Thursday, September 17, 2020

ʎpɐǝʇs ʞɔoɹ

today the kids made tissue swords 
exerting themselves in the ash
the 3 of them, literary
the dust bowl
the cul de sac

the boudarylessness of
blessings, curses
talking fences/feeling
nothing       moderate, mega 
in lieu of     stretch in lieu of
the train assembles
poems slipping and 
sliding the dead friend
with the past tense name

just wanna be at the club
with the currentevent 
mix, the mosh pit 
where at 3 am 

Saturday, September 12, 2020

skywriting by jane pauley

I cry looking at photos of great grandma Sally
because she's got the eyes
the eyes that are 3000 years old

sitting on the deck with Dad
swarm of crows flying in synch 
vanishes into the fog

Grandma tells me about a time 
Mom painted herself green, put tinfoil 
on her head, and went to the bar

open field with a window
open field with a window
open field with no child

don't call it an episode 
I'm not your TV

my heart isn't actually inside me
it's where they all are

Wednesday, September 9, 2020

Oz / Zoom

Will says he's like a dog

cos he gets along with everyone in the park

and we both say god made dirt and dirt don't hurt

I roll down the slope into the center of the dog bowl

then jump up and run a full lap around it shrieking 

we scream along to Boys are Back in Town

Will conducts us on air instruments

Leo plays bass and sings low

we all try on all 3 pairs of sunglasses for 3 different views of the sunset

I get down on one knee and chug a bottle of water

then demonstrate how to carry 15 things at once

using my feet to pick everything up

Will's in pain and we need to get him home

we take his arms and are off to see the wizard

stopping and starting down the brick path 

Will begs me to put my shoes on

I say if he insists he has to help like Cinderella 

and first can he hold them so I can jump in the hedge

we move three steps forward two steps back all the way to the apt

I turn Will's hat inside out and shape it tri-point like a sailor

he tucks his socks into it like puppy dog ears


there are rumors about me now

about the mess and the homeless man

to them I’m still the cat locked in the box

doing god knows what

but the whole joke

is that it's only as bad as you think it is

Saturday, September 5, 2020

ambrette pipette

cool blue + tie dye = soft sky
looking up from the open box of Kayla's backyard
I see power lines and think sheet music
base + heart + head = the symphony of a perfume
the white planks of that balcony's railing are piano keys
dancing + apples = dappled
the bamboo is the wind section
the sun is soprano
soft sky + full = skull
the clean flat cement might be mezzo
and the wind chime is implied

Thursday, September 3, 2020

alphabet soup

the night I sat on the balcony 

watching the moon cross the sky

Jamie’s ghost touched everything in the apartment

turned my pairs of shoes at perpendicular angles

propped up the sheep brain dissection kit

scooted out my desk chair

it was so subtle

I could have done it myself

what's the difference between 

hallucination and metaphor

seeing the story over the story

the world behind the world

I don't want to say too much

but something I can tell you now;

it's a lie 

that nothing rhymes with orange

the buddha quality

of a stuffed animal

how two dots and a line 

make a gracious face

I was sure he was in my bathroom

staring at that tum on the tile floor

and I realized how trauma 

is like schrodinger's cat

the keloided narratives that stay fucked up

for as long as the door is closed

I keep seeing a soft sky full of tiny letters 

like alphabet soup

and the afterimage of a cool blue fairy

pepper's ghost

and there's something extra 

we're elaborating on now

about washer women

gossips and yentas

about twins, togetherness

about the tree and the stone

Tuesday, September 1, 2020

new day new age

next part 
best part
feeling it all out 
so swisher sweet 
a candy chain like
cool blue gatorade
again again
all of my twins
the things I saw
I’ll tell you soon
the sound in
Mario - Let Me
Love You 
at the moon
let me be the 
1, 2
I can’t write poems
I’m having 
too much fun 
doing math
doing the dishes
loving emojis

being damned

the dry lightning storm 
to the north

the moon drama, up

the cold sand, cum
every August
at once


AIM apparition--

if it were,
the watering hole

The Wednesday

raised by 
ON, the TV
the basement 


rolling on the floor
after hours
for reasons 
the sidewalk
the gum spots
the moon


partial to the merch
of my coast


eating around the spinal chords

boundaries embodied 
synthetic fences

Monday, August 24, 2020

cloudless sulphur (phoebis sennae)

Zhou, Billie and Edith in heaven
the plan to burn 3 tiny flags
thinking more about
the matching and the rhyming
Symphony in Blue
a chartreuse butterfly's infatuation with red tail lights
Why Should I Love You?
which is green plus purple for sure
and we've done been knowing
via Minnie the Perfect pink Angel
how ascending notes get you closer to heaven
and descending notes are like raindrops
that water the dirt and fill the river

what always runs but never walks,
often murmurs, never talks, 
has a bed but never sleeps, 
has a mouth but never eats?

Saturday, August 22, 2020

dewdrop trellis

with each night of dreaming
the necessary processes 
draw nearer to their conclusions
everything is almost-solved

in this second world
tasks are delegated equally
no one man gets all the credit  
on the seventh day, we redistribute rest

a black flower with a pulsing rainbow periphery
8 variations on one woman 
the elegant design 
of our specific functions

consider what the point might be
of indoctrinating children with magic
through media and schooling 
then abruptly cutting them off at a certain age 

if magic is what makes us human
and consciously or otherwise, we all want to go back
perhaps the longing of separation is only installed
to motivate productivity and reproduction

to make us capable of persuasion at all
either way, I dare you 
to live each and every minute
like whiskers on kittens 

Friday, August 21, 2020


1 mandarin orange
3 slices fiesta cheese pizza
1 purple lollipop
1 pink hard candy
1 paper cup of brut rose
1 paper cup sandia y basil jugo
1 cucumber limon gatorade
1 cool blue gatorade
1 seltzer poured into half full gatorade
1 couple cup passionfruit green tea w/ chia seeds + lavender milk tea w/ honey boba
1 pink concha cut in thirds
1 chocolate concha cut in thirds
1 white cinnamon concha cut in thirds
1 elephant ear cut in thirds
17 takis fuego
5 plantain chips
1 cup vegetable broth ("free soup")
4 tamales
6 chicken yakitori
1 liquore strega + seltzer + angostura orange bitters + lime + ice cube


Tuesday, August 18, 2020

hair clip 2.0

we walk into Morris park 
the trail along the creek
he follows me on the way in
I see every leaf, mica fish scale, pebble 
as distinct, outlined
like a paint by numbers of the woods
we sit on rocks to talk
I take off my shoes and socks
place my feet in the creek up to my ankles
dip my hands up to my wrists
Cowboy chews on sticks
walks through the water like a buffalo
comes up to me wet to nuzzle
we talk in a circle
I stare at tiny fish 
then dry my feet with my socks
put my shoes back on 
and we leave the park
I follow him on the way out
deserve is a complicated word

Monday, August 17, 2020

all dogs

beautifully balanced towers of dishes
perfect brown boxes packing themselves 
you can't keep a good dog down plays
I braid Celia’s hair / it braids itself
and we look into the sherbet expanse
that is a cartoon sky
I’m obsessed with the order 
of primary, secondary & tertiary
how orange is glow
how heaven is clocks
I know a lot about my own 
boring book of days 
and having to enchant the gatekeeper
to get back in the mix
harnessing the color wheel 
plus the circle of fifths
and endless Venn diagrams 

Sunday, August 16, 2020


us Three Women 
stopped at the crosswalk
feeding each other bread 
as we walk home from the store
I do our laundry 
hang it up on the porch
it stays a little damp cos it rains all night
when folding I love guessing
who is whose
I note that 
C has always had powerful socks
and K has lots of bleachy items
but I also get some smaller items wrong 
which I also love

when I close my eyes

theres [enough!] looped beats

    I’m doing flips 

at those Philadelphia 

gas stations

round and

    round wall of virus

full body/august

when I close my eyes

theres love, reasons



drank a cup of 

pre-covid, filled with 

The Cafe

a bottle of wine

history up thru 

my feet



my phone 


Home (the feeling)

in my blood like 

the s's 

in east coast

counting our exclusive

evenings of

the shortest summer ever 

if summer means together

the garden flowers on our dinner

Saturday, August 15, 2020

the sight of the fantasy / the seen of the crime

everyone wants to go back

to the site, to the scene

of favorite fleeting configuration(s)

and wild combos

but there is a way to keep things so raw 

they don’t calcify

into nostalgia or trauma

and instead keep kicking like 

fish in a stocked pond

or pot marigold 

reseeding itself

just listen in closely

for all the world’s rhyming 

and keep composing anew each day

like hitting refresh on memory

Sunday, August 2, 2020


zen yenta for the first time in my whole entire life

like magic is 100% the truest thing I know

joke that Kayla and I are so zen 

you could call us the yin yang twins 

stupidest and funniest thing to me 

I laugh all day

letting in ideas 

that were just behind glass

all along

feeling like a bread and puppet ass bitch


wax dipped passion flower 

river mussel shell butterfly 

wind chime

thinking again more clearly

about the mom/dad/god wind chime

knowing I can finally write

a song that isn't sad

adorn myself with 

every single color of the rainbow

if I want

I walk to visit the fence with the passionflowers

they need water, wilting a little

but I'm not worried, it'll rain

on the way I run into everyone I want to see 

Will and Sam by the community garden

so easy 

to love everyone now

I want to free everyone I meet

thank everyone for who they are

I keep thinking about Stanley’s dangly rhinestone earring 

glinting in the sun against his weathered face

how tired he must be

how to release him too

same age as mom, same cycle of abuse

he must be so tired

blowing kisses 

to the sun

all those clever little squirrels and sparrows

the moon, the stars

to Jamie and the whole cast of angels

thank you 

thank you 

thank you

cherish every moment of preparing an improvised meal

for myself

slowly, pausing to choose the best song

the best song

the best song

dash of this dash of that 

knowing what my body wants

eating it slowly, pacing

picking it up, setting it down

finally let myself just slip into sleep 

and dream

dream hidden fears slipping away

some I didn’t even know were buried

watching them like a documentary 

had to do with the lines in my hand and 

having babies I’m scared to ruin

and I’m forgetting 


the big ideas I was taking for granted as permanent 

I’ve been so unable to truly love

unable to access what I make as love


what a joke

I was talking on a rotary phone 

on the top floor of an old inn

Lucia was looking after my toddler in the next room

sent her to me when I hung up 

and it was so natural to lift her in my arms

I wish I could remember the other parts 

it was so straight forward

such direct refuting of specific bullshit

three different palms

each with varying degrees of wrinkles on the life line 

the emptiest and fullest vanishing for one that was 

just right

honest and open

I accept 

just being 

just being

is who we truly are

just walking through the neighborhood 

fucking laughing 

to myself

how perfectly 

it all checks out

it's literally too much to write

I keep it in my pocket

like a lucky rock 

why is it all so beautiful this fake dream this craziness why?

love and love and love and love

feeling like an actual phoenix

I wake up and the sky is overcast

I know I'll be able to drink coffee again today

and the flowers will get their rain

<3 <3 <3

Tuesday, July 28, 2020

beep eyes

how to keep mapping
all the very relative 
and slippery truths in this world
with a mind/heart like a ball
that rolls down certain slopes
no matter where I set it
bouncing off into the negative space
of conversations
and getting stuck there

in a dream smoking a fake cigarette
on a beach with punks
the roiling waves throw
huge green catfish onto the shore
some just missing us
slamming down dramatically

then a restaurant with radios on every table
that announce how close the holy spirit is
by degrees of latitude and longitude
when it gets within a certain range
everyone scrambles to reign in their sinful behavior

I’ve lost my appetite for complexity
as well as for breakfast
feels like there’s no time for theories
despite tomorrow
and tomorrow

Sunday, July 19, 2020

sunflower painted on a satellite dish

I’m 27 now

I wake up late

we drive to the water gap

mom calls me on the road  

Harry catches a fish big enough to eat

we are shocked

kill it with a stick

it all happened so fast

on the way home a flipped Penske truck blocks the on-ramp 

Harry runs over to assess the injured

keeps them talking until the ambulance shows up 

none of the cops have masks on

circumventing the accident 

I drive, more carefully now, down small roads

until we end up back in time

a Victorian main street

a burnt sugar smell

through cornfields, clover

sprinklers make giant arcs over the corn

a woman plays fetch with a cow

the sun sinks

sign for immaculate conception convent 

down a shadowy road

think about mom

back home Leks and Al come over 

with popsicles and wine

we melt on the balcony in the dark

using the skeleton hand bottle opener

suddenly feeling easy, present (drunk) 

sparkles on my plastic fan

catching the candle light

I’m 27 now

disproportionately hung over 

to what I drank

and mom writes to say she is in fact 

not pregnant sorry to have “worried” me

I wake up later and later

seeing the story 

back and back in time

seeing all the flip sides

ready to file under “pain in the ass” 

and “just swallow”

Tuesday, July 14, 2020

who has acid

tomorrow is unclean
and I’m overcome
by “chance” by was 
by with

this week’s desire 
for alt punctuation

a sloppy/bold shape or
deep negative space 

one of these summer nights

w/ touch


I consider addiction
I dream of jail support
the vibe now is 
dead flowers

something has happened 
to dreaming 

like a blackout curtain

my hair grays in 2 streaks

I waste today in the shape 
      of a        dramatic bridge

approach addicted 
like dreams
my own bad balloon

its happy
hot air