dreamland july 2008

get on the bus its only 50 cents but I let her keep the change --- change your clothes and your mind --- your mind about how you feel --— can I write anything different please — and I must continue moving forward 

lets delve into dream land, land land land land everything is land language land ghost land grassland — last night I had a dream about lipids and love - lost friends and toasters- lonely highways and northern valley - lets reflect - sammy weiss its SAMMYFEST your birthday like a national holiday here is your party lets have the campfriends over - spaghetti dave stars in my dreams lately, why I don't even enjoy your wavelength all too much you're a sweetheart somewhere - so ive known you for seven years but you don't seem familiar we shared memories and I forgot them all - and so we talk like strangers and I need to escape the uncomfortable situation just because I smell baked goods and I make my way into the party room it’s GUND but it’s not GUND you know how that works in dreamland and there are talbes of pastries and I choose wisely placing pasteles en mi plato and my mothers eyes are watching - I don't neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed to eat this I don't neeeeeeeeeeed to touch that - you don't neeeeeeeeed to tell me but I secretly want you to because its what im thinking inside ---so I stuff a cream puff between my teeth and swallow it with pride YEAH I KNOW THAT'S IN MY THIGH but that's where it belongs for now — so I return with a platter of calories just to piss myself off and then I hear a voice in my head telling me ROMANCE IS THE ANSWER there ARE people who make you feel beautiful all the time and theyre the ones you want to marry? No, not marry, just BE around a little more than usual, to connect like legos snap snap ahh its creation, love ladders and sex towers and colorful columns of relationships- no I don't want a realationship that is what I tell myself constantly frolicking in a field of signles THAT'S MY CHOICE will I ever get married? I cant decide what to eat for breakfast I cant decide which notebook to write in first I cant decide black or brown I cant decide to make my bed or close my closet firrsttt but I CAN decide I want my choices- I am selfish, so selfish to share myself with everyone — how am I being selfish? I wont let you have all of me because I want to know him, him, her, and them NOT JUST YOU and not because you are you but because I AM ME— so those people exist and I think I found one here—I could be lying to myself but even so what does it matter? Julia said its WHAT I HAVE TO OFFER ANYONE and what I have to offer is my honesty my feelings a little part of my heart that I can afford to give away? Can I a f f o r d it is the question we don't think we can get what we cant afford, but I believe i will heal scabbing over and scarring still there as a reminder that I shared myself with you and you took it truly—so I want to connect with someone and dreamland is where its at — here I am with this boy,  nooo not with him,   I get a textual message that says it all — rikki you always go out of your  way to find the bad boys the ones who don't treat you right the ones who don't listen hard enough or dig deep enough or touch tenderly enough or talk softly enough or say what they really mean and you think theyre from Vermont or short hills or NEW YORK CITY but really I am here from Memphis Tennessee you've never even said those two words together but we should be—so I tell him to come- with a toaster- and this time he does- this time he shows up with what I ask and with what I didn't expect- an open heart and a still warm toaster and together we run in the rain and wash the burnt bread particles out of the crevasses and we press into each other locking eyes so close that our eyelashes slip into each other in the way bristles interlay filling the gaps that are meant for others, and our eyes open WIDE and our hearts open WIDE and our legs open WIDE and we are one single body with two separate heart beats that mirror each other in a melody that screams CONNECTION, it sounds like love, it feels like love, can this be love? If not, what is? and if so how can I make it last as long as forever? and then I remember the memories- the memories make me save myself- I can close my eyes and feel the press as our hip bones attract like the middle magnets in our bodies- our lips just barely touch and we give each other breath—out of me into you, out of you into me- one single being two separate minds one single moment two separate memories- it feels like honesty…

ripplefruit

calendar mornings

grapefruits waft into the bedroom

fresh scents and a clean pair of Hanes

no filters to strain sand castles

they just build themselves

the perfect dampness 

sturdy enough for lovers legs

to layover, loosely entangled in a labryinthe of extremities 

toss toss - then

a wave of panic returns to sender

point a finger at finding fault.

sandy bed sheets, salt water tears ripple down

tight cheeks, kissed by tight lipped goodbyes

so long, long legged boyfriends and bare feet-

it all ends when the beach freezes over and the castles fall.

(...

i am (cant stop) writing

a story (never ending) 

in this (unopened) moleskin journal

it's called (untitled) 

it's called something i haven't shared with myself yet

and when it comes out (on bluray and DVD)

, i mean is published

no name is going on the cover

but this one (mine)

pen name. pseudonym. something along the lines of

(read in between the lines and)

pressing matter in between the pages of print

i author

a novel

the author

no matter,

i sign every copy with (myself)

clicky pens from the doctors office

stolen, innocently, from front desk cups

(because those write the smoothest)

by me.

doggy eared, musty pages.

she doesn't like library books

because

too many other people have touched them before

and

she doesn't know for sure where they have been.

that mystery is my favorite part

i wonder who had you on october 12th

and renewed you continuously through december?

who doggy eared your page 23

and underlined the words "infinite" and "unforeseen"?

whose hazelnut decaffeinated coffee stained your rippled cover

where did you rest the longest, ignored, untouched, isolated

who cared for you the most, attentive, touching, turning, listening

what hungry puppy sank his teeth into your binding

-food for thought

what woman grasped you tightly on a moving train

-novel nourishment

what man tossed you into a bursting briefcase 

-professional prose

what child turned you, curiously examining

the pages, the letters, the words, the smells

the musty, doggy eared pages of shared language.

she doesn't like library books because     ?     she cant read.

oh d2 travel games

compact mirrors

and travel tic-tac-toe

in a small drawstring bag.

when i saw you, your neck bare 

between where your hairline ends and your shirt collar begins

i just wanted to trace x's and o's on your smooth skin

no etching, no printing.

just tracing, lightly -

we are playing an innocent game of deception

it is compact tic-tac-toe on the flesh of you

and a travel mirror for the flesh of me to see

when i worry about the flaws that they don't notice

unaware that they are the imperfections you adore.

obey him as you would me

it is always 

'wunderful' 

to get results.

fated coincidences are not really coincidences at all

they are just a combination of 

perfect timing & blessings in disguise

sometimes preventing accidents waiting to happen

or mistakes about to be made

or regrets ready to be regretted

thank god for small favors

popular quote of the moment:

"everything happens for a reason"

but to say

what is is what should be, and what should be will be

is a tad more playful,

a smidgeon more controversial, 

a bit more convoluted,

but thank you for making this choice clear as tomorrow's fresh winter morn.

bibliotologyeca

too easy to feel out of control

with this overabundance of 

the potential

to control - -

let human beings be teased with

the ability to make choices

but tempted by the mistake to make 

the wrong choices.

to obsess over what is out of our hands

is one thing

but

to obsess over our hands, our noses, our hair, our bodies

is another - single scar to bear for eternity 

unless 

we choose

to control or

we choose

to ignore  or

we choose

to be content, find pacification, feign confidence

to eventually feel fine, forgive fate and free ourselves, uncontrollably. 

skitherapy

nothing cures an ailment

like lands of winters wonders

just two hours to freedom of frost, flakes

frosted flakes, the sugary exception

or perhaps just

isolation in ice-olation

snowcapped sorrows

don't hurt so hard because the cold

numbs

the outer so the inner can 

heal the heart

and burn away the bruises to build

a better you.

success 2013!!!!!11111

superficial intelligence

facebook status education

social simulation

redefinition of 

success.

rejection is what?

error and opportunity

there is no error in opportunity

thank you,

university of pennsylvania

eat my shit when i'm famous.

for josh

matter

she says and/or he says, i think, you think, is defined 

as:

a particular kind of substance

something that occupies space

things put down in words

thing sent by mail

something of consequence

significance, importance

difficulty, trouble

ground, reason or cause

philosophy

is it a matter of life and death?

as a matter of fact,

does it really matter

what's the matter?

well, for that matter,

no matter what,

you matter.

'you are hard on your shoes'

hands

handwriting

handprints

foot

footsteps

footprints

can she

can i

can he

leave a trail of tears

can we

make a mark

that

lasts for

years&years&years

then

when 

the sky clears and the stars step on the earth and

soles of their shoes mark the souls of our moods

it's astrology, yes, but watch!

as they make what we make in -

printmaking    &    photography.

delete

i'm prepared to feel

one of two:

settled

vs.

hopeful

there are other 

battles

sleep vs. snooze

sweat vs. study

so,

i say ski or stay this saturday

for friday's news is not nearly

as important

as i am.

leather wedges

parallel structure
just feels good.
deja vu & dreams
slip into a slip
a freudian slip
freeze dance!
and then heavy thick blankets
whomp.

tenth at the ham

click in 

tune out

ride up

ski down

first run of the season

trails behind the last of last

and the snow sounds the same

its a sound that soothes - swish - 

i smile behind my coat collar

clench my poles and fly

wind in my hair, breeze in my face

skis under

clouds over

soaring through the empty space in between.

birthday

i like

parties

presents

people

pancakes

pot

pictures

paint

plaid

patterns

picnics

parades

pudding

plastic cups

plastic spoons

plastic utensils in general

pepper spray

pinatas

penguins

puff pastries

puff, the word

pink poodles

poodle skirts

pretzels

preppy grandmas 

poop, by lily, in front of the -

prada store on miracle mile

pimples on pretty people

poles... ski poles

precious metals

precious cargo

precious, the word

piddle

paddle

playgrounds!

play dates

pressure points

prisms

pillows and

puddles.

but not necessarily in that order.

Act X Scene Y

what would happen though

if we didn't act

what would i do? you do?

ok

we 

would 

walk around ridiculous, speak ridiculous, and live ridiculous

and it would feel

free

would it?

would it feel free?

or would it feel like we were acting

free?

no

no

because i have felt it before

and so have you

it's really free

honest

for a second.

the next you're like

OH I'M FREE

so then 

we think we are free

and then we lose

freedom

from thinking a word that defines us

yes

that's why it cant last longer than realizing it.

julia rikki

dear j, it's love.

i also realize that so much is happening all over the world while i am opening the fridge

and that's the reason why it hurts the most

and i just want to walk out the door

but i don't have anywhere to go

and although i like to think that i don't need a destination, i'm just used to believing i do-

i don't want to live here anymore

i am better than here

and so are you.

synotyms

there is a dictionary of words 

that can only refer to

almost anything.

(n.) blorn

I found a blorn in the back of your closet.

(v.) to quazzle

He quazzled whenever he had nothing else to do.

(adj.) juffled

She looked juffled almost all the time.

(adv.) tawkly

When silence plagued the party room, the tawkly, juffled boy screamed something fierce.

be the way it should

do i feel the same as i did before?

one birthday card away from old

and my ages are my siblings -

eleven took seven by the hand and through the halls,

downtown in the rain sun & snow

while seventeen couldn't even recognize fifteen

i never even answered "i'm fifteen." what an under-said, 

under-felt -

under the shadow of sixteen- age...

to put my years in a room with four walls

and stare objectively at who i was, because

i knew her when she was young, younger, youngest

and can i look at old photographs and believe that was me?

i was she

cards, candles and cakes ago 

cant let go.

hero zero hello zorro

i once

took out a piece of a bubble

without the rest of it popping

does that make me miraculous?

or

if i told you i could speak without words

or without a mouth even--

i just stare verbs and blink nouns and squint adjectives

would that make me super?

like

i could heal you

take your pain through my ears

attentive antibiotic that is to listen

could that make me holy?

but

when i float 

like a drive with the windows cracked 

no concern for where or when

just now

that makes me infinite?

but don't be a hero.

NO, porf. PORF. thanks.

oh no.

it's a self-destructive sabotage of the infinite 

feigned feelings and so

hungry to be starving that

it kills to be brimming

with too much nonsense and

you don't make sense

because yer not being honest

red handed

18 year old anxiety 

get the fuck out of my dreams

pigs.

noups soups and troupes

heartburn 

at

sixteen!

let's live lightly and love deeply

but not too deeply... just enough to fool and fuck

and still be friends - - 

they burped after sharing soup

then talked over ice chips

and complained about chest pains

and heart pains

and window panes

that weren't properly placed in order to allow natural light to pass through the common room

because

false florescent doesn't bring out the hope in his eyes

or the truth in her smile

or anything real for that matter

it just triggers

heartburn.

bubbles in the leather

he used a cheese cloth

to

s p r e a d 

ink

and

s p e a k 

words

in art FoRm.

i used a pocket knife

to

s l i c e 

cheese

and 

s p r e a d 

it

in food ART.

not to eat

because cheese cloths and pocket knifes

are

for

sissies.

nmuaw

you know you need a muse

when

the fall foliage begins to brown and resemble

used bathroom paper towels, 

crumbled and tossed in the general direction of the garbage can

and

wilting flowers surround the mailbox with the faulty door

that wont shut... it

just falls lamely open for imminent decisions that hold too much weight

or

cold rain makes vomiting seem desirable or a cigarette too tempting

like

walking barefoot on lukewarm asphalt, cold extremities, warm heart?

what is this temperature clash, this bodily rejection

this

feels like limbo for lunatics

i'm 

just

waiting for winter.

please snow.

to soon

i was right!

life is a whole bunch of falling

but 

5 minutes of fame

5 minutes to fuck

5 minutes to feel

5 minutes til friday

5 minutes to fix everything that went wrong 5 minutes ago.

it takes time to think

about 

things that 

make us 

happy.

but not even 5 minutes to realize

we feel 

like

shit.

pain, yo

i just fucking realized

how bad it hurts to be honest

like accidentally scraping off a scab

that you've been trying so hard not to let fall off

and then

instead of revealing a light pink healing patch of skin

it starts to bleeeed all over again.

reopened wounds hurt more than opening them for the first time.

also,

truth hurts when you wait 

a 

long

ass

time

before being honest.

so here it is

bare and beautiful

this died in me

a very

long

time ago.

sorry i didn't tell you sooner.

flatulence in bed

thumb tack the size of a dime still sticks to my wall

a bright blue blob

and every time i look at it i think of scraping it off

but not long enough to actually do it--

i'm sure i could find some poems in this room

on that bookshelf in between gossip girl and of mice and men

or on that nightstand near the tissue box and behind the snow globe...

i can find a line on that shelf next to the picture frame

that holds old friends hostage-

suspended in a moment of false friendship-

but was it false then?

i found a verb under my blue carpet

and a noun stuffed into my old pink pumas in the closet

and an adjective drowning in my sock drawer

but the pronoun stuck to the tack on the wall

oh, i guess that's why i never scraped it off.

"you're in it right now"

what is it about being in it

that makes us want to be-

in it?

being in it is a feeling

not a status

it is a frame of mind

not an experience

it can be a desire, a necessity, a goal

but it is fleeting, evanescent, temporary

and nothing equals the satisfaction of knowing it is possible

to return.

the stars say yes

you are not currently following anyone

so set out to say something

and actually say it out loud

after thinking it

and feel it twice, before and after

and free yourself.

it's all about finding your people

chunky cable-knit sweaters are scary

big, fat stitches of restrictive fabric

weighing on you like last nights lo mein

sleep it off,

wake up in a thin striped cotton tee

with moth holes at the collar and frayed sleeves, 

seams broken, but doesn't seem broken.

comfort over fashion

but fashionably comfortable

'look at her, isn't she adorable'

finally able to adore herself

a split second

with her people

and then it's gone.

together

fall to the ground

leaves and people

rustling in the grass on crisp colorful pillows

pumpkins heavy sitting on cornfields and scarecrows

straw, hay, chapped lips and static

pie crust, the steam from hot apple sider

thawing the ends of noses

eyes tear, blink 

but don't cry

because tomorrow the first snowflake falls

and fall falls to the ground 

with flakes and frost

a new feeling.

resonate in rivers

use things

use people

as distractions

use places

as escapes

from anything we don't feel like feeling like doing

do not use the verb do

do not use the noun things

specificity connects person to person

let's see if this is understandable 

song sings through wires into ear

that says

i change today

just from sounds that resonate

pen to the thin lines

spew life

scribble love

say anything

remember me?

videos capture a life lived

and playing ended lives

should spark-

it's weird.

strange and peculiar is also curious

when just taking what you remember

and what you see

and how you feel

merging into an eclectic combination of

see?

make a magnetic memo somewhere like montana

the magnetic memo

on the refrigerator

reads smooth as glass

it says

control is a feeling that is part of a mood

and when feelings change as moods do, control is compromised

what happens when you

relinquish control and close your eyes?

write without lines on the paper

dance without expectations for grace

walk without shoes on your feet

and love without the fear of losing self.

these were magnetic memos on the fridge at the kelly writers house

mine:

where secret was brilliant 

like a winter cup of coffee & talk   slowed

theirs:

were thine raw like a question

inspire is road

frantic spark after his naked cry

open season

they forget morning aches pounding

pull the live stream chanting 

perfume moon water 

the recall ache

they say it all the time, you know

it's time to start doing things for yourself

self, self, selfish,

be selfish.

i need to be more selfish.

self, self, selfless,

be selfless.

i need to be more selfless.

dear self,

did it rain? 

love, self.

love self.

love yourself.

it's all you really have

to yourself.

uno.

there is still just one

follower

one moon

a single second of heat

the moment it changes

that happens just once

i still have one

feeling 

one intimation

a single doubt of consequence

the moment with tomorrow

that will happen just once

and still just one

day

one time

a single space of happening

the moment that moves

only once.

high fructose corn syrup

sugar stars

and a dark chocolate sky

with a coconut moon

oh what a sweet night

cigarettes and chocolate milk

caramel and cobblestone

strawberry fields

syrup in the streets

lying in glazed grass

eyes glazed over

staring into madness.

play in a box on the ground

to have no fear of

walking barefoot on asphalt 

heels in hand

bag over shoulder

shades over bright eyes that

glisten with the water at the edge of the pier

stepping on small stones

remembering milestones 

recall collecting round stones 

to fill dress pockets with to weigh down my side of the see-saw

at Tallman park

those swings seemed smaller then

when

i was smaller, too.

i still have small feet

big dreams

bright eyes

and the swings still carry me into the air 

just as high as before but this time i understand why it feels so right

to fly

because we do it all the time.

i think this conversation would be appropriate

' she ain't no fuckin' e.e. cummings. '

' oh? '

' no. '

' oh. '

' yeah. '

we have become accountable at our assigned positions

you want to know why

winter is so damn magical

well

think of

the smell of  c  r  i  s  p

brisk cold air through nostrils

s  e  e    your breath in clouds in front of your nose

so cold you cant feel the tips of your toes

taste the smell of     swissmiss     hot chocolate powder 

and 

really look at a snowflake on your sleeve

i promise you

it looks perfect

because there is no other one quite like it.

it is you

oh, it is you.

just making sure.

words slip off the back of a farm truck like loose strands of hay 

sss through the stack, little rocks make the ride rickety 

but they hold on

and loose strands of hair slip down into her face

and he reaches out with one hand to brush, his fingers like bristles,

the strands out of her eyes when graze eyelashes to hand

butterfly broke the silence

flutter so loud, eyes flutter so loud, hearts flutter so loud

and leaves fall softly to the ground.

i have a follower

i have a follower

her name is cherub

or maybe it was turnip

i cant remember.

she walked in my shadows

and lurked in my dreams

but never creeped me out.

until one day i saw her

pocketing my pencils

packing up my pens

and stealing all my paper.

that's when i realized

oh shit, she can really have it all

because she has time

this doesn't take time

we no longer have time

half the time we're wasting time

and half the time we're spending time

never saving time.

tap tap tap, no time to waste,

turnip or cherub, you can lead now.

look what i found

sometimes you have really inappropriate thoughts about pickles

no, not inappropriate... peculiar

peculiar cucumber

cheese and triscuits

mozzarella string cheese

fasten your seatbelt 

i'm about to dream a car crash

blink twice and then keep talking to make sure you're still alive

no matter what you do

do not

let

anything

touch your heart.

the best in the world

sometimes it doesn't feel like family

it's an old sticker book

they've been stuck for so long that they will not come off the waxy paper

just keep looking at the fuzzy ones, the smushy ones, the plain ones, 

the traded ones.

but they're not going anywhere

well, neither is family -

choose A or B

true or false

once you scrape that sticker off it'll no longer have adhesive

reattachment is not an option.

see suns

its a heat that hangs idly

and moments when hearts beat hotly

time slows in the summer

trees stop holding hands with crisp leaves

after foliage arts the highways

colors and apples drop from skies and the air is fresh in fall

cotton balls blanket the streets

and fluffed white pillows and silk sheets

the earth sleeps under winter

birds sing sounds of morning

the first warm day holds the heart in its hands

and flowers peek toward the peak of spring

is there still life in still-life?

she bent her knees and leaned forward, 

scrutinizing his waistline like a seamstress to the fabric on a mannequin.

she clenched his hips in her hands and jerked his waist, 

abruptly, an inch or so to the left and stopped. 

his arms limply followed, first extending out like an opened umbrella,

his torso the handle, 

arms twisting right, then left, while falling closed in one swift motion at his sides.

she nestled her head under his chin

and pressed her cheek into his chest

and crossed his arms over her back

where his hands landed loosely on her hips, graspless.

she waited, standing still, still felt nothing

nothing but an imminent heart beat and before body heat

so she let him let go 

ambi-dex-trous

[-teacher teaches-, student learns]

[student teaches, -teacher learns-]

anyone can do it, right?

-anyone can do it right.

and anyone can do it: write?

-yes, anyone can do it: write.

but only i can write with left, right?

-no.

well only i can write with right and left, right?

-no.

so then i left.

thanks to the trail markers

i can see where i am headed

and it looks like promise, but not like the promise land

and it looks real, but not like the real world

but it feels grand, maybe like the grand canyon, 

or playing grand theft auto, 

or a grand piano - - -

and i want to hike hills and press buttons and stroke keys

to let everyone know that i knew where i was going and i went there,

and look, isn't it grand, isn't it real, isn't it promising? 

look at all the people who followed.

i saw it all on the see saw

i wonder if it would work

if i sat on one side

and you sat on the other,

and although our bodies wouldn't balance right

i am almost sure that

what i harbor in my head

those mistakes, memories, thoughts and things

would compensate for the ample 

physical existence you have over me--

regret is heavy on the conscience,

lost love is heavy on the heart,

and presence weighs more than pounds.

in fact

i believe

i would be the paradox

little girl,

big boy,

and you are the one in the air while i am rightly grounded.

the number game

is it getting better?

because i get about 50 on the highway

and every night you sleep

but aspirations never sleep.

so drive, get back in the global game

it's incredible in and of itself

even if it certainly doesn't feel that way.

to take numbers

t0 s4y th1ng5 1n w0rd5 th4t c0u1d n0rm411y b3 3xpr3553d

take the multiplicative inverse of now

square it, get it out from under the radical

and be, be radical. see it from a different angle.

it's all an algebraic/geometric/personal proof

that doesn't need to be proven

to anyone

but

you.

dreamland

but he was angry and it was scary so i left that room and went across the hall to the other room

and i found uncle stu

and we got really high together

and he suggested we get in the elevator

so we did. 

and as soon as he pressed the button the elevator became a glass elevator in the middle of the bottom of the Palisades Sill where we were surrounded by rocks and mountains and nature on all four sides

and it started going up and up and up and up SOOO HIGH

and then it finally stopped and bumped up and then settled.. as if it got to a floor.. then we looked at eachother, like hahah that was fun and were really high, and then it started to go down faster and faster and i started to get scared so i said 

"is this gonna kill us?"

at first he said "no," with confidence.. but then he stopped himself and thought for a while and realized it would

so he looked at me right in the eyes and said,

"im sorry.. i didnt realize.. im really, really sorry."

and i think, I SHOULD PANIC, but then i stayed REALLY calm, really really calm.. 

like 'okay, we are going to die, i want to think of nothing, clear my mind, meditate,' 

and i am the calmest ive ever felt, ready to face my death, and then the elevator finally hits the ground, the glass shatters and we walk out and away.

e.g. scooters, vacation, fall

she uncapped the poland spring and sipped at the lip of her eco-shape bottle, 30% less plastic, and she stared blankly at the unappetizing freezer-burned baby carrots, cut and peeled and ready to eat! 

her eyes glazed over as the cold escaped the open crisper drawer. 

she kicked it shut and lay down on the kitchen floor, still staring at the fridge's contents.

the cold linoleum tile felt nice against her cheek

her heavy eyelids fluttered then fell shut

with the door. 

she dreamed she stood in front of a giant refrigerator, both doors wide open 

and she wanted celery and carrots.

but all it had was beets.

laces leaves sleep sleeves

when i said i could breathe underwater

i was serious.

my masseuse told me i have swimmers shoulders,

but it took me 6 years to pass my deep water test

because i can breathe underwater

and no one believed me.

but i was serious when i said it

or maybe i dreamed it

but it's becoming awfully difficult to distinguish a difference between dreams and reality

because i wake up and remember exactly how i felt, the same way i remember how it felt

to breathe underwater that time...

so i say 'you were in my dream last night'

i swear my senses are honest

i felt your touch, heard your voice, saw your face

and it never felt so real until it happened in my dream

and when i said it i was serious.

most effective machines

that valley up north

could be a machine

pumping out doers, not thinkers

see-ers not feelers

sentimental overflow: friday through sunday

dehumanization: monday through thursday

move by the bells

tick with the clock

study by the book

scatter marks on square bubbles

rules and rulers, marks and markers

wait until friday to feel something

because emotions are distractions

and human beings don't test well - robots do.

glass walls

seal them shut and let go

of that pencil

loosen your grip, you hold on too tight

-onto people's words when they let slip

when you get it

it'll just look realer.

yeah, realer.

such a small mark makes all the difference

from a picture to a person

if people could be controlled by pencils and pens

i'd mark you up so good

but i wouldn't touch your eyes.

smart fangs

the new trend

is getting yer wisdom teeth removed.

all the cool kids are doing it.

yep, yank those suckers out if you want to feel cool.

or a whole bunch of mouth ache.

how layers clear the air

wanna go? let's go.

where?

bonkers.

why?

because we can.

and then where?

to the moon.

why?

because they say we can't.

do you think we can?

i know we can.

how?

jump.

how high?

just do it.

how high?

just trust me.

trust you?

trust yourself.

pitter. patter. teeth. chatter.

its a cold soothing wet

individual droplets sheeting down from clusters of the same

falling upon anything and everything

so indiscriminating

so encompassing

smells of rain

trickling down treetops and rooftops

i sit outside and soak myself in smells of rain 

and the tears that are mine mix with the sky's

in an indistinguishable river that blows with windy gusts and heaving sobs

uncontrollable weather and uncontrollable feelings 

combine to create the storm within and without hesitation

the unstoppable torrential downpour and the unforgivable emotional outpour

dual in a stormy competition for attention

hear me because 

it rains on you, too.

what is it?

so this is what it feels like to _________

a jittery calm

a flutter in the fingers

a desire to listen, learn, read and write, to watch the news, to converse with adults, to network and research, to expand and express

a choking inner voice, deafening, exhilarating

impulsive conversation

human gestures

sexual desires

resisting 

sharing, sharing, sharing the same sentiments

it's all so real

too real

this is it... what?

this is what it feels like

to grow up.

recipe for hunger

when you crave something

clench a pen between yer teeth

chew but don't swallow

spit words with ink

taste textures and tones with tongue and teeth

enhance with stylistic spices; dash of repetition, pinch of alliteration

frost with a glaze of appealing punctuation;/.,-:*&[--]?!

bake, let cool, taste.

share with a friend

eat and digest

your words.

it's a manbearpig world out there

eternally pissed off

fire famines floods thirst vengeance

clear water tried to kill us

now, you watch this video

leaves choked as bad as models

i call these days mondays

it all changes but, you realize..?

everywhere will become the ways of accident

they will corrupt

so,

i'm gonna turn it around, of course.

sell a fish

people are selfish

because all we really know we have is ourselves.

the world revolves around me - people and places are perceptions

becoming selfless is a choice.

the decision to be a part of someone else. someone else's process.

'there's a little bit of you in me, a little bit of me in you'

and it's easy to say i'd go further for family than i would a stranger

but random acts of kindness surpass relative ties

when all we have is each other we realize each other is all we need.

what is up there

and we have a thing for things like running and skiing and swimming and swings

i think it's because they bring us as close as we can get to flying

and we want to run faster, push harder, jump bigger, swing higher

but we're always grounded

in thought- to each other- to home-to mother

nature brings us back, gravity grounds us

but in the process we have those moments when we realize "this is what it feels like..."

this is what it feels like to ________ and we make our own blanks.

oh man

omen

oh men

owe min

omen

packaged pride

what is it like to make someone proud?

it is a feeling opposite but just as deep as heartache

it never felt so real until it happened.

when you miss someone, and you say your heart hurts, it actually hurts.

heartache is exactly what it sounds like.

but a proud parent is a precious gift

or a privilege

or both because gifts are privileges. 

i advise that the wrapping paper be saved and reused.

for that feeling is the same no matter when or what; making someone proud hurts so good

because you didn't do it right until now.

nature is unforgivable. that is all.

when i am standing alone atop a snow capped mountain

in my kelly green pants, rocking suspenders that hang down from my waist

and the toggles to my gray jacket are fastened

and my boots are buckled tightly

and my helmet is clipped under my chin

and my braids are knit

and my skis are secure

and my headphones are in

i am ready... i am ready i am ready i am ready

for whatever tempts me.

that snowy ledge

that mini mogul

that icy patch

that steep downhill

eager to tear it to shreds with the sharpened edges of my skis

i'll carve white, wavy train tracks into the mountain

while white wavy wires stream soothing melodies through my mind

and when it snows over

others will follow my feet

without even knowing i was there.

the music will resonate through the snow capped mountain

because nature has a memory that spans eternity.

roll call

dangerouz youf

is taking over

don't scream too loud

authority will hear you

authority is a joke

madness is fair?

fuck what you heard.

we make our own rules. some do's and dont's: 

1. don't apologize

2. do what you want 

3. don't take shit from anyone

the youth is the future.

what's it like to miss

sunburns 

take a drive with no concern for time

instincts signal left and right

be a cliche: the journey is the destination, what happens on the way can be what happens at all. 

what separates

tradition from cliche

one state from another

undrawn boundaries that scream, 'trespass if so inclined'.

sunburns

originality

is

hope.

why so serious?

it just makes you smile

uncontrollably

like an idiot

a toothy faced blaring idiot.

but everyone is jealous that you can seem so goddamn happy.

so he tries it.

sitting on the subway, singing to himself

white wires streaming out of strangers ears

he smiles at one of them - and waits. and forgets.

and slips into a surreal subway situation - songs and smiles, strangers and self.

weep steak, sweepstakes, meat cakes, MUFFIN.

and i said i jacked a copy of skymall

and he said, technically it's not stealing if the words "TAKE IT. WE'LL REPLACE IT!" are printed on the cover. sorry to burst your bubble.

well, bubble bursted, but -

when i took it home and read it a second time

cover to cover

i laughed harder at the upside down tomato garden,

the marshmallow shooter, and the 10 foot open tunnel backyard dog agility course

than i would have if it wasn't free.

finally, a decorative litter box i don't have to hide!

making lemonade has never been this much fun.

i can break the language barrier with this talking translator!

and i can sleep with confidence and comfort anywhere in the world.

thanks to my free copy of skymall.

smooth, sticking to rooftops of mouth houses

nom,nom,nom

slapstick it's magic

one two four seven

i laughed at his hat hair.

he took it off

and i laughed.

that may or may not have been a good move.

checkmate.

oh, fuck.

oh sheet.

The itch under my right knee screams 'scratch me' and I keep scratching keep scratching like the never ending itch of a bug bite on the bottom of your foot, unreachable until you settle into bed at night, rubbing and rubbing your sole against your sheets. Soles against your sheets, souls against your sheets—sharing secrets under comforters and covers, sewn into satin, an inner tug and pull, a nag that nags naggingly – the constant threat of revelation not revelation but reveal-ation. there it is out on the sheets, bare and beautiful- the naked truth.

only if it tastes good..

words like sprinkles on a summer's cone

sweeten the already sweet treat

they enhance the product, they satisfy the consumer

they entice the reader, they lure the observer.

sprinkle my pages with colorful words,

enhance my stories with adjective and verbs.

the final production, a sweet simple something 

that provokes feeling and thought,

laughter and tears,

words to savor over the years.

lets

we are alone

as separate beings in a single world.

lets merge in though but scatter in feeling.

lets put on a front and cover the real thing.

i exist, you exist, we exist; independently and individually.

but we rely on each other.

so say what you mean and mean what you say

because nothing is as it seems.

homeland

you can only smell your smell after being away from home for a long while.

and it is only an instant-you have to be ready for it- that first step back into your life, into your house, that first whiff of musk when you step inside is your smell.

well i came home today- but i forgot to smell my smell.

oh well.

yeah yeah yeah

today i found a lovely nook

the button bench

and all it took

was a little looking here and there

it couldnt be just anywhere

museworthy, secluded, immersed in some nay-cha (sp?)

me, the bench, a pen and some paper

o, gpomg tp ;pse tje wjp;e afffaor wjem tjos nattter eims ppi o

oh, well, that made sense in my head.

xoxo

O's are circles and they go on forever

X's are lines intersecting at a fixed point and the lines end somewhere

this is because

you can hug someone forever but eventually, during an extremely long kiss, even batman would need to break for breath.

[out of a conversation between me&sis]

to actually live

you need to make contact: eye contact, body contact, mind contact.

the physically present interaction is real.

the interwebz; that box of cyber; has 2 sentiments: really happy or really sad

two extremes that do not exist in nature

why?

because humans feel like one thing: shit. all the time. 

and it is being able to get ourselves out of feeling like shit that makes humans so excellent.

pulling out from under restrictions, shaking off that wet blanket

the interwebz box of cyber streams happy and sad wavelengths, distracting the human from contact.. feeding and fueling us with false feelings- and yeah, you feel good when you

get

shit

done

on the internet. 

but after you check yer email, update yer blog, send perfy bumpastickz on the book of faces, download that crazE song, sign up fer x, register for y, and beat level 13 on snood - you are still devoid of contact. where are your people? 

i should, but i cant yet

growls,

it does so with a kind undertone

hello i'm hungry, but it feels so nice to be empty

warm nuts in the front of the plane, sipping champagne

yeah, we're going out in style.

to let yourself go, exceed the limit, color out of the lines, overstep boundaries

it's not trespassing anymore. it's creativity.

hunger strikes at midnight,

and do you want to know a secret?

i say names to make things personal.

i lock eyes to make things personal.

it works - 'you knew that would work'

no, no one ever really knows if something will work, for sure

but it can feel like it will.

feelings?

i feel like you hate me.

i feel a vibe.

i feel sleepy.

good night.

londonland

british lads, breakfasts, bath, beerfests

covent garden, coaches, clotted cream, cordings

doest he have to be half naked to make a pound?

piccadilly circus, pounds, pence, peanuts; please, do not disturb.

sushi,

the tube, tea time, tins, turbins, tickets, toast, take a picture

lion king, frinton on sea

good ole british lad whose breath smells like death.

oxford street, open late, 

regent street, soho

unfinished business.

flying through physics [an excerpt from a stream of consciousness]

Force can be dangerous- so characters emerge from the hindsight of my babble- and she sits in physics class F=ma and this shit presses down on her with a torque that turns her insides out ‘when am I going to need to know this?’ But still she listens because her future rests upon her present knowledge, tomorrows test, next months final exam, tonights homework- sometimes she thinks she can neglect it all. ‘So what will it matter if I fail tomorrow I’ll be dead eventually and not a single soul will remember,’ how morbid, think those she shares her free period with, that is depression, NO that is REALITY, is anything she said false? No.  And that is the true false question for the day, and we move on, multipleguess the teacher says because you’re all gonna bomb and I have no sympathy.  Fuck you, she thinks, I see the sympathy in your temple tan lines from those nerdy little glasses, I hear the sympathy in your mickey mouse after puberty mixed with barney VOICE, and I taste sympathy in the starbs I sip while you babble nonsense, NO babble is brilliance, and I feel sympathy in the flimsy rulers you pass out before a test. GOOD LUCKKK, you mumble, but I know you really mean it— so she sits in her chair and her stomach grumbles with digestion and she wonders where in the world her sister is at the very moment because for all she knows her sister isn’t doing anything- the perception, nothing outside of what I see exists – and still the tests are passed out and she laughs at problem 1- sketches a freebody diagram FREEBODY DIAGRAM. it is of herself- with wings- not wings like bird wings, wings like long eyelashes that open her perspective wider than the room can handle, wider than the pencil can draw, eyelashes that OPEN UP THE WINDOWS AND DOORS SO THAT ALL SHE CAN SEE IS ALL THAT THERE IS. she is flying through a field of fascinating feelings and friendships and fourtune tellers and finders keepers and fuck buddies and fig Newtons -and NEWTONS law of gravitation tries to distract her but her pencil erases all thoughts of physicssss and continues to trace her freeee bodyyyyy diagrammmmmmm right there, where numbers and formulas should be. Should be? Who says? Will I get points for creativity? nooooo never, never, never in physics. its just the solid answer, underlined twice with a unit written right on the end of the line. there it is in sure satisfying Ticonderoga pencil—permananently ethereal- that's so legit- and she hands it in- just like that- never felt so goddamn real- and she flies out of that classroom with her eyes wide open and her freebody diagram comes to life.

inaprops ya hurd?!

It’s whatever I want and expressing it truly, it’s vulnerability onto the page and out of the human holding back.  To be able to change a life solely because I am experiencing mine and sharing what anything means to me in that way that way that way that makes people think any way they feel they can and feel beautiful. Not making sense to everyone, but making sense to someone.  It’s like running wild, sweating profusely, squirming randomly and keeping secrets because no one is watching.  It’s like being alone but finding company inside the wooden corridors of thought, the rocky pathways of belief, the tiled tunnels of truth and love.  Or maybe not at all.  Maybe; maybe it’s the realization that intimacy requires company, that loving another is loving yourself, that spontaneity is actually fate, that reason is crazy but certain. And so am I.

do drop jelly jars on orange flavored floors

today i had a feeling that the frozen food section was spreading its chill

like a sour cream cheese

that makes your nose twinge

and your face cringe - 

luckily i left before the frost kissed my lips

and clouded my eyes

and covered my ears

and tainted my taste buds

i thawed on the sidewalk

while reading a hot InTouch i lifted on my way out of the inferno.

wasted words are worse than weapons. why?

because reading shouldn't taint thoughts with fakery.

when it does - with falsified fame - the frozen food section freezes feelings.

you would know.

he accidentally took too long tying his shoes this morning

and she purposely stopped at yellow lights on the way to school.

working against each other they fought fire

with feelings.

fuck what you heard, there will be no traffic today-

flying over frictionless freeways-

traffic lights turned blue and spontaneously combusted into spaghetti and pennies

make a wish and take a bite

while the day transitions into night

stopping at a yellow light

she looks up and in her sight

he's tying his laces very tight

and with no more feelings left to fight

a bolt of lightening can seem safe and bright

under the dome sky

the storm shelters heartbeats,

heartbeats that skip and stop and synchronize

and at once

lightening bolts and beating hearts break

at daybreak.

thundercrack countdown

looking up at a golden sky

the breeze chills, the trees sway, relief.

tomorrow i am going away -

high tea, fish and chips

people watching, shopping trips

just to find a space

a grassy patch, a park bench

a hotel desk, seat A6

where my muse

spits secret sounds into spiral notebooks:

naked words.

three aye emm

tweed, twas, twizzler.

tourists talk in tattered tongues

try to trick the teens into taking time to think that thinking takes time 

today the turtle tried to turn over 

and they took turns taking turns turning turtles over

until time took the teens and the tourists and the turtle

and turned on them.

yeah it says it so does it that hint of manner

extermination drawbridges peanut sterling silver

a cat crossed the road with such elegance i swear a ballerina would be jealous

and then the ice cream truck pulled over with a vengeance 

that would scare any father with a wallet, silly.

what would you like?

what would I like?

what would we like.

it tastes sweet but intentions were sour.

paper green paper swap it for sugar and NO

the interaction might stick if its worth it

was it worth it?

even though its melty?

and your hands are sticky?

she looks up, locks eyes, smiles.

yeah it says it so does it that hint of manner.

quilts scream sounds of sleep

take it further than you thought you could because surprising yourself is almost better than surprising others.. surprise surprise it's what keeps us alive - because new and different is constant progression and constant evolution and constant advancement - when will it stop? it wont. time never does, we never will. hearts stop beating but people keep reading - it is all infinite because things are indefinite - they say it's all relative - i connect with my relatives - after feeling so disconnected i can finally connect through thought. how curious because my thought and their thoughts are perceptions/perspectives that exist on different levels - connecting through thought is one of the most difficult connections - farrrr more difficult than the intimate physical connection and THAT is why incest is a universal taboo- there exists a challenge to connect with family intellectually rather than physically because WE ARE ALREADY BLOOD RELATED.

rolling hill of an m&m made of lipstick and salt

we're being honest

but we're both relaxed

and

after all this time

i have nothing to tell you.

if you give me your hand

open, palm up

i read secrets in the lines

i hear truth in your lines

and they match.

stop and think about not thinking about what you're saying

because it is real what comes and goes

he knows

she knows

we know.

feelings in your face

eyes plead

hearts bleed

nothing hurts

when we're being honest. 

heroes and villains

well, camp echo lake

it's funny how you play into the "real world"

tribal themes become movie scenes

but that isn't real at all

it seems, in order to be a convincing actor you must convince yourself you ARE the character you are playing - you are no longer you.

a parasitic portrayal of hero or villain

out of control, under your control

it is potential chaos. but it is actual security.

"you either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain."

once there was a ruin-ism.

 

So then the pretzels got stale and the air wreaked/ /reeked of half hearted honesty.  The tour guide opened the windows and changed the air the way you’d change your underwear in the morning- just like that- off and away. The visitors filed into the room, replacing the aura of previous persons.  The guide always wondered what would happen if he flat out just ruined his life. All it took was a tick of the clock and there he would be, standing naked on the ping pong table screaming   SAVE THE TREES AND FUCK YOUR MOTHER MY DOG HAS A BEAUTIFUL ANUS AND THE GRASS IS NOT GREEN

and just like that 1-2-3 you are labeled insane- 

Well the truth is that everyone has impulsive thoughts, 

and they creep up on us like humans that were, 

and they coat your honesty like sprinkled sugar glaze that says 

EAT ME DON'T RESIST MY CREEPY COATING 

and you know its true- because it came from inside of you- and that is scary. You want to keep it down but you want to shout it out, 

I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL BECAUSE I AM HUMAN TOO, 

but together we try not to understand each other 

because sharing our secrets is sharing our flaws.

i'm gonna vom

mumbling something seriously undecipherable no matter how hard i strain my eardrums to hear the words escaping his mouth.. its impossible. im driving, i cant talk on the phone. but i want to hear what he is saying back there.. i hear the taptaptap click click phingers on the phone keys sending signals of sensuality. but not to me.

i am probably driving my own lover to a date with his lover.

this is a sick joke.

i'm gonnna vom.

good thing he let me drive his car

today.

brainz

i'm gonna beat the system.

do you care to join mE?

mindz run wild while batteriez run out

pen ink battles gasOlean 

one two three

you and me

beating the sysTem

sister.

brickbreaka

i feel like he would know

he would, he so would.

sorry, i'm speechless

giggle, chuckle, cackle

folks, if you wake up and we're not on the highway, DO NOT BE ALARMED.

ew, my hands are oily.

are you miming? no.

wanna do a duck face, too? no.

obama-nation.

abomination?

to be a good writer, you must be a good eaves dropper.

why?

because the best material comes from what you aren't supposed to be hearing.

well, it says WORLD in white bold letters with a blue background.

study the world, study words about the world.

advanced placement pringle popping!

crunch, oops, i'm full.

common cents

why so concerned

with making sense

making cents?

making money.

dollar bills, pain pills

don't stare directly at the sun

you'll go blind

bright beauty burns badly

ten seconds of light costs an eternity of darkness

it makes sense, making cents.

an ode to planes that look like stars

let’s dance around the town circle

make sure everyone is watching 

because i want to know what it feels like to be noticed by a stranger - 

stranger than i could ever imagine he walks up to me and asks me my name 

and i say joe -

just to fuck with him -

and he says joe - i want to know you 

and i say - watch me beat the stars in a staring contest - 

and he says - joe that is impossible the stars never blink - 

and i say - wait with me until the sun comes up you’ll see i always win 

i am a winner 

do you want to win with me? 

but he says - no, i want to dance with you 

and we dance along the town circle -

hand in hand with a stranger -

because isn’t that what i wanted to happen? 

isn’t that how it feels to be alive?

the jonas brothers

let it rain,

while it soaks the skins of preppy peoples

pitter patter on cobblestone streets

where pigeons piss and peck at persons

toss bread crumbs

and sip starbucks

oh, is it good to be alive?

you tell me, she said.

so confusing; maybe, maybe not?

vibes in the back left pocket

BBM from the BF

a reminder that commitments tough, tuff.

tufts. uninspiring. vapid. 

w.x.y.z.

academically pleasing, aesthetically queasing. 

no, it didn't call to me.

and then he called me

and i pressed end

and it did.

you are always MIA (freewrite)

i enjoy my independence 

"you wander off a lot"

i am a wanderer, fershure.

not always, but now!

out of my isolating desire to be in constant company.

writing with your eyes closed. you should really try it.

darkness. if i cant see it does it exist?

do lines matter if we challenge where they intend hold us?

the borders of the page versus the borders in our minds are one.

one barrier that hinders the blooming beauty of whatever you feel is honest.

scribble over and under, inside and outside the lines until handwriting doesnt match and words dont make sense. 

because if it exists somewhere in the mind it can be brought to life on a page. with a pen. 

and. words. breathe.

slinky, slinky, slink.

tiny tangible toy, you're all mine.

couch cushions covered the coins i used to get to you.

we can make mistakes and memories growing old together in a private paradise.

when i climb 

the stairwell and 

place you at the top i 

knock you over, tenderly, 

and race you to the bottom. 

the sound your metal coil makes 

slows                me                 down 

as it strikes the hardwood floor.

i pushed you over, 

you beat me down, 

but together we ascend the stairs one last time 

before you rust 

and i wrinkle 

with time.

stack of innocence: rough draft

Like clockwork, step by step, I follow my feet to the marble topped island in the kitchen.  My sister mirrors my movements and we meet at the middle drawer.  Her left hand joins my right like legos, and together we pull gently on the small metal handle.  The drawer glides open like a gentle rolling wave and we dive in.  Swimming in a sea of saran wrap and tin foil, of brown paper bags and Ziplocs of all sizes, our fingers float toward the stack of innocence: our sippy cup collection. 

            Light yellow, dark yellow, chipped cyan, chewed purple, see though or solid-- the options seem endless.  My sister and I are never too thirsty for just a sip.  A sippy cup will always quench our cravings. Ours. Not theirs.

            “You girls are too old to use these lids.  They’re all too chewed up to save.”  Mother tossed the lids in the trash, unknowingly disposing of much more than just mangled plastic.  We both wish we had them still, as a subtle reassurance that our drinks could never spill.

             When sleepless nights plagued my childhood days I could always depend on chocolate milk, at what felt like midnight, to quell my most troubling worries; like being the only one awake and blinking during naptime or hesitating 3 seconds too many on a mad minute division problem.  Even then social pressures and academic standards weighed heavily on my conscience.  But Hershey’s syrup was my sedative and the comforting clank of small stainless steel spoons against thick plastic sent soothing shivers down my tiny spine.  I would watch, fascinated, as Daddy would move about the kitchen.  The cup disappeared into the magic box and when the timer beeped it would reappear, warm chocolate milk in my purple plastic sippy cup.  I drank it down like Dramamine and drifted drowsily toward my bedroom where my sister would faithfully step down from her top bunk bed and keep me company, tickling my back until my breath steadied into a rhythmic lull, telling proof that I was fast asleep.

            Milk turned into mountain dew as diaries replaced barbies.  Racing home from the bus stop, my sister and I would embrace a caffeinated high, “do the dew,” after a dramatic day filled with cliquey girls and cootied boys.  We’d sit at the kitchen table and escape into our private limbo, snacking on cereal and sipping from our trusty cups.  The carbonation popped like bite-sized balloons on the tips of our tongues and we’d try to hold back the effervescent tears.

             And eventually, when car keys replaced diaries so too was soda replaced, or mixed, with jack and gin.  And still the cups remain.  Until one summer afternoon when my sister and I return to the island the drawer lacks the stack.  Mother yells, “Bring the cups down from your rooms!” We were always curious to see if we could collect them all on our desks and nightstands, hallways ledges and bathroom sinks, before she called for them.  Never made it that far for fear of Mother’s fury. “You girls live like pigs,” she would yell, but despite her apparent anger she silently washed the cups, time after time, and placed them back into the drawer where my sister and I knew we would always find them, fill them and feel safe.

            What a comfort it is to chew a colored cup around the edges, our teeth sunk in so easily.  That one was mine, we thought, and proudly, we placed our sippy cups back into the island drawer and sent them rolling back into the only sea my sister and I would willingly sink into.

personal words of wisdom

it's not a competition

it's personal progression.

forward looking thoughts.

everything is meant to be in the simplest way for no obvious reason.

what you are doing is exactly what you should be doing and

where you are is exactly where you should be;

but it's your perspective, how you look at your situation, that you have the capacity to change.

what does water say?

science says if i speak to my water it will respond with crystallization, 

if i sing to my water it will rearrange its formation.

but when i drink all my water there arrives a true sensation,

i can consume without cessation,

let me absorb the information.

i am a human water sponge,

i imbibe through my tongue;

then down the pipes into the pit

of my porous stomach      it

travels through the estuaries

carries down the tributaries

to the delta, the inner mouth,

where my bodily waterway spits it out.

and here the message slows its flow

to trickle into one last place to go.

words like water lap upon the shore

sloshing through arteries, taking a tour.

until finally it filters the feelings and finds

the heart of the river, the thoughts in the mind.

she's there

no one knows

where she goes

to touch her toes

as the wind blows

pollen, and a rose

scent tickles her nose

startled by the crows

that stultify the pen flows

she ingenuously sheds her clothes

spontaneously exposed

a renegade from her foes

twist, turn, repose.

she's there.

i can

i can write a poem about the rust on a chain link fence

or the fraying edges of my jeans

or the people in the magazines;

and you can read my poems about silent rooms in noisy halls where the personal emergence of a bead of sweat upon the brow of a thoughtful being is recognized, never disguised

the ears will hear, trained to detect the familiar trickle down an honest neck

a single speck of perspiration, a salty tear of frustration

from the left, i push my pen

closer to the finish, then

i break.

post number one

this is post number one.