: see what you did there?

yesterday the air was hands

running through and across

loose wisps and 

lips-

a smile smiled over itself
leading soles to dance

the distance 
from here to where

you stood-

see what i did there?

the tip is just 
to invent bodies
on top of bodies-
and to pre-exist.

: found friends

Never too overcast to feel 
for the fuse--

Cow corn called out
in Loud purples; yes, cow corn & one clover 
atop a shoestring stem

   [ Look at how they breathe
                      better than We 
                               ever have ] 

though it was everything like running 
through a field of sneakers and skulls

How unsurprisingly the corn and clover came 
at once, while we 
so obviously
struggled.

: of course

everything fantastic looks simple
elemental value and i am attracted to your step
your stray hair, your belt
loop, the border that lines your
moving mouth, oh
it has always been ridges--
ridges & ridges & yours, especially,
that move me.

: I know you love Manhattan, but you ought to look up more often.*

There's a place where the air
is fresh and the water
is clean and the scenery
is green,
              Who likes this shit?
The competitive
hill climbers are thin like rails, but strong
              What is wrong with these people?

Meanwhile,

 the city's hung with flashlights!
the Ferry's unbuttoning its vest!

It's like a locomotive on the march, the season
      of distress and clarity

*F. O'Hara

: with a mighty expectation of relief *

we eat words
before sunrise
chop fresh and fill to the line—
and we number new feelings
after noon-time

then wait
that familiar 
wait.




*L. Cohen

: notes quotes 2014

you need to start dressing like more of a bitch

[in which we people-watch in central park]

when I think of old people having sex, I think about rustling leaves 

[in which we spend time in brooklyn]

Budweiser looks like the pee of a well-hydrated person 

[in which we find a dive bar to become regulars]

boobs are fancy 

[in which we break for lunch]

at least i didn't poop my pants ten miles from home 

[in which we discuss running problems]

i don't trust you as far as i can fuck you 

[in which we find ourselves out on the upper west side]

can we go to a Subway with a bar? 

[in which we decide we should have some dinner]

this morning i made appointments for the doctor, dentist, and eye doctor. 

most people spend years of their lives putting that off and then they die.

[in which we realize that saturday mornings are for adults]

: phrozen pen

I still taste syrupy flesh
of peach from late-morning Friday
in the Fall-- warm, white

Italian man in peak season at Union Square.

Fingerbreadths of ankles bare,
coffee carts and a fresh pressed

book against my thigh, I
have everything with me now--

But today I swallow the pit, step over frozen spit

force faith in the impending Thaw and thank

the man who put that peach in my right hand
and in my left: A New, Free, Pharma Pen

: two pines

between two pines
I grew you
a set of dreams that shimmered slightly when you walked
up and down the pebbled path with purpose, sandy, damp.
among the stars
I knew you
looked up every once in a while and took a sip of winter
held it tightly, and blinked back twenty years of gazing, still.

this time last year we were premature and stressed
oh, now we've done too much
too soon, take me back to a June where the light stayed up late with us as
we drank to the heat, to hand holding, to heart handling, to hair tousling
to the same kind of tomorrow 
and tomorrow.

: oh may oh my

In the June hurricane I shivered about a sidewalk
bordered by discarded umbrellas and soggy sandals, I
squeezed the handle hard, headed for a new home and hoped--

In the June grass I rolled, skin stained and the skirt of my dress
We walked our toes to callous, drank our insides silly
Fire is alive and well, alive and well, and well--

In the June moon I saw two pairs of eyes strain
against the stars, swearing truths about the past.
Look at what happened. What happened? What happened.
We made it happen, we made it, we made
We.

: 9/11

Twelve years ago, I pressed my forehead against warm metal 
scenic lookout binoculars and watched the city smoke 
and struggle from across the Hudson. With each panicked saccade, 
I tried summoning the mesmerizing skyline I always knew. 

To this day, when I close my eyes I still picture those two iconic towers 
in their rightful places-- but this morning I walked to work wide eyed 
and marveled at our strength and resilience both as a nation and as individuals. 
We grow up, we move out, but we never forget.

What the Pave Meant (on August 8)

Summer showers cleanse indiscriminately
but we, persnickety, take showers daily. We take
those for granted.

The tar told me a secret when my cheek was pressed to it:
This is water, we are water
And when tears fell, rain fell harder.

Vital signs trafficked my pain
and life turned into Life: the game
of simply controlling the moments torment
to hatch a treatment from a threat.

Oh, I was in that summer rain.

: before we knew how they built skyscrapers

city unfolding
across my lap
wrinkled with use
and savory speech

we dine
in the prime
confines of fear
and fortune

we drink
at the dusk
of our prepubescent nights
windows open, shoes off

you're a firm believer in nostalgia
and that company keeps us
current and distracted while
we stay up, we stay out, then stay
late. we take care, we take more, then take
off.

will we remember the sentimental introduction
or only the new afterword?

: Ezra Blooms in July

I.
First, you get the sugar. It simmers around the edges, 
hot and sweet and smelling like fresh skin.  
When smooth, spread to coat.
You coat my self and we slide, slick confection.
This bakes and cools.

II.
Next, you get the flower. Tub of topsoil, blooming bathtub full of green, living earth.
We unearth each other, your eyes planted into the shelf under your deep brow.  
Your stare is oceanic and wide. 
This time I'm not afraid to dive.

III.
Then, you get the milk. It flows not freely, but with intention.
We surprise ourselves in summer's open oven, flesh reflected.

IV. A freshly baked good.

: CANDLES

Cunt-wielding girls will do
Almost anything to share their little secrets with the rest of the world, but
Nimble men with small nipples and soft bellies just shout words and they're in.
Do not come near my childhood bed,
Leonard Cohen, this one's for you.
Eat dick. Sincerely,
Some women.

: the ROM

Dear family,
We are packing up and moving
to Museum, for a lifetime of learning
ossifies into
        The amber
        The molar
        The fine-toothed comb.
They've all been burrowed in the bat cave
Since 1996
and their fingerprints are still
on the fish tanks, though the fish are dead.
Are you having trouble believing
          believe!
such unreality in all things marvelous?
          74 million years!
Fossils are concepts
           to grasp
           to trust
You must un-remove yourself to be
moved.

: ode to Montreal

it's four years of walking home
it's when the sky splits and the light turns green
it's no stranger than spring surprising us yearly
it's the spontaneous monotony of school, gym, shop, cook, work, work, drink, sleep, work, fuck, spend and savor the interaction -
it's action!
it's a matter of exposure, all of it.
it's four years of never learning French, of gaining and losing, of laundry and hangovers.
it's rationalizing, rationing, rashness.
it's haecceity, the thingyness of the thing, it's eye contact and brush strokes
it's so funny to me
it's backyards and balconies and bathroom chats and belligerence
it's prime and messy, rough and rude, free and limited
it's jaywalking and speed walking and sweet talking
it's event making and dance partying and so much brunch
it's a hunch that four years well spent will be missed in the best way -
thank you for being a city i can call
home.

go without

he's the kind of big who's unaware of how strong he is:
bone crushing intensity and then we're limp bodies on hotel bed sheets
night lasts for an eternal instant when
the entire universe condenses into your grip on the small of my back

let us depend on the pulse:
press push pull pant and pry
mouths from necks from ears
and lock in the look that says less than each of us wants to believe
silent fantasies that scream for freedom in another world, somewhere.

from the swollen membranes of brains
and from fingers that freely feign understanding
something isn't right if i can only write at the artificial tap
fresh form flows from fingers that firmly push a pen
but the trusty lefty smudge will always slant my words
closer toward that dream i had to tell the world about

: VIRAL

Voluminous teens take a lot of drugs
Inside the abandoned Thunderdome under the blacklights of winter.
Railroad summers, chain-smoking through ripped jean holes,
And buttholes, and digging to china, and who's vagina is it, anyway?
Lie to each other one more time, for the fucking finale.

: tropes and torpors

Sugar, she's not easily convinced
where wonder is unreality
don't stop until the morning breaks any possibility of beyond what passed
to have and to hold are not possessive
to want is not enough
to feel and say is weightless
to ignore is deceitful
to hope is hard
tell her what she already knows
another tab off another can of another frozen Budweiser
it's too cold for intimacy, too candid for the country
she wants to bleed, make the snow steam red.

: 2k13

create more, use less
write more, think less
play more, plan less
listen more, talk less
move more, hurt less
love more, lose less


learn 2 play guitar
send h0memade cards
s1mplify
b3 kind

: Dear Julia,

Tomorrow is THE election... By the time you get this I hope Obama will have been elected for another four years. FOUR YEARS. Why? Well, I guess because I want progress and equal rights and reproductive rights and free and accessible education and job security etc. etc. etc. but all of these important rights and beliefs that really, truly matter - all of it is still a backdrop to art, to life as we feel it and live it daily and personally. It matters a lot, I know, but we keep going. We'd keep moving "forward" if Romney were elected, too. Right? At least in time... We'd have to.

I don't understand celebrities.  They've been puzzling me a lot lately. The power they have over others, over the media, the money, the fame the attention and the audience- especially the idolization, obsession and the undeserved fame - how does that even happen?

I'd like to try it... Fame. Just a taste. Or maybe get knee deep and really fuck the shit out of it and never call it back. Who knows. Maybe one day, maybe in the next four years, our art will speak- our stories will be told.

It is November again. We should fall in love. I'd love to fall in love. It is destructive, like us. We'd be a good match for love.

Don't don't do this or that, but don't give up - we are surely allowed to be a little easier on ourselves, sometimes! Try it. I am. I am soft. Sometimes sad. Be nicer to yourself first - then let others in.

I love you,
xx
Rikki

: jew year's rezzies!

learn one new word per week in any language - use it.
spread helmet awareness: safety is sexy. and so is survival.
travel with intention: take many small trips to many new places.
be sensitive to the fact that most pain is invisible, so just speak up.
make an earnest attempt at drawing a self portrait using any medium.
poach an egg and like it, then make fancy brunch for a bunch of friends.
ski. ski. ski. ski. ski. ski. ski. ski. ski. ski. ski. ski. ski. ski. ski. ski. ski. ski.
audition for x-factor 5773, sign a record label and become the next Jewish American pop star.

: long wind

open all the windows and doors
i wish it were possible to plagiarize mother earth
copy paste this sunrise, steal the sky and sight it
take me to the source of this autumn rain
the sounds that refresh pages and people and places
we carry on as if these things happen all the time!
well they do and they don't, really.
wouldn't you notice if it never rained on Friday nights?
turn off the lights
i wish it were possible to wish more specifically
i couldn't tell you if i tried, for selfish reasons, you understand.
proof is unnecessary because ive learned how to trust
just turn up the volume and draw the shades, please.

: SMUUUUSH

have you ever experienced any of these symptoms?

*the overwhelming desire to squeeze every bit of ridiculous cuteness that a creature possesses into a tiny little compact ball of cute and just throw it away in one quick, spastic impulse.
*the uncontrollable reaction to squeal, stomp, and shove your own fist in your mouth, then proceed with baby talk for a full, unintelligible sentence.
*the indescribable sense that terminal cuteness is real - a condition that renders humans unable to think clearly and function normally at the sight of puppies and (some) babies... and sometimes grown puppies and grown babies, too.

just: SmUuUuUsH. 
ugh, can't take it. 
too much. 
needs to explode.

cute attacks can be serious. protect the ones you love. be uglier.

: warning

[why does summer rain seem so innocuous?
there's just something about that moment when perspiration meets precipitation and we can't tell the difference because we spring from the same source, follow a similar cycle. 
we are full of it and together we evaporate.

summer showers cleanse indiscriminately and are superior to all

except for the ones we take. we take everyday. we take those for granted.]

the tar told me a secret when my cheek was pressed against it:

"stay magnetic, pull together"
so i softly whispered, weathered,

"this is water, we are water"

and when tears dropped, rain dropped harder

'til suddenly i knew to start

to heal the hurt and mend the heart

every beat and breath was mine
i spoke to hear words in real time

vital traffic signs the same
and life turns into life, the game
my mind controlled the dole of pain
oh, i was in that summer rain; we are the treatment and the threat, both at once.

: four years later

There is nothing more revealing than process.

I've always been fascinated by the idea of process over progress because I don't believe there is a firm trajectory for the evolution of one's own art.
Four years of semi-consistent blogging has taught me that it is not time nor talent, not patience nor even persistence that makes a poem. Personal expression will not always be pretty, sensical, or honest but when all three components weave their way into my words the satisfaction is ineffable - the medium speaks for itself.

This blog is a mess, my mess, where I throw pieces of poems out into the waters of the world wide web to see what sinks and what swims... but usually it isn't that dramatic. I can let all the crappy ones float around if I don't care enough to save, submit or share them. Posting online for no particular audience or reason helps me detach just enough to be able to recognize the difference between poems that clarify and poems that confuse. And this blog is a timeline of the most important part of my process: to just keep writing, writing, writing.

: backwords, backwoods, backwards

some flashback advice from 2009 rikki

give your eyes the attention they deserve.

be a guru.

moisturize your elbows.

if you try it, commit no matter what.

choose the selfish option sometimes.

hope harder than you doubt.

don't go outside without a coat in winter.

shove tissues in your sleeves.

put a pair of socks in your purse for prom.

don't seriously shop alone.

do yoga - ohm three times fully at the end.

don't buy tuna sandwiches at gas stations.

eat the cake.

fart and walk away... but then come back and admit to it.

trust someone at a time.

keep one small secret forever.

to sleep, shut eye; to dream, middle eye.

: $

paying for art is thrilling.

why? do i support the industry? no, i support me and mine.

i buy muses & time so that

maybe one day someone will believe me when i write

we are more than a reflection of a collection of

stolen albums. oh, itunes told me you'd be some kind of person but, guess what?

if apple falls, it bruises just the same.

: trundle beds

Last night I saw a small, silver overturned thimble in the grass. I wouldn't have spotted it had I not been staring at my feet while walking towards our meeting spot. When I tried to pick it up I instead sat down beside it and touched the rounded top and realized immediately that it belonged to you - but I just left it there because whenever you lose something important the first place you think to look is where you last remember holding it.
I could never move you,
so you left
and I stayed
put with your little thimble in the grass.

: over breakfast

Are there things I am sure of?
I love yogurt, cereal, and bananas.

Smile! We are still young.
The deer don't know us by name
But by our presence.

Each book is a brick
Though this home is one story
The walls are full of books, lives stacked as stories.

A physical mirror, a flesh reflection and
a semblance in an open alley.

: may-kus

1. creek

if we could only
share a laugh over a fart
in a crazy creek.

2. supermoon

supermoon was out
from behind the cloudy haze
she was really blazed

3. tourists

locals looking down
dirty pavement, kicking stones
Up! a new city

: osh

live music is a beautiful struggle.

some Osheaga moments:

snacking on fruits and nuts behind the little yellow inflatable man during of monsters and men, borrowing lighters, making small talk with too many torontonians and then getting a beautiful face painting from a generous, artistic stranger!

making friends with Momo the security guard between the two main stages, thus getting VIP access to sitting on top of the barricade when the other guards weren't looking - then watching Sigur Ros, Florence, and Justice from up there! (also spotting friends in the crowd behind me)

ermagerd! it's snerp derg!

a worthy meeting spot: Chevrolet sign, red car.

the perks of knowing that the porta potties up on the hill never had long lines.

the hose, sometimes.

shaking the branches of wet trees at the electronic stage after missing the hose, making it rain.

shade breaks, lying on the ground and feeling it move you.

the red string and the rain during passion pit.

going up on shoulders during the shins, there's really nothing quite like that perspective in a huge crowd.

sharing big carrot sticks with strangers while waiting for city and colors emo rant to end so everyone could ogle metric.

james vincents voice bringing me to tears and then the aftershow "James! Come here!" then realizing we'd have had nothing to say to him had he obliged.

hey, do you like films? (shove postcard in strangers hand)

security not giving a fuck that everyone was harboring mickeys in their panties.

the hilarious lack of stylistic diversity thanks to aa and urban, thus contributing to the major difficulty in finding anyone in the crowd.... and yet! the serendipity of bumping into people you know or recognize just a little and being overly excited. then bumping into people you know well and believing there is a god and destiny is real and fate brought you together and all is well and good in the world forever. being grateful for being able to know the difference.

letting oursevles take the escalator instead of the stairs in the metro home, just this once.

finally making it home alive and increasingly more dirty each night, knowing that your body is a hell of a lot stronger than your mind.

: naturalists

You don't wear a lot of makeup and it feels good. Me days, you days, not quite summer days but simmered air, winded hair and worries on the down fall, eyes on the ball. I heard a pigeon squeal today. I didn't know they could speak that way, I thought they left communication to the dogs. When it pecked near my feet it was I, oh squealy one. Good thing I was wearing my helmet otherwise... What? Otherwise no otherwise. You were wise. Good on you.

: baggage

There is nothing new. All new stories have been old and told. This spotlight is only crafted from glints in other peoples' eyes. What an amalgamation of misinterpreted glances and close-bodied dances, on and on. A dialogue ensues, lines are tossed out into tepid waters and You! You are the cannonball! You shit-starter! You perfect illusion... Well, I created You. So, what does that make me?

: nurse

When you know, you know. That's what they will tell you. Don't even bother to ponder on this, no amount of stagnant indoor thought will lead you to any major life decision. Maybe go outside and look up, breath into the wind and give back that breath, with effort. Confuse yourself daily, make mistakes and spend less time criticizing yourself for not being better today! Be fine with now, because now is real. Now is your life. Memories are interpreted, Then is shaped by Now. Who cares if your thoughts are unoriginal, life wasn't your idea! Self exploration, motivation, control, feelings, desire, purpose, these are not your ideas! Even your theories about these ideas are not your ideas! And who cares? Only you, as it pertains to yourself.  Stop worrying about most things. It's fun to tell yourself how to live, but what's funny is how much you worry when you don't listen. These are made up rules that only restrict your mind, not your lifestyle. Restriction turns ugly, just listen to the sound of the word in your mouth. Don't restrict anything, you will hinder your output. Even moderation can be dangerous if it's stagnant. Be up and down, try to be healthy and make decent decisions. Don't injure yourself physically, mentally, nothing is a stressor, even real health issues when they become apparent. Nothing heals under pressure.  Prevention shouldn't be an obsession either. You feel better already. Things are only scary or sad if you let yourself feel afraid or blue. The control is a gift, not a tool. Don't even bother to contextualize it. Just roll as best you can, over and under, with what you have right now in this moment, and believe you can almost always be acutely victorious. Make some noise! No need to exert so hard in every area, you will exhaust your resources and burn out. Just chill. Good things will come, but also, now is good. Right now.

: Mathis

The math brain works in a different language, the fuel spent in thought is  numerical energy, a power in transformation.  Proof and correction, the option of checking yourself, rechecking and knowing, from the values, that you are on the right track, getting closer and closer to an answer with help from your experience: the problems you've resolved thus far... Everything you learn how to calculate now you will need in the future, nothing is arbitrary save from the constants, which were actually predetermined by a greater force of truth, like family. The formulas are the same for everyone, but the methods of application will differ.  Do not get caught up in the immediate problem because you will not be able to recognize the larger mistakes you are making.  These errors will accumulate and affect your every move from the time at which you make them. Stop every once in a while and ask yourself, "does this make sense?" and if it does not, work backwards to find the source of error. Do not be discouraged. Calculation errors can, and will, happen to everyone, just be sure to show your work so the rest of the world can try their best to understand your process.  Remember, there are many different ways to arrive at the answer, no one is correct, but one is correct for one, all or none, it's just a matter of probability, really.

: back in the saddle

What matters is the beating heart. Notice when it aches, why, and for how long. Then relinquish control over trying to pinpoint that exact moment when it finally stops. It is an organ that, when under the proper conditions, has the capacity to heal itself just like all of your other organs if you're lucky. Give it time, let it rest, try not to hover and wait because while you watch it struggle other areas are bound to suffer. Neglect is a strong sentiment that spreads like an infection if not caught early.  Be careful what you wish for because Now just might be it! The present gift to be able to imagine a bright future, the conscious, painless now, the awareness, and the gratitude.  We are delicate beings with tough and twisted minds and mending hearts, and despite our resilience, at the end of the day we still care.

: squiggly lines

and in your portrait i saw pieces that i never would have seen

without my glasses, a 20-something with an espresso machine.

i think i love you on that wall, an elegant elephant 

(such a duchess!) and the juxtaposition of your beaming eyes scaling this postered 

apartment. doodles, our future shared through where we've stared - (is this our apart meant?)

& isn't what we hope to say

i've seen what you've seen, without my glasses?

: the youths

look up, little ninja!

red, orange, green&gold, wind, no indigo, violent

string your moves along like small plastic beads, purple, bound round your tiny wrist

pop pop pop

why are you so mean?

it's just not needed now nor never, not ever, little ninja.

: DLST

last night i lost an hour to the universe, i didn't even dream

i didn't feel it

when it fell out

of the pocket in my jeans -

i just continued walking with intention in my step

and i marked each heavy brick with a tick, or tock, or tap.

(i crave the cobblestone, i stroll it with a patience

that makes me feel like i am somewhere that is foreign, safe, or ancient)

but last night time took a tick, a tock, and almost all my taps,

and slipped beneath the soul of my step, seeped into the cracks -

- in that cobblestone, and then

a sharp, keen awareness when

i was sure i had lost it just before

the moment that i did not even want it anymore

and i came

to love

the feeling!

and i did not ever look back,

i could not even look at all,

but leaped

and leapt

and laughed,

and laid down on that ground -

and fell asleep.

: yesterday,

i had a feeling that the world shared a secret

that was only accessible through hours upon hours of

subway transit . . .

but i walk!

everywhere!

and i like it that way.

and if everybody walked, too, no one would know the secret

and if no one knew the secret, the secret wouldn't mind.

it is only those who think they know that they do not know the secret

who are lost underground while walking on the sidewalk.

sometimes, the secret is that there is no secret, or that my secret is

not for you to understand.

but my secret and your secret knew each other once,

and they decided that the best kept secret

was a smile on the sideway, on the subwalk.

: cairdnohcopyh

what is worse:

the (constant) fear (of falling

ill)

or the (physical) experience?

: the toasty

relax your shoulders, jaws, and eyebrows

you will be prescribed a dosage of time during

which your life parts can communicate cell to cell in silent language.

this is the hum of an animal healing itself

and if a drug can do it faster it will only make the conversation harder to follow.

while we unspeak and i look you straight in the eyes i can tell you are uncomfortable.

your opsin warned me, 'look out for -

the d i s c o nn ec t !! ! !' when suddenly black holes stole the colorful specks

right out of your eyes!

so now i cant get in -

i can only fire stare

until you dart away and busy yourself with someone else's art

no damage is permanent,

even teenage angst ameliorated! and that must stand for something if

we are only present people with pupils and proteins and a plan to play harder next time.

: also,

fragility

is not exclusive!

: this

we are animals

hormonal and needy

confused and greedy

battling the elements while

shivering beneath lost layers, emerging and retracting then emerging again

- let us sweat

and sob

and hurt and play - abuse, misuse, ruin and repair

but always assume, infer, and deny!

take and take and take and then toss.

believe we can and will create

and then think until thought turns sour at the tap of a button - so

what if we lost it all overnight?

would we, we would wake up to a similar morning - the same sun, sweat and snow

where nothing and everything has changed.

: rezzies!!!

2
make a giant pot of chili.
change my neutral face to a smile.
ski with intention and more sound effects.
0
create a system for remembering people's names and faces.
choreograph a dance routine; whip it out at an inappropriate time.
say a high-pitched "helloOoOoO!!" to my roommates whenever i get home.
1
audition for XFactor2012 get signed by a record label and become the next Jewish pop star.
2





"don't deceive yourself that way!
having the idea is not living
the reality of anything... try to make an idea move
from ear to eye."
RUMI

: blast off

there is nothing like
when no one is watching
naked house
vocal range
open doors
human sprawl
a test of habits
and an epic display of self-self
get into it
2012

: bipolar wind

even in a life
where apples are always peeled
and it never rains,

animals are leash-less and
no room is wanting windows

time strapped wrists
sway at our sides

and there is still a need.

: //

(computers: "try//to.be.so.cryptic." ~%but: (sometimes-we-can-find (where-exactly-in-space-is-the-cyberspace))) and shut it down.

: 11.11.11

we have
shut-eyed secrets
so cryptically crafted behind tight lids and
we send them out into the universe in the form of what we call a wish -
what is a wish
what is what we call wishing
why will we worry, wish and worry worse than we wished we would never worry,
and wonder why we wish at all?
because the clock will read 11:11 again,
because four leaf clovers will sprout somewhere,
because stars will shoot occasionally,
because eyelashes will fall from our eyelids, wishing windows tightly shut -
and if we are lucky, birthdays will come and candles will glow - one more than last year, one more for good luck, one more birthday with hopes for one more lucky year here: To wish.