when we run

we are going towards Light
and not towards each other
but
parallel

you know things I am only learning
you run with me anyway

she said, "when you see someone
running next to you, then you'll know"

and as we run
the Light gets stronger
we bend to It

It wraps around us
vines around our fragile
fearful
hearts

fruitful, blooming,
branching to Light

When the dog barks in her sleep it makes me think of you.

I can't divide the pillow into
any more sections now.

There are only so many soft parts,
and it feels like I've got something
extra attached to my throat already.

I am wading through soggy fields
waiting for a sign.

The wet ground makes me angry
sometimes, cause it's cold.

I can't sleep like that.
I don't want to wake up to nothing.

When the moon falls out of the sky
I will see something
in the darkness I never knew.

It will have a name like Isaiah.
One I can roll around in my mouth.

I won't have to look at you when I
brush my teeth in the morning.

I won't have to whisper your name
at night.

I will have my own name.

while the cookies bake

when the floor isn't hard anymore,
and when it's difficult to get up
you dance in between my legs

I tell you I don't need any lessons
on how to do these things
I know which toes to paint

and how to hold your head up
just like your mommy did
when you were a little baby

the fan in the window hums
we stomp to the music
then lie on our backs

on the cold hard floor
which isn't cold or hard anymore
and you tell me you won't

eat raw cookie dough
cause you might get salmonella
and I tell you

that's the risk we take sometimes
to enjoy this life
and you drink another glass

and have already forgotten what I said

If I could,

I'd write a letter to you
with my feet that says,

"I wrote this with my feet,
because my hands aren't good enough
for you."

but then again, neither are my feet.


OR

If I could,
I'd write a letter to you
with my feet that says,

"I wrote this with my feet
because my hands are too good
for you."

but then again, so are my feet.

to Rufus

When I listen to you
I taste it--hard,
like dessert on the sidewalk:

bananas foster,
homemade pancakes,
tortilla recipe on tattered paper
in the new grass.

There's your lips,
and your face is soft
like a violin song.

When the dandelion grows
easily through the cracks,

it's a sweet reminder
that there are some things
we can never leave behind.

on being serious

Cram all the fear
into one big cardboard box
about the size of a fridge.

Stand on it soapbox style.

Scream until your lungs
fall apart, your lips crack,
your nose runs, eyes water.

Form these words with your fingers:
little little little me.

Take a piece of dental floss, and
tie it around your heart.

When the time comes for death,
(you've squeezed your heart too hard)
you can post on your facebook:
"Oh yeah, most of that didn't even matter."

After you die,
Spraypaint the box with the letters
L*O*V*E

Maybe then you'll be able to laugh at yourself.

in the corridor

on the bridge, in the road
she waits, dirty clothes
lice infested scalp
thief of dumpster food

waits for her turn
waits in the long line of life
for now

and when she talks to him
she cries
she cries every day
drips down overgrown eyelashes

and when he asks her why she
cries, she says she doesn't see
how everyone doesn't cry
every day

and she is black and white
in a world of color

people with earphones
drowning her image


and her throat is closed
elongated neck
a knife in the wrong place
and she waits

sitting in the hallway
listening to the cars
smelling the piss-covered streets

she waits in the subway
until there is no more time

it's 13 o'clock, and she has
to move her feet, has to get
out of the line

wash it
and get out of the hall
out of the door
has to baptize herself in the bay

Chocolate Chip Conundrum

As I sit here with melted chocolate on my face, I think about the strangeness of my life. I can pretty much do anything I want, within reason of my budget, which means hang out at my house and make chocolate chip oatmeal cookies...and go on the internet. My oh my...I read about all of my friends on facebook that are married, have kids, and full-time jobs, PhD's, dual income households, or are at least in the process of getting these things. I've noticed that I tend to fret a lot about what I DON'T have lately than count my blessings.

Is it just me, or do the people who can handle kids and 60 hr a week jobs and all sorts of other responsibilities of the "real world" blow your mind too??? I want all of those things, but I can barely keep up with life without burning the cookies because I sat online too long doing nothing and forgot them! I can't keep up with mowing the lawn while my landlord, who is in his 60's at least, can keep all of his land (acres and acres with like 100 goats and a horse and a bunch of cows) mowed and his animals fed and still works on his rental properties...

I mean, I know we do what we have to do, right?...but what if we don't have to do anything? I have trouble even making myself do anything. Why am I not motivated to do things for myself? I always feel like when I had "someone" I was more motivated. I cleaned the house, exercised, and being in love made me, um...rosy and bright...or at least that's how I remember it.

Maybe it's just been so long since I was in love I have some elevated idea of what it was. Either way, I know I need to get my own shit together. I feel like I'm lost in my own head, selfish, but still not taking care of myself like I should. I could pretend like all I need is someone else, but I know there is something else. I feel like all of my friends have what I want, but I know that's oversimplifying things...a lot probably.

So here I am, wiping the chocolate off of my face, trying not to eat all the cookies, and planning for a better day tomorrow, and trying to look more toward God for the answer to my conundrum.

random things to do

Laugh at the bandits filling their
bags with the loot of years.

Lose track of time on purpose.

See Jesus
in a piece of toast.

Take pictures in a junkyard.

Let a goat eat your raincoat.

getting out

In a corner, looking up 9 stories, I contemplate
my death, and the brakes squeak here as people
talk trash walking across a dirty street.
Get on your toes, and don't forget to eat the
leftovers.

Don't talk to me that way because you might
not be ready for the wrath or the glue
that gets us stuck together- little bodies, big heart.
Squat like you've never been that low to the ground
before. Whip hips and bend until you see the details
on the wooden floor. Lines and crevices, red for my
hair and navy for my nails.

Mean and pushy, you catch
my flaws, I'll catch yours-what else are friends for?
What is in between your ears? Under your skin?
Between your thighs? You can't even smile at me
like the sides of your mouth have no muscles.

Shift your feet and your eyes...it's easier to
do these things simultaneously. Don't get behind
my back unless I know you are there, voices and all.
In a corner, there is nowhere to go but out.