Monday, December 25, 2017


A sudden sense memory of how he chewed gum 
and I would steal it from him when we kissed
What else have I blotted out of my mind

Sometimes I wish we had a second language to speak in
The simplified approximation of that  
Emboldened to say what you might not in your native language
Since trying it on is like a game

Another kind of trying on
Things unexpextedly practical 
Fitting a need not a fantasy 
Am I one

Sunday, December 17, 2017

how to be a boss

grandma sends me toys for Christmas
despite my age she can’t help herself
Walt Disney handwriting scrawled crazedly
on a reused gift bag
a rainbow twirler
oil slick tape ribbon topping a delicate blue plastic stick
it turns into a flower a bubble a Glenda wand
all the to do’s are useless
I want to spend my weekend twirling

december sun

charge my phone with the jump rope
coils at the bottom of everything

to do lists basically engraved into
my bedside
and the paper sleeps
at the bottom of everything
pen, and pencil tickets

and anyway I try to keep it
all in my memory
to be free

to move about like someone
with one pair of yard shoes
and one pair of slippers
snug and pointing forward

Monday, December 11, 2017

give the fear some space

what would happen if the earth quaked 
at the same time as the wildfires?
I can't imagine the look of it
can't sleep because of it

for one moment the bed vibrates
and I find myself in the center
of our room's incomplete darkness
looking like a gecko I imagine
posing like a cobra in socks 
hands flat and sinking, eyes

turning over into a different kind
of sleep, a different version
that's brighter
like if it were a job
I'd be paid differently

and this time I have memory
of the thin layer, the veil
I can see all of its colors
mind routes physicalized 
why do I spend so much 
time here
being awake is just
not being there
but rather upright
in yellow and orange clothes

I dream about a
girl's pregnancy 
of course
it was no big thing
like another weekend event
light and boring even
but I don't remember 
a bottom half on any
of our body's

all these frags® repeat and
make circles somehow
the chorus of the veil
the bright, dirty screen song
the chorus of limbs missing
organs melting, bottom halves
roller skating off 

the trance of fear
stuffs me like a dolly 

the woman with the celestial name
tells me to sit next to it
next to the fear, on a park bench
hear the birds, feel the sun
feel the whole world around

year in frags

again the same day
I went for walks
I played guitar
I saw koi fish frozen in a pond
a tshirt hanging on a branch
I pick at my face

Are we on the same page?
I'm so remote
I don't feel like talking to anyone
Not even myself

mudslides and earthquakes
I was wearing pointy kitten heels with gold details
they clicked and sank into the mud

the graphic on the cardboard fruit box
the bird chasing the cat
chasing the dog chasing the rabbit
a blue and white box

tree sap in the air
smiling dogs and dust glittering in the sun
God is a dog dancing
the houses come from the quarry
my slippers come from China
frozen blackberries come from the store
snowdrops come from the ground
I feel my skin come back to life like a bouquet withering in reverse
we drive to Rolling Hill to see the firehouse dalmatian
we roll the windows all the way down
I see my spots in the side mirror
and get bitter silently
silver white winters that melt into spring
elegant trappings for this sapling
I drink that resin burning smell

pale green food and friends I don't have
I like keeping a tidy home
scouring in the right order
I like knowing where everything is
I like being over prepared

The little frown I make when looking down at my body in a bathing suit
do all women know how that feels
a bit of anguish that it looks the same

the Lolita at the lunch spot
with bikini top and cut off shorts
soft brown skin and pillow curves dappled by sun through a tree
hair french braided and wispy
light blue eyes
sitting at a red picnic table looking so bored
into her phone and yet so perfect
I see him throwing quick looks at her
and get jealous

the abundance of beautiful women in the world
that men get to look at
vs. how often I compare him to other men
which is frankly never

a dragonfly lands at my table
green and robotic gem creature

A furry black and white caterpillar
rests on a thought
of I need to do better


Monday, December 4, 2017

an opening present

on thursday there's cake everywhere i go 
today i'm so tired that i'm "i"
the way i have been
eating and sleeping is

on Thursday it's "Melanie's" birthday 
at the baby doctor
the Santa Monica office is bright 
and clean feeling, the window cut from the wall 
you could put a hand through
sets the stage 
of Front Desk
and I am the only one waiting

all the office ladies gather in the glassless
window holding the flourless 
chocolate cake

they begin to sing to Melanie
when she emerges from a doorway
the sun's pouring in
one woman offers me a slice because
I'm watching
they photograph Melanie
in front of the color-coordinated files
beautiful, rare shades of manilla folder

Melanie says her ears 
are sticking out from her glasses
and wants a re-do
she brings her flourless prop
to a more sun-filled corner
of the stage-
"I'm 59, I wanna look good"

she drops the cake on the floor
and the sound it makes confuses me
I did actually want a slice
but there seemed to be so many
ladies to feed

all of them are beside themselves 
can't answer the ringing phones
I'm giggling along but feeling
boyish in comparison 
finally one of them invites me
to look at the halo 
of powdered sugar on the floor


on Thursday at the Underground 
it's also Justin's birthday

in the back room there are four beautiful 
tiny cakes, arranged symetrically 
with causal bites missing
like someone slowly walked by
with a spoon

the birthday boy shakes my hand 
with both of his
I remind him that we've met
"but never in the daytime"
I learn he's only 23


on Thursday I also go to Roxie's 
birthday party at HMS Bounty 
which is a bar with red booths
it's better than I remember it being
maybe because I feel better now
I remember feeling lower then
we have french fries and 4 dollar
cocktails which is 

the birthday girl and i talk about
instagram as i get tired and
drunk and i think it makes us want
to stick together because 
we agree it's not casual


thinking of romance
minus everything that
diminishes it

I walk by a stained glass window
that's a cake
outlined with the
sticky black


the woman's voice 
on NPR talking about
A Christmas Carol
with lots of edible
her s's hissing
her blue eyes
welling I'm sure


speaking of ROMANCE
I feel the veil between dream and
awake as thinner than before
with colors and patterns and
options for mind routes


I had the premonition for 
Marisa Takal's fame 
when her name in vinyl was stuck
on the window in Baltimore
it was freezing and the street lamp
cast a shadow of her name on
the white wall of the small gallery 

I contemplate good options
for her opening present

it's tuesday all day today

a clock a wheel a sun a day 
try every color every day of the week 
workdays are race car wheels 
rolling into wildflowers & ufos 
through all four seasons 
obsessively mapping personal figments 
figures forests 4 wheelers 
rolling someplace that isn’t here 
everyone is working 
to make Tuesday a treat