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Monday, November 14th, 2005
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8:24 am
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cold equations cover crumpled looseleaf like
cancer. like asylum art.
proving themselves
at the center of the room standing
patient of the wasted time
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, June 28th, 2005
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5:16 pm
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reams of stapled stars
confetti neighbors flutter
the paper city
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(comment on this)
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| Friday, April 30th, 2004
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2:50 pm
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hoped for a kiss
for my finger slit on a blade of grass
but you made a bandaid of duct tape and gauze
and that was better
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(comment on this)
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| Wednesday, April 21st, 2004
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1:08 pm
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tornados flirt with trailers
the way you say hello
I'll lie low
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(comment on this)
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| Thursday, January 22nd, 2004
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11:50 pm - [misquotation from unknown source]
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he who loves his homeland is still a beginner.
he's growing strong who finds himself at home in every land.
better still the one in exile everywhere.
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(comment on this)
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| Sunday, December 7th, 2003
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1:38 am
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she never says how my
windowsill's dirty (the one
at the sink)
but she scrubs it when she comes --
talking past her shoulder, it's just an
itch she's absently scratching with
a sudsy sponge
tongue between teeth on the tough spots
watering gardenias while she's
there anyway
I'm no slob but it's only a rental
ceilings stained as though with
tea
years of grit along the baseboards, still,
she glides her fingers
on the white soapy sill
slowly
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(comment on this)
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| Saturday, December 6th, 2003
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9:51 pm
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grass and hair mingling
shivers twitch your elbows
pale toes smeared with peat
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(comment on this)
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| Saturday, October 11th, 2003
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10:24 pm
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there once lived a boy
in a normal house
with a normal mom
and her normal spouse
just a normal boy
with normal plans
but one thing was different:
Vincent walked on his hands
“it’s for attention” said his mother
“it’s a phase” said his dad
so they kept on ignoring
what they hoped was a fad
and each year on his birthday
(though they never got used)
his parents bought Vincent
a brand new pair of shoes
even so, he was happy
in his warm attic room
with the squirrels and bats
his dad chased with a broom
with his crayons he drew pictures
from his most favorite dreams
he felt right at home
as he hung from the beams
there were problems of course
that hurt Vincent’s pride
his head was too low
for a rollercoaster ride
and the coaches told Vincent
politely to shoo
when he won a soccer game
by a hundred and two
still his schoolmates were nice
as schoolmates can be
they just couldn’t help laughing
when vincent would pee
art class was his favorite
Mrs. Sturm loved his work:
his spaceships, his squirrels,
and the caves where monsters lurk
then one day, family friends
(to his parents’ great terror)
for their wedding asked Vincent
to be the ring-bearer
his father told Vincent
not to put on a show
“keep your hands on the ring
and your feet where they go”
he tried hard to obey
but it felt fake and vile
so he hopped on his fingers
and marched down the aisle
for the rest of the wedding
no one looked at the bride
they kept staring at Vincent
who was trying to hide
his parents were troubled
they discussed it all day,
it was clearly a problem
to keep walking this way
they said “Vincent, we love you
and your wonderful variety,
but it’s our duty to make sure
you get along with society”
so they shackled his ankles
with twenty pounds of lead
which they never took off
except when he went to bed
and each morning he cried
when his mom locked them tight.
she cried too -- “dear, I’m sorry,
but someday you’ll walk right”
then he trudged through the days
half-dead heart, empty eyes,
the rightside-up world
he began to despise
but one secret he kept:
he lived for the night
when unchained he was free
and his feet were so light
and he talked to the bats
and he pointed out stars
“up there, things are weightless
like fireflies in jars”
“and in space there’s no rightside
and no upside-down
everything is everyway
that’s where I belong”
all night long he would listen
to the stars overhead
as he danced on the roof
and drew pictures in bed
thus a normal boy
with the normal plans
escaped every night
to the strangest lands
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(comment on this)
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10:15 pm - not sure if we wrote this
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good night, borrowed earth
sleep well custodian army
children dream swiftly
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| Saturday, September 20th, 2003
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8:53 pm
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sootspecked ankles
traipse and trip and
falldown lightly like
manic monsoon
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(comment on this)
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| Saturday, June 14th, 2003
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6:09 pm
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After the wedding, on Honeymoon Day 3, they stumbled into a financial argument at the San Diego Zoo wishing well. Marissa did not throw money away, she asserted; Frank held fast to his refrain that it was "only a penny." (The well in question was built of concrete with a pink granite veneer; it had cost taxpayers $68,566 in materials and $12,010 in labor. Each year it netted about $4,500 in scummy corroded change, of which the grounds superintendant pocketed roughly half.) Marissa worried all the way to the restroom, her armpits damp; wasting money disgusted her on principle since there was never ever enough. While Frank waited, he dug out a penny and flipped it in, wishing for a million dollars. No, ten million. He didn't expect the well to help at all, but the penny seemed a very small price to stand for a minute and dream.
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, May 6th, 2003
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2:40 pm
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i.
you saw me first
knew you would own me
in time
ii.
without you I kissed
lipstick, caressed canteloupes,
poured bright white
paint on my cereal.
you smiled
I learned to cut
throats, with a whisper.
with silence. keep my head
above the mounting
tide of blood
iii.
high times:
I caught a pear
tree blooming in the coarse
desert.
worth good money
and you bought the wood in my
wake. you didn’t barter.
with a voice as smooth and
strong as a lava flow
you paid the price
iv.
I jostled behind as you
slid through the crowd;
between legs I crawled
like olives trampled
v.
white-hot moon, cold
dunes. I tracked your
footprints, studied each
crease
til the usual
ghibli swept away
signs. buried me in choking
grit and swirls of
stinging sand
vi.
lost and moonless
hourglass lungs near-full to the
brim, I called in a
rasping whisper under
the thunder
vii.
circled in storm
you came with
burning cheeks and
eyes of ash
your lips were cracked as
mine, your hair was steel wool
scouring my face, your bones
were brittle and I thought my body would
break with joy
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(comment on this)
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| Thursday, May 1st, 2003
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4:27 pm
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| Monday, February 10th, 2003
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2:18 pm
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| Wednesday, June 19th, 2002
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4:38 pm
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arms crossed
head half-turned away
she glares at a rack of grinning Twinkies, Ho-Hos chuckling,
as though each smooth, sweet-talking, throat-choking mackdaddy of a shortbread cake knew
(and she hated them)
that she would choose one
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(comment on this)
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| Tuesday, June 18th, 2002
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5:29 pm
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on the station platform
the inside line of his elbow against her hair against
the back of her neck
;
the pulp of her thumb precarious on the nub of his
hip, about to slip, any moment
;
"All aboard!"--the last last call
;
(the romance of a train is not the steam or the whistle,
the power or speed of the land sucked by,
it is the track. Certain. Solid ever after.
Unsplitting but for scattered junctures,
unlike life, crisscrossed with junctures at every breath)
;
her lips break ranks.
she is gone
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(comment on this)
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| Sunday, March 10th, 2002
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2:42 am
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Home again after so long
The water here burns
I made you
Breakfast in bed
Microwaved french toast
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(comment on this)
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| Saturday, February 16th, 2002
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11:57 am
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i came from nothing
homesick
before flesh-eyes i was no-eyes
and i can still see nothings
when i drain myself
when i drain my seeing
like a stray speck of spume into thirsty sand
i can still
be
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(comment on this)
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| Saturday, September 8th, 2001
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3:29 pm - leavings
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last box to fill, take my time,
squeeze my knees on the dim floor
(even the bare bulbs are plucked) circled
by the detritus of a dream:
a cracked candle
an empty jewel case
potted pot plant in a Burger King cup,
an amputee stool.
a Slinky snaggle
wounded Band-Aid,
flung-open cabinet with its mirror
facing the wall. pretty bodies
with pretty lives tacked to the plaster.
a vacant pet carrier: the envy
of brimming ashtrays.
a zesty breath-mint. sickly orange
flypaper spirals with
casualties. and strands of her hair.
a carnival of linoleum scuffs
like spasmic dance steps.
jagged soup lid.
a Kotex sheath. clear plastic palette
with rainbow colors mixing
into mud. a sticky orgy of bottles, empty,
beseige the bin of endless cycles. and the
crumbs and scraps of a thousand parties,
snacks, and moonwashed midnight meals
on the windowsill.
film, undeveloped.
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(comment on this)
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| Sunday, August 19th, 2001
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9:32 pm
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in the strobing churning crowd
she slips her hips between the rhythm
refracts each chord in a
quaver
of fingertips
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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