Oct 10

this is not what trains are for

this life gone, leaf falls and another leaf
falls and they scatter across the pavement,
rustling like all the pairs of eyelids and all the
whispered memorials that burden the wind

i grow older and death begins to stroke my hair -
every time it's closer to my heart and every time
it feels less foreign - the concept of feeling heavy
was theoretical when i was small

i make a mistake, i try to imagine why:
i am reminded of when i wanted to know what it felt like to feel nothing.
here are all of the imaginings that i abandoned -
all it took was a train
Sep 06

pride

i long to be the answer to questions of beauty and serenity –
but i answer only to caves and the bats that inhabit them. if nobody
ever knew this, i would be comfortable with reality – the problem
is when someone looks into my eyes and won’t let go,
the problem is when i am forced to acknowledge the weight
that i carry, the weight that i transfer to the spine of the world,
the weight that falls into the laps of inquisitive Innocents when
they think they are being kind
 
the problem is when i see the end of the bridge
over the chasm
falling away into nothing, and i’m too proud to turn around.

 
Sep 06

the first one

i can’t decide if the anger or the gentleness is the mask –
something is hiding behind this sweet face of yours
but i couldn’t even peel back the wallpaper to get to the wall,
it’s a lot of work, this masonry you maintain just to keep me
out. maybe if you’d remembered a chimney
you wouldn’t be so stuffy inside 

 
Mar 11

emptyful

the can is half gone, having been abandoned by the tongue it once stung with its bubbling. lazy and flat, useless but he can't let go, can't waste it in case his water supply is depleted in some imaginary uncertain future. half of a seltzer is an insurance policy for his mind. easier to let the fridge naturally run out of space for useful things than to be responsible for tossing something with clinging potential. loss aversion protects the cans place at the back of the fridge, human bias keeps it hostage, evaporating a little more every time he stands with the door open in indecision. it's nothing more than water – the carbonated energy was its signifigance – his fullness is empty and he is alone
Jan 18

empathy

empathy is a peach covered in fuzz, if you close your eyes
you think it could be a baby's head, newly introduced to the air. 

what i would like to do with that peach is peel it, slice it, and can it.
seal the top by putting the jar in boiling water and then leave it in the basement
with the dying/dead mice and the dying/dead spiders until someone
who has never eaten canned peaches finds it and tries it and is stuck with it forever
while i consider only my own interests and desires unencumbered by guilt
Jan 09

trying to find myself

1. little wrinkled grandmother holds out a bowl of candies – she thinks everyone loves almond joys as much as she does so the bowl is a sea of bright blue wrappers – i sustain hope that i will find a kit kat at the bottom if i just rustle them around a bit more

2. my computer is an old model – to ensure the most profit the company issues only the newest chargers for the newest models – my cat chewed through my old model charger 

3. i buried a bird that was once full of energy and life with my bare hands when i was 12 – i don't remember which side of the raspberries it was on – i forgot to mark its grave 

4. i've been given the key for an old hotel room on the 13th floor – we're in superstitious america – there is no 13th floor

5. spiders live in the corners of my room – i keep a roster but sometimes one crawls away and i don't know where they are – not being able to find them is far more terrifying than having them hang over my head
Dec 05

achieving balance is the most important thing

girl wears black lacy tights with droopy boots,
tongues licking the sidewalk with each step she takes.
our eyes are positive and negative, an electrical current strung
between them and on top of it a tight-rope walker trying to
balance on a moving wire that isn't really there,
electrical current produces a magnetic field and things are
smashing into the balancing artist, all heavy metal and
grungy eye-liner hitting the figure, mascara running down her face
as fast as i am running away from this girl but we are
coheads of the same body and our only member is a balancing artist
who doesn't know what she's doing
Nov 18

successful professional

he reaches for his fork as he tells you some
terrific, entertaining story of routine life in suburbia,
maybe a comment regarding his neighbor's yap dog or
a story about his son's teeball team or
a description of a fine bottle of wine given to him by his coworkers at
the office full of things that are necessities for a
successful professional life, including:
  • paper clips - to collect free thoughts
  • coffee mugs - to contain bitterness
  • concealer - to hide
  • reading glasses - to see things right in front of your nose
  • ties - to choke
and every other product that contains, hides, or holds together.

when he completes his anecdote, he looks at you, sips his wine,
waits expectantly
for a giggle and a gentle slap on the arm. 
Nov 01

mediocrity

lost between couch cushion continents, pushed
slowly down by the heavy buttocks of some tired man
as he shoved chips of sanity into his mouth,
focused his eyes on anything but reality.

my place of comfort exists only in darkness and constraint,
hold me captive and i will grasp at you for comfort
take away my sight and i will use your arm for balance.

held up off the ground
held down from the clouds
in the safety of mediocrity
Oct 14

my body is not your bed


i am ragged, yes. but the nerve you have, to think yourself authorized
to pull my edges together, poke at me with your
needly words, tug your thread of waxed self-assurance through me
all in the name of improving me as a device of comfort.
     
     my stomach is not your pillow,
     and i don't want your permission to breathe.

i stitch my own wounds when i am ready to heal, i follow the squirrel's example,
hoarding sustenance in little places. my body is home to many stores of
seeds and berries that those who think themselves too important will never taste.

these scars of emptiness are my personal space, i hold them within my own reason,
you will not close them for your own purposes.

leave if you think yourself
too big to be warmed by me as i am.

Pages