Tuesday, December 29, 2015

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
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

Monday, December 28, 2015

Dusty Bis

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


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

Sunday, December 27, 2015


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

Sunday, November 15, 2015

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
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

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,

“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 13th

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

Saturday, November 7, 2015

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

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

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
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

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
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

Thursday, October 29, 2015

A paper chain 
of multiple me's
Fold them back 
into a stack 
and puncture them 
through all of their 
Separate the places 
the hands connect 
and let my layers 
flop open like a flower



Monday, September 28, 2015

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

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
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

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

Thursday, July 2, 2015

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

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

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