Wednesday, June 27, 2018

Nothing Bundt Cakes

a franchise called
“Nothing Bundt Cakes”
is opening up on
Lancaster Avenue
I drive by it each morning
on the way to work
striped blue window stickers
and a sunflower in the logo
Since the “bundt” isn’t
really a “but”
I like to picture them selling
empty boxes

Monday, June 11, 2018

Mary’s Hide & SLEEP

I didn’t have time to decide how I feel about everything 
On this flight 
It’s good to decide how to feel before going home
I was too exhausted but couldn’t get comfortable 
Now we’re descending slowly over the black and yellow SF night
opaque brownish gray clouds hang over the soft gold grid
thick like there’s smoke mixed in with the salty bay air
I think of medieval humors 
Are we passing through clouds or mountains
Lucia Berlin’s stories really hit the nail on the head 
in their portrayal of the East Bay 
As magical and beautiful, but filthy too
The majesty of mountains surrounding the city
Where light pollution seems to hover at night like
This is just the way it is 

The walking for miles 
Playing the game of trying to make it to the next stop before the bus shows up 
How the bus never shows up if you sit there waiting
Having serious, incoherent conversations 
with people who sleep on benches
Being a teen here
I would entertain all kinds of nonsense 
in hopes of finding magicmysterytruth
So scared of the normal 


In the afternoon we drive up the coast
Joe’s Cafe in script 
Mary’s Hide & SLEEP
The Mt. Tam Motel
freeway-side businesses unchanged since the ‘50s and the signs
Still vibrant rust red
Hide & SLEEP ... !?
I search my head 
for what I dreamt about last night
On the cold air mattress  
as we drive up to the California country cowboy beach towns
Point Reyes, Inverness 
heart pangs

The dusty young surfer at the restaurant on Tomales Bay
Eating alone at the bar
dusty blue coat and brown slip on boots
curly dark hair 
smiling softly to himself
the peaceful twinkle eyes of someone battered by the ocean
just a timeless dharma bum
everything about this mode
soft and open 


Step mom always serving, pouring, inviting
The two of us drink wine in the kitchen
I feel a twinge in my stomach
What price to pay for this generosity
Pinch me?

I look at the cut on my left thumb
New cells tightening around what was a crescent shaped slice
When I feel particularly depressed 
the way the body heals is reassuring
If my cells can regenerate so quickly and completely
Surely my thoughts can too

Sunday, June 10, 2018

June 2018

this old song reminds me of my friend
because she can sing like that
someone told me that the past is gone
and argued for the future in a way
that made me gag 
and this week everyone is killing 
themselves because of it and
it's no mystery to me

Wednesday, June 6, 2018

smiles like lil hooks

bed pet:

we were staying at his house
but he was always gone
his room was filled with drawings
bugs bunny, crosshairs, self portraits
walking down the long hallway to our room
a doorway off the hall revealed a humongous woman
barely fitting in the building
like Alice in Wonderland
she was wearing an anime print leotard
and the room was foggy and lit with a blue light
sleeping in an awkward child's pose
because she barely fit in the house

Sunday, June 3, 2018

Ant Ranch

I wake up and
we hang out
in my house like
a piece of swiss cheese
I don’t blame them
for finding the holes
I take pictures
of them eating
a cough drop or
a different dead bug
I think they love June
and July, and May
and I'm obsessed
with them all summer
killing them
with one finger

New poem for Jamie

I can’t think of one
are there only so many words
for someone who’s done living no

I am naming all sorts of things
after you though
writing september spring into
the best blank spaces I can find

what else
was on your wall
my poem, you said
that makes you seem so serious
but I bet it was stuck with tape

soup or love

there are a few places to be
in a day and it’s a phone
the day is a phone
the garden is a moment
seldom chosen, the garden
is anything that isn’t a phone like
soup or love and that
could never be a day

staring at the pink wall
my vision filter is
water damage

the eyeballs lament
those little lines
the brain falls around, banging
it’s coiled weight

and it’s night

I fucking like knowing the time

when it's lit up
when its late or early
I used to have a clock
lit by the moon
or something always
making it clear
buy a watch I write
buy a watch I write
the same shit
every day because
I never do it
because a watch would
crowd my grandma’s bracelet
and what better time
piece than the heirloom
get a watch I write tomorrow
into my water damaged
notepad and I actually speak it
but no one sees
these greasy hands on the day
the lavendar on my feet
time could be the garden
if you hate yourself right now
or later
try kissing the inside of your wrist