i am living on nothing but a two-dimensional plane
covered all over with three-dimensional objects.
if, and only if, the distance between two objects is two-
dimensional, there is a substantial possiblility that they can
no, that is not quite right— i am living among three-dimensional objects
connected by various and three-dimensionally offset two-dimensional planes.
that is, when the connection or potential connection between two objects is strong or particularly significant, a two-dimensional plane becomes apparent,
on which they both rest.
contact becomes a possibility.
you and i, see, we were sitting there in space and time and there was a plane spanning a two-dimensional stretch of the cosmos just for us to
the problem, the problem is or was that if you live your life on single planes existing for the purpose of single connections you stop living on the plane upon which all three-dimensional objects are
naturally situated. simply put,
you have no ground to stand on.
the problem, the problem is that we are
three-dimensional and there is more depth to you than i even have the
right to understand.
what if, what if we're living on a three-dimensional plane, then, and the problem is not that no plane connects us, not that we are at an odd angle, but that in the
breaking down of our treasured two-dimensional meeting place, we got offset four-dimensionally,
and as three-dimensional creatures that cannot willingly travel four-dimensionally we will never
i am waiting for you.
i need, i need someone and maybe you to touch my shoulder
in a strictly non-patronizing but kind way and tell me that i worry too much. Read more »
the things that cross your eyelids [when you shut 'em
tight an' squeeze 'em hard] i used to think were little
signposts, lil' scrap notes from God.
when i was seven years old, i prayed near every night.
eventually it took too much time and i wasn't seeing no difference, so i only
these days and more'n half my life later, i laugh in God's face & i laugh at karma too, because i know
i ain't done no wrong.
mama they took
my ponderosity an' they put it in a safe with locks an' all.
daddy logic ain't enough
for all the traps.
you can't dodge everything by bein' smart, or fast.
i was hopin' if i did everything i was told
everything would go alright.
now they closin' in.
now it's a big gorram mess.
i ain't done no wrong.
went off and gave me another an' now there are more
things than i should rightfully have to choose from.
everybody's so gorram mad an' here i am in the middle of it all,
where i never wanted to be.
honey, maybe you have regrets, now, but i never hurt you.
mama, daddy, i never hurt you.
i ain't hurt nobody.
i ain't done no wrong.
the spring and the winter, now, they make war when they should be makin' love.
the water an' the ice, the salt all odd colors stingin' all our feet.
the road is a river, the road is a river
fishes come to play at my doorstep an' i watch 'em quiver and starve for air.
half the yelling in this house seems to be about me. Read more »
She'd always hated the wind.
It was so pushy, so bossy, oblivious. It blew at her no matter which way she wanted to go, tugged at her clothes and hair, howled at her from far places and carried smells she'd sometimes rather forget. It thought it could force her to go certain places, and she hated things that assumed to have power.
Now, it whistled through the canyon, tauntingly, she thought, grabbing at trees and grass on its joyride. Its rough hands caught at anything it passed like a child gallumping through a park, stamping on ants and bashing any tree branch small enough. It echoed noisily, almost as if some raging beast danced madly below. She shivered.
His words floated back to her, clean and crisp as his shirts and sharp as his eyes. She remembered the rain, and the concrete, and chain-link fences and someone yanking out her eyebrow-ring. She remembered how the blood had poured into her eye and only tears had poured out. She remembered curling into a ball on the sidewalk, alone, as the downpour started. She remembered seeing the buisnessman, face hidden by an umbrella and hand carrying a second one, and she remembered asking him to borrow it. She hadn't expected to peer under the rim and see him.
Idiot. I'd have kept you, you know. You'd be warm and dry and safe right now. She had started to cry again and turned away, trying to disengage, but he was coming forward now. Your head's bleeding. Didn't I tell you you'd get into trouble? This is God, you know. God is raining on you.
God hates you. God hates you. God hates you. Read more »
little boy blue where are you
running running running to
little boy blue, was there too much
little boy blue you're a big boy big boy now
blue is never your favorite
little boy blue there was a me and a you
and maybe there was more blue
at the end of the blueblue
little boy blue, this game is full of circles
trying to make the blueblueline neverend
(maybe we just fell off
maybe we just slipped for a
little boy blue when are you through
running running running from
what you want
little boy blue, all i want to do
is tell you how happy i saw i made you
it's not a perfect plan, it's true
but the days since the me and the you
little boy blue this is nothing new
this is only
(but not unlike you)
little boy blue what are you
wanting wanting wanting from
little boy blue, we didn't
work together like pieces from the same machine but we were like
a makeshift collection of reused
gears and levers and we
little boy blue, we worked.
little boy blue how are you
hello hello it's me i know you know
could be something new, you
know, i made a mountain out of lies but they were all
the little white kind
and yours were rare as tigers but they were Read more »
if the i within i could go beyong going;
if the eye which i cry with could spy beyond showing,
could i, i, and we—notice paper shards—snowing;
a way from withinness & a clearnessclearness growing—
if a you still in i was a sigh beyond wishing,
more than fumbling for the lightswtich like a blind man fishing;
just a hair beyond a lost coin/fountains into/splishing—
could i keep you from slipping through—fraught fingers—swishing—
if a someone in a someday saw some trace remaining;
through somethings & sometimes & riots & raining—
some happitude outlasting time's puzzling & paining
—if some distance found some of our lives worth retaining,
could i find out the answers locked up in your locket?
could i figure the figures & launch all our rockets?
find dignity someplace & we both (& us applauded)—
tear reason from instinct & see straight from the sockets?
or might i find all life's truths on a note in my pocket,
having been there all—along, & i'd only
i have a friend who is depressed.
he lives alone, completely alone, totally alone.
i would have told him that i knew how he felt but he would have told me that no, i didn't.
and he would have been right.
my metaphorical, mental, purely psychological loneliness will never be the same.
with a family home nights, i have never known real silence.
still i'd rather be out, outside this house and this town in an apartment that's empty except for the one person willing to share it with me
someone who does not overanalyze or advise but can simply say
"you did a good job
i cannot be depressed. i have been, but not these days.
i've considered it. i can be humiliated, furious, grieved, apathetic, heartbroken, and even
purposeless, but i cannot feel hopeless. it's because of this damn
world, this universe that's so damn big.
there is so
right now that i cannot feel truly trapped.
i am like a child, seeing infinity, seeing possibbility everywhere,
unable and unwilling to deny myself wonder.
still, i wonder when i'll be "done."
schedules herd me here and there.
i have to learn now, i have to do a good job and don't mess up and don't make a mess and don't get in trouble and don't
i have college to think of. a career.
"later" is my mantra. after high school, i'll travel.
okay, after college.
after graduate school — god dammit Read more »
You can’t imagine
the grit that comes and goes, wind that blows feet forward and forward,
the stilettos prodding, boots blunt, bare feet padding.
i am carved into destinations. the indents in the center lines of my concrete
branch visibly to doors and crossings. i try to form little welcome mats but they are too
subtle, i guess, to be noticed.
the constant erosion is like breath along my surfaces.
i am glad that no one pays attention to the laws against bicycling on the sidewalks—
i like the deep, firm softness of their tires,
the casual flick of a foot catching balance.
The dull ache drawing itself out of too much caffeine
is an offering, really,
head down, arms out, palms up
feet set in stone (almost like
I've never quite understood the difference
between psychology and poetry—
all witty metaphors,
emotional conjecture, latin or
secretly symbolic names for things we otherwise understand.
works its way from my skull down my throat,
swelling to my stomach and sinking into my hips.
I worry too much about the fact that I worry
so little. My life
is so heavy with carefreedom
as to bow me down.
Our neighborhood is a quiet one, but
occasionally drunk and/or high delinquents
stumble out of the woods,
laughing, semiconscious, high-pitched, praying to themselves.
I never found a sin
so enjoyable that it might not
be able to leave me—
through the mouth and ears, perhaps;
no sin so dear I couldn't
allow its escape, eventual or otherwise.
The more painful withdrawals
were legal and innocent—
love, sugar, unconditional joy.
Even laughter is a weapon
when you're feeling leftalone,
metal teeth and edges applicable to any surface (at
My questionable depression
is in no way morally obtrusive;
my demotivation quietly uncalled for.
The worst pain is not caused.
It ebbs and swells, but does not jump at the click of a trigger.
Nothing happens— happenings change. Read more »
(i want to be pulled
in several directions by
at some point the strings attached to all my joints—
frayed away and the
wooden beams above me are chipping and rotting.
i wanted, i
wanted, but i never wanted to want
until i wanted nothing else.
there were lights fading around the edge of a hand the last time it touched me. by the time it had drawn away, all the lights were
there was sunlight, later on, streaming through the cracks between fingers & eyelashes & a voice crying for spare change, eyes shaded from the harsh angle with a scarf, & i was going to turn out my pockets but the hills were pulling,
pulling on the day. a red glint
stayed on the horizon for a long time after, though, Read more »
my sister in soul,
i know how it feels.
i know that, and i
know you too
maybe i knew longer than you
honey, i call you.
you will be
sweeter than i will ever be. but even i know
how it feels to wish for, or
to offer forever
and receive never—
absolutes like that, they sting
and it always stings me when you're stung,
and when it's one of those telephone-pole days Read more »
my mind is a
there is no chairlift to the top.
but if you can
get up the slopes on foot & survive the cliff pass & avoid the monsters & not go mad from the view & stay out of the caves & stay out of the secrets & don't anger the trees & don't
fall in the traps,
it's a very pleasant ride back down.
bring your calvin-and-hobbes model toboggan.
& all the creatures Read more »
(A slam I wrote right before Pacem's annual poetry slam, which had all of four contestants. A great night. This one is kind of goofy.)
half an hour. Read more »
(For Na(tional)No(vel)Wri(ting)Mo(nth), kids and adults alike are encourage to attempt writing a novel within the 30 days of November. Since I've already started working on a novel, I thought this might be a good opportunity. My goal is to get a lot done, not necessarily to finish all of it, but I'll still be writing for my life.
So this year I'm applying to go to the New England Young Writers' Conference at Breadloaf, and they want me to submit two one-page pieces of writing, poetry or prose, as part of the application. I have a lot of writing that fits that criteria on my blog, but lately I've found that my personal favorites are different from the writing that people really like. Read more »
"what happened to you?" i asked you, and
there was a chorus of goingoinggone geese in the background behind my
thin sweater and your ski jacket.
"i've been changed," you said, and your voice was not
in your voice. not really.
"there were wolves in my dreams, and fevers on my face.
people were trying to help but i was trying to escape.
there were," you said, "Differences in the air." Read more »
even after the coming and going of what i refuse to call fate
it stings, it stings like lemon juice in my cuts, dust in my eyes, acid down my throat—
there are secrets that used to be between us,
but now they're just secrets
no longer shared, just burdens.
she's very pretty.
delicate, i'd say, but maybe it's just that i'm not.
she's more sane than me, isn't she.
got it all figured out. she's
too old for you. she's not
interested, but there's nothing else for you to try for since you got
bored of me.
she's an artist.
just your type. and that hurts more than the lemon and the acid and the dust you're throwing
i am not blind, and you
are a terrible liar.
i was too
rough, wasn't i, too crazy and i said things
that didn't make sense.
i argued with you a lot and you argued back and i thought it was flirtation but what if you thought it was
incompatibility? i write, and it's far more intense, far too much feeling, far
more intense than her pretty pictures, her pretty face.
she's down to earth and i,
i was always angry but almost blowing away on the wind and caught up in things like stars
and streetlights. she's not
interested because you did it all wrong.
weirded her out, man. if you'd had my help you wouldn't be
where you are now, but you're too busy
being afraid of me. i am funny and you want to keep me around because i
entertain. i am determined not to let that tear me to bits but it does anyway. Read more »
Pacem Learning Community, the "school for homeschoolers" I go to in Montpelier, is having their annual "Literary Extravaganza" on November 4th, from 5:30 to 8:30 pm in the Vermont College's Noble Reading Room. Which has couches and stuff. Read more »
there were the days of juice stands, of lemonade for ten cents a glass
and joos-boxes trampled to paper on the playground asphalt
there were the days
when we cut flowers from yards and gardens and state
property to sell them to couples of newlyweds here to enjoy the foliage. there were the days
of sunshine, when we all lay out of doors trying to photosynthesize, trying to turn brown
even though we didn't quite know why. one-pieces Read more »
i. I'm going to stop apologizing for things that are true. I'm going to stop toning things down, rephrasing situations, just because I see someone's eyebrow rising. I'm going to stop changing my mind to fit a less shocking shape. Read more »
time and stuff.
we have the time and place, the space to stretch
things out until you can understand them.
i promise not to press you for answers.
i promise not to be looking over your shoulder, not to be
humming in the background or whispering in your ear.
i promise this to be your own decision.
there is time i know you'll take. Read more »
(This was my slam for the final round at YWP HQ tonight. So many thanks to all who came, participated, and organized the slam!
Sooo I wrote this in ten minutes. Be nice. I realize it rambles, but read the end. Pleez?
And if this is the subject of the poem, feel free to take it personally.)
it was never— that — i didn't know how
to be good.
to be pretty, to be sane, to be normal.
it just never occured to me that i should.
i never wanted to please Read more »
Mama, I think I'm going crazy. I start laughing when nothing is funny, I laugh and laugh and can't stop. I wear my nails down and I think I've started chewing them. Today something else moved me because I woke up in the kitchen on the table at five AM shivering like a dying animal. Mama, something is wrong but I don't know what. Read more »
Someone's rickrolled me again; as if that trend didn't die off years ago. After a few halfhearted attempts to close the YouTube window, which just generates another, I sit back with a frustrated sigh. While I wait for it to end, I let the horrible 80s-esque cheesiness of the song wash in one ear and out the other. Read more »
is when sad songs don't make you cry, but happy ones do.
weakness is when every part of the world isn't just angry,
it's angry at you.
when you lie and soften and lie and tear yourself apart lying trying to make things look
okay, it isn't
and when in your dreams when you finally get what you're wishing for, you find yourself
turning it down.
& you're righting write instead of right and veering left Read more »
In the weeks that followed your unsatisfying but allegedly typical loss of interest, I had a lot of time to reflect, to philosophize, to sort out my feelings. After a (also allegedly typical) bout of confused numbness punctuated by confused tears, I managed to determine the following:
1) I still was in love with you, but
2) That wasn't going to change anything, and
3) It was all going to be okay anyway. After all,
4) I had always known this would happen.
on the breeze there is the sound of a thousand people
not calling out for my help.
or my forgiveness.
or my time.
& i'm stepping down
because i know there is no up
life will always never be the same.
i figured out my life but i still sometimes
take a step back to examine my
ideas, & notice that they're far more detached and cynical than i
meant to be.
i never meant to
(at all) this...
(this is not to say that I'm not enjoying myself.
i do not want to be one of the delicate little birds that strut & hop
decked out, shoulders struggling inconspicuously under a
facade that screams, "poise.")
it's always the
kiss, i suppose, that's the best.
after a while you run out of plans.
nothing left to look forward to and i'm
no longer new and exciting.
you know me inside out and then you miss the joy of
the "forevers" in between are just there for the drama, the passion,
adding to the story.
after a while,
bored, you move on.
you'll get more first kisses and they'll all be new and exciting like i
used to be. maybe you'll try to slow things down so there's more time to explore
until you can almost taste commitment,
but you know that's not what you search for and it's fulfilling to start
this is not passive aggression.
this is me saying i understand. Read more »