Sunday, October 28, 2018

routine unseason


eye of the tiger
blasting in the lyft 
heading home to
bed bugs and 
Spookytober
he even turns up
the volume

have a great night
could be a nice, clean send-off
I ask my head rhetorically and
barely agree
I can’t remember it resonating
except 
for a clear, black winter night

I can’t remember the last time
I felt cute, last night,
in my scrubs?
life will begin again
with long hair
certainly 

electricity in some joints
like a doctor poster 
in places like knees, 
I feel so much a sack
waking up

fuck napping 
waking up
worse off
but

just laying
in nothing
I love
I can count the times
I’ve done that
lately I don’t
do that 

I walked today
I can count
steps too,
you know when the sun
is just above eye level
a harsh sheet

walking the blasted sidewalks
everyone seems discombobulated 
in a Halloween way, limbs hanging
around randomly car doors
swinging and slamming hoods
glinting  and my photographic memory
is a car parked on the SIDEWALK
are we in Europe or
was it a Bird and who cared?
it’s literally a blur

I wrote
Drink Chartreuse on My Birthday
and everything went downhill
from there

my favorite color
shirt and ribbon
shredded on
hot and high

the dates are haunting
i.e. on October 14th
Mima was still alive
do you know what I mean?
the following Friday she wasn’t
all the fine lines 
between life and death
what else?

I can’t lose ____
I can’t lose ____ !
but we lose it all
on the path
to a full shed
very interesting/
what’s the point




`·.¸¸.·´´¯`··._.· 
                 `·.¸¸.·´´¯`··._.·





the couple outside of Cookbook
dressed as little kids
maybe middle schoolers
tights and socks and
a small purse
she’s swaying nervously
but ironically
he has fluffy hair and
baggy track pants
with skate shoes
they’re embracing a lot
by the parking sign
the October wind 


Monday, October 22, 2018

RR









Thursday, October 18, 2018

Everything, Evening


This Very Precarious Moment Makes Me Want 
To Give Everything A Title, To Keep Things As Clear 
As Something With A Name
Seasons, The Cold And It's Unease Are Seeping In
But This Isn't Just A Season, I Want To Find Tactics As Clear 
As Giving My Life To A Monastery
Scrambling For A Name For The Feeling
And An Action For The Name
All I Know How To Do Is Write Draw Sing Sew
So I Just Do It, Frenzied And Fine

Titling Is One Action To Take
Calling Myself An Artist Without Hesitation
A Curse Or A Blessing? A Power Or Weakness?
The Vibe And Visuals By Chance And By Choice For This Precarious Moment
Are They Important Or Arbitrary
E.G., Billowing Sateen, Syrup On The Passenger Seat
Evening Dress French Silk Metallic Thread Glass
Everything / Evening 
Everything As An Evening Gown
Painting A Gown In The Evening As My Everything
Does It Matter If That Makes Any Sense
How Irresponsible Is Or Isn't It
To Document This Human Frivolity And Beauty
To String My Friends' Names Into A Song
Beauty Because Beauty Because Beauty
I Keep Trying To Sum It Up
The Last 25 Years Have Been So Important
9/11 Iraq Obama Occupy Arab Spring Trump And UN Climate Report
It's Called "The Post-Truth Era" And Also "The Anthropocene"
I Know Several Newborn Babies And There Is This Ultimatum Of Twelve Years

In My Life Of Making Things 
I've Named Things With Nouns And Subbed Nouns For Notions
Nouns Feel More Active Than Trying To Make A Statement
Flower Puppet Silver Puppy Wave Whirl Etc.
Because They are Immutable Symbols, Immutable Vibes?
Because We Are Collectors?
Gleaners, Just Like How The Bee Documentary Described Bees
The Documentary Said The Flowers That Are Beautiful To Bees 
Are The Same Ones That Are Beautiful To Us
The Flowers Whose Scents We Find Pleasing
Are Also Their Favorites

Monday, October 8, 2018

all leaves/more midnight



nomad in my own house
what's storage
what's cute
what's about to crack in half?
she said she was living 
on borrowed time 
in her old house
on the faultline --
our house has its own fault lines

I’ve taken to grooming to doing 
something daily
if only the floor was clean and
didn’t make its own 
dirt

but I’m not scared anymore 
of the dirt or of the death
beyond it

and I can’t shake the sound 
of crashing glass
the shards in the coffee grinder
do I still use it? a leaf too
old, from a season

art as suggestion
art as email me if you want more

thick, veiny legs
nearly 26 and kind of
disappointed
if I'm being shallow
in my own house (body)
didn't think I'd get here so fast 
but it's not a thought ever
the truth of time 
is never a thought
there are shiny hairs
I scrutinize 
blond or 
silver?
Aspen said blond in a husky
voice and I don’t believe her
she was a bro and she gave
me a mom haircut 
I went with a Groupon and left
in tears 

I cut my armpits with 
dull blades
at weird angles

I bleed like a faucet a blood
blister becomes a permanent body part
who can help?

——

I like to be surrounded by the options
for documentaries, you know
accidental playlists
the internet 
it’s sticky af

——


even more midnight

——

I get hot thinking about
my new drawing


but dream that my art was worse
the posterboards had thick and dirty
foam edges
how am I gonna hide this in a frame?
and that squeaky thing




tiny danseur






is this 'biological clock'?

all the baby dreams
you can hand me that baby






waking up with babies on the brain
and also thinking about
an acquaintance that I wish I knew better

it feels poignant
missing this would-be friend








the poetry in me is skimpy atm

please listen to Debussy,
2 Arabesques: No. 1, Andantino con moto

* * * **** ** *








falling of notes like rain








the humidity weaves a web of mold
in and out and through everything
and it stalks out onto the walls
and the underside of my big desk
fat green leopard print










all of the would-be friends
that I know
and faraway friends

do they wonder about me?




I'm here if they need me
at my spotty desk












we all have passion fatigue
discussing the *current situation in politics*
it seems so blatant, so surreally obvious
the hell and the hand-basket of it all






can we take our government back?
can we make it work for us?
as it never truly has






the mounting tragic dramas of each day
just they themselves are devastating
paired with reckoning with the bitter truth
that we have never been what we say we are
Great U.S.A. the best










there is a type of bug on my desk that I've never seen before
who seems to like Debussy

his movements are extremely fluid
and he tiptoes then pauses, bobbing his head slowly
like a tiny danseur





his antennae cast a shadow
two decorative serifs 
on the white watermarked paper he dances across



















Monday, October 1, 2018

job or baby


PT1

dream I was Andrea's baby
getting woken up continuously
in a dark room
she was bent over me
like in a crib
rubbing my belly
and I was plagued
with the heaviest sleep
I can imagine
or
I was carrying her baby
for her, sleeping on duty
it was partially OK
but it was time for her to lay down
I had to get off the bed
in my sporty clothes,
slightly raised belly &
ankle socks

she was sage-y
reappearing again and
again like a witch
I'm hot and can't breathe and
can't imagine being awake-
job or baby?


PT2

I'm in a car on a scary dark road
with a gun pointed at my face
because it's an area for some
civic duty
I was exempt, tried to show my heavy fur
by pushing my chest forward through
the unbearable sleep
Val Verde or something

when I come here I say hella
and he just writes in with a knife
in toast