Thursday, March 28, 2019

Celebrating Young People's Gender, Sexual Diversity and Self-Expression Pt 1

sitting in baggy clothes
refreshments behind me
something like a mermaid purse
of trauma materialized 
holding the black puddle of
of socialization 
an eyepatch

the terms start stirring
my mirror phase
my mom’s body
the chat rooms
some heinous checkpoints
of dismissing my 
healthy body 
with the solid mask
of function and
rocklike love

Thursday, March 21, 2019

also as well

I keep getting this
baby feeling
in my new apt
like, I am one

I like how in certain settings
“sugars” is a unit
how many sugars?
it cracks me up

I dreamt about quiet lanky H
who says “woooo”
who loves coffee, watches,
and puting beads in the fish tank
I dreamt that she was a vampire
and I woke up heartbroken

The Butterfly Is Implied

The Butterfly Is Implied

Jacob playing his set 
giant clam shell hands 
illuminated from below 
the space between each finger on the keyboard
is like the rippled edge of a shell
like Venus emerges from

between songs he gives a treatise on existing 
linking so many symbols
masks, larva (the butterfly is implied)

how we are nothing but each other 
I am what I have
and I think of
my hearts not in me, it’s where they all are
he also says
don’t shit talk on death, it’s the special sauce that makes everything taste delicious
and I feel so connected in that moment
so alive for a second

I can’t help how sentimental I am
am I foolish
for making the connections 
symbols and signs so comfortable and juicy
I used to draw mask after mask
and I was larva, of course

Green Wave is a song after Jamie’s Green Wave
I recently found the poem of his by the same name that must have been the basis for the song
its about surfing
he also compares himself to a spider in the ocean
in a way eerily similar 
to the way my Green Wave does

I can’t help it
the knot in my throat at those synchronicities
I resent being treated young and foolish 
by the practical people around me

it’s crazy that we are older now
than Jamie ever was
to be older than a big brother
death is the special sauce 

I worry about my knot throat ways
what if they could they tip 
into an illness
like my mom’s, like Jacob’s mom’s
I feel so abstract so often 
nothing behind my face

can’t grasp the physical enough 
to stay in
or hang out
I will never know enough 
about books or basketball 
flowers or history 
and I worry about the egoism of art

I want to be the heartbalm
I want to be the stairstep
I want to be all of them, out there
reflect beauty back at the world  
it’s all there and there’s nothing there

I want to be free
but I love how fences look, too
just moments, just glimmers, right?

the ocean in Santa Cruz
the butterflies in the trees
on the way to meet my sister’s baby
the sparkling arc 
a spiral continues

and I think of Jamie’s quote about how
deciding the world is too sad to bring children into 
just allows it to be so
and how we have to continue to believe
that we can live and laugh in the sun

and, anyway

the sun is the best artist 

July b storm/love letter

I want to be joined by her.

expensive velcro

walking up a grassy hill at dusk

up and down some grassy hills

to arrive at a twinkling vista

tidy and warm

marzipan layers master crafted

treats in convincing shapes

a coloring book

filled in with chimes

I want to linger against her 

most delicate bangers

simple and perfumey

by the way 

I weep at each bullet point

Do you like the way it feels to be asleep?

read her tracklist like a beauty supply

from the parallel universe 

studded with colder verbs

and elegant trappings

Things Just Die

so merrily but a dream

joke's on him, probably


drooping spirals 

Thursday, March 14, 2019

Wednesday, March 6, 2019

gray vs zest

the shimmy light on buildings 
don't you hate when the turn signal 
jams a bit like you hurt it?
I drive bad and slow to take pics in this light
wind chimes, metal flowers, a weber grill chained to a fence

abruptly pull over to visit Colonial Iron Works
favorite storefront
a big display window (with its own weird victorian roof)
proudly baring a symmetrical presentation
of stair railings and a gate, painted white
a beautiful installation
I love it because it's like jewelry for buildings

there is a long driveway on the left side it turns out
bricks and dusted over warehouse windows
leading to a parking area and the entrance on the side
gravel and a fence in the back right up against the train tracks
there is a minivan parked there 
with four kids in it?
waiting for their ironworker dad to get off work?

no one at the front desk, dusty windows
all the high counters and walls are 1970s brown 
nothing hung up, no pictures or weird certificates
just shadows cast by the serifs, swirls and flowers

even though I logically know
it's impossible for me to remember
that after the garbage feeling 
comes another daisy moment

the spicy difference between 
gray and 
that I can't control
makes me believe in
brain chemistry
like today 
looking at a metal flower
is different than yesterday or tomorrow

but maybe it's not just me
the dogs at the park act differently
smiling, playing nicely, the conditions are right
I take my trip group to the contemporary art museum
and everyone is in the best mood
greeting Linda the security guard like an old friend
all three exhibitions are fucking beautiful
a rush, a wave

keep the daisy feeling

**** ******* & yet

after one therapy session
I was bored
and out
45 bones
so now I'm soaking up
the new student trials
of the new neighborhood
yogahaus vinyassa classe
packages there is
a sunglasses bitch
with several beverages
showing me her stomach
what else was I thinking

adding a can of fish to
the vegan noodles
I will always choose
corner of any bed or
classroom any bite
should be a corner

* *** ***** **** *******
** * ********* ***
that night
aware of my patchy lipstick
and fresh pimples
singing for who
just dropping the mic
smirking drinking
the glow of my list,
hiding in it
life in my list
referencing it
to die in my diary
dear Livy...

catch me
from the gaggle
everyone's afflictions
and yet I text
and text
& yet & yet
it's mesh

it seemed to be
a whole thing
a puffy, simple
bubble moment
where he noticed me
and we talked
kept tabs
you cut your hair
where are you
gonna be tonight

easy, here

the woman trying
so hard
to chew with her mouth closed
or is it just in her blood
the make up
imagine food falling out
my heart breaks the same
falling down
simple steps
running out
of ways to say it

the ladies who
try to look better than
even the world
the background sucks
-- not nature, but
the suckerdom is major
and never fails to shock
my softcore system

the mountain is beautiful
kind of small
like a pocketbook

& basic system:

you live and then you die
so you might as well be happy
try to argue, ha
I cry

something I do, taking
something away from who I am?

the drawings
the pictures
the morning dew on my phone

I think again of this certain moment
before being awake
when thoughts are irrelevant
distant, passing clouds
tomorrow's weather

when traveling
when reeling

to wake up empty

imagine this poem
or finishing itself
in scraps
the spindly shreds
of collage, swept
into the trash

the border of a sticker sheet