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