Monday, June 30, 2014

Mega Bed: Casita

the simplest words make the prettiest songs

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Chapter 1

     The windowbeam always hits the wall my feet point to. I say the serenity prayer and I wipe my face with a Grace Towel every morning. When I'm sitting in a school desk my hair is dripping long down my arms all the way to the ends of my fingertips. Water drops off each enamel nail wet and pale. Diane is in the desk to my right wearing all black, her glasses on a string around her neck. Ms. Mowat the teacher has put her forehead down on the podium and is taking deep breaths now. She got engaged this week and tugs at her skirt a lot. I keep getting this feeling like everyone is the same age. Like the universe has reduced us all to 12 years old and that's how it's going to be from now on. 
     The cottonwood trees started sending their white puffs into the air all over town, it is thick with them like a hot snow globe. When I'm running in my running clothes the cotton wisps move around me like how matter would look at the molecular level if we could see it. Being displaced by my body mass. There is a man handing out bibles and gatorade on the sidewalk next to the lake, the wisps pool and swirl around the legs of his plastic folding table. That looks so pretty and seasonal. 

seasons past

I lost my Saturday blue week 3 pill on the ground


playing with dead things

cream leggings

with a mint

"go around bitch"

boulder trail

5 great smiles

or styles

this girl with the pretzels she eats one square at time butter pretzels zip locking the bag after each square chewing slow and unziplocking for another butter and then ziplocking again crunch then mush
if i even began to look her way
her eyes beat me to it
even if i looked at her reflection in the window
she already knew
zip lock zip lock square butter

on the 4 with all big to medium sized men
who didn't care about halloween
at all
this is my favorite holiday

i spent the night on trains like a song
angry with the city

flavored gloves

i am in love with time in this way that i fantasize about chronology

there isn't enough light around here
people are trying to do things
it is not the mountains
it is the gray area where snow is the worst
in the city the heat and the crowds
take care of all that and
int the mountains
there is no care to take
here its dark and cold and we shovel
because people have gray
things to do
flashlight friends

catcall banana
this is the creepy face

paranoid about the different temperatures
of my different body parts
as i drive the burning oil
smelling mountain valley

the glass house with the good stuff in the
pacific palisades
it is like aladin or just
the 20th century on the coast
los ángeles it is like
the glass house is just
containers stacked

how the grass is colder than you are
like summer nights back east
fire flies