Aug 17

why playlists are tsunamis

five songs
last me a month
a single playlist
i listen to 
over and over and over 
chewing it like a piece of gum
until it has gone 
dull and flavorless
and I spit it out
but
when i rediscover 
the songs I forgot
the nostalgia hits me
like a tsunami 
the memories dragging me under
to relive an era
in the currents
and for a breathless moment
I forget how to swim
 
Aug 17

paper and metal

at midnight the mediums mix
my window is open for the breeze
but catches the coyotes cries
and suddenly I can see them,
their metal shoulders and copper fangs
filming green in their breath
their joints gliding on nuts and bolts
blood like mercury
and me, 
folded inside
a paper house
wrapping myself 
in a tissue paper quilt
envelope walls
covered in stamps 
the bathroom tiled in graph paper
I hold my breath 
too scared something will crinkle 
and they will come
their cries flying like sparks
metal on metal
threatening
burn down the house


 
Aug 17

two viewings of a butterfly

too far off
beauty gliding
butterflies I try to catch
like the contrails of a 
lovely dream
spinning in circles with
a net made from
a clementine bag
my fingers reaching in 
to snare it gently
its wings beating slowly against 
my palm
like a breath 
I pull my magnifying glass
from my pocket
and hover with wide eyes
over the butterfly
but...
its wings are rough
and so fragile they make
me anxious
and its body is packed out
with heavy anatomy
and its eyes gloss
like sour blackberries
I suddenly don't want this
thing
on my hand
why did I have to look?
it was so beautiful on the wind
now it has morphed again
into what I fear
horror crawling
too close
 
Jul 13

why writing letters hurts

to write a letter
is to give your words
little legs and let them run
off into trouble
like juveniles
to send a letter
is to let your words
be pulled apart
like cabbages until
their soft little green hearts
are unwound
to wait for a letter
is to search your words
like seacaves 
trying to find some hidden monster
curled up between the syllables
to recieve a letter
is to plant your words
and watch nervously as the
flowers grow
alarmingly bright and bending
but in the grand scheme of 
letterwriting
whenever someone writes back
it is impossible to fold
the paper
without leaving a sharp edge


 
Jul 13

The final horizon

they found it
I knew they would
with their star cameras
pointed towards the drop off
where the cold, midnight waterfall
folds over and disappears,
they found it
there
on the final horizon,
a single saltbox building
with a blue tin roof
and white vinyl walls
a single brown door
with two creamy stained-glass windows
staring out over the drop off.
to them, 
those that found it,
it was nothing but dust and light,
but to me, 
the one who saw it,
I recognized the cool tin,
it was a post office
at the edge of the universe
and I grabbed all the 
letters from my drawers.
​the white envelopes blinked brightly
in the heavy midnight darkness
as I stood on my toes
and fed them through 
the cluster box
in front of the post office
on the bending waterfall
at the edge of the universe
hearing them make a 
Jul 03
poem challenge: Writing 2022

July Sweetness

July comes in a candy wrapper
so sweet my teeth hurt,
so sweet that June seems sour
and August looks savory.
July mornings spin clouds of sugar.
I reach out and pull handfulls 
from the sky,
melting into nothing on my tongue.
July noontime sun
softens the beach dunes
into brown sugar
burning my soles
as I sprint for the surf.
Children shape it into castles
and the sweeping waves 
dissolve it into molasses.
July afternoons I sit in
geometric shadows
and watch goldfish glide
in tanks of blue raspberry slushies,
their bubbles rising to the surface
slowly in the thick syrup.
July evenings, the sun floats
like a drop of honey on the horizon,
clouds swarming like pink and orange bees
as the sugar soaks into 
the New York mountains.
July is overwhelmingly sweet –
31 candies to be unwrapped
and we all lose ourselves
indulgently
Mar 20

Ghost fish

Sometimes I have a terrible feeling
that there is a fish
somewhere
I forgot to feed,
in a dim room, 
dust gathering on the surface,
looking like a ghost.
I can see right through him
to the other side of the glass
and that makes me very scared
because I swear I fed him
yesterday
watching him float to the surface
and eat the three little pieces
I dropped in for him.
People say that dogs are the smartest animal
but they are wrong
because when I turn to leave
the fish is watching me
and I want to cry out:
I remembered!
I really did this time!
But he says in a quiet stream of bubbles,
You forgot
you almost didn't this time.
I want to run out of the dim room
away from the fish's stare 
that feels like ants all over me
but 
I will come back in a few tomorrows
and cry a little to myself as the 
fish floats up with his awful eyes.
Mar 12
poem challenge: My Generation

Dominoes

I can see them now
all the dominoes in the world
falling toward us

someone pushed them
I have no idea who
but that doesn't matter very much

my mind is making up 
the magnetic notes 
as the dominoes fall on top of each other
too far off to hear

I am making up the words
wavering like reeds as they touch the clouds
the harmony is so gorgeous
too close to understand

it's a lovely thing
watching the dominoes fall 
in white waves dotted black

I have no idea what we will do when
they reach us
but that doesn't matter very much

because the whole world
is drowning in an ocean of dominoes
but at least the music is exquisite


 
Mar 12

a poem

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