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.

the big circle

a butterfly is hit by a car
its yellow powder
left on the windshield

day moon looms over the road
the fat circle shines

on people soon hidden
as they pass under a low bridge

and life moves forward as dead
leaves blow across the ground
piling into ditches

July 4th

floating on our backs
following the flight
of the dragonfly

with soft eyes
back and forth

too much homemade ice cream
in our bellies

we dance until we almost
puke, and twirl on the floor
on our butts

we want to be free of something
the heavy
pressing
darkness

so we light things on fire
and laugh at ourselves

hey you

I remember you with Jim Beam
in hand,
ready to pop my cherry
just like I wanted.

Blue eyes, dark brown hair
sculpted features
you talked about nothing
while we drank from the bottle.

Upstairs, we "did it"
on my futon; don't remember
what I said, maybe "I love you."
It's possible.

I do remember you said
"I don't love you" as you
literally ran down the stairs,
out to your station wagon.

At 18, I thought it was love;
I never heard from you again,
and here you are:
(the internet's a scary place
sometimes)

Chiropractor practice with your
wife, losing your hair,
same eyes.
Can't help but wonder
if you even remember.

I'm not that screwed up

caught up in crap
and particles and
vomit

I unfurl unleash unbutton
unzip undo

miscellaneous vices
(love sex too much,
don't want to be ignored)
keep me tied, fettered
to the floor

there are factory parts,
(my toes and my elbows
get in the way)
and it's hard to get
out of so much packaging

but it's too bad the sky
won't open up
and swallow you

meditation on men

You caught me meditating
but I couldn't do it
hard enough to get you out
of my sponge of a heart.

You didn't realize it meant
thorns and vines and prickly
pear feelings.

I never had much control
over my own thoughts
and listening to you
was like listening
to the last man

that caught my attention
in a crowd of bones and
skin and fat growing around my
all-encompassing waist.

Though I'll be meditating
again
on the last one
that got away or
never looked at me that
way,

my tattooed arms,
the flowers growing from
my shoulders mean
I still won't wilt.

Needmore Road

You peer into the darkness
listening to this river;
"It's really high tonight,
way over the banks."

But you keep staring at it
until the sun comes up,
like it's gonna go away

talking about the tree
that used to be over there
growing above the water,
how you climbed it.

About walking through the river,
about being there with
Michael and Holly

and how this mountain laurel,
(you point), and that rhododendron
and that kudzu weren't there before.

You tell me how you signed a petition
to keep them from paving the road
next to this river.

And how you rode bikes 6 miles
down this road with your neighbor.

How you want to stay here
get so drunk here you
sleep on a hollow log.