new yearz rezzies!

.....drink 2 glasses of music every day
...........v0lunteer to spend time skiing
...........g1ve 365 poems to charity
....learn t0 play the decision

also,
find a better genius, overcome my fear of muses, dance like it's the 50's and spend more time outside than online.

faboo

an under discussed phenomenon is the blameless innocence of the forbidden dream scene, starring your professor. your floor fellow, don, residence adviser. your teachers assistant. your boss.
if it happens, your subconscious "betrays" you(or, more likely, reveals itself in a satisfying and safe way), your perception of the situation and the person changes. what now? you think, in another dimension we shared a flame, a cigarette, an ice cream sundae, a bed. And now, only an entire face of the earth. every time you cross paths it's as if you predicted it, made it happen and forced fate under your control. reality is obsolete. plus, this game is much more entertaining. the vapid monotony of coincidence evolves into something much more complex: the lingering memories from the dream scene.


... to be continued.

assimilation now, assholes

We cleaned up for an hour and a half last night. Jussayin.
We are now free to be as simple as they seem - but how great is it that we can wake up in the morning, waste the day away, and still feel more fulfilled? No, not more fulfilled. Not really even that fulfilled at all... but the potential to fulfill is throbbing. How fun! Good thing we don't do this often.

softer than the moon

Hold on tight to the blades of grass, lest you fall of the face of our planet! Sixteen shooting stars painted the sky many years ago - but tonight! we witness! A
glorious time to notice nineteen more lamps from our past spilling liquid light across the dome of our solar system. I could lay here forever with you even though I am actually always alone. Our universes collide in a Big Bang but - 100 seconds later it is done. Lemon juice drops from the sky, it burns nicely. Many thanks, then.

finish later

i am a self-proclaimed logophile.
i am running my the last lap on the teen track.
i am tying my shoes for too long.
i am tripping.
i am flat faced and cuddling the cold pavement when a sudden jolt turns the globe inside out and i am rolling around the inside of a transparent blow up beach ball - i see the world in frosted plastic pink and it reminds me of the jelly shoes i used to wear on my feet as a small child. i punched holes in the straps to make them tighter around my ankles. i had weak ankles.
when i realize i am running again, faster and faster, and that this is my last lap on the teen track - i know the wings on the back of my jelly shoes are almost strong enough to lift me right off this pavement.
i cant wait until yesterday.

keypers

Lost friendship, lonely highways and the northern valley. I can see it all from here.
From this ribbon I made a keychain and I put home next to here next to journal next to mailbox... it's all the same now. I tied four keys together but I only use two of them. The one I am missing cannot be replaced. When I brought that key to the locksmith last Monday he told me it was too complicated to copy. Too complicated to copy? What makes a key complicated? The ribbon slips through the top of all keys just the same. He tells me, the locksmith tells me, it's because of the ridges. The ridges? "Yeah, the grooves, these things," and he runs his thumb over the part of the key that fits perfectly into the lock. I can tell he works with his hands because there are white cracks at his knuckles and a callous on the inside of that thumb. How come some keys seem like they fit, they slide in easily but don't turn? How come other keys that aren't the "right keys" slide in, turn and open the lock? How come a flimsy bobby pin can do the work a complicated key does if the right person is behind it? If the right person, or the right key with the right ridges will unlock what it is I lost the key to, can you? The locksmith said, "Yes."

"Who says I can't get stoned?"

yyeeeeayeyayeayeyaaaaayeayeayeayeayeayeayeayeayeayeayeayaaaa.

february 27th, 2009

he says things that are spiritual in nature like,
"she looked into me, saw me, i know she did."
But these things, said too often, lose magic.

I am no magician.

But I've experienced some:
pulling into driveways as the song slowly fades, a seamless weave of time and tune.
A winter's day that hints at June.
Who's to say whether or not the rain will come?

I am no weatherman.

But I've sensed the coming downpour, seconds before it breaks the clouds and I've thought snow ahead of the falling flake.

Do I believe in coincidence?
Must there be a reason for the seasons, and
who can explain why we yearn to run barefoot in the warm summer rain?
or why we're tempted to walk in the tracks of a train?

I am no conductor.

But I've driven myself mad with regret, only to forget that
"i looked into you, saw you, i know i did."

empty.

I go walking in my sleep
to a place where the script doesn't meet my needs, so they change.
I heard my teacher say, "This is important. You'll need to know this. Maybe it would be wise to write this down or put it somewhere where you'll remember it."
And then he told a story about sushi and love. When I realized that his lines, straight from the script, were permanent I got all nostalgic about that time we went for bad sushi and I didn't like it - but I ate some of it anyway, and even took the rest of it home with me in a to-go container.
I never ate it later.
As the screenplay continues, line after line, I stop typing. Space, space, space, space I stop typing.



I'll need to know this.
I'll write it down.
I'll sabotage everything I ever thought I'd figured out.
Delete.
Delete.
Delete.
This is what happens when I don't eat.

skittles

When I really concentrate, I can taste the rainbow.
I don't even have to close my eyes!
Are you jealous? Don't be.
Are you interested? Listen.
All you have to do to taste it, too, is concentrate.
Don't take anything... don't take anything too seriously, silly
it's only a game - BUT in order to win, or feel as if you're winning, you have to pay really, really, close attention and repeat after me:
I can taste the rainbow.

What if I did not?

Questions fall from his lips like the last leaves of autumn,
hardly even pressing ground.
Our ears press into the ground while the earth animates what is behind our eyes. I like it hear. It has been one year and I
don't have much to repent for -
just the guilt that accompanies not having any answers
for you
before
I left.

ew, love is gross!

She squirmed in her seat as the projector clicked
photos in front of her face, and the other faces, but mostly only her face... she only knew her face. Actually, she couldn't see her own face, but from what she could feel she imagined it looked the way she imagined it would look.
Shocking! Each slide more shocking than the next! Shocking!
Blackout.

late parades

The only gift I have to give is wasted
time. It is, yes it is, too late to take back what I wrote yesterday.
As soon as it peppered the moleskine it came to life in a destructive
beginning. And it was good.
It paved an understanding of seasons: it's almost apple.
Apple crisp leaves - crunch.
The sour proximity of the first snowfall, so soon.
All I ask is that you return the favor, send me some spare minutes
of your
time. Anything, check under the couch cushions, just make it quick -
I don't think I can..
I don't want to wait
for the mailman.

wordflow

buy a day, pay in catch coins, cheeky change, yes.
i missed. i'm missed. you, miss? spokes spin, tick-tick-sick
i see the soccer team, trotting two-by-two
i missed a goal, i miss goals, i miss the goal-
keeper. keeper friend: that's what you are.
stay in line with me, two-by-two. you are the goal keeper
you are my goal keeper
and my keeper friend.

barntrees

Come into my world.
The grass is soft and the shade trees perch in places here and there.
I can be here while you can be there... this works. I promise.
Outside of my world is the little blackbird, a pencil and a spoon. Also, you.
You keep coming and going as you please, leaving the door open.
This isn't a barn. It only looks like one from the inside out. Not
from the outside, that is. Red-handed, Rugrats red, painted white. The stains
on your hands and knees from the soft grass give you away.
You're inside now, Go change.
and close the door behind you, gently.

metallic ride

Is there anything beautiful
about subway train poles? Back and forth
we grip. I wear gloves in the summer, I am sick. You
wear gloves in the winter, too, but you are just cold. We are moving and we can't go back.

Tell me what you think about miracles.
Has one ever happened to you,
or someone
you know?

Instead, you stand clear of the closing doors, your gloved hands a gentle woolen
barrier. Welcome to: Feedback.
All we ever do is talk about 4 things over and over again.
When you see something, say something. That is enough.

this is it. self-sabotage

When she slips in the shower I slip away from her,

leaving her uninspired.

She has no idea that she has no ideas.

Until she sips on her morning mug, 

brewed battery black, 

and the ideas she doesn't know she doesn't have don't come.

And while her pen hovers over the page,

a nervous parent,

caffeinated words jitter into corrosive lines.

At this time, the grandfather clock whispers to our bellies.

I apologize for leaving her empty-headed, the grand piano watches in silence.

After we feast on green grapes and ginger snaps

she is full of me.  Her pen spills.

self-sabotage is a serious addiction: draft two

sometimes i slip away from her as she reaches for the green grapes

her stomach grumbles as lips purse around sour sucklings

she cant possibly communicate and masticate at once.

hordes of decorated humans speak aloud about 

the weather

and the traffic

a careless hard-boiled egg toss of phrases;

what a shame, all this rain

she has no idea that she has no ideas

sated bellies settle after the hors'derves   (sp?)

i apologize to her

we cheers with glass after glass of fermented reds

we nibble on grape after grape from the fresh fruit plate

until finally the feast of words ensues,

she is full of me

and filling you.

following, check

what are you doing?

you must tweet at a time like this!

no need for tic tacs when you communicate

through

touch tones and texts

no touching, no context

we are going no where

we are going insane

we are going internet

the now networks cater to Generation immediate gratification

i have it in the palm of my hand

i have it in the pocket of my jeans

i have it in the purse on my shoulder

i have a palm, a pocket, and a purse -

but i have no idea what i am doing.

what are you doing?

commet modernation

i miss being really really young.

kids menus and booster seats, OH to be

smaller sitting higher eating less and getting away with more

childlife.

it's been some time

some time it's been

let's make some noise

deep from within

almost a squeal

not quite a yelp

rurf muff rawrf - -

if they say "hey babe,"

just stay away...

we should paint the sand different colors

to let the world know where we've been

here, there, everywhere in between

sand dunes and looney tunes

i saw your face in the clouds

the man in the moon told me not to trust you

so i told him to make me

a

peanut butter and jelly sandwich

and he said "hey babe,"

and suddenly i was no longer hungry.

sestina edit

i do not like waiting to gather speed

patience requires that my attitude turns

over like a coin, facing away from a focused direction  

as i slowly break my concentration to feel

myself settle into a steady cruise-control

toward a destination i sometimes pretend to call home

every time i leave said home

the time i spend away tends to speed

and swirl into a small concentrated pocket of an out of control

instant. i think, where am i now? and as the world turns

i find myself signaling left and right but can only feel

left alone without rights or reasons, without direction

this is when i know i have to ask for directions

otherwise i worry i wont find my way home

darkness, my hands navigating the walls to feel

for a light switch, no luck, my heart rate speeds

my palms sweat and then suddenly the light turns

on, my luck turns over, and once again i am in control

the coin toss can be a measure of control

or a signal that i lack direction

but i understand how to slow down before making turns

and i try to leave footprints to follow back home

so what usually varies is my speed

and if, how, or what i will feel

so i clench the steering wheel, it feels

firm beneath my grip and i am in control

i press the pedal, increasing my speed

and i slap the lever, using my directional

signal the second left, the brown and white house

upon completing that familiar turn

just how many times have i made that turn

but this time, the different sensations i feel

convince me that this is no longer home

the carpets, kitchen counters, remote controls

it all hits me at a dangerous speed

i turn my back on what was home to finally feel

as if i am in control of my direction 

and the speed at which i travel to my destinations.

sestina

i do not like waiting to gather speed

patience requires that my attitude turns

over like a coin, facing away from a focused direction  

as i slowly break my concentration to feel

myself settle into a steady cruise-control

toward a destination i sometimes pretend to call home

every time i leave said home

the time i spend away tends to speed

and swirl into a small concentrated pocket of an out of control

instant. i think, where am i now? and as the world turns

i find myself signaling left and right but can only feel

left alone without rights or reasons, without direction

this is when i know i have to ask for directions

otherwise i worry i wont find my way home

darkness, my hands navigating the walls to feel

for a light switch, no luck, my heart rate speeds

my palms sweat and then suddenly the light turns

on, my luck turns over, and once again i am in control

the coin toss can be a measure of control

or a signal that i lack direction

but i understand how to slow down before making turns

and i try to leave footprints to follow back home

so what usually varies is my speed

and if, how, or what i will feel

and if you can understand just how i feel

because we drive each other crazy for control

in this relationship we cant seem to agree on a speed

or even a direction

could we settle, together, in a home

what remains after the leaves fall and the seasons turn

now i believe it is your turn

to explain to me just how you feel

because i cant make your home my home

and i cant determine what is real, control

the cruise, take direction

because we are barreling toward nowhere at an impressively dangerous speed.

or maybe there will be time to turn around, face home

and feel at ease, realizing we can always travel

in control, with direction at a steady speed.

 

ew, that gum was gross

i was going to write a villanelle

or perhaps a sonnet

and as i got lazier i thought about writing a haiku

or just a lonely couplet

and then,

i thought

fuck it

i am ill

senioritis stole my brain cells

and all i want to do

is 

abso

fucking

lutely

nothing

and i almost dont even feel guilty about it.

every man has come out of a woman

the nape of your neck

sometimes

screams

sex

but someone answers.

taboo!

what the fuck?

please, go home;

put on a turtleneck and -

read 

many

books.

a feeble intern is barren by habit

maybe it's the weather

or maybe it's hormones,

but it's definitely time to go to Canada.

you should always wear a helmet

if you don't know what you're doing,

especially in purgatory where teachers mess with minds.

you know when you just get that feeling

that this is the time you'll get caught,

well, make sure you remember to release your emergency brake.

perhaps we should go outside

and walk around barefoot until our soles blister

to match those inside.

it hurts so much to sit on hard chairs

the body aches with boredom,

and the hint at impending esophageal cancer. 

is it messed up to believe that you're certain you will be

the token sick friend,

of whom everyone asks, why her?

do you wish it or do you believe it,

because there is a difference -

there is a very, very, very vast difference.

i am working on a series

i am working on a series

the makings of it are sloshing in between my ears

lapping upon the ankles of two wide-stance piers

swirling through seashells at both ends

held up to my face by my honest friends 

who understand what moves me,

& what swirls around in between 

my ears. against the seashells in your hands on my face -

listen closely, you can here the ocean from hear

if you press

but you cannot taste an ocean's salty tear 

unless 

you blink a gentle wave upon your cheek, 

let roll a damp trail, 

taste the first word on your tongue,

and turn it into an entire summer series.

whisper where, whisper there

sometimes i believe i can whisper from where i am

and you will hear me from where you are -

this is not ridiculous.

the grass sways with sighs, tickles thighs

sending postcards through pollen, 

and passionate words trapped in firefly jars.

sometimes i trust that you will wonder where i am

and i will know that you are wondering -

where

am

i? i

am

where

the sky meets the sea in a ripple of watercolor

where

the roots meet the tree in a tangle of terrain

i am the rain.

play-a-round

her life is everywhere -

she is a ping pong ball.

she has hit every possible corner.

whatever, though, she enjoys it - 

she enjoys herself.

his life is nowhere -

he is a bowling ball.

he lamely rolls into the gutters.

whatever, though, he wallows in it-

he wallows in himself.

their life is somewhere -

together they are a billiards ball.

the ultimate compromise - hitting edges and rolling into pockets.

whatever, though, they love it-

they love each other's self.

and the game says that no one 

can possibly pass their pool table by

without playing-a-round; take a shot. shoot.

metallic ride

is there anything beautiful about

subway train poles? to touch

i wear gloves in the summer, i am sick.

you wear gloves in the winter, too. but you are just cold.

hold on, you may experience abrupt stops

tell me what you think about

miracles,

has one ever happened to you or someone you know?

please watch your step.

how much more is there to learn about

random etiquette

behavioral norms

standard of being

regular existence

welcome to : status quo

what does that even mean?

please stand clear of the closing doors.

all we do is talk about

four things over and over and over again

because somehow that's all we ever want to discuss

it is enough

what is ever enough?

it is enough 

to talk back and forth and back and forth and back and forth

it is called feedback

it is called i got your back

it is called you never called me back

never expect anything back 

we are moving and we cant go back 

our next stop is

sapling kipling knapsack

i am going to sleep to have nice dreams.

good luck! 

thank you. i love you,

it 

feels so perfect.

it 

truly moved me

you 

have to see it.

now how are you?

my phone is inaccessible

i would have called to tell you that

you remind me of someone great.

we better not have school tomorrow

wont it feel perfect to

wake up to a nice breakfast,

coffee and a cigarette,

snowflakes

and almost everything at once feels

perfect.

the keys to fabric interior

stare at snowfall

look, light lessens into an evening of

whatever you make it --

clean out all the gum wrappers and frozen water bottles

from the floor of your car, finally

our movie ticket stubs and those forgotten chapsticks 

         were rolling around in the backseat 

[we]  were rolling around in the backseat.

purple yoga mat, pastel blue rain coat

huge bottle of seltzer, navy nail polish

car is clean of contents and

our table of contents reads

fresh breath, 

hydration, 

entertainment,

company,

relax, rain falls, fizzle of passion, painted in a soft embrace

lips lock, hands lock, eyes lock

could    this    be       love lock?

but it's getting late so you open the door to let me out and

the 

car 

locks.

spreakly

when i speak

i want to spit

s p a r k l e s

into your eyes

and i don't need a reason why

but i'll tell you it's because ever since we met

i have known you were special

and i only spit sparkles into special peoples eyes

and i don't need a reason why

but i'll tell you it's because knowing you is like putting purple, symmetry, the rain, cursive, long eyelashes and puddle stomping in a room with big windows and watching them all cuddle.

sophoclesticated

i wake up this morning and i think to myself,

'I am ready.'

The Now is just a series of hallway passings.

En route i see the same

i take a different

i see the same

but feel different.

The Now is only a fraction of connection

a snip-it of interaction &

a glimpse of reaction

we sense it

some avoid it

some revel in it

but we all sense it.

The Now is just a series of hallway passings.

i wake up this morning and i think to myself,

'Are you ready?'

but only when

i'll hide in the corner of the sky

so you wouldn't even see me if you squinted extra hard

and furrowed your brows

and shut the world out with a visor made from 

your little hands cupped over your little face

your same hands that knew me and my hands

our hands were almost as good of friends as we were --

but when you looked up at the corner of the sky, if you did actually see me,

you could mistake me for a star.

will you, please, mistake me for a star?

i don't want to be found, just admired from afar 

and wished upon

i imagine it would feel brilliant

your eyes ablaze     &

you are mesmerized by a corner of the sky

i am hidden in;

you ask if that's going to change

i say yes,  when morning comes.

meltinyermouth

once i took a green m&m

and pretended it was wearing white stilettos

it looked sexy,,,

and then i ate it.

in human life, m&m's don't have chins

or feet to wear stilettos on either, but

television tactfully taints the truth, so

we either want to be like them 

or eat them.

2009er

i dare it to be 2009,

but do you know just how to party?

to party

let's party

who is having a party

party hard, but

we partied softly, does that mean

we didn't party at all?

party unexpectedly

you only really enjoy 

the unplanned part of planned parties

play with p's

pajama party

pants party

no pants party

there's a party in your pants?

and i'm invited?

how original

i dare you to graduate.

whatever's eve

the ambiguous "they"

say you never forget your firsts

not only, but also 

you always remember your bests

make monday my holiday

treat tuesday like a memory

but never wait for wednesday 

unless it's only because it's a wednesday: the eve of a potential holiday.

countdown to whatever's eve and celebrate days as if they were holi-days

10 seconds left to feel

fab.you.lust