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