined.
hold these pictures
spin them--matrix gone
out of control.
then i'm spent and
clinging to fading shadows.
fiveandahalfminutehallway
fiveandahalfminutehallway
each page
sentence
word i read
makes me fall
deeper and deeper
in love
with this book
even as i slip
farther away
from reality
and into the house
each page
sentence
word i read
makes me fall
deeper and deeper
in love
with this book
even as i slip
farther away
from reality
and into the house
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
guilty like formaldehyde (poemoff 8)
guilty like formaldehyde (poemoff 8)
perserve my insides--
poisoned rasberry jam, too seedy
and redbrown--the color of
blood, now that i think of it,
the color of my heart
that pumps,
pumps,
pumps during every
brokenpromisemoment
of that night in your bed.
The title of this poem comes from "THIS IS THE ONLY WAY TO SAY A PRAYER FOR ME" by Zack.
perserve my insides--
poisoned rasberry jam, too seedy
and redbrown--the color of
blood, now that i think of it,
the color of my heart
that pumps,
pumps,
pumps during every
brokenpromisemoment
of that night in your bed.
The title of this poem comes from "THIS IS THE ONLY WAY TO SAY A PRAYER FOR ME" by Zack.
Monday, July 03, 2006
whispering, whimpering (poemoff 7)
whispering, whimpering (poemoff 7)
this transcendant fire--
a flame moaning
through dark, mysterious pines
slippery,
moonlight striptease
and the coarse sand
under fingernails
extricated
and running down the drain.
This poem's title comes from "UNRAVELS LIKE A CLOUDLESS SKY" by Zack.
this transcendant fire--
a flame moaning
through dark, mysterious pines
slippery,
moonlight striptease
and the coarse sand
under fingernails
extricated
and running down the drain.
This poem's title comes from "UNRAVELS LIKE A CLOUDLESS SKY" by Zack.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
you brought the unquiet (poemoff 6)
you brought the unquiet (poemoff 6)
i know what love is.
it's the smashing
of dinner plates against walls, floors,
and bones.
i pick lint balls
off my sweater
until it frays--
unravels like a cloudless sky
evaporating into thunder.
there's burning of
a thousand poisoned spiders
under my skin.
you won't escape
so easily.
you are the vomit,
three days old,
i scrape off the broken toilet
now that i finally have
my strength
back for a moment.
you are this corny,
fucking poem
i can't help
let spill out of my fingertips,
yet it escapes--
a burp in front of the pope.
you are jesus and i'm
an eternal atheist
scratching and crawling
my way to the grave.
as i drive,
a night too black for stars
engulfs me.
there's only you
you
U.
The title of this poem comes from Zack's "IN THE DAY AFTER AFTERNOON (poemoff 6)."
i know what love is.
it's the smashing
of dinner plates against walls, floors,
and bones.
i pick lint balls
off my sweater
until it frays--
unravels like a cloudless sky
evaporating into thunder.
there's burning of
a thousand poisoned spiders
under my skin.
you won't escape
so easily.
you are the vomit,
three days old,
i scrape off the broken toilet
now that i finally have
my strength
back for a moment.
you are this corny,
fucking poem
i can't help
let spill out of my fingertips,
yet it escapes--
a burp in front of the pope.
you are jesus and i'm
an eternal atheist
scratching and crawling
my way to the grave.
as i drive,
a night too black for stars
engulfs me.
there's only you
you
U.
The title of this poem comes from Zack's "IN THE DAY AFTER AFTERNOON (poemoff 6)."
