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

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

</3

drooping spirals 

My Vagabond's Book

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 

zest 

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
longer

**** ******* & 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
Me
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
grapefruit
the glow of my list,
hiding in it
life in my list
referencing it
to die in my diary
dear Livy...

catch me
splintering
from the gaggle
everyone's afflictions
blurring
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
thumps

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?
never

the drawings
the pictures
the morning dew on my phone
revolting

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
wilting
or finishing itself
in scraps
the spindly shreds
of collage, swept
into the trash

the border of a sticker sheet

Tiring/Cool Process

I'm laughing but
feeling fat youth teacher
with comfortable footwear
discreet, some remnants of
style: bleached socks,
several piercings, a stud-
my new name is
contagious
down the line
Mrs (!)
Turtle
duck duck
turtle
Mrs. Turtle
they call me
my sagging
heat-tech turtleneck
holes in the elbows
under the dress
how much more
discreet can I be
and for how much
longer?
we did just learn
tools for blending/
how slow and steady
wins the race and
I do have new
running shoes
now will I dance
or eat

Angel's Laundromat

dream about walking around downtown Oakland
felt like Beijing
lots of convenience stores w/ elaborate
displays
mirrored towers with
goods for sale on each tier
kinda like the boardwalk game
where you throw hard baseballs
at glasses on rotating displays
movie theaters with mirrored marquees
Broadway had two segments
Regular Broadway and Freek Broadway
which started after an angle in the road
I turned onto Freek Broadway and the waters edge
was right there
the dark bay rising, waves lapping a beautiful beach
sunset moving, I got out my phone to take a pic
the water rushed up to my feet through
the ice plants surprising me
nearly dropped my phone
I talked to someone on the street about
how growing up there it used to be more green
like global warming dried it up




I have a recurring destination in my dreams
it's always a little different but it's
an inn at the end all the beaches in Santa Cruz
there is this old inn, turn of last century look
brick/stone castle looking old timey resort
like the Sutro Baths in SF kind of
one time I went to a store on the ground floor
to buy a greencard? they also sold jeans and undershirts
one time I went to restaurant there, like Italian fancy type
it is a destination I know so well like I lived there
back in time





the way Santa Cruz hugs the curve of the coastline
is kind of like Naples
on the map

A Disability History of the United States

I like when people ask
What time have you got?
Like they’re acknowledging
it’s different for everyone

back pain dance

Stretch your arms straight out
from your shoulder sockets
Out on either side of you
Like an airplane
Make small circles
With your hands
Keeping everything rigid
Strengthening the shoulders in the sockets
Do this for a while
Circling both forwards and backwards

Then
Bend your arms at 90 degree angles
Elbows parallel to the floor
Palms facing front
And rotate your torso and arms
Left
Then right
Swinging back and forth
With your legs staying in place
Feet hip distance apart
Try it while
Moving your elbows to different heights
Above and below

funk wines

raisin with a floral curl
the sexy strip of
red carpet
to the kitchen
my ass feels huge
delivering the flaky
butter bread shes loves
the hefty furniture

is the bowl food safe is
the wall paint safe
poisoned is the lifer
making people eating
feel consume-y safe

to talk spiritual-y
in an interview
or a crit, always
beating around
the burning bush
as if it's not central
as if I have anything
else?
-
 -
  -
qualifiable
to offer

it's just some kind of
Craft, she can tell you
what it's like but mostly
how well it works

exhausted by the casting
I arrange the representative
chunks, the proof
is in the puzzle she can
tell you it pays off
with no need to blend in
to the nighttime restaurant
I can't dress clean
stress, free
the skin on my knees

Here My Love

sadly everything 
is spending money still
everything
both fun and not
so thoroughly embroiled in it
mechanized
a cog in the neighborhood 
in the city in the state 
in the country in the world
remember those children's books,
ZOOM? no words just drawings
zooming out and out and out

in the dark AM driving to work
Friday, soft day
all the dusty rectangular holes 
that were chiseled in the 
road on my commute route
for pipe maintenance? who knows
were filled will soft tar
driving over them finally 
was like a bandaid 
heart balm 
for my emo soul

a perfect curve match

the first days in a new apt
new neighborhood
are absurd like a dream
getting into bed
on the ground, no frame yet
looking up from the floor
at the height of the windows
like, do I live here?
is this allowed?
interfacing with new
faces on the street, like
may I walk here?
is it ok?

everything in our
apt is a color
table cloth - red
bathroom - yellow
yoga mat - green
dishes - blue
glasses - rainbow
brim when I look

the curved walls are
just the right amount of
playful but not intrusive
we keep getting things
for cheap and free
a desk a table
everything fits so
satisfying
the backs of the chairs
are a perfect curve match
with the round table top

the chairs from a front yard in rural PA
on the way back from camping in spring
there were tons of them
standing and laying sideways
in long green grass by a mailbox
pressing the grass down to show
the darker underside of the blades
you know that summer feeling
...I want to lay down in the grass
but we have to get back to town...
'70s saloon looking chairs
laying in the grass like
covered wagon cast offs

Dose Park

what about my fantasies
of moist climates
wine cellars where
mushrooms grow
on corks

what's my problem
wanting to fuck all
the wet landscapes
at certain times of day

the whole park was my eye
misty and low

and I want to run into
some kind of hug
but I won't call

I see me
a winter character
puffy coat
here for the last time




the park
it is my eye and also
Mima, all of it
she's the entire place
and I'm hit anew
for the ___ time

I want to ask her how
much she liked this park
as much as me?

I've always run here
from home run away
or biked in any weather
looking for a hug but also
for me




what's an unbroken lap?
the fog today is big but sheer
like it's only for the park
outlined by the path





here is where the mushrooms --
here is where the trees
animate, in the hot green (past)
all the points on the path
have these strings




the day of a late flight out
is something like someone
correcting my posture
with a string pulling up
but more like an abduction

something that's unbroken?

Small Nature

the softly rippling pond

reflecting winter trees 

in the water

the branches have small berries

how much damage would I do 

sliding down this small fall

the sloped rock is just so

metallic and inviting

I trip on a stone

at the same moment

Tara's S pops in my ear

I come here every day

oh if I could

new year same ish

oh how I love
being at the mercy of me
until I become suicidal
which means turning
the word over and
dragging my feet up the stairs
hair all bad

I took Cinnamon to the vet
at 4:30 pm
does the light stay any longer
since the solstice?
a minute or so I can sense
the tiniest slice of time
the whole thing feels
a bit dusty, Mima gone
Cinnamon age 14
a domestic medium hair
they feel her belly and
she's patient and
I'm proud,

and I'm grown

it was one of those beautiful,
short winter days
that slip away like
a sip of water

wake up in the morning
the sky spotted, shiny
something on the other side
run the tap a sip and
it's evening,
I resign

M.S.Ed.

researching Masters in Ed graduate programs
is making me want to cut my own head off
like just snap my own neck
and watch my head roll away
because I don't think I can do it
but also rises in me
the desire for those letters of the alphabet
tacked on to my name
that dignified U Penn
to elevate my fumbly jumbly
Sarah Lawrence BA
fuck
I really hate school

Tetilla

I want to write down the names 

of all of the mountains around Santa Fe

Sangre de Cristo

Cerillos

Ortiz

La Tetilla

Jemez

and the hill to find our house by

Cerro de la Cruz

our hill

as a teenager

mom could march out the back door

through cholla and desert sage

straight up to the top of the rocky hill

without a single property or fence in her way

now you have to walk along the frontage road

past scrappy houses

yards with the big gates open

and the dogs in them knowing not to leave

and lots of trailers for sale

to get to our hill

our hill, our dreams

my grandma named the house

Nuestros Sueños

so corny but it’s like Mrs. Ramsay

in To The Lighthouse

musing about seeing oneself in inanimate things

finding solace in that

claiming the beams of light from the lighthouse 

as herself, her beams

I want to be connected to those mountains

I want to share something with them

their immutability

their command of the landscape

they belong there, and I so want to belong

I like that Tetilla means breast

but the shape isn’t a crazy huge breast

just a slight one like mine

it’s affirming that it's...

worthy of the name breast?

and I think, of course this place

would be affirming of that

Hatha with Nora

I wish I was reliving a dream right now
at noon, reading it back even a bad one
there's something nourishing,
knot-opposite in the waking reflection
on loss of control

this morning I picked Ocean
as the life-affirming source
to meditate on
it was a glitching thing
the way my vision of the sea
was spliced with dirty life
flickering away from me

touching my neighbor's fingers
in a voluntary twist

crying given the chance
just to think of the ocean

cvs 2018

bleeding all over self-checkout
from an orange papercut red
blood hope no one thinks I
put my pack of gum on top
the drops I'm laughably nasty

what if I was making them up
an infestation hallucination
a prompt
just sucking my time's blood

BS Dust

Hannukah came and went

as it does

a quirky background/

alt idea for December

the little girls I babysit

shitting on the random Jewish holidays

that they get school off for

no one even celebrates them 

someone should at least tell the kids

what, why, etc.

I would love the most

adult job

to balance my time spent

with children

something 21+

something not just any warm 

body could do

any scarecrow

dream ad

I’m watching a 1970s
advertisement for a brand of wigs
a woman with strawberry blonde
feathered wig on a pinkish backdrop
snow is falling in big perfect flakes around her
and the tag line says
See How Naturally It Falls
referring to both the snow and her wig

Peace ROSE

the stamps I bought to mail our checks
to pay for our apt
PEACE ROSE
they say
with v vaginal pink rose image

mundanity woes
sitting in traffic
googling atms
to deposit cash
making myself
carsick

everyone’s yelling
when I get home
it’s very
relaxing

song song

this morning pulling into
the parking lot at work
there was a song of a sunrise
waiting for me to see it
pull right up to it
yellow mixed with faintest blue
angel singing clouds
so this is east

at the Little Ladies exhibit of Victorian fashion dolls
there was the tiniest pocket watch
tiny clock on one end then a gold chain
leading to a tiny five-petaled flower
on the tiny other end
what is it with that miniature feeling
it's like the way these letters look
on this page
could even break my heart

 t
  i
n
 y

the accessories are the best
better than the dresses
tiny hairbrush, mirror
sewing kit, earrings

I dented my car on a concrete
pillar in the parking lot
of the museum
big crunch
my car is not so tiny
not so tiny as I thought
in that moment

after work, turning back onto my street
the sun again
setting right at the end of my block
like another song
and that is west
a cartoon bookended day

like I just bop in my car
work east home west
jump into some striped pajamas
turn out the light and
go to sleep
with tiny z's

Orange Paper 4:30 am

we were going to the sea
me and my mind?
we saw J laying on a plastic bench
a gusty ferry deck
I'd seen this as a photo before
he had a small Italian sister
who I had just gotten to know

later I was on a walk
down Via Marisol
I picked up one of those
basic, poison berries
and ate it

I had to babysit at 1 pm
but I was on a time strike
so there was no way to know
if I'd be late

I gagged and spit the berry
onto the sidewalk
now transformed into
basically, tar

was I with my mind or
was I my mind?

later
I threw some kind of linen
onto my mom's big brass bed
and inspected the duvet crumbs
for bugs

was my mom my mind?

I woke up with a scratchy throat
(poison berry)

lavender kashmir

do you ever feel like
a slave to your hormones?
so taken on a ride
at this point when I’m feeling good
I just wait
for the rug to get pulled out from under me

there are castles and
mansions all over Pennsylvania
its wild you can just bump into them

Tuesday, Dream Map contd.

I was in Italy with
Dad, Jake, Maris
I knew lots of people there
we were on a kind of train car
with low walls on very narrow tracks
between two bodies of water
it became a rollercoaster ride
a big stomach drop

Flannery delivered to me
a funny piece of reflector
something for safety

I wasn't alone in wishing
I was alone

without knowing all the people

someone thought blown out

I saw gravel coming up and
remembered my shoes were
two hours away
which is close sometimes
but not for shoes

I thought
a concentration camp
is 4 hours away

Europe, crumbly,
women, sleeping,
disappointment, marriage

a spam call from NJ
woke me up from
Part 1 of this dream
that I really wanted to stay in
I can see the shapes
but no faces, no content
something was beautiful
or someone, a good prospect
a feeding?

Part 3:
Sex in the City
Lenu goes to
Sarah Lawrence

Jefferson Park, Pasadena

paid but a smidge
in the dark library
I show her r crumb
she is unphased
I read audre and look at
addictedMEapartments
pictures of carpet on other
screens

parked illegally in the right lane
on this big street at rush hour/
happy hour I wait
my car hazards flashing
I imagine someone
driving straight into it
crushing it like a soda can
the thought hurts my body


Mind-Body Class for 5th graders

anatomy
cross section/layers
biodegradable doll making
self-portraits
shapes
clothing
mind-body wigs
chair
body extensions
pillows
safety costume
casting
digestion
exquisite corpse
cake body
clay organs
draw on skin
date/coconut bodies
doll burial
pea shoots in grave

l'isola

the line of fur on
my dog's stomach
like a seam on a stuffed
animal also he is a pink
spotted piglet

looks like he's buried in the sand
at the beach I can't 
think about you driving off to leave 
barely awake
to take a little nap 
while the road is straight...

I start to sing in my head
because Cowboy is
always languid at night
like a sunbather
and his coloring like
a sandy melon

Sunday Sun Down

it happens so fast
this time of year
the light goes
inside one of these
beautiful, curated homes
I change my mind to
match it

the kid hasn't napped
and begins to resent me
with the night

I putz around
explaining Hannukah
set off by the lit fireplace
and family casually
swirling

I leave their world, paid
for another luxurious apartment
a party with a wine table

we play dreidel

put one in
take half
take everything
or nothing

--

what will home do?
affirm loss?
postpone an exorcism?
dad's getting married?

I've lost my appetite
with each bug
dead or alive
we need that dog to tell us
give that dog a job

in over my head and folded
like dirty laundry

but it's the morning
so I try and do a spine stretch the right way
to stave off defeat

transform self-pity
into an exhale

le scarpe

Andrea Zittel in a 2001 interview
in Bomb Magazine says
she's very organized but she hates cleaning
because it just undoes itself
the semblance of activity
but nothing is actually made

I cleaned too much today
the kitchen in the morning just to use it
the living room
literally cleaned the ashes
out of the fireplace like Cinderella
(oh poor me)

the women in Ferrante world
are always setting tables
ironing shirts
Lenu studies so she won't have to
but those things are given such weight
such importance

Consideration

I actually fell
wearing the baby
a puffy green bruise
on my knee, the baby
doesn't mind, smiles
the bruise gives me
a fever and I think
of new shoes

I dream of new pants
listless, molasses
aversed to work
a hot slog through
a denim dream, a loop
cargo pockets
tight on my ass
falling perfectly
at my new?
shoes




Dream of holding a baby at the bar where everyone worked- Jake, Khae, Jooki...it was family style. The baby bundle in all black, it was worrisome. I considered getting a job. 

windflower

do you know what I mean?
the vertical sidewalks of winter
my legs in tights my feet in loafers
I'm tiny out there
it's paralyzing
force myself to walk my dog
it's not so bad
but far from special




Saturday mornings I wake up and avoid
the big house for as long as possible
look up how to make Korean style grilled mackerel
listen to Pharaoh Sanders
feel the sun on my skin through our window
does anyone else feel trapped on a Saturday?
I know everything I want to do
but I can't cut out a space for it
dot dot dot

spill

I can't write just one line

I have to spill

my therapist encourages my interest in cleaning houses 

I reread "A Manual For Cleaning Women"

spill spill

untenable winter, everything dark

"The future is dark, which is the best thing the future can be, I think."

when I get home from work

it's like the sidewalks have gone vertical outside

I have to keep still to be safe

go for walks

Mary told us a a riddle 
or was it a clue from a cross word?

it turns into another story

the answer is

a spiral staircase

I’m enchanted by that

walking the road behind Kayla’s house
behind this urban place 

with some shops on a strip

it mysteriously curves
slopes up and around 
to a beautiful LA vista

a surprise rural canyon
rolling hills empty and gold 
a couple pointy junipers
and dry yellow grass

climbing the clean sidewalk is like
marble
a spiral staircase in a fairytale castle

up into air smelling like eucalyptus, magnolia

we've been singing songs from 
Snow White and Pinocchio all day

I'm weeesshinng
walking in a wispy wonderland

pink sunset then mist over the moon

we talk about Rebecca Solnit’s essay

on Virginia Woolf’s “darkness”

it's about walking, and hoping
and her "the future is dark" quote

we keep singing 
I'm weeesshinng
I'm weeshing
between talking
and I do wish
I do hope

Twin Star 60 PCS Oneida Flatware Never Used Vintage SHINY

I wonder if all my poems are household poems

they're all about plants grooming bedding

the things that keep me going

in anticipating moving I'm collecting dining things

a pink glass dinnerware set

a red glass dinnerware set

both say "MADE IN FRANCE"

a marbled blue and white enamel dinnerware set

all the sets have 4 dinner plates 4 salad plates 

4 bowls 4 cups

also the 4 Mexican clay dishes

with painted white and green flowers

that I bought at the freaky flea market in MD

and 8 thin bubble colored goblets 

with clover shaped mouths 

and the type of hollow stem that holds liquid

they remind me of Glenda the Good Witch 

I just ordered a 60 piece silverware set 

the 1960s "Twin Star" design by Oneida 

I can't stop thinking about how nice 

it will be to host with them

it keeps me going truly I am fantasizing 

about the day we can go to Wing Phat Plaza

and buy a humongous bag of rice

and thinking about buying bulk dry goods

for my pantry

for a kitchen where I can obsess about minimizing waste

where I will never use paper towels and will have

all matching kitchen towels 

that I wash once a week

call me crazy but 

I feel infinite peace thinking about it

Sunday Prompt: A Household Poem

A Household Poem

sounds like it's something

for everyone in the house to hold

like a household dog

something shared

I imagine it on the fridge

it could be like rules or

a chore chart cooking

has been reheating

recently

I think of the old Christian Guys

who founded Hermon scary

around the fireplace in 1912

rats probably maybe harmony

my grandma's pet rat Georgia 

lived on her kitchen counter

she was tan and white with

red eyes and now I need

clorox wipes

my grandma has already

visited me in every dream

I've almost given up on 

sleeping don't count on it

need to cushion the ends

of it with pillows but

they are still suffocating

in garbage bags outside

which reminds me

I need to take out the trash

tonight

tonight's sleep cushioned 

on either end with the 

grumbling of trash can

wheels and then the

chaos of garbage truck

it's hard to believe 

they don't crush cars

with the claws

yesterday, I read a children's book

called Trashy Town

there was a lot of repetition and

it was about a real garbage man 

named Mr. Gibby

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 

RR

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

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 dramas of each day
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