I don't blame you for fucking
the lips of ladies
whose voices raise the hairs on my arms,
whose songs belong to angels I don't believe in.

heart shot with leaves
and killing my mouth,
soul in a sling
Spine full of honesty
my waterfall smile
bring me back to you
bring me back to you.
kicking cans down an empty alley
you found life in greener pastures.

Tennyson afternoon

3:00,
Tennyson afternoon.
drink,
depression,
deftness to ability -
alcohol induced.

You sided on the sun and so -
A secret laugh you hold
I know,I know,I know.
Confide in another lover
forever,
forever.
A blink until you go,
I know, I know, I know.

your lap dog lover's holding four leaf clovers


only,

love is on the run.

defeated at the mark,
a sick stomach
won't bail you from the wreck
A swans neck broken by love
the fear of it
and the emptiness of a truant heart.
big belief
beneath boulders you cannot budge
nausea coursing through aging fingers
tired eyes of endless tears,
There is no answer here
And where it may lie,
no one's certain.

off key again
and brandishing boyishness like arsenal
into the hearts of short blue eyed tweens
too young to know it's crap,
pure crap.

Uneven bangs
The light between candles that flickers
The wine wearing off near eleven
Music more full and beautiful than ever on the edge of a buzz
female vocalist I admire
Dead end of a one person dance party
The blanket wrapping my body - convoluted safety in your absence
Love for an old friend causing breakwater in my eyes,
swallowing my fragile lungs
A hope I never knew amidst malevolent uncertainty
Stones I hope to skip
A life I seek to find
The whisper in my dreams
Rumination daylight can’t bury in it's brightness.

There is an escalator
of cupped hand steps in my throat rising
they reach the platform of my tongue
Dump off the blue black sadness and again
Travel down to pick up more, and
The cycle is rhythmic
And my gums prepare for my teeth
Who say they're going to break
And I shake,
I shake
Hoping simply you'll stop smiling at me
It's too beautiful.

I wanted the rain to race my memory of you
When you left me here,
But as the raindrops pounded upon my windshield
To remind me that you're in Washington
I had to turn on the wipers...
I'm sorry.

I could rest my head between
your should blades for hours
Listening to the rain fall off the shingles
of your ranch style house.
In your basement room
Lying beneath the beautiful patchwork quilt
your aunt made for you,
Nag Champa fills the air
And mixes with the smell of your skin
I breathe in and my lungs swell -
Do I have to exhale?
I think to myself
While staring into the maze of your tattoo
And then, you turn, and
Melt my gaze with hazel beauty -
I inch forward to taste your lips
And sink
Hoping only to let the sound of raindrops
Race my memory of you
when you're gone.

Leap Frog

I won't play leap frog anymore
Cause if you won't fuck me from behind
We aren't really playing
according to the rules nature intended,
Now, are we?

The greatest truth I continue to run from
Is the look in your eyes
The touch of your hands over my earlobes in bed,
And the simple phrase, "goodnight sweetie."
This poem doesn't say very much
But then again, it doesn't need to.

an exercize in writing, nothing more.

Unsavory amputee dreams of barbedwire and bloodshed
The stiff air that hovers over a chess board
before checkmate
A shift in your pekid color -
The self proclaimed pious held their breath
before you pulled the trigger from the brush.

21st century

Too many people just disappear -
but no longer for the right reasons,
idealistic dreams, or love -
They're laying in the murky waters murdered,
it's just a sign the times
and I no longer care to swim.

11:59

It's 11:59 pm
I'm female - have drank too much
and have to piss.
The bushes of Bridgeport
are not a viable option.

With a need for certainty and uncertainty
I crave the primary.
Tell me you'll marry me,
Even if it's a lie
and I'll believe it's forever.

At night

27 year olds skateboard
Down a Bridgeport city street
At 11:54 pm -
The one at the top yells,
"Car!"

None

Tell me I’m beautiful again
I may just turn off this faucet
Neglect these dishes,
And in lieu,
Clean a man with such a dirty thought.

The hand you write with is a good gift
a low drone to swim around your
unfinished whiskey
fiddle heads unfurled
a celebratory march to the park
Heart like a high-hat
a see through blouse - black, lacy
amplified anxiety
a chorus of clapping
conscious breathing
minds meandering -
your stare's got me sold
singing into your wooden mbira
frayed vocals
and kitchy charisma
Trip-el-et, one two
Trip-el-et, one two, three.

My child has hollow eyes

Old woman,
You about to die?
I see that baby on yo' back
And the pain in yo' eyes.

You and her
You on the same track,
But she'll die first
Clinging to the rags of your back.

You trudge on -
Through this heat and this famine
While the White Europeans
Dine on expensive pink salmon.

You have empty eyes,
And your Chile does too
Just keep on walkin'
Till the pain finely subdues.

On giving

Your nose dripped on my sweatshirt
As you placed your head upon my shoulder -
Looking up,
Your eyes meeting mine,
I was glad you could share so much of yourself...
But then,
I gave you a tissue,
You really don't have to give so much.

Too Beautiful

There is an escalator
Of cupped hand steps in my throat
Rising.
They reach the platform of my tongue
Dump off the blue black sadness
And again travel down to pick up more
And the cycle is rhythmic
And my gums prepare for my teeth
Who say they're going to break
And I shake,
I shake
Hoping simply you'll stop smiling at me
It's too beautiful.

None

Sitting with my legs
spread wide
Over cold white porcelain,
I watch your semen fall from my body.
And for the first time
In my life,
I
Find genocide beautiful.
I wonder
How much longer
I'll have to wait
for the Fantastic Flush.

Wrench in the works

He threw a wrench into
The mechanics of my masochism
When he said, "I love you."

Consider your audience

Your words fell
Like ball bearings
in an empty warehouse.

I really didn't want to hear
The details of your
Production line sex life.

none

put my hand through a window
to watch 22 years of rusted blood
rush from veins
I should have slit seven years ago.

A sleep
Anon
A wrongful doing
Your face:
Sallow, sad, honest.
A taste amid a sight
Golden geese that will never lay an egg.
Gasoline lily pads floating on water
Your daughter who loves only herself
Grandma, who smiles with sadness now
Her knowledge graspable as
17th century parchment paper
That dissolves upon touch.
Catfish in a Mexican sinkhole.
My love for you dwindling
The piano I never learned to play
A shame with long slight fingers too.
Puddle jumping
To the wish you’d come back
Mother’s sweet afternoon hugs rejected
For peer acceptance
The tears she cries at night
for pillow stains
They’ll archive in the future.

Version 1

Pressed up against the whitened clapboards
Of her summer cottage
On the Cape Cod coast
He breaks her open like pomegranate
While the daylight screams
Through her sun bleached hair
Black pearl pupils
And the slippery saliva that dawns her lips.


Version 2

Pressed up against whitened clapboards
Of a deserted home with chipped paint
And stale window panes
Past 7:40 pm in summer
When the sun is screaming through the waving wheat
He breaks her open like pomegranate.

I wish I was her.

misfortunate circumstances don't detract from your good heart
raindrops swell in the palms of your hands
sleep well under the American beech tree
a blink cut short
a goodbye without the words
I love you
show me a good time friend
sand beneath your sheets and
night sweats annoy you, understandable.
To interject,
I prefer jelly to jam.
You know,
I can't remember morning radio shows dropping bombs
Too comfortable in my hooded fall sweater with drooping lids -
the heat on high.
Black dress shoe skid marks on linoleum make me feel bad
I didn't mean to tap dance carelessly
You've never had marshmallow's before?
Reaching the letter K in the alphabet means it's time to
Kiss me on piled boards.
...Sorry that rusty nail bit your foot
Your lips made my spine tingle.
I stood in the wrong line again
She wears a safety vest
To be safe - of course.
I am looking for the perfect shade of green
Make me a song silly
I'll walk with you for hours
Or,
We could sit on the jetty
Moon lit jellyfish are breathtaking

Give me your eyes for perspective
I'm taking a vacation.

Lumberjill dreams

As a lumberjill,
her eager beaver
hopes for morning wood.

Sustenance

Eating will not be on the agenda today
I got that beautiful feeling that comes
Like fleeting doves
When my bones drift to the surface
Like the rising tide.
With a heightened sense of being
I caress myself like silver whose
Daily market value has risen
And I think to myself of all the important buyers
who will want me
who will touch me
who will take me home with them
To love and adore
Like a family keepsake.
My eyes light up with thoughts of true worth and significance
I can only imagine,
And over the empty pangs in my sterling vase body
I repeat to myself
Love is water
Love is water
You only need to drink.

Never coming home

How many of you at the end of the night
Find yourself face pressed against the couch
Clutching to cushions
Letting out sobs
Against the satin edges of the blanket that hangs over top,
Wailing
Hoping to let those visceral feelings
Of your sadness vibrate into the valour fabric
To let your hopeless love
laminate the pillows with your painful sheet of plastic tears.
I hope there's a few of you out there in the audience
Cause
Those tears my friends
That tightness you feel in your stomach
Just shows me
I'm not the only hopeless lover
Left
living on beautiful memories and photographs
of someone who is never coming home.

none

Your absence will affect me
As the water steadily effects the stones
That are slowly eroded by the swirling currents
And as slowly as the sediments wash away
I too will diminish in my complete sentiments for you.

Interruption

Inspiring
Intermittent sunflower fields of happiness
Cut short
By hundreds of miles of greenish brown
Nebraskan boredom.

Mop Water Misery

Oh shit,
It's gunna rain mop water again
And the people will scuttle and scurry
To fight for the corner trash bag to hold over their heads
As the polluminous clouds rumble eastwards -
And while the people quarrel
Mr. Johnson will pick his daughter Emily up into his arms
Shielding her face from the dirt water with his long brown rain coat
But, she'll struggle to taste a bit of the crunchy rain
Extending her tiny cupped hands to the sky,
Kids like things that taste weird.

Soon, the light at the corner will turn red,
The driver's will sigh that they just didn't make it through
And Mr. Johnson and Emily will cross the street
Like a kangaroo with it's joey
And they'll smile,
And the mop water rain will run down this loving Father's face
But he won't care
Cause the light is blinking for him and Emily
And everyone else is pre-occupied,
Too terribly worried if tomorrow's forecast
Will be full of polluminous clouds and crunchy rain water misery.

What goes around...

Walking into you
And the girl you fuck on the side
hurts like a bitch -
Karma's catching up with me I think.

untitled

Were you smoking on your flight this morning?
The clouds above my head were making the most majestic swirls.

Dried up

Under highway lights
On the embankments, beached whales
Pockmarked the land.
I drove for miles past the dead carcasses,
The sea mammal stench
And hoped to god the DEP would come to pick up the mess.
I wiped my teary eyes
For the long dead ones harpooned
For the ones that perhaps
Waited for tidal waves
To usher a quick death.
Driving and driving there was no end -
Just Beluga’s and Bull head’s
Trailing behind bloody humpbacks with enlarged
Frying pan eyes.

Near the dried up ocean
That followed my once beautiful shore lined life,
I drove on.

none

Her Psychiatrist told her,
"You're going to have to accept that
You're simply more emotional than most people."
In response -
She cried.

Good night

Get your papers.
Travel.
“Live off the grid,” as my friend Dave has said
Fuck convention.
Pack your
Intuition and run.
Kiss with passion
And fuck with true love’s intention
Dream of avocado runways
With lane’s of fast oil that propel you towards
A glorious nowhere fantasy
Bring me a bottle
And bubble to me about Brazil,
Heaving bossom’s and shaking asses
That make you question the concept of working for something
Hold my hand and cup my back in the saucer of your body
And whisper into my
Ear
There is no fear in the beauty of a continuous heart beat
And I’ll listen intently
With my head upon your neck
I’ll stretch into the milky way and dream bigger than I’ve thought
Merging galaxies and corral reef’s
Sandpaper and dirty streets into one brilliant hue of blue
And breathe deeply into the magic of another’s immeasurable existence.

Fuck the Cherry Trees

Fuck the cherry trees
Cause all we have up North are dead
Trees with broken limbs that reach towards nothing
Representing the flowerless souls of all who live here
Who cast shadows of crookedness in late afternoon
Fuck the bloom and pastel pink
For the empty Northern bodies lie under
Darkened bark consumed with drink
Passed out and frozen to the shallow roots
That are trying to escape.

The Mocking Crows

Ha Ha they cawed
Spreading their wings
To let every spear feather
Drip the black tar that our love has become.

For lovers like doors ajar

For lovers like doors ajar
I’m tired of you leaving just enough space
For more pussy to keep creeping around
When we’re together.

Playing Telephone

Even if you’re across the state
Somehow we communicate
As if there were some
Invisible string between our
Two recyclable
Tin can hearts
Playing telephone

With you
It’s like you’re never
Gone from home.

None

Tell me I’m beautiful again
I may just turn off this faucet
Neglect these dishes,
And in lieu,
Clean a man with such a dirty thought.

At the metronome's speed

At the metronome’s speed of 4/4 time
You play guitar
While I write and
Your family sleeps.
Keeping time
As the minute hand drops
I can’t sum up the day’s meaning into the
Concise strum of a chord.
But all I feel is overwhelming happiness at this
exact moment,
And I'm more than certain
That's all that matters.

Perfectionist

All I do is compare myself
To everyone and everything –
And I am tired
Exhausted,
and weary of waging a war that I will never win.

Pouring a cup of tea
I pray that I can learn to love myself
as warmly as you do.

Visions of Baghdad

It was over the electric drill and ironically dull dissonance
That I heard the news –
Newscaster in monotone says
The sound of death was this:
And then the bombs echoed over the airwaves to my ears
Baghdad has been leveled says the receptionist from the other room
As the smell of my burnt tooth pervades the air
The drill sounds again and I can only think of the smell of bone puree
Multiplied by a million
As the bodies burn in the buildings of Baghdad.

For A

Your reflective soul
Resonates a rich music
That pumps from your
Good heart
To your fingertips that drip brilliance
Onto guitar strings
While you sing soft and unknowing
That the songs you create
Are the answers
To your grave concerns.

On the top most basement stair
I’ve heard your voice
Drift upwards like clouds
Lifting the corners of my lips to my ears
Till my smile draws one tear
For beauty I can’t describe
Like the notes of your songs

It’s been your long days
That has instilled a magic
No rogue could ever fake
I’ve held you close and felt your heart
You’re allowed to make mistakes
You’re allowed to make mistakes
And in this note I’m writing
And from the Rhythm of my soul
I know you are incredible
and talented
It’s just you
Who has to know.

Learning to fold

In quiet contemplation
She revisits a duality to her face
She still cannot integrate
And presses her cheeks inward
To initiate a forced physical merge
That her soul,
not her body will have to fold together
Like the oceans hottest and coolest currents.

In the drum circle

Give it your all
Jamaican man
in the drum circle
The beat moves you
I know your body aches
As the children that pick the sugar cane
day after day
Set me free
His muscles wail in rhythmic body bends
Beautiful.

Fortune

The Fortune Teller told him that
The life written on his palms
Was as dead as the desert
And somehow I had fallen into
Those lifeless hands with no foreseen oasis.

what I hoped he would've said

Her apartment is covered in cut out poetry
Alive with music
And compels me to touch her
Between the sheets of our bed.
Her love for words, percussion and guitar
Keep me in audiovisualphysical love with her.

Celebrate

Celebrate –
“Celebrate,” you said
“I’m leaving,”
But I cried instead
And tore down the streamers
That hung above your head.

Last chance

Fuck me right
Or just Fuck off.
You know,
I’ve had better orgasms
From unexpected coughs.

I dreamt of Buddha

I slept on my back for the first time
In a long time and dreamt of Buddha
Sitting by the riverbank
Sifting stones through the river rush
And as he did
Singing bowls floated down the waters
Winding currents
Carrying candles that sweetly trailed behind them
A softly scented smoke
Laden in spirituality.
The purity of the candles perfume then roused
My weary soul from a stone
Buddha had yet to find in the swirling waters.
It was then that mist lifted
My eyes went a flutter and I freely woke
To find water running down
Stoneless sidewalks outside my window.

And she wonders why

She is nomadic with friends
And wonders why
She sits by the phone
For hours and receives no calls.

untitled

When you shut the door this morning
The birds fled the trees leaving an echo of flutter –
I pulled the sheets around me tighter
Knowing well you weren’t coming back and the
Radiator wasn’t going to come on anytime soon.

Ocean Palms Wave Goodbye

The oceans palms wave goodbye
And under fire coral graves
Sweet loving ancestors breathe in deep
Hoping
For nourishment…

But, history repeats itself and
Only blood runs to their old buried bodies
Who bubble moans to the surface
Which we hear as wispy winds
And do not hear nor heed
Neither the wisdom nor the warnings.

The days go by on clothes line ropes
Which wave our delicate linen lives
Into the future we pray will bring
Sunshine to dry our eyes
That have been wet with an aching we can not describe,

And although we mourn for what most of us
Are uncertain we have lost -
We dance, laugh , and sing in the moments of escape
While the world’s culture’s wrap into themselves
Like a tan ball of yarn
Losing authenticity, specificity, and unique
Diversity while swallowing white
Painting with white
And stirring it into the browns, yellows, blacks and reds.

There is beauty in togetherness
And destruction as well
Atleast that is what I believe
I have heard from the dead
Over the winds that find me from the west.

Desert Driving

My car's shadow
Flicker's like reel to reel cut film
On this deserted desert highway.

Chrysalis Heart

Chrysalis heart
Hatch for tomorrow
So I can bathe in the bloodbath horizon
I always dreamt of being a martyr
And tomorrows the day I’m sure of it
Hatch 27th day butterfly beat box
Rib cage doors don’t have to hold you
I found the skeleton key scalpel to set you free
And the photojournalist’s number
To capture the moment
In RGB brilliance.
Tight tissue just wait till the dawn
Before breaking Tsunami crimson waves of God
onto the town square pavement
You’ve got the pace and the intuition
Good prisoner soul …
Bup Buh, Bup Buh, Bup, Buh….

Throw it out!

There's a bible in this hotel
And it seems to pulse it's piety
As the twenty of us fuck in orgasmic carnival.

Not right once again

When hugs feel like day old coffee filters
I know it's not right once again.

When Passing Through

Blowdry your body
Melt to mercury pools
And slide side winder across the painted desert.

What her death was worth

7,000 dollars in funeral costs
200 in flowers
And one hundred and sixty three
Temporary
New perspectives on life.