i’m gonna marry the night.
take one.
you’re standing in my view,
blonde and happy and somewhat intoxicated
but aren’t we all
the ring on my thumb is rotting my skin
but i can’t take it off
dias de los muertos means too much to my bones
i see a girl standing on the street
leather jacket ready face
why is she alone if she’s so willing?
and then two boys
both v-necked
both clean
why can’t all boys hold hands and not feel awfully ashamed for the
heartbeat time of their hearts
god, god, dear jesus above,
i ask for an explaination
take two.
you’re gone,
disappeared because
he went to bed he has priorities
of which you might be one
but certainly not first and definitely not last
at least something you fall in between
i have fervently asked myself
why am i not you?
but then i see myself
as i stand with cigarette in hand and purposeless
-ness on display
we ask ourselves
does intention ever ask us to go out on a hot summer night
and the answer
is much less than i’d like to write down
it’s only a few words
a few phrases
everyone wants a beautiful eulogy
but death isn’t the glorification of a life
it’s absolutely the end in the most perfect way
you can only die once
but you can beg boys into your bed
again and again
and you can always wonder what you did wrong
time and again
until your skin looks concerned and your eyes
break a sweat
i don’t want another attempt at life
i want another reason to crawl out of bed
on sundays
sundays being the beginning of a new week
and we certainly can’t stop time from crawling along
from the minute hand to the hour
but we can,
and we must,
wonder,
aloud
please speak aloud
why we look the way we choose
and why we hate the way we’re told and
why we fall
on the same pavement
like change is a cloud formation we saw once
at age five
and it’s never existed
again
in all the cosmos
in all the universe
and all the time of all the earth of all the year that have ever passed
take three.
everyone will eventually make it home.
where it isn’t home
but a place we lay our heads and clothes and pretty skirts and
petty dreams
no dream is petty if you dreamt it
honestly
and honestly
we’re all worth a crown of glory
a star in the sky
a kiss well after midnight
we’re all worth a beautiful day
if only we’d wake and say
yes.
i was momentarily incredibly upset because i missed the may 4th deadline for the crab orchard poetry contest. i’m disappointed in myself, because i confused the deadline with a scholarship deadline and either way wasn’t prioritizing and on top of my stuff. however, i did enter the UC poetry contest on time, and even if i get nothing from that, at least i did that one. lesson learned. moving on. don’t be neglectful when it comes to things of this nature. be on top of your stuff, mia.
kingdom come.
honey. angel. sweetheart. other euphemisms for remember my name in the morning
i just wish you’d call.
but not you, a variation on you, a transition in the thought of us, a play on the words
you and i
it’s not enough
it’s never enough to ask for things as they are
and don’t dream of them as they were
but as they ought to be
god damn the way the ought to be
i can’t do what ought to be
i walked home alone tonight
third night in a row
the sound of my sandals slapping the pavement
the sound of my jewelry tapping against itself
you have to wear an awful lot when you’ve got ugly skin
and i ran into boys i love to love and love and pretend to adore
but the truth is
they’ve only just begun to taste the tingle of what’s beyond the pale
pale being the color, not only of her skin, but of your spirit
have some fucking balls, man,
i can’t don’t won’t pretend you’ve got it all figured out
when you can’t even figure the distance between my frontdoor and your
bedroom floor
is this too much for the modern ear?
too much for the contemporary spirit
jesus
jesus christ, who died for my sins and rose again
the rose of sharon for the sake of saving
all us lost souls
god i love you
god i ask you
how did it get to be this bad?
and not my bad, but the bad of the nations of contamination and condemnation and awful spellings of the word salvation
teach us to breath again
it doesn’t have to be this way
i know it doesn’t have to be this way lord
i had the most glorious day filled with sun light and sweat and mild sufferance of wild joy at the sight of a four year old spinning circles just so she could taste the sun
why can’t we just taste the sun?
and burn away the darkest dark of the melancholic lark that won’t sing around the park of souls who want to know if we can sew their sins into a tapestry of light
bring the light
bring the light
bring the light
there’re aren’t candles enough and excuses enough and allowances enough to explain
why the artist sells his fingers in exchange for rings
why the painter sells his eyes in exchange for lenses
why the actors sells his soul in exchange for celerity
honey. angel. sweetheart. other euphemisms for love me after tonight.
i just wish you’d call
us
out.
love don’t cost a thing
but have you looked at the price of
condoms
birth control
eyebrow threading
waxes panties lingerie razors mascara lipstick concealer midriffs
clean sheets dirty pictures confident dresses sensible heels
and don’t even get me started on the morning after pill
it’s a pretty penny for a quickie
and i like my pockets lined.
i say jump, you say ‘how high?’
allowing yourself to be
directed
mercilessly
by the current of the infinite
wouldn’t you rather paddle a few rivers ahead
then drown and drown at the mouth of the falls?
flailing isn’t lovely
but everything isn’t for the aesthetic
everything isn’t encompassing
because no man has seen it all
and those who have wandered
dangerously
carelessly
freely and wildly
beyond the pale
only realize the less and less we know
we, who are we to be a collective of knowledge
rather
a conglomerate of questions
rather
a community of inquiries
spin and turn and dive and float
float along, active in mind mild in body alive in spirit
i long for sinners and saints to write their own credos
post them side by side and notice
(try not to be too shocked)
how similar we seem to be
this isn’t a place for warm-fuzzies
this isn’t a place for hand-holding
it’s a call for mirroring
for looking into the eyes of the enemy and realizing
becoming aware
that his corneas are in the same place as yours
his itch is just as hard to scratch
allowing yourself to be
bullied
mercilessly
by the tides of the infinite
wouldn’t you rather grab this log
and drift along side me
then drown at the mouth of the falls?
we’ve heard this one before.
one hundred and one things i’d say if you lived in my bathroom
i keep having this dream that your dead body is found
in the dark
on the seat of my toliet
and i open the door, around midnight,
no one is ever there but i definitely definitely see you
if i sent you a text saying,
look, i want you and lust after you for no reason at all other than i think the world should be explained to you in technicolor and bright oil paints because all the words and sounds i possess will never be the right melody for the harmony of your skin
don’t be offended
say nothing
reply nothing
few things are ever adequate for these moments
only smile at me tomorrow and say
hi, little one, you should really check your
alcohol intake
god i must be a terribly broken record
or a sad woman worried she smells bad because the man of her hour won’t give her the time of day
jesus
i tried to correct all the consequences of those moments but there isn’t enough concealer and you keep making the same mistake
imagine
i never thought i’d write about you
test the limits of salvation of my salivation over bodies and bodies of what the future holds tight in its small and infinite fists
jesus
jesus
jesus jesus jesus christ
i keep having this dream where everyone is dressed in red and resembles birds of prey
pray for tomorrow
it hasn’t enough sun to illuminate its fears
and fear aplenty is the downfall of many a good artist
a good spirit
a good drink mid-afternoon
i can’t wait for the break of day
anything is better than this
anything is better than you
anything is better than the bitter want for skin solace sunlight
jesus
bring us the sunlight
don’t you dare look out your window.
it’s a beautiful girl walking home alone
it’s a silly girl making a fool of herself
who will play the fool?
me, pick me, please,
i’d like to be first for something.
it’s a drag on a cigarette that didn’t light the first time
it’s the keys clacking on a keyboard
what are you spelling out?
your name your number your sign
sequencial labels that do nothing for your spirit
honey i don’t even like smoking
there’s the secret
there’s the truth
we’re too good of friends to touch each other there
instead take my
what
words sadness idiocy tomfoolery
lover
i’m a poet
here to chronicle your happening
i’m nothing but happenstance
an instance you didn’t plan for
dear lord jesus the word known to all men
isn’t lust or love or the lascivious way you smiled at her
so young and ready and wanting
it’s prominence
it’s promise
it’s all the tomorrows locked deep tight safe and sound in the holy
of her holies the saint of sodomy the tomorrow of yesterday
listen
i understand my function
i’m some level of a futile historian of things that have already happened to hundred of thousands of us us being the same version of twenty somethings that have existed since the invention of the cellphone
don’t speak to me in absolutes
don’t speak to me at all
signs and symbols and omens of ages that looked for the future in the guts innards livers of birds are what i lust after
i lust
actively
it’s a verb
i lust for these things
it
we keep talking about it
and what is it?
what is it?
what is the word known to all man don’t use my name and joyce’s in the same sentence he invented stream of continuity stream of contingency stream of malcontent
now would be the perfect time to ask yourself
what does she mean
not nothing not nobody not never or no or how
god i really hate you but not you and it should be dislike hate is far too strong for anything other than a war front
sing the harmonies
it’s a beautiful girl walking home alone
it’s a beautiful boy you don’t have the courage for
or stamina
it’s the long silence between hand holding
it’s the last thought before a dream
who will play the fool?
me, pick me,
i’d like to be first
for the fall.
they call me thumper!
let me eat popcorn off the floor,
let me cook a few kernels more
or better still, better yet,
let me propose we never met.
we never kissed we never sang we never spat
no one came
the little illusion this
little lie
becomes the perfect alibi for
all the days you walk my way
and i pretend not to see or
say
hello out there
how do you do
remember when you loved me too
i don’t work in rhyme, but here’s the thing,
just this time it seemed to bring
an element of poise and class
even a level of iconoclast
to what we did
and all we didn’t
to whose bed is moving
and whose
isn’t
i think that’s all
i think i’m done
now we can begin to
go gone
and act as though it never was
never will be
never
‘cause
i want to eat popcorn off the floor
while you want a few kernels more
and my metaphors are meek and mild
but what you demand
far
too
wild
