Don't Judge

when your bald head
is the same color as your pants

perhaps a fantasy has faded
a become a dried strawberry

try rehydrating it with water
try eating it with peanut butter

Winter/Spring 2016

icicle stilettos
a natural cluster of icicles
as if dripping from a cave
or a suburban doorway
a duration piece
for girls who go clubbing
and want flats by
the end of the night
"melt me down"

California Roommates

the underlying story
is of our friendship

the wooden floored room
resembled an art school lobby
near St. Mark's place

set up with folding chairs
Cosi sitting in the middle
surrounded by accessories
talking out loud about our friendship

a voiceover

On her friendship with me
what it would be like to live
with me some place else
with a different layout of rooms
rooms with wooden floors
and drywalls

underlying the sporting event
the presentation, the projection?
wet, wintery shoes on the wood

a guy in a wet suit who is not the master at this sporting event
but probably is a master at swimming
is there to be challenged
by a master, and then by me

everyone is watching us fight for some dollar bills
but this is a real start to a real thing that now maybe
he is a master at

wet paint warnings everywhere
in the old firehouse art school
projections of St. Mark's place
on the drywall

I am up on the windowsill
in my wetsuit
a physical match! the resistance is hilarious
light-hearted
like a wrestling match with your dad when you're young

everyone is laughing
a dollar bill rips in half!
I was laughing so hard
I thought I might cry

I was still somehow the new girl
comfortable yet critically observed
in a wet suit on the windowsill
still hearing "on friendship" by Cosi
still confused about moving out
to a place with wooden floors

unsettled, possessed

rewound, our match
is spliced with images
of juicy oranges

Dusty Bis

III.
I think about dissipating into the sky
or falling from it
Into the still scene below
Like printer paper laid out in sheets side by side
An improbable checkerboard
The first third of your life is over when you turn four
And the years get smaller and smaller from then on
Like ants marching off into the desert
Or perhaps through one big Dusty Bistro
All bananas and Chinese breakfast tea
Rhinestones on tip jars
In 2016 I want at least four times four
salty seasons
Give me Fifty Senses
A jingling coin purse
A soft wind and my twin
We are ants on a trail
.....Black square....White square......
Black square....White square..........
That's the checkered floor
A jingling coin purse
My twin and soft wind
When the plane turns like a top
On the tip of the wing
I'm just playing
Plain games

Xmas

There are demons among us
possessions left and right
We encircle the sand pit made of bricks
I pierce a demon in the heart
with a long stake, a tool, a rake
she lays down in the fire
With black hair and pointed eyebrows
S & M but a ragged sooty gown
I know she should turn to ash and burn like paper
turn black and curl into tiny pieces that lift into the sky
But she is half doing that and half defying the exorcism trick
she won't die
A Christmas demon
Red bricks and black leather
I sink into the corner of the narrow cave
Satan is Real sang the Louvin Brothers

Coquito

tiny, dynamic ghosts
black shadows on the attic ceiling
I'm not scared of them
ghosts in the boxed chardonnay
can't seem them but
the wine came out brown
returning the box of The Borrowers
to the Wine Library
where the box didn't even
come from in the first place
but the Wine Library
is absolutely where the Borrowers belong
with all those dark wooden alcoves
and secret doors leading to
tasting rooms?
cheese samples, crystal displays
3 miniature dimensions
I thought maybe I needed glasses

accidentally crushing a straw angel in the attic window
ghosts in the fridge
on the legs of a table
an empty space for a stove

Journalism Marble

jogging down the main road

we all start the same,

all poems start

the same

my body, smoggy, jogging

a hollow rubber suit

thick and chalky

utilitarian

untitled, empty

the scenery is 

only green 

in the shade

the shade is

rare, useless

my nose dripping

a dusty slime

tuning in and out of

the radio online

“It’s funny

I’m having a little

hard time going

back to life

as usual

when you hear

such terrible

news”

they just added a taco truck

to Val Verde

a tiny toy tiny toy

“I’m not used to it”

do the funny hippies here 

stay inside all day?

do I never here see the day?

I see

renta(l) busses with tumbleweed tires

and a type of 365 crunchy leaf

“I’m feeling a bit shaky”

I worry about hemorrhoids

and birds pooping through

my skylight

I worry about the earth

trying to quake

us all off it

I smell horses

I smell tin foil

“That’s the job of people

on TV and on the radio

I know a lot of people in Paris”

I have a guest closet, a skylight,

tinfoil

“I get freaked out”

Inside the refrigerator

is a metallic mystery

shiny clumps of egg?

chicken? mine? hers?

old new?

“OK sorry”

I had been waiting

for a cold sore, a terrorist attack

and Friday the 13^th

I had been waiting to

feel unsafe on the
marble at large

a massacre is really soft

so I’m reminded
I'm lucky, swollen

“I don’t mean to get emotional

it’s just when you read

such terrible things”

jogging on the main road

to avoid any alone time

with loose dogs

 “there’s a black dog loose”

the old lady is saying

from across the street

I worry about the loose dogs

where the road “ends soft”

so I’ll stall outside of

the fast stop (2)

tiny toys, tiny trucks, tiny

loose dogs

at least she didn’t say

“mountain lion” ?

I see

my favorite type of tree

as if wrapped with

invisible twine

I see the playset

            ( x )( o )

            ( o )( x )

lizards, butterflies

pinwheels, ziplines

kids making sparks on a leaf

not surprised

if we all ignite

Funaday Workaday a fun i've never known

Before sleep thoughts laying on my stomach in the park

Rob me blind! rob me blind!

So sure that makes the most sense

When a thing sleeps is when it is time to accept its money

Like working in the restaurant 

Ok pay me and I'll go home

The full-body subway turnstiles like iron maidens
push me along
Thinking about money as if I am from another planet 

"Ah yes I must have exact change, hold on"

Little coins in my coinpurse glowing through my pocket 

Little crinkly bills 

Flowing like a river through my fingers 

"Thank you have a nice day"

In the lining of my nice lady coat 

Coat of a nice lady
When I'm sleeping is when the money comes and goes

The restaurant goes to sleep and we collect the money

It goes dark and quiet

Closes its eyes 

I am a restaurant and the restaurant is me

At home in bed sleep, precious, sleep

says the restaurant
At home in bed

He is mad at me because I can't identify the plant with small yellow flowers

Language isn't important anyways he mocks bitterly 

stomps away, glaring from across the room

I roll over becoming aware of the bed 

the soft warm arm across my waist

I am not the restaurant any more

pumpkin spice paper mill

I fell asleep jogging in the rain
tripping on peak foliage

and woke up sleeping
against a chain link fence






feeling inferior to a long haired high schooler
with tall boots and a big pink backpack





on our way home





she looked at me like...





I thought my hat was red this whole time
so is that REALLY MY GREEN REFLECTION
in a wet car

am I really wearing hat
am I the town munchkin?
want to be the town something





for weeks I been planning to write write write write
write and my pen starts out out of ink





to do:
a perfect rainy
thing like bake
a pumpkin loaf
and bring a piece to
dad and mima
rolling in the wet car
on October 28

baby pink eyeliner

waking up softly...
baby pink eyeliner

smooth
plane at night
like the freeway, smooth
landing on the freeway
it's OK
one with a couple cars

descending is always
so evokative
so much "on this view"
of LA
the return to something
so large
it's impossible
to make a word
for the whole of it
instead,
collecting corners
and vague theories
of grounded-ness
in the freaking air

the view and it's follow through
never cease to be the opposite
of home, old and cold, cave-like

once I've touched down I know how to go about the rug to make it fun and some playmates are there waiting
it's the rug in one room of my home theory
it can be exciting, in the basement
I've gotten to know it well although it remains xL

I don't associate myself with this rug off the bat but there's something about it for me for sure after all it is in one room of my home theory and there are playmates there waiting for me even if some are unfamiliar or strangely big zooming in on movement hovering now waiting to be actually back again trapped in the rug until I take anther night plane and get eaten next to for six hours bags and bags of kosher junk and a hat box in the overhead sliding looking cool in secret the eater whispering into his cell phone a mystery glow under his seat and a few bumps here and there is an understatement and one week is simply confusing

A paper chain 

of multiple me's

Fold them back 

into a stack 

and puncture them 

through all of their 

stomachs

simultaneously. 

Separate the places 

the hands connect 

and let my layers 

flop open like a flower

flip 
flop

flip




flop

big to be back, brown, beach, blonde, gone

classic feelings for lava libra update 15


trying to write poems in my head
on the beach at night
something about a blow up doll
inflated with love

I thought of her shiny and stiff
in the corner
trying to make her me!
full of love,
living off it

soft blanket of ocean
warmer than noontime
lapping up to my knees
something naughty
and clean


"a snakeskin clad mammal
cruising the beach
with a raisin rage lip
and two bleach blonde streaks"


sand piper ghosts
stay 20 feet ahead
as I follow them
on the slick
moonlit sand

a shadowy
belted figure
complete with a cap
says hey,
stay off the surf!
the stingrays are a month early

why do you have so many
accessories at night?

but that's my cue
I think
I'm watching out for you

high tide gonna
kick you off the beach
if nothing else
gonna send you back
to your sandy bed
eventually
feeling
tan at night
walking from the hard
to soft





a different day
running TO the beach
with wet blue nails
(also purple and sultry)
fireworks in the distance
a small girl in a yankees
shirt and a low pony
emerges and my heart
beats in the center
of familiar love!

NJ plates glow
with the motion
sensors

lemme be a smooth
little baby down
the shore for
all four seasons

more on the doll
if I can remember
what else it was
about her

How it feels to be flipped by a wave

If I could curve perfectly with its figure 

Like a spiral

Like a spiral 

Be a little more Pacific  

What if the turbulence on the plane were like that

Tumbling and sandy

Shocked at my shrinking size, the spider going down the drain

Tangle of legs

Last night Jamie as a child led me through a dream

Telling me secrets, letting me in on the joke  

Tell me let me 

Tell me let me

I stay saying

Stuck under the running faucet 

of my clear cold mind

I need a little ocean 

Every little once in a while

A little green wave

You know what it's like 

So merrily but a dream

Emerald Brand Select Frag

Small breasts with nipples that wilt in and down
The prepubescent petal look
I shouldn't be on the blacktop
people think i'm twelve

Summer, Summer
The overly sexual Lounge
Waiting for you
A sigh that is Too heavy 
Asserting independence 
A sigh for me
and no one else

In the quick shadows of clouds that pass overhead
While he plays basketball
She ages at an accelerated rate
Fighting back against the way time flattens
How can anyone ever be tired in this life

Dusty 15

Sometimes I think I see a white cat

slink around the corner

coming to tell me that he will die before I do

so as not to worry

but I worry that going to bed

is becoming one big thing

instead of scattered m&m's

behind me and

unopened bags before me

I worry that going to bed

has melted into an entity

and will no longer be

scattered m&m's behind me

with unopened bags before me

one time

before I went to bed

I received a picture of a waterfall

he sent me a picture of a waterfall

he said

I want to grow here with you

then and now the asterisks exist

sparkling around my ideas

of waterfalls, love, butterflies

he also sent me a picture that said

love is friendship set on fire

I also received a picture that said

love is friendship set on fire

in general, there is nothing I'd rather be

but when it comes to where I've been

it never feels like enough

just around the corner

just around the river bend

I think of all the rivers

running dry on our time

rivers that will die before I do

around the bend is still a rainy softball practice

or a black and white concentration camp

where everyone comes back as a cat

where everyone comes back

just around the corner from my bedroom

is the classroom where my teacher

pretended to be Hitler

with time, the rooms merge and

I am forced to hang up

a do not disturb sign on my doorknob

in my room thinking

thinking what if

my tag was dusty

I squeeze my cheeks in my hands

I look out the window

do not disturb me...

Once underground in a cold tunnel

with lots of little red night lights

it was dark except for the red night-lights

the night-lights had various settings-

blue, yellow, green, blue-green, yellow-red

the tunnels were cold and damp

but also had various settings

like swimming in an ocean with

a variety of temperature pockets

I could hear the echo of water trickling

infinitely far and wet

I took big gulps of the underground air

licking my lips and my cold face

looking around to see who else

I cupped more air between my hands

drank it down and licked my fingers

I cupped more air between my hands

and stroked it like a smooth, lucky rock

while walking towards the waterfall

singing acapella like Willie Wonka

following the trickle wondering

who else follows a trickle

heavy butterflies flapping inside of me

just around the corner

just around the river bend

doesn't make the cut

but I make the cuts my own

I own the cuts and

wonder who will care for me

and my cuts

if I lay bleeding on the tunnel floor

will the cat turn his head?

owls cooing near the trickling

shiny velvet bugs on my toes

shiny temple shoes on my feet

butterfly fossils decorate the walls

I am singing to myself in acapella

I am young and I love to be young

what's my age again

I am free and I love to be free

what's my age again?

and I am waiting to sing this again

once I stop singing

I found a temperature pocket

that was an east coast summer night

a pocket full of fireflies, gum and pennies

I was alone together with the humidity

trying to spread it on my stale baguette

to take to a breezy, French countryside pocket

to have a picnic while we listen to the trickle

I thought I saw a girl in sweatpants

slink around the corner

on the butt her sweatpants said "here kitty"

on the butt my sweatpants said "softball"

this pocket was full of cold bricks

waiting for summer

waiting for September

waiting for spring

waiting to leave

waiting to go back

waiting to die

waiting to die like a butterfly

waiting to be hung in a bedroom

that the girls built themselves