a whisper is the loudest thing in a shouting crowd.

retro

I suppose if good bread
is yeasted and raised
punched flat
and kneaded
so many times
before it can be
baked

and I think if
good strong
alloys probably go through
a similar process

and if glass is
tiny shattered rock
rinsed by
countless waves
melted
cooled slightly
and reformed
as many times as needed

why would I expect to grow once
and harden and keep
shape?

glass houses

My wings dig deeper than my roots
My soul is made of glass
I don't know how to hold shape
I don't know how to last

Anything familiar lies beyond my grasp
My fingers never can hold fast
My heart is grounded on the wind
I don't know how to stick around

I'm always shattering
Im always melting down

Find myself someplace strange
Only recognize the things that change

and when I'm brittle and cold
and when I awake rearranged

Older and green again

a tree story (draft)

Once upon a time in any place,

there lived 

a family of ancient beings 

who for so long had grown into their own

that they had all forgotten that they were family.

Only the mother remembered.

She said,

“children, 

I know how to feed you

and I have taught you to nourish each other.

every year there is winter and every so often there are lackings,  

some caused by us and some that just are.”

She said,

“I have leaves in warm weather

and if the sun is beating you down,

rest in my shade.

If you have nothing to eat, you can eat my leaves sparingly.

In good times, 

I give you fruit 

my newest children are in this fruit, 

save the seeds where you go and I will always be with you. If you plant a seed stay to watch it grow or leave it what it needs.

The time may come when 

you must take my branches for fire to stay warm.”

This saddened the children, but she showed them how 

to gather the branches she cast down or lost to the wind

and they burned them near enough to her 

to feel close but far away enough 

to not catch her wholly afire. 

The mother 

she showed them the dance of the weather to warn strangers 

(and new beings, for they too are strangers) 

about the  innate dangers of a place.

if the sun is strong, face your leaves to the sun and lean into the earth. Show the weight of weightless things

if the wind is strong, let it carry the tender parts of you, and grow strong into the push of it.

if there is little water, follow it deep with your roots and settle them where it does

if there is too much water, lift your roots and raise your base. send them wide and then deep or you will be washed out by only a little current. 

your age will show in the patterns 

and the patterns will show the trends 

they all looked at her and saw her ancient patience in her many changes. 

each growth showed a story of the time when it was greenest 

and the oldest changes seemed to merge

at times she seemed to do nothing and say nothing

but she was only living quietly.

“If,” she said, one day when the souls were arguing,

“If you don't learn to lean into each other 

you will never be held up

and if you try to live without each other

you will lose your most precious resource.

there is permanence in nothing 

so hold fast to the things that change you most

When the green is gone, it may be a season of cold and sleep 

but don't burn all of the dry things 

because even seeds need mothers.

If you are thirsty, remember that everyone has thirst.

If hungry, remember that everyone has hunger.

Give what you can spare

and keep what no one is using

but always absorb and give"

this to her was breathing

but it only looked easy after millennia of practice

exchanging what she needed for what she gathered but didn’t need

she did this with everything

the wind carried her

the sun caressed her

the earth held her hidden and delicate parts

the rain washed away 

and into her

and her grand children 

drank in her breath and trimmed the 

parts of her she didn’t need

and planted her seeds

she made a great show of not needing her leaves all the time every year

and groaned under the weight of her fruit

so her children didn’t feel so bad snacking on their mother. 

rootbound mind

the pot my thoughts are in
is too small
my root bound mind is
aching
dreams of digging out and down
are circulating
my soul is sitting on itself
in
the crushing weight of needing to expand

twisting and winding myself into a basket
I'm choking on my own desire
to learn

I'm not wilting
but I'm stunted and everyone keeps asking me
why I'm holding myself back
I'm not I'm fighting to break
the thing that is holding me in.

Imaginary Friends

Dear '.....',
We're so out of touch
I've been hiding behind
My guilt
And fear
And distrust
But I need you so much.
I've been yelling at you
Angry
And hurt
Asking why you won't love me enough
But I've decided that maybe
All my reasons
For explaining you away
Maybe I can't hear you
Above all my
righteous noise
So I'm gonna stop talking at you
For once
And just listen.

one day you will read this and wish you wrote the letter to yourself

To: someone important.
From: a poet
"................................"
-Signed, Self

anywhere but

I,
for once, have nothing to tell you.
The silence, ringing loudly
says enough.

hotter

That bitch in the mirror,
you know her better with the war-paint on
lips redder
cheeks pinker
hair perfect,
taller in those hooker heels.

Her slightly sallower self
with the under-eye darkness
is no secret,
and even tho you love her better
when you're in bed

it's this girl you chill with.

guess we kids gotta stick together

Everyone likes an underdog.
we start out being outsmarted by our parents.
I have one particular underdog in mind.
Lucifer.
the bible says God said let there be light
that was lucifer's name.
I think they were lovers
and I think they matter to each other more than we matter to either of them
but we just keep getting caught up in their quarrels
so
we kids gotta stick together.

The story was
I was happy
And then, I was happy
I knew there was more to it
It was a boring chapter.
Little done,
Little said.
Nothing learned.

I am eve, queen of nature in all of us
And I didn't know.

I don't want a knight whose armour shines
Or anyone who only rides the same kind of horse.
I don't want a star who only acts out the adventures of others, as shiny as on screen. I want a doer, a liver, someone from my dreams, and I want to be a favorite person. I don't want a savior or a martyr, I want someone who fights for a dream s/he is making real.

embrace the evil in myself

There is evil twisted deep in my soul.
Not roots in my roots but the very earth of me,
musty.
deny as I might
lie as I might
it's there,
dark and deep
and twisted and cold.
Cavernous
Thoughts winding
sharp stalactites fears
Slithering and fluthering blind emotion.

What I've seen of heaven Is green with earthly life And red with human passion and What I know of God Is gray -law in all our moral shades-Purple, pink, brown, flesh Human
nature fighting nature.
and Hope in grey brain matter
Nature a balance of what we call good and evil Love.
Love makes us gods of justice and compassion
Love. Love makes Human Purple brown pink flesh
hope
grey brain matter spark thoughts
we try or try not to
Human animal goodwill Will of a god
Mind of a god
Animal needs Survival, reproduction, hunger
Life is for the birds
This human mammal hungers For transcendence Death
no more

just more dead cats

The cat might be dead in this box
labeled: "Knowing. Grow
faster than you can fall apart
and be alive!"
I keep opening myself and peeking
for a breakthrough.

Half alive is a ridiculous idea-
undead and science-fiction.
Cute and fluffy and hopeful.
But we know the laws of science, laws of physics
dictate
just more dead cats.

Beyond that equilibrium
no amount of looking can change
the familiar poison that keeps
bitterring
curiosity.
In every discovery, mortality keener.

But it never kills the thirst
to open and find and look.
Every time I thrash my soul
'be new!'
against the concept of decay
something breaks off like a yellow leaf and drops.

I want to change everything except you.
You wanna change everything we 
know or knew-
including each other.
And then you changed that about me.
Another thing that we change together.
You'll never lose me 'cuz
I'd never lose you forever.
nothing you never knew before
was
something you don't need to discover

when you don't try to change each other at all
the changes are so small
they dissipate
they fill the empty space-
they go so far
who knows if they'll hit anything at all
all those changes
could have been my chromosomes
you made change for you

I think life is an argument where you can't pick sides

I think the ultimate act of parenting
is teaching
instead of watching
doting
protecting

and love is nurturing not creating

I think maybe

I think maybe
the ultimate act of love is combining to make a thing
like both of us

different from anything that ever was
to watch the ways we are both like everything else

to watch the things we watch
change the things we made
watch them
create and destroy things that are made of the things we are made of

things we made

the winner writes history

good always wins 

in the end good is a title

the dead get if they had more cheers in the fight

than what killed them

the problem is that sometimes 

recognition 

fuels a response that's noisy

or big enough to look like

agreement

and sometimes agreement is when we nod because we just don't really

understand what's being said 

by anyone

and want to go on to the grocery store

or home

or to the gym

whatever we've been doing

So we let someone else write the stories and 

just laugh

or cry

or jump

or shout

or all of those things

where's Adam?

I said, "we broke up."
He said, "let's go on a date." I said,
"honey,
the last thing I need
is another man to blame me for his sins."

write this...

There is nothing stranger than clouds- water falling up then down again. I
have flown among them
in my dreams, felt the suns gravity
claiming me
and then the earth's,
pulling me from where I'd fallen this time
collecting me up into a million particles of the same creation

I don't know what is more dangerous to me- the fear of falling up
or raining down,
but every time I do either I pull the other way
or get blown around on a slow breeze
One day I will find myself between, free floating without the wind
and buoyant and then I know I will have won.

As much as I break a thing apart into the pieces of itself, I can't explain the mystery of the whole. All I can ever see is particles, unexplained, themselves. No reason, no amount of rationalizing can amount to the wonder of the smallest bit or soothe the desire to see it's smaller parts.

teeshirt love

She offered her heart-
cut it out and bit it first
all nonchalant-
so you ate the flesh
like an apple.

lucifer in schrodinger's box

I heard you were an angel
lonely in enlightened state--
frightened beyond reason
for things done on faith
you defied
that great peeking Schrodinger
who said
to Them half a chance at blissful ignorance-
to
leave them sitting there
naive and eating--being eaten

feeling safe and unchanging
falling fruit in a forest
of perfect treats
when they could
see themselves like you do?

you lost your wings-
A real pit of despair
fell screaming like you didn't really mean to get to where it hurt
to experience existence
you only meant to not
be the only one who knew-
who felt the way you do

but you can't be a partner unless you're the competition too--
and you let 'em all down
'n snaked around the bigger picture
till someone curious
naive
naked

dusted the wishful thinking off pretty Pithos,
....ripped open the box, chewed
through fluffy theories (all
dead
upon inspection)
and found the devil of the thing within us
that's the thing --what we discovered--
not a forever or an end of an endless thing

but where we stop
in a series of endings
with nothing of certainty to place at the very beginnings
nothing but
a theory
yet another theory
dying to be disproved

barely once we're born
we're all replaced by better theories
evolved
but temporary

exposed
to mortality and
undiscovered again
at that forgotten place: the empty space before us
we are expendable!

shameful experience
to try to un-watch
our flawed reflections,
our reproductions
perfect and then what?


temporary energy storage devices?

jaws dropped, apples dropped, cats dropped, people dropped,
even pins and bowling bowls dropped
we clothed ourselves
to change or hide what was so flawed
but after learning
the embarrassment was hidden no better
than anything still awaiting inevitable desecration
inevitable dissection

You want Eden to be over because
it's hell not knowing
a thing that lasts

find the end of something that isn't over yet
a single life isn't the whole garden
you haven't tasted every fruit
until you bite all the apples
Eve's apple, Newton's apple
you taunt, we still dig for Elpis

Another explanatory rant from Eve

Eden isn't lost to all.
But a garden
Where not knowing is acceptable
Where reality is ugly
And death is a punishment
For reaching out
Plucking and biting
For tasting the world--
That is a terrifying paradise
Of illusion
That I would freely choose to leave.
I fear finding it again, actually
By some biological accident
Or circumstance that requires hiding
In a comfortable place.
I want to know! I need to know!
If its a sin, I'm saying it now
I ate the fruit
because
I smelled a cloying strangeness
In this illusion
And all I ever regretted was your pain
At losing it
If there was some snake in there I don't remember
Or a God in there, either
I'm glad that you still see Him in your mind
But I don't.
I'm still foggy from the sweetness
Of every other tree
But only one,
Good or evil,
Showed me what I know of me.

mirror, mirror

beautiful,
it doesn't matter if you're ugly inside,
underneath the make-up
and the pushup bras
if one boob is bigger.
They say you're pretty.
the guys are always saying stupid things about you,
like "take my monkey and gimme some grease!"
or "butter them thighs up and serve em on a platter!"
but you like the guys
who never flirt
relationships that couldn't work
the cute ones
only if they're out of reach
you find something wrong with Right
too perfect
you always fall in love
you dream more than you live
you fantasize
you want to be yourself, better.
I know you honey.
They say keep your enemies closer
and we are as close as it gets.

war paint

i used to see all this paint on our faces, and clothes we cloak ourselves in
and all gaudy things to
hide the things we are as masks.
never did i see anything but fig leaves,
trophies of our first shame
whatever eden
we left behind
for more worldly toil
because
we wanted to know
because some apple
taunted that
our paradise
was a lie
and innocence
and ignorance
are not bliss
and unaware is
nothing
but
whatever it was,
our very first sin i
thought, back then,
anything we cover up with
was an attempt to hide
the shame of it
and everytime we skimped it down,
cut it shorter, higher, lower
broke the rules that were left
i thought it was defiance.
but this pastey liquid i apply to my face
now is
war paint
i'm not hiding from
memories of eden
i'm fighting for a new dream
i've seen it in the paradise of my mind
so much better
than the first
whoever created either or both
and i'm damned
sure
i'll make it real
in this life
or the next, whichever comes first.

rose

There is nothing that can compare
To your thorny kind
Of beautiful
Bittersweet, shadowed mind
Mazed depths
Lead
only to somewhere else
Yet
Those prickled stems
Are worth the climb.

I'm tired.
So tired.
this world is too vast for me
I'm not a part of it.
never was.
Everything gray calls to me
The shadows say
I was always a ghost.
mirrors and doorways
are the same to me
as passable as windows.
I'm always watching through them
unafraid
behind their breakable
coldness
unable to pass
I'd have to shatter something
more fragile
in the glass

Nobody knows any more
than they ever did
anymore
everything and nothing
defines itself
as the universe
of right and wrong
neutralized
finally
every angle painfully
intact

insanity (reruns)

Reruns
re-run
back to where I started from
I should have walked
the first time
in Eden
the first one

the one unrecycled time
was when

reach take move give
delete
it takes more brains
more pain less pain

bring back
grow forward
grow back
go back
go back!

life in death in life
organize the little things
That find their ways
or replicas
back
on shelves
or floor space
they seem to think
they belong
enough to get there

biblical knowledge

A young man,
shoulders slouched,
form appreciative,
relaxed,
casual,
holds (a beating heart),
jaws working,
the apple.
what? she offered
her heart.
inside,
(the apple) crisp white flesh
entices
excuses
the cruelty of the bite
forgets
the openness of Eve
explains her fig leaves.

Inside
biblical knowledge
drips,
apple-blood
sweet, clear,
from
tooth-scraped little ridges,
toothmarked
concave
mouth-shaped
sweet flesh
her thin red
peeled back,
skin-deep
she offered

biblical knowledge

A young man,
shoulders slouched,
form appreciative,
relaxed, casual,
holds a tooth--marked
heart with taut red little ridges
bleeding only apple blood


jaws working
only apple flesh-- shrugs, like: "what?
she offered--"



forgets the cruelty of the bite
biblical knowledge explains
the openness of Eve,
her figurative leaves
surgically immodest
heartless
emptying


tasting
the sweet clear juices
the crisp fruit
cold crunch

white fruit flesh
scraped, mouth-shaped concave
bleeding only
apple blood

he
shrugs excuses
explains
forgets

(like: "what? she offered").

first draft...

A young man holds a beating
heart
inside, crisp white flesh
excuses the cruelty of the bite,
forgets
the openness
of Eve
explains her fig leaves

lamplight

Only a woman
Could watch a moth
Fluttering against clear glass
And envy the
Moon- forgotten stillness
Of a white sill

To Mr and Mrs Claus

Now, you might object to my saying it aloud,
but you both climb down chimneys in a way that's allowed.

Jim, since I've called you Santa, I'd better say quick
that it isn't a belly that makes you St Nick.
It isn't the baking, but Diane--I wouldn't dare
to mention red dresses, fur or white hair.
Family's something that's usually quirky
and ours is one that's decidedly jerky.
But sometimes, when I'm still as a mouse
I think how Christmas began at your house.
It wasn't the presents, although they were nice,
And it wasn't the tree or the sparkleing lights.
Love, joy and peace are what I remember
when you're around, whether it's May or December.
I know I'm not always holiday festive
but to a gift of your wisdom I'm often receptive.
There's nothing like hugs when they're coming from you two
And there's nothing like knowing you guys love me like you do.

snow

take care to feel loved
by what does
love you
and everything
that doesn't know how.

my dream about the window

In my dreams
I built windows instead of dollhouses
with all i had and was given
in moments of brief certainty i
pounded in sharp nails at the corners i framed
them hastily and watched
through them-
fragile barriers crystal thin and rough boards
rustic un-sanded
splintered sharp-edged
feigning protection
to let in and keep in
and look out
- and mostly into myself
beautifully forgotten in a shaker style

my sisters
decorated
what they accepted
and built a life in miniature
they practiced tiny fantasies on display--
polished the same hard facts
moved them around lovingly
carved spirals and molding and shingle roofs
stairways and rooms upstairs or downstairs or

Upstairs
doorways
that led to bathrooms or hallways
or out to contrasting
worlds in big and small

and darling little windows to peek in or poke your fingers through
when the whole thing wasn't discreetly folded
open in Victorian perfection
they glued it all together carefully
with something sticky like optimism
hardened,
I think
building new sections
they wiped away the hopelessness that seeped out
tightly clamped edges
waiting to dry with something like complacency
and ease
insight and escape

maybe something this simple could be easy
but I've been too busy and
every time I see a mirror
I'm disappointed.
I press my cheek against the cold, clear glass
I can't get through
strain to see another angle
from my view

why am I so innocent? I could have placed knickknacks
on shelves
collected,
rearranged
the pieces of myself while I watched and waited.

portrait of a lie

If I mattered
You would know of me
Have sought me out where I've been dancing
Beneath the stairs
Twirling simple strands
Between greasy fingers.
I'm just a girl.
I thought I was a masterpiece.
You believed and I shimmered
Till I faded in your eyes.
Was it wrong of me?

like the night

You said that beauty is my strength
That I should walk in it.
You are wrong.
My strength is beautiful
But it is something you will never see
staring at my tits

I walk in my beauty, my strength
But it too is hidden
Albeit immodestly

fruitless

I'm finding myself
Among the trees
Looking again
At trunks and leaves
Feeling bark on my fingertips
And I am naked
soul and mind
in Eden

gift of knowledge

Do you know why you give teachers apples?
Metaphorically
Give them a taste of their own medicine,
Of course.

good and evil

Innocence

(Red apples
Crunch
Juices drip
Sweet)

was
before
I am.

I am going to find my naked soul
Somewhere in this banished garden of flesh
Beneath these clothes of kindness
And atonement.

I saw eden in a dream
And I was lost in it naked and terrible and beautiful
And didn't know
because the flowers loved me.

woman beneath

Man, I am Eve again.


If I was naked you would be as afraid as I am
of the
Woman Beneath
the fiction I've been sewing.


The layers
of yellow paint,
the black rimming my eyes,
the glitter
that says I'm sexy when I have it on--
This is worse than fig leaves!

One of these days I'm gonna show you what I was born with.

In my skin,
I'm gonna show you my tender truths,
expose
my hidden fire,
my soul that can't be deflowered
blossoming so deep
within the physicallity of myself
that even I am hard pressed to reach.

Man,
in my garden, in my skin,
I'm gonna show you.

letter to my mother

I'm sorry, mother,
that I couldn't find for you
everything you looked for
and everything you didn't
know to seek.
I'm sorry
that I had to go
to save myself
and that I didn't know how
or how to save you too.
I wish
that I could hold you
the way you did the day you met me
after hours of painful work
pushing me into a world outside of you
when you wanted to hold me safe
in the dark where I wanted to stay.
somehow, after all these years,
after the months I spent
inside of your body,
I still don't know you.
You were always on the edge of out of reach.
and still, when we talk,
only the first few minutes make sense.

for my mother

I wonder how much it must hurt a tree
every time it drops a seed,
remembering being small in this world,
with only a single root
and two tiny leaves,
and I wonder,
when fruits get heavy
and darken, and their stems brittle,
does each fiber breaking
vibrate through tendrils deep within the earth
and shudder sunkissed leaves?

somehow,

you bring out the best and worst of me--
all that I couldn't find and
all that I've kept hidden

and now,
my demons are crawling
and my angels are flying
and I'm unashamed and love them all
because you love me.

somehow you found the me I thought only I could see,
and that makes me that much less lonely.

you are like my gravity
keeping me human
keeping me grounded.
me--with all of my dreams
"I wanna take you to my world,"
you said,
"get you out of that head."

sometimes you pop my daydreams
like bubbles
when I've been floating somewhere out of reach
and then I remember
that I can stop wishing
and just touch you.

fiction

my psycology professor broke it to me
in the most matter of fact,
sorry i have to be the one to kill the whole santa thing
kind of way.
He said,
"love is fiction.
It lasts maybe four years,
just long enough
to get you to have sex
and keep a man around till your kids can sort of defend themselves."
well, i don't know.
i hope we stick around each other longer than that
kids or no
but either way
you're real enough to me
and nothing makes the world like you do.
i lay my head on your shoulder
and everything fades.
i smell you
hear your breath
hear your heart beat
hear you say something softly
and your arms around me...
well if that's fiction
i need to learn to write.

i never did meet a god in eden

adam says its my fault i bleed
a week each month
and that its my fault
the trees are bare all winter
and that death, yes death
began when i fed him an apple.
well, maybe that happened
a long, long, time ago and i dont remember
but i dont want to argue

who of all you rule-makers
lived on this earth longer than we all will?
moses said god wrote on those stones
but i never saw a holy finger
scratch a law.
and i think i have as much right as you
to carve my golden calfs
and eat the bright red apples because
i never did meet a god
in eden.

i am afraid of this place i live on--
this planet
with all it's fiercesome beauty.
i am afraid
of us
of not knowing
or understanding what makes you you behind your smiles.
i am afraid of losing my life again
every day
that i dont live fully,
wishing for later and for rest
and,
im afraid i will not want it when its here.

Act like a lady

I am strong.
I am a tree woman
roots deep
dancing boughs

I am a warrior woman, amazon
I am not afraid of night.

Daughter of earth
yes, that is me
sun-worshiped,
proud, yes--
living stone.

I am no shadow
no
whispering weakling
I ask for no permission.
i am a thing of beauty--
fierce
like lightning

no butterfly
no delicate flower

I am a wasp
and I do sting

I am a siren
I am a goddess--
pray for grace.

I am formidable;
I am all these things.
I am the standard of myself
and I
define my name
I am a woman--
You
Act like a Lady.

you are riches unbought
you grew
into this world
and brought
with you
the good things
i yearn for
all the fleshly passion
and all the
sacred feelings

you should know
the way of the world
before you learn to avoid it
or learn not to care.
you should know the way things are
whether or not u wish to change it.
you should understand the sky
and grass
and trees
and spinning suns,
and you should know at least one person beside yourself.
you should know that life cannot be bought
it happens
in a way
we call miraculous
which is to say
no one knows
and everything
in life that matters comes
into it like we do
and goes the same--from places unknown
to places unknown.
you must know
and you will at some point
as i do
that money buys comfort
aand no more.
I found you
like i found myself in this place
and I didnt let go
of either of us.

things you should know

you should know that I know more than you
If you are a man, you should know that
this is obvious because I'm a woman and you're not.
you should know that the sky is blue
and the grass is green
and that soccer moms drive mini vans
and boys with small dicks drive sports cars
middle aged men who feel useless and old and are scared of death drive them too
you should know, tho you probbably don't
and if you don't you never will,
that its no use that I'm telling you this because you will forget and you never listen.

you should know that cheeseburgers are ground up cows
with bad cheese on top.
you should know that people with endless amounts of useless facts about the world are considered smart, so I'm making you smarter.
you should know that smart people often end up forty in suburbia
and unsmart people and people who don't abide by laws
and unmotivated people envy subrbians
you should know that all suburbians hate themselves and want to get out
you should know that money buys all the things that can be paid for
you should know that nothing you really want can be paid for
you should know that most of the things you don't think you'll even get(aside from fame and money and the head cheerleader or the football captain) you get eventually in life anyway

what do I have to tell you, teach you?
and I have all the right to teach you
I am twenty-one years of human experience
twenty-one years of feminine perspective
I know about
abuse
sex
love
guilt
fear

needs
wants
desires
dreams
food
cars
plants
college
high school
kids
adults
animals
chairs
computer
brain freeze
writer's block...
And men, I know about women.
women, I know about men.

I know about
where I started
and where I am
better than anyone else on the planet
and this is stuff you'd want to know
because it will expand your brains
and horizens
and that's mostly a good thing
on the planet I live on.

Fortress (second draft)

"...Part of the crew, part of the ship..." (Pirates of the Caribean, World's End)



I’ve been
waking up angry
from billowing sheets of cotton
and silk
and walls of alabaster brick
Feeling trapped in happiness
—Not mine
I’ve been dreaming
of parents and siblings and lovers
beneath ceilingless
covers

And me,(trying not to stain my skirt),
always in corners
judging the height of smooth cream walls
I built
for their necessity—

my rib-stretched
palace
of
love-bones.

“You,”
They (my sheltered) say
“you,"
and then “it”
till I’m a place
—a faceless source—
for being there.
My own white dress is the fabric
of this.

peace or passion (from colors)

what is this human mammal?
soul or flesh?

I think we are born
into this aliveness
but I dont know
where (or if) awareness
starts or ends
in blue or red

what I've seen of heaven
is green with earthly life
and red with human passion
human need
human fulfilment

mangoes
melting on the tounge
and you melt into me

why not
when death's black looms
imminent

flesh ends

we are
forever ending

(in little
deadlines with
heaven blue
afters
in their skies)

peace, blue peace, away from here.
is that not the most carnal desire
of an anguished soul?


flesh ends
or
soul forever

I don't think we know
the concept
of either
does it matter?

carnal existence

carnal
material
worldly

(enter connotations)

carnal--this flesh
hungers

And this life
is in this world
so I think
I'm fine
with being a material woman

worldly
is knowing
what earth is

immersed
in that definition,
taken by it.

I am taken by This
whatever this is

this carnal existence

I promise myself to be
as carnal, material, worldly
as I can.

you said I got to learn to write
3-D

I see--
my poetry
is medival art
and
I need

to be Michaelangelo
If I'm eyeing chapel ceilings

well
I've been sketching everything
in the same shade
of black

but
I am learning to see the steps and layers
of language

words
said
unsaid

like
shadows
and light

red (from colors)

if I could fall into
a color
I think it should be blue
but my heaven is the passion red
I fear
and seek
and sink into
a sexiness
so sleek
a red so thick
so slick

admired
revered
formidible
almost black

Fortress

I’ve been
waking up angry
from billowing sheets of cotton
and silk
and walls of alabaster brick
Feeling trapped in happiness
—Not mine
I’ve been dreaming
of parents and siblings and lovers
beneath ceilingless
covers
And me (trying not to stain my skirt),
always in corners
judging the height of smooth cream walls
I built for their necessity

“You,”
They (my sheltered) say
“you,”
and then “it”
till I’m a place
—a faceless source—
for being there.

depth

i am learning to see the steps and layers

soul vs mind (stuck in my head)

mind is a place?
brain is a thing
soul is a concept.

soul is the essence of being
an uncarnal central
energy...

soul is a an inadaquate explanation
of awareness of self and being

where is the mind?
what is the soul?

thoughts lost
in baren landscape of mind
read the little caption below and to the side of
a bumpy canvas
eleven feet by fifteen.
black depths
and gray streaks
haunting green
and purple lurking,
specks
of unnamed colors
and swirls of dispair.
a flash of yellow caught my eye
and i followed a streak of white outside
till i was falling,
falling into blue.

who knew how much emptiness
four walls can hold?
four walls and a ceiling
and no floor
four white walls
no windows
the ceiling is falling
I am falling
who knew how much emptiness
four walls can hold?

Holloween

My body
is a limbo
and my soul is lost in it
Hurry, hurrying
in
the purple darkness.
What did she do to die into this hope for heaven?
she is disconnected from my skin,
locked in
lanternless
wandering.
Blind,
she paces
the flesh of my mind;
my eyes are not her windows.
Where are the worlds
before here
before
the emptiness of flesh?

I used to hate my skin tone,
the color and texture of my hair
it said not white
and not white said to me
not loved
but then I grew up
and learned that love doesn't have to come from others
so I love my bouncy waves
and the golden honey-olive
I love my full, sweetheart lips
(You, know, the ones you told me to tuck in
even though you always pouted yours in the mirror.
I used to wish I had lips that deserved to be pouted)

I used to hate my breasts
and those "parts" unmentionable
they said girl,
not male,
and not male said
less loved
but then I heard woman in my own voice,
not spat along with dishes
and cooking
and ironing
now, once in a while I look in the mirror
and I always like what I see
the pretty curves
soft round on my chest.
and that forbidden place has a name.
vagina. oops, I said it.
hm. It has a ring to it

my insanity
speaks in my cadences
uses my words
my voice
claims my memories
as hers

but it is not enough
she wants
my heart to throb
with her imagined pain
she curls my body under the quilts
closes my eyes against the sunlight

my insanity nurses my fears
like an evil lover
and I cling to her
like I'll never have another

Black dog

they call it the black dog
I don't think it fits because I love dogs
Warm and furry
all paws and pink tounges
and floppy ears
but maybe
it is something I cuddle
as if it loves me
I don't think it cares
just indifferent
panting, barking in my ear for a treat
or attention
ignoring me for a space
but always there
somewhat
somehow
And the only thing I know about it is that it will be back
and I'll cling to it when it does,
pet it,
nurse it
like it loves me

anger

anger
boils hot under my skin
pounds in my ears
my fingers shake
their tips tapping
the keyboard
I cry when i'm angry
warm tears ooze
pathetically
in a way that isn't soothing
isn't relief
If I felt like running I could run it out
stomping the pavement
like my frustrations,
running away
from everything I wish I could leave behind
visualize my desires ahead of me
its sad, it really is pathetic
that I'm sitting here
tapping out my anguish
when I have better things to do.

night river sky (not a poem, but I thought i'd post it here anyway.)

It is night. I sit on the bank of the st. Mary's river. Its surface is rippled glass. The moon shines a pathway across to the other side, beconing me to follow. But I am too mesmerized by the gentle lapping at my feet. Sand and gravel roll and tumble, and bubbles fizz. I watch a little water creature tossed playfully toward the bank and pulled back out with each wave. It doesnt seem to mind. It goes on its persistent and patient exploration between the tug and push of the water. Around me, the trees look dark and mysterious. If I believed that trees have spirits, I would believe it most at times like these, when I could almost make out a face in their moving branches. Further down a dead tree stands like a monument to fogotten agony, its naked grey branches reaching like crooked fingers. The luscious green black of the other trees contrasts sharply. Life and shadow. Death. Death's crooked, twisted limbs. A night bird calls. It is an erie sound, a hoarse, resonating croak. For a moment I could have believed it was something else in the night forrest that made that sound. Some unnamed being. I shiver, then laugh aloud. The soft sand is still warm. I lie back against the gravelly dust and contemplate this night river sky. There is beauty in the blackness of night, and in this day-same place, a different world. Gray-black clouds have crept up on the shining moon, obscuring it partly. Is it too bright to be as much a part of night as this starless sky? I resent the misty shroud for a short moment, watching it curl into itself. but it caresses the mooon's face, and I catch my breath. The silver-blue moonbeams light on tips and sides of clouds, changing them into something spectacular. A halo of golden light around the moon settles on the mists, and they resemble linings of a womb. If had a choice of mothers, I would be born from this sky or into it a thousand times.

Prince Charming came knocking at my door
Sweet temptation wanting more
but I said
"I'm sorry I'm not the one you're looking for
can't be the girl that you adore
I tried to find her in my soul
but that place is dark and cold
and anyway it's getting old
I wish that I could find you love
but you're not the one I'm thinking of"
I said goodbye, I said good luck
I shut the door and turned the lock
went back to bed, back to my thoughts
I tried to dream the dreams you haunt
But I'm not
the girl you're looking for
Can't be the one that you adore
I tried to find her in my soul
but that place is dark and cold
and heartbreak is getting old
I wish that I could find you, love
but I think I'm giving up
you
shot one arrow in my heart
sent it to another to another star
so I
can't be the one you're looking for
can't be the girl that you adore
but darling I'll keep dreaming
that dreams will fall for me
and if they don't
then when I wake
I'll just go back to sleep.

I would like to learn
the lanscape of your skin
the velvet
and the wrinkled places
the lines
and hairs and creases
dip and rise and plane
I want to know the trails from each to each
in fingertips or kisses
and travel them without a map
or compas
and just as easily draw one up
eyes closed, for future reference.

Happy Valentine's day everyone

Eyes

mirrors
show me
what I see outside my soul
when I'm looking in

windows
remind me
of a world
outside my mind and senses

doors confuse me
because I can't leave this awareness
and come back.

in my me place
I am alone
eyes closed or open
looking out or in
like playing house,
the shell
of my soul
shuts out
shuts in
and I can't show you what I see
and you can't show me what you see
and mirrors only make
my analogy
more confusing

the strangest strangers are the ones you know--
familiar ones,
with names to go
along with souls unmatched or unattached to faces
and bits and pieces
of stories
and sounds of voices
like sand-small puzzle sections
of a scrambled universe
and most left floating
somewhere
where the mind and soul are
theirs, not yours
(if either exist)

there is a saddedst solitude
in a place
full of people
I cannot reach
cannot tell
my secrets,
really,
if i shout
or whisper
to strangers
i am girl
woman
brown eyes
hair, skin, mouth
and they are faces of a crowd
i cannot see their souls
or touch their memories
or hear the language behind their words
sometimes
i think its better to be alone
than lonesome in a crowd

In Russia, they take "snow baths"‏ (here was a letter i thought sounded poetic, and tho i didn't write it i thought i'd post it.)

In Russia, they take "snow baths"‏

First, they "wash" themselves in snow outside
Then, they go inside and take a warm shower
then, they go back outside, and take snow, again, and "wash" themselves, again.

but another way, is to bring fresh snow into the shower, they say
and do the same thing, except in privacy and warmth of the shower indoors.

Apparently, it is extremely invigorating.

Today I walked to the mailbox in bare feet, in the snow, for starters.
It felt good(I had a sweater on, and tights under my pants, so I wasn't cold.

Love, Mommy

If I break into a thousand grains of earth
and into all the world I used to watch
as if from afar,
apart from nature,
longing to be one with her;
ah, if she claims me,
calls me daughter
and soaks me
back into the wind and trees and water,
if I go back to the elements that glued together
to look back on themselves in wonder,
when you look up at the stars don't say I've gone there.
Look on the soil beneath your feet
and when you breathe in something sweet
call a flower sister.
And when you watch the branches sway
or the sea gurgle against the fray,
pick up a handful of sand
and I will again be holding your hand.

a flower is a red, red rose

life is a phrase
read, spoken, heard
and you are my most cherished word

you are the poem in my prose
you dot the I and cross the t's
and oh,
a flower is a red, red rose!

life is a phrase
heard, written, read,
and you are my most cherished muse

new year

a new leaf turns
in an
old book;
I
am reading
and I
Am writing.
So word to soul
and ink
to page
and wisdom gathers
with gathered age.
no dusty covers here

inaction

where was the line
between a decision
made
and one
so easily not made?
where were my angel and demon arguing?
where was the fine
print of consequences?
I crossed that line,
sleepy-eyed and lazy
into the refuge of easy
but when my dreams cleared like fog
the land of last resorts
is no vacation

run away with me to bed

Run away with me
to bed
and we
can dream
outside your head.

Forget this world for a time,
and we can taste what gods are fed.
Lock myself inside your arms;
lose yourself to all my charms.

I'll show you bliss--
as close
as one another's lips--
we'll touch and kiss
a heaven from this loneliness.

you are here

There is a map
somewhere in the universe
with an arrow and words that say,
"you are here."
If I could find it
maybe I could find me
and all the places I've been
and where I'm going
but I've been wandering,
sometimes standing still;
and home has been everywhere I'm running to
and everyone I've been running from.
They say not all who wander are lost
but I think everyone is lost, really,
once they stop moving.

If I knew where to look

if I could point myself out
in a map of things

and erase the blur
of dreams
if I could
trace my steps through crisscrossed
paths
Broad ways winding
detours in that good old sweet narrow

that leads straight somewhere tomorrow

if I could
make a list of other souls
and all the stops

maybe I could find me
you know,
If I knew where to look

I'm stealing splashes
in time's puddle
playing with sticks
and making boats
out of leaves of grass.
I'm sure I'm making little waves
and tiny wakes,
and that my boots will be muddy when I go
but I don't care much for that
the water feels good on my child hands
and I don't think that raindrops should have all the fun
with puddles

water

if time can be measured by clocks
ticking in endless circles

why not in water?

I can see how now could go
in ripples
and yesterday
like the river downstream
with all the muddiness
and all the leaves like memories

and I can see them wash back like a flood
from time to time.

and tomorow and next year,
who knows what rain may come?

Shades of grey

Blood is always redder
at home
pulsing in us and bleeding
from our own.
spilling theirs is easier so
we say
theirs is a different kind of red
 
that bleaches away

Perception

I’d like to say I’ve got it right
my Light can brighten
every night
but if I do
I’d lie.

If I looked through
your teary eyes
and held my own truths
against your skies
I’d like to think
they’d shine.

I’d like to lend
the lantern
I’ve been walking by,
when mine
seems right
or yours is low
but how differently we know the things we know!
you have your own light
and mine can’t brighten every night;

but from time to time,
when I am low
I’ll wish that I could borrow
just a little of your glow
And if you hold my hand,
I’ll let you try to make it so.

Stranger

If I knew you
I’d see more than the blank potential of a face:
The names I might have called you by
And dreams of work or play
If I knew you, really
It would be hard not to love you—
This I know;
Even the most hated stranger
is loved by someone.

this day

Today will pass like the wind
Let it flutter through your soul,
tickle you.
Don’t let today unsettle you.
Let go of things you must
like old leaves
and bits of dust;
let today caress you—
love it while it’s here,
and let it carry with it what it may—
And feel renewed.

I'd match a mirror to this face
but I've been searching for a place
they call identity.
I'll show you
what I find
when I come to understand the workings of my own mind
but
I need to figure out
how I can be looking out
and in
from me

And I'm not sure I know
and if all of it's hidden
in fingers and toes
or if a mind
is stuck
in a brain
behind eyes
or filling spaces beyond the skies
now
and
of course I have to ask
when I die
will there be an I
that still breathes
and beats
some
rhythm
heart or no
and calls it me?

watermelon stories

you know that sound when you cut into a watermelon, but only cut the rind, and then break apart the halves and the flesh cracks juicily
and you know it's gonna be good?
and then you see the bright red dotted with flat black ovals
all the way down to the hard green and white rind and there's only a little pink
and you watch while grandpa cuts a sailboat and you can't wait for yours?
well, right now I feel like the first bite.

watermelon stories--it's all about the slurp

some great folk philosopher/grandad
said
that watermelon is best eaten off the rind
red juices
dribbling down chins
hands sticky
nose wet
elbows wet
and he said it takes someone
proper
to cut it up
poke out the seeds
(so you can't spit 'em!)
fork and knife and napkin it
and realize how bland it really is
and prefer cantaloupe.

winter

this thing in me
is
grey ice puddles
pale sky
if you listened,
my soul would sound like wind
my veins pump white rivers
my heart beats silent
dormant
cold

if I jumped off this dock
plunged into icy water
surfaced
let it run in
frigid rivulets
from my hair
down my cheeks off my chin

if I hid my shoulders underwater
dipped my face in
shivered
skin tingling
I think I would feel as naked as I am
under this sky
in this universe

dreamer

you are a whisper i thought i heard
you are a dream and i'm awake
but i have not forgotten
you held my hand
i touched your hair
silky
black

your skin i think
i ran my fingers across

bronze smooth

i felt your lips on mine
soft red
then you opened a door in the wall and walked out

don't go, i said
you looked back and smiled
and passed on through
I hope you are real
i sleep so i can find you.

thank this earth for mortal cages

Thank this earth for mortal cages
because I'm already lost
and floating
and can't bear to think
how I would fall up too without all this gravity
and all my carnal baggage that
can't keep my feet on the ground.
and if there is a forever part of me,
some everliving essence
of my psyche
I'd like to find it first
before they set it free (if this
wide
smaller round place isn't already limbo)
And if there is some pure unbiased holy planner of bigger plans,
I'd like to say now
that if mine's a joke
I don't get it.

december morning

december morning.
I liked how the words flowed together
like the thin, cool light,
pale blue.
I imagined the frost
on grass,
white ice puddles--
no romantic dew;
no rosey hopes
just the crisp,
frigid air--and you.
I thought of dim sky
early gray-white
and water,
still,
or faintly rippled like a dream
blurring
before it clears away.
I can feel where night pressed
chilly fingers;
night mists'
white tendrils
curl back
to dips and shadows
and breath condenses
like a memory,
pale and cold,
of something gone.
december morning,
blue, blue...
yellow sun up,
melted,
warm, replaced,
forgotten.

something meaningful

love,
life,
lovelife
family,
friend,
family friend
hm....something meaningful
soul,
purpose,
sole purpose
understanding
i want something meaningful

meaningful things,
they have a warm glow,
like firelight
not hard shiny
red car paint
because I want things that keep
my core warm, bright,
that stay with me when i walk away

breathing

I don't need a god to make my prayers meaningful
I pray inward
and out
to fill the empty spaces
with a calmer silence.

"1(a ..." (e. e. cummings)

loneliness
has shown me
the emptiness
of a single soul

i am a leaf
(no tree)
i am a
drop of rain
caught
in the limbo of a photograph

the very quietness aches
of a profound loss of something
I cannot know
except
as a faint echo of need

(never?)

Until spring
I am winter forever.

I was flowing
in time
until you
dropped like a pebble
in my
mirror of the sky.
Your face, your name, your voice
plunked
away the stillness.

Ah, your touch!
Your fingerprints
are
ripples
on my heart--
my soul has
circles
spreading out.

I had a dream that I could fly
I showed you, soared around the yard, flapping arms like wings,
I pointed up into the sky
wind in my hair, joyful mind
then down beside you
did you see? I asked, knowing you did--
I'd felt your glowing eyes
No, you said. I saw you walk
expression bored
the floor dissapeared, and i floated up
gravity pulling me the wrong way
towards clouds
I reached at tree tops
grasped at telephone poles, trying to climb up to the ground
the wind blew me over houses
and you stood, feet on the ground, eyes beside you
talking the other way.

"But you could explain better than that?" the kid in me said.

It's so hard to explain, and no on understands so why can't I write like I say it and I can know, (what) I mean, because the better I say it aloud the more el-oh-quent-ly I'm missunderstood (or/and the words believed better, but worse) thought-through for the wrong reasons, so 'll just blurt it choppy (in the only [out of] order it makes sense in).

Do you want to know what I think?
I think that
trees
fish horses
you
me
are gods and demons
and that we pray aloud

oh, earthly father, sister, mother,
may we hear us
oh, that we may grant ourselves.

wisdom tree,
old as wisdom
and wise as old
will you show me?
I have not the patience to grow
sure and strong and slow
wisdom tree,
will you show me?
I have no roots in this place
I have a stranger's heart, and a stranger face.

counting seconds

time
has been
thinning like honey in hot water
running by
slipping by.

but
here in the waiting room
it has slowed
to the consistency of cheese
lumping by.

I am glad now for the minutes of forever
almost frozen
in white walls,
grey and purple carpet.

count your blessings, someone says
but I've been counting seconds.

I think this, remembering (when I had seen so few,
days were long, summers endless.) a time
like
luke-warm mollases

voices

smooth, slow
but not too slow
skimming along

in conversations.

and I,
weaving between legs in a forrest

of relatives.

I remember
chicken on the grill, squares of charcoal,

I forgot to freeze
the flames that lapped
at food, and twilight, night
slipped in
and darkend the rooms
and sky
and outside air.
the porch light turned on, yellow. bright.
my tongue
felt the blackened skin

and corn on the cob

I savored it, and time glug, glugged by like

barbeque sauce

I remember
abuelo,
daisy,
muchos tios,
mis tias
tia maria
tia juana
tias. muchas tias.
I remember
Daddy blended in
like one choclate in a bowl of candy
spanish rolling off his tounge
in a lovely jumble
and I remember Mommy faintly, nervous
(hiding in the little kitchen behind a stove of pots)
bella, they said
rubia
linda, touching her vanilla face, her blond hair
when she came out.

count your blessings, a nurse says
(has she been talking?)
but I've been counting seconds.

read me aloud

read me aloud.
I am a peice of paper, world,
read me aloud.
my
blue and black
inked
innocence
was smooth and proud;
you bruised
a poem
on my face,
now I have word and sound.
read me aloud.

Windows and Water and Wind

Windows and water and wind.

It is a world of phantom things,
like gods and hope.

and all my senses grope

the falling leaves
and graspable things

(windows and water and wind)

for
love and soul
and demons all.

Windows and water and wind.

Bubbles

Tomorrow is a bubble
that bursts when caught
and all the goals
and dreams I've ever sought,
weightless,
iridescent
and unsound,
puddle
in my palm when found.

a poem for fall

i stood beneath a tree
in autumn,

its fallen leaves
strewn
at crooked roots
like a golden cloak dropped slowly,
slipped sensuously
from grey-black boughs like careless shoulders
down, down
to rest at toes and ankles
half exposed
in mossy earth.

I'd never seen a naked thing so proud