Tuesday, November 13, 2012


I am doing that thing again
that hamster on the wheel
when I could be doing other things again
that why do I care more than you thing I do again
a part of me thinks I am preconditioned
pre you before me conditioned
and if you can’t see me
then maybe I am not there
it’s not a charmed life
but there you have it
and there is not enough Cuervo
or Corona
to make this less mirage
make it less painful
make it less than the nothing
it was in its inception
and I imagine myself
sometimes sitting shotgun
to this bad ass lesbian
who knows what the fuck she is doing
we pretend not to notice each other
not to see the us in our eyes
every once in a while we slide
our eyes center see
that we resemble each others intentions
notice we own the same name
the same hands with rings
look away before we get too familiar
if you can’t see me
the way I can’t see me with you
I am pretty sure I am not there

Sunday, November 04, 2012


Before and After

sunlight streaming
through my windows
brightly colored trees
feeling strange
lab specimen
under microscope
murderers and thieves
landscape shift
disappointment pours
waiting to crash
chunks of conversation
heard out of order
hardwood floor
beneath my feet
unanswered questions
stuck in my throat
guilty reflections
in my mirror
distortion of motion
frozen in time
cutting eyes
ironed out expressions
grin misplaced
a smile missing teeth
scars adjusted
darkness has passed
scars adjusted
a smile missing teeth
grin misplaced
ironed out expressions
cutting eyes
frozen in time
distortion of motion
in my mirror
guilty reflections
stuck in my throat
unanswered questions
beneath my feet
hardwood floors
heard out of order
chunks of conversation
waiting to crash
disappointment pours
landscapes shift
murderers and thieves
under microscope
lab specimen
feeling strange
brightly colored trees
through my window
sunlight steaming

Saturday, November 03, 2012


Salem South (3/30)

When he came home for lunch that day, it was just lunch.
Not an event that would leave seventeen families nomads.
It was just lunch. I am sure he did not mean to leave the skillet

used to fry burger, well done smoldering on burner. It was just
lunch. Not some event that would lead to devastation.
Just lunch. When the stay at home moms and dad saw
the smoke signals, when they broke down the door.

Someone must have panicked.
Someone must have panicked.
Everyone knows you do not throw water on a grease fire.
Everyone knows that, right?

Someone threw water on a grease fire and the
flames crawled up the walls like a rash. Seeking higher

purchase. Seeking attic space full of oxygen. Fire loves
oxygen that is how it learns to breathe out loud. Seventeen
families will lose everything. Sixteen families will loose everything.
The seventeenth family will recover some.

There is nothing more frightening than light bulbs exploding
and firemen demanding that you leave. My brother and I
made twin bed canoe stowed precious belongings inside
rode it down the stairs. Exiting.

It all went up. All went up in flames over lunch.
We sat on canoe bed refuge eating the Jell-O my sister saved.
Watched all we had burn. Watched water rise to levels
that seemed impossible, It was only lunch.

When the Red Cross came they put us in a hotel. We showered.
Could not wash smoke from our skin. Could not wash smoke
from our skin, our hair for weeks. I remembered the story.

The story told by my mother about the phoenix.
How it burst into flames and rose from it’s ashes.
I want to ask her if ashes from a rushed lunch counted.
Wondered if we could rise from the ashes that were now
our life. Wondered if I could ever stomach lunch again.

Friday, November 02, 2012



The parking lot was well lit.
The passers-by pretended not to see.
My mother’s long hair fist snatched
by unknown father’s rough hands.
There was no foreplay.
No music.
The only sounds were scuffle and scream.
Nothing shut down.
The fear kept everything present.
Had I known I would become the gift of God
in this violent act, I would have chosen not to come.
I came when he did.
Became ward of the state at the exact moment.
A deal struck.
Two parents unknown to me.
This blessing,
gift from God.



My only regret is that I let you take her. Let you
sway bend her view of me. I believed she was
bullshyt proof. You proved me wrong. She lacked
the faith in me that I once lacked in myself, so
I understand on a level. I believe what happened
was supposed to happen they way it happened.

Turns out lies have a shelf life. The passion you
showed while damning my name confused the
listeners. They could not tell if you hated me or
wanted to fuck me. I think it was both. Turns out
I have a type. I let you take my type away.
Let you fuck us both over, and not in the fun way.

Turns out regrets wear the same eyes in the light.
She sees me from time to time. Wants to approach
but can’t get past the no resting in my eyes. Your
eyes were so focused on me you couldn’t appreciate
the treasure that you stole.
My only regret is that I let you take her.

National Poetry or Novel Writing Month

I am going to make an honest effort to get through the whole month. I have a lot of stuff this month but I am my own business so I have got to work it!! I will be revising older stuff left neglected too long and sharing some prose as well. I have another story for Cheyenne, but that's my other blog. So, Here. We. Go.

Saturday, October 13, 2012



I know that we are not born into this life
wearing rose tinted glasses.
We enter twenty- twenty seeing all being all.
So I don’t expect rose colored vision.

I have this ailment.
I seek perfection in every heart I love.
All of the bells and whistles, all the flowers even the thorns.
But, when I see, when I think of you all I see
all I feel are contradictions full of broken glass promises
severed ties and a concussed heart .

I also know that some people are dead
even when they are alive.

I am told I was your favorite.
I believe this is a lie.
Seeing that biology will forever tether us
the distance has not made you grow fonder .
I am angry with you.
You are alive, the man who was supposed to love me
while the man who really loved me is dead.

You couldn’t see the value in us,
in me. Not the way that he did and I can’t see you
in my future. My daddy is dead, while my father,
is very much alive. I don’t fool myself into thinking
that we, that I, ever meant anything to you.
My siblings think me hardened by your rejection.
They think I should just let it go. If I could let it go,
we could all get along. Can we all just get along?

Maybe it’s because their eyes never bared witness,
never saw your cheating layered lies.
Never saw the way you stood justified
when you knew your body still wreaked
of another woman’s scent, as you put
your fist to my mother’s face.
Maybe they don’t remember you
telling our mother that everything she touched
would fail as she held us all in the touch
of her trembling reality. They don’t remember
you labeled us failure. I remember.
I can’t not remember.

Why couldn’t you have been him.
The man who wanted us despite where we sprung .
The man who was not perfect , knew we were not
perfect and called us family anyway. Called us success.
Why is he dead and not you?

Yeah, I am pretty fucking angry.
I am disappointed. I am also my mother’s child,
my fathers mistake and my daddy’s executioner,
there are so many things wrong with this picture.

Times like this, I long for rose tint. Just to see this life
as the gods intended full of life and breath and hope.
I know why I seek perfect love in every heart I love, I
just want to know what it looks like. I just want it to look
me in the face and love me back.

I know that some people are dead even when they are alive.
I will not allow this to make me living dead. I will not allow
this to make me mute magic in a constant state of mourning.
So, I will forgive you. Wash me from all this anger, ensuring
that your prophecy will never come true, because I am not failure.
Thanks to you I am the definition of success!

Friday, October 12, 2012


When she touched me the way she touched me.
I liked it. I told her that I liked it. She told me she knew I would.
I said I’d like-like more, please.
“Like-Like?” her smile repeated, “What’s that?”
So, I untangle myself from herself and I told her
what I am about to tell you.

As it was explained to me by my twelve year old son
there are two kinds of like. There is like and there is like-like.
Like is, “I like you.” Like-like is, “Yeah, I LIKE you.”
He is explaining the phenomenon of “like” to me
because he like-likes a girl at school. He tells me how
pretty she is, how they sat together at lunch
and had a conversation. She is so smart and,
“Mom” he says, “she is so nice. I like-like her.”

My heart swells, crashes partly because he is more like me
than I imagined, and mostly because he is more like me
than he knows. I, like him, am a sucker for a beautiful,
smart girl who eats food and can have a conversation.
I also sweep up the shattered shards of my heart
every time a girl breaks it. My son will have his heart
broken a lot. He is just like his mother.

I want to warn him. Explain what the hopeless
in hopeless romantic really means, but I don’t really
believe that shit. I will not believe that romance,
in love or like-like is hopeless. I love the way his face
breaks open when he talks about sharing ideas
with this girl he like-likes. The way he wants to give her art.
I don’t care that he uses all of my paint. He wants to gives her art.
He is just like his mother. The day he stars penning poems
I will arrange the intervention. He gives her art, and he +art
is his heart and she will break it.

When it happens we will snuggle on the couch,
eat comfort food as we commiserate. I will have ice cream
he will eat those Cheetoes that bear no resemblance
to any color on the wheel. We will hold each other up.
The way he held me up when heartbreak just looked like
mom is sad. He brought me cookies back then, a small bite
taken out of each. Making sure they were good and
would not hurt me.

The day he comes home and tells me the girl refused his gift.
He calls his hard work, his consideration, and his art junk.
He tells me he is stupid and that he thought they were friends.
He wishes he could have known some how that she didn’t
like-like him the way he like-liked her. I ask if I can have his heart.
His art. I tell him I like-like him just fine. I wonder if this will jade him.
Before I can get to lost in that thought he tells me about the girl
who sits next to him in science. “She’s pretty mom and she doesn’t
make girly noises when we do something gross in class.
I like her, not like-like, just like.” he says.
I think, “Son you will like-like her soon, because you are so full of hope.
You are just like your mother.”

After the story my girl, she whispers in my ear
tells me she likes-likes me a giggle on her tongue.
I know she will break my heart, but I have hope.
I am just like my son.

So, when she touches me the way she touches me.
I like it. I tell her I like it. She tells me she knew I would.
I say I’d like-like more, please.

Saturday, September 29, 2012

On Holding Your Tongue

On Holding Your Tongue

She thinks she remembers the way the girls hands hovered.
She wanted to know the touch of them. Wanted to feel fingers
massaging her memories back to before she forgot
to pay attention. Bit her lips pretended it was the girls kiss.

Morning on the other side of I miss you is not her happy place.
On those mornings she sleepwalks her way to forgiveness
gets stuck in regret and barely manages to keep her bones
above quicksand. She checks her pockets. Finds her tongue
attempts to re-anchor it so she can finally speak. It’s a bad fit.
Falls to the floor. She can’t remember the last time beauty
made her jaw drop.

The girl with the hovering hands wore an apprehensive smile.
Mona Lisa, but darker. The girl held secrets between her thighs
and sometimes when they shared she knew everything.
She would float sometimes, the girl with hovering hands,
hold clouds between her teeth. She would blow kisses
over her right shoulder. She thinks she remembers catching
those kisses. Placing them in her pocket right next to her tongue
promising to blow them back to the girl once she figured out
how to disguise blood spatter.

She thinks she remembers why things failed. The girl with
the apprehensive smile never knew that she cut out her tongue
so she’d never say anything to drive her away. So the girl,
her hands and her smile mistook silence for disinterest
instead of the adoration it was born to be. She thinks she
remembers trying to speak. No sound came.

Midnight on the other side of I miss you is failing moonlight
and false memories. Those nights she roams an empty house
checking the corners for hovering hands. She collects the dust she finds
sprinkles it on her open wound heart and hopes for concrete. She fumbles
with sewing needles and razor wire trying to stitch back her tongue
so she can finally say what she feels unafraid of letting the blood show.
She thinks she won’t forget this time because she can’t remember

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Familiar Territory

I think I know me.
I think I do, but I have thought this before.
I was wrong.
The time before this time, I threw caution to the wind
and learned regret. I don't ever want to repeat that time and yet I do.
Every time I convince myself that I am not enough.
I am doing it again.
When helplessness wears me,
strolls around like she knows me better
I give in. She knows I will. The problem with living this life
is I forget I have feelings sometimes,
forget the impact of punches to
the head the heart.
I believe what others believe
especially when I know it is not true.
I want them to tell me it
is not true.
They never do.
I think,
I want more than this,
I think, but
I have thought this before.
I was wrong.
And I am terrified that I am wrong

Wednesday, September 12, 2012


the corners are dirt free
nothing lingers like your smile
hanging in the brances of trees
covering everything in comfort
cleaning is the word of the day
free up some space arms lenght
the moat surrounding full of things with teeth
they bite whatever comes near
hands hearts anything with flesh
clean to the bone even the bones
makeshift mourning tears are not welcomed
night holds close
no detritus can be seen
even when it litters
the corners are dirt free

Tuesday, September 11, 2012


Temporary love called me by name last night. And in the midst of skin clad comfort hands searching for just one more time for old times sakes, an image of you pops into my head. I am doomed!

I am also trying not to love backwards. It would have been a great release, I think. Where is my inner harlot when I need her?

Monday, September 10, 2012

The Flaw

“When unrequited love is the most expensive thing on the menu, sometimes you settle for the daily special.”
― Miranda Kenneally

A piece of a tooth broke loose today. I am reminded that at the moment I have no real health insurance and while distressing, the tooth doesn't have any real pain associated with the loss of the piece. I attribute the ache in my jaw with clenching my teeth and worrying at what is left. I was not meant to have a mouth full of perfect teeth. Maybe if in my youth I'd have taken better care, maybe if with my first pregnancy I had realized how completely the baby takes everything it needs first, maybe if I had stayed in a relationship built in failure, but rot with health benefits maybe then I would have been blessed with pearly whites that flash against the dark of the not so perfect life I would have been privy to. Pretty teeth, but a very awful existence. Not for me. Not for my children.

This is not the first broken tooth I have ever had and I am fairly sure it won't be the last, and teeth are not the only broken things that have laced my life. As humans we all have the luxury of being flawed. Some will attempt to fix those visible flaws, give the appearance of perfection or physical flawless but it's a kind of band-aid. If looked at in the right light the flaw can still be seen. Some flaws are acquired like debt. Like memory. Like regret. My teeth are flawed but it's my heart I worry about.

Is it possible that denying myself love when it was first presented has doomed me to never have it? I don't want to believe that but there are days when the notion slaps at me and well, it gets my attention. I do not believe that I am in love now, but the idea that I could one day be intrigues and terrifies. I am not so much terrified of being in love but I am truly terrified of being rejected. So my usual tactic is to cleverly, I think I'm being cleaver, run from it. Not in a fast paced, heavy breathing kind of way but more a pretend I don't feel and am not bothered, or hurt but responses or lack of response to any expression of interest or affections I offer. A flaw. This has never worked in the past and I don't disillusion myself by thinking it will happen for the twentieth time, it won't, I know this, but still. I am human and to deny that wanting would create yet another flaw and I am all flawed up right now. No need to keep piling them on when I have a stockpile already.

My son, who struggles with my sexuality, has lately taken to asking me if I am happy several times a day when we are together. So my veneer has cracked and I am no longer capable of keeping the lonely out of my eyes. Another flaw. Seems I'm chock full of them these days. I know it is unrealistic to think that the children I have raised will not pick up on my moods, I mean I raised them to feel, not a flaw. The lonely can be taken care of. And who knows in the pursuit of chasing away lonely I might run into a heart that wants to run into my heart. Maybe, maybe not. I haven't tried because I think I know what I want. But I don't have a great track record of getting what I want so maybe the additional flaw is that I really have no idea what I want. So I will assuage my lonely with the soft skin of another who wants nothing from me, which seems appropriate since I don't seem to know what I want for myself.

This feeling of inadequate, I don't consider a flaw. I am human, and humans all over the globe have felt this feeling. I do worry that I'll get stuck here and lose pieces of my heart but unlike the broken tooth, more breaking of my already flawed and broken heart will be pain I can't ignore and no amount of healthcare can fix that. especially since I don't have any healthcare right now.

Friday, September 07, 2012

Poem I found cleaning out my notes on my Ipad written 347 days ago

if you were everything I needed
I wouldn’t be writing this now
I couldn’t be writing this now
I was trying to have a goddamn conversation
with you but it was about art and you don’t do art
and it was about politics but you don’t do politics
and me wanting to take you out on a date do something
other than fuck for a change
and I say theater,
you say movie
I say a play
you say I don’t do plays
and I ask why?

and you say let’s just be close
then you go to rubbing and shit
taking advantage of my sexual adhd
and suddenly we are fucking again
and you are letting me
and I am letting you
and belts are breaking
beds are breaking
and then you are passed out
and I am laid up next to you writing a poem
about how I don’t need to be with you
and the fact that we can’t even talk about this
because this is not the first time I’ve broached the subject
and the distance between us is further than it appears
close enough for fingers to stroke clits
but never close enough to meet in the mind
cause you don’t do that
and I haven’t approached a conversation
with you in the last six months
without a fucking drink in my throat
because it was the only way you made sense
and the distance between us is addiction
we crave the separateness like alcoholics
craving a fifth of whatever's cheapest

you want my touch less than I want to give it to you
and this is how we've stuck ourselves
into an existence neither of us will walk away from
because we don’t know how
even though we know we are not who we used to be
and the best thing about us is bottom beauty and strap-ons
and because I am hopeless romantic and you are lazy
the way we lie,
the way we lie here
it is almost believable

soon there will be nothing left to anchor
us to each other we are going to crash
and burn and drown and I don't imagine
you reaching out or throwing me a life preserver
why would you save me when you couldn't
wouldn't save yourself from me
this shine we've put on this shitty relationship
should shame us both and the fact that I am
in bed with you listening to you snore
writing a poem that you will never read
because you don’t do art
makes me realize how blind we are to the reality
that we actually don't like each other

I love you like a root canal is not sexy
neither is I love you like an exit wound
we are sick in need of a twelve step program
one where we walk away from each other slowly at first
then run like hell and never look back
when you told me you loved me
I was splayed beneath you all moan and cum
I wasn’t even wearing my charm
and I noticed you never loved me with my clothes on

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

old dog new shyt

I let myself feel again and no good ever comes from that. But I figure if I want someone to love me I should probably take better care of me, and If that's not enough then it's not enough. I have been lonely before and maybe with all the changes I don't have those other things in place in my life for me not to notice the lonely.I'm not dealing with kids, on the road, so I notice. I am looking forward to being away. It hurts when there is no contact and I don't handle that emotion very well. I think people think that I am so self reliant that I don't feel things like lonely or alone. I think honestly if it weren't for the fact that my child is in the house with me, if I died in my sleep it would be weeks before any of my friends, associates, whatever we are calling them these days, called or came by to check on me. That is what hurts the most. No one loves me even remotely like that. My last two relationships didn't love me like that. What does that say about me?

Monday, August 27, 2012

On Marriage

When you spoke of marriage
I didn’t flinch
I wore no frown
I just listened
part of me felt this is just a test
but I listened while you painted fairytale images
of faraway places
a porch with a swing
no neighbors for miles
just you and me

I didn’t interrupt
I never let you see the shadows of doubt
but I wondered how you could dream of marriage
when you live in closets

your love is a secret
best shared in dark rooms
if any one finds out your first line of defense
is to shake keys and lies that rattle like regret
slam shut the door lock
down emotions and pretend
I don’t exist

how can you want to marry someone
you can’t show off on your arms
in your arms
someone you are afraid to kiss
with the lights on
how can you see forever
and close yourself off
from the world at the same time

so when you spoke of marriage
I didn’t flinch
I wore no frown
I just listened
part of me felt this is just a test
how can you speak of marriage
when we both know
there was no room in your closet for two

Sunday, August 26, 2012


so, self reflection is probably
not what you want to do
when what you want to do
is pretend it didn't happen
that you aren't your own worst enemy
and your insecurity is baffling
even to yourself so it quite
possibly stumps the rest
punctuation has no place here
because i just keep running and ruining
i had a pep talk with my kid last night
i was so worried i'd do something wrong
that i wouldn't control myself
she told me what not to do
and guess what
i could not control myself
i won't tell them how fucked up i have made things
it's the first time they were happy with my choices
they will hate me for sure when i tell them
so the girl with issues about being alone
fearful of it in fact
has the uncanny skill of pushing people away

i gotta get busy
i gotta get going
i gotta stop hurting the people i love
i gotta stop hurting myself

when exactly do the tears run out
and what the fuck am i going to do with this headache

i wanna smoke, i'm not going to
my new bedroom is so dark
like a little cave
ill stay here until the kids start to worry
then i'll pretend everything is fine


i have fucked up for sure. i have never acknowledged a crush til now, and i should never do it again. i am miserable. i have never felt so helpless as i feel right now. and all could have been avoided. should have been avoided. you are friends. just friends. the sooner you acknowledge this the sooner you can stop crying yourself to sleep at night, the sooner you can stop inserting yourself... remember that time when you didn't care. if you could just get back to when you didn't care. then you never cried yourself to sleep, never felt so small. remember that! i know. we worked at being soft, open, and it hurts. can we close ourself off again? then you can just be a friend. people like you better when you are just a friend. i am tired of feeling like i don't know myself. i am tired of being sad. so tired.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

For Real?

So after over twenty years of working at Horizons School they are arguing that I should not be eligible for unemployment. I'd like to say I am surprised but I am not. Common respect died there ten years ago. I stayed believing in the program I helped create, thinking that I was doing my part to empower my students. The next step... is an ugly one. The one thing I tried to make sure my students knew without a doubt, was that they have value and they have voices. Let no one devalue you and make your voice loud! I practice what I preach. I think it would be different if I showed up to work drunk. Oh, wait, If I did that I'd still be employed. Or killed a llama. Oh, wait, If I did that I'd be running things. Being let go is not so much my issue, but I do take issue with not doing the right thing.

Monday, July 23, 2012

a thought

I have not been this lonely in a long time. It pretty much sucks

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Locker Rooms and Fairy-Tales

Locker Rooms and Fairy-Tales we could never get our combination just right 19 – 24 – 42 42 this number splashed across your chest I didn’t see it right away But later it will hang banner like in my mind You were wearing that number when I out-ted us both My skinny legs Wearing cheerleader garb You would be angry for a time We will make up like benediction before the fact You will leave Later you will return Only to leave again Proving That even the most hungry of hearts Can be broken twice And learn on live on I don’t know this back then Recall it now in perfect pitch Listen For the punch line 42 – 24- 19 19 I was nineteen when I rolled up on campus A Prince in purgatory A non conformist They will not get me here And you Weeks later Would get me here Slam my brain against my heart Later it will become relevant I learned the definition of infatuated It rolled off my lips landed between your thighs I learned pleasure in two tongues’ yours and mine conversing daily sometimes more than once I became fluent You dug that shit Soon you will leave I will be devastated While pretending not to be 19 19 – 42- 24 24 twenty-four years later social media will do what I could not find you in 24 hours something I hadn’t managed in 24 years I ask if you are you You tell me you are And we fall back into patterns of 19 and 42 You would think we were discovering new lands Instead of plotting old paths No compass just reaction Fairy-tale mentality mixed with heat We got two years out of it Two years of mixed emotions and regret Two years of why did we think we could go back I wonder If I had found you 24 years before 42 would not have been an issue We might have had 19 years of bliss Or not, but we will never know we could never get our combination just right

Tuesday, July 03, 2012

Me feeling insecure

If I thought about it
And I'm not saying I think about it
But if I thought about it
I might think that I thought too late
Hung up on regret and what if
As I hang myself on what if
I am not new at this
Not old at this
What is this?
What am I doing wrong?
Something is wrong
Or maybe it's right and
I don't recognize it because
Things here have never been right like that.

I have never been here before
And maybe I have
Can't remember
And maybe it wasn't me
And maybe
This is that thing I was
Warned about
You follow too close
You feel when feelings are not
A part of the plan

Did you plan?
Of course you didn't
That would be normal
And when was the last time
You were normal...
Like never,
Like maybe now
Like no
Like stop
Like you are doing too much
And no one cares if you feel
So don't feel
Put it away like you do,
Did the other things
Put it away.
No one wants to see
No one wants this
Just you.
Put it away
Pretend you never
It never
You were never ever here..
Go to sleep now
You are so tired
And no one wants to see.
Especially the one you want to see
You are doing too much,
You are doing it again!
Go to sleep!
For real this time.

Tuesday, May 08, 2012


I had a moment this week when I considered the weight of all the shyt I have to do this month. it was a moment of slight terror mixed with "what the fuck?" So many changes at one time. So much shedding so much new, none of it terrible. I own entirely to many books. There is now way I will be able to house them all. Besides I'd rather see them resting on a bed stand owned by a young avid reader. I have acquired so much in so many years. A metaphor, perhaps. About more than stuff and more about stuff. Yes. I am still feeling slightly overwhelmed. So much editing and not as much time as I'd like. I am going to make it work. I will make it right. I might be crazy on the other side of it but, well, we always knew that was a possibility. Send good thoughts!

Sunday, April 29, 2012

24/ 30 Masterpiece

24/30 masterpiece       When we touched that last time. I tricked myself into thinking it was a good thing. Relaxed into the letting. Took down my hair so your fingers could play. It felt good. Because I didn't know it was the last time. I let   you touch. All of my stuff. You left your finger prints as evidence. At the base of my spine. Never questioning motive. Never believing a touch as gentle as yours could sting leave marks that can only be seen in flashback memories. I thought we were moving towards some new definition. Some new name we would call ourselves.   The notion that you were using my skin as cover, to hinge a door you would close. Me on the other side. No key offered as payment. A sign hung crooked on your intentions. No this girl allowed. Never seemed possible.   Do I still love you?   A questionI keep posing to myself. When I answer, I suspect I am lying.   When we touched that last time. I wish I had been present enough to know what was happening. Maybe I could have seen what was excavated, what was archived, what parts of me were museum-ed to memory Then maybe. Maybe then. I would have registered an ending. I still would not have been prepared.

Saturday, April 21, 2012


yesterday, i officiated my first ever wedding! it was so very beautiful and some folk know of my aversion the the "M" word, being a part of this process has softened my heart in some ways. i had a date. she stood me up. it's ok but then it's not ok. it was a really big deal and i spent a lot of quality time preparing my words, would have been nice to have someone there. i don't know if it's me or not. i get the whole come closer go away vibe from this person and maybe i should take the hint. i have no idea how to date and it is possible that my radar is a bit fucked up as far as figuring out if someone really wants to get to know you. up until this point, my dating was a series of what should have been one night stands that just went on, and on, and on.... so here i am trying to switch it. do it right. and here we are. maybe my timing is off (it's been off for a while), or maybe she's just not that into me. could happen. i am suffering from sever loneliness and maybe that gives me the appearance of desperate. i don't feel desperate but maybe that is the vibe i'm sharing. going to leave it alone for now. not going to ask anyone out for a while. i do feel i need to learn how to deal with rejection, but damn!

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

i know

i fell off. said i was going to update. i lied. not on purpose, but what are you gonna do?
here is # 15 NO HOMO. I wrote it in response to hearing that phrase and well...here ya go

No Homo

A member of the genus Homo,
which includes the extinct and extant species of human beings
characterized by superior intelligence,
articulate speech, and erect carriage
also a loanword,
a prefix,
meaning the same

that can’t be
from the moment we are evicted from the womb
we are taught, instructed, threatened
to be different
draw your own lines in the sand
create your own existence
be unique
be different

if we were all the same
our moon would orbit the same earth
our rights equally protected
because we are the same
but we are different
not the same
no homo

no superior intelligence
no articulate speech
no erect carriage
no species of human
no sense
the words
make no sense
to me

I guess it makes just about enough sense
as if my students
arms raised in protest
strewn about the floor
spines broken

they roil
overcooked alphabet soup
letters sloshing off their sides
fists punching the sky
making their agenda known
declaring in loud voices





and well, that makes sense

when I hear those words in your song your poem
I get the feeling you are
declaring your own agenda
expressing your fear of sharing sameness
with people who sexually prefer
the same people
no hetero's

you are roiling
overcooked alphabet soup
the letters sloshing over your sides
I stop listening
because your world is so small
your views are so narrow
there is no room for me

a member of the genus Homo,
which includes the extinct and extant species
of humans beings
by my superior intelligence
my articulate speech
and this erect carriage

and you are right
we are no homo
we are not the

Friday, April 06, 2012

anathema 6/30

anathema 6/30

voices raised intensely
attempt to assuage blood lust
spinning disdain pushing buttons
fists aloft
exudes displeasure
emotions vacillate
indecision about what’s more important
reiterating rhetoric
because if it’s repeated
it is truth
it is just
it is fair

how therapeutic
this atrophy of marching in the moment
this outrage at heinous behavior
this indoctrination of misdirection
spin dizzy
follow the smoke

they hope you don't notice
in the interim

all of the flames licking your back

Insight 5/30

Insight 5/30

it is dark

it is always dark
when we meet
you will tell me
it is for our own good
when we touch
we just do it
a passion takes over
it is clumsy and rough
it is close but distant
it is dark

I will ask if you are ashamed of me
you will paint pictures so vibrant
I must be apart of the landscape
I will forget my question, can’t see it
it is dark

we will merge
not under street light
too much illumination
you will drag me shadow
pull me close
it is dark

I will make the first move
you will counter
we will be arms and anchor
tomorrow and never
you will tell me you love me
I will not believe
it is dark

we will make ourselves frantic
turn crazy in to cravings
you will forget my name
I will convince myself
that it was because
it was dark

you will notice the sky
a detailed missed by me
staring into dislocated eyes
you will attempt to leave
I will protest
you will ignore
I will tell myself this is happening
it is dark

you will leave
the sun will show her face
I will resolve to find
that one who is willing to
love me
in the light

I have grown tired
of living
in the dark

Doors 4/30

Doors 4/30

I can feel the vibrations in my bones
feel the breath in my body
as I float over everything
there are moments when I see you there
see your face
feel the softness of you
and the tears

there was a time when we feel like perfect
when pillows wore our heads
our reflections the ceiling
walls recording our voices

Thursday, April 05, 2012

Bacon Pop

Bacon Pop. The idea was a sound one, it probably shouldn't have been acted on but, well it has. The initial taste is lovely. A couple handfuls later, you realize the bacon flavor is fading and all you can taste is the salt. Then your tongue starts burning, if it's geographical, like mine, and feels like it may swell. I imagine if I had it with beer it might be tolerable but, it is clearly not happy hour, yet. I'm going to give it a sideways thumb, not great, not awful, but still maybe not right.

My Daughter's First Joke 3/30

My Daughters First Joke

we are meeting
as we do
in the fall like we do
in our small home there
are at least thirty people here
that’s how we roll
she is four
I am tumbleweed bouncing
from small room to small room
it doesn’t matter
every belly will be filled
every drink as well
my daughter is stalking my shadow
she is four and confident
she is telling me something
“Mom, I have a joke and it’s funny.”
I tell her I know
she stares daggers
which translates
“You say that all the time.”
there is music and chatter
spades and uno
there are folks eating dinner
and eating dessert
it’s family
this is what we do

she stands
four years old in her pretty dress
hands on her hip she clears throat no one
can hear her because no one is listening
she decides to wear her big girl voice
“ I have a joke, and it is funny.”
everyone pauses for the cause
some forks in mid air
a Boston derailed
she smiles speaks only
when she has everyone’s attention
“what has a hole and you screw it?”

you could hear the breath stilling
in the chests of every person in the room
I become petrified tree
stuck in spot hand fluttering to throat
my brother
bursts into laughter
my mother eyeball him to the kitchen
the younger children try to guess
the adults are in a state of terror
I exchange feverous eyes with
my now wasband

“what is it? come on, guess.
what has a hole and you screw it?”

no one guesses
no one breathes
no one moves
my brother is giggles away
from hyperventilating in the kitchen

“a light bulb!”

the relief flowed through the room
held breath released laughter ensued
my tree trunk legs go wobble
I plant myself in the nearest chair
she curtseys
then flounces
and that’s really the only word for it
stands in front of me striking a b-boy stance
“I told you it was funny”

I scoop her in my arms
make a promise in my head
to teach my baby how to tell a joke
that doesn’t cause mental heart attacks
we laugh together
my baby told her first joke
and after the trauma
it was pretty damn funny

Tuesday, April 03, 2012

Inconvenient Truths and Lies 2/30

Inconvenient Truths and Lies


You are the best thing that's ever happened to me


When we met , the first time I laid eyes on you,
I knew we were meant to be


The way your eyes slid across my skin
Like you never saw me
Because you never saw me
You just saw stages and marques
A name in an unforgiving light


My heart never molded to another's.
Never held pulse to throat.
Never held on for dear life, as you
Bent me perfect
Never happened


The way I said your forever
Sounded like a back handed compliment


The way you never doubted
as you doubted my fidelity
my forked tongue
my you are the only one for me mentality

So it is in fact
My fault
My eagerness to meet your needs
They way I anticipated your desires
And who the fuck makes reservations anymore
That way I gave you space
Never crowded you in
Trusted you at your word
Ignored our shiny brokenness
As we left parts of us in public places
Our impressions knifed into narrow minds

I'm so glad we never called this love (lie)

Never kissed it on the mouth (lie)

Never let the moon catch us bathing in her rays
All sweat and salt (lie)

Our skin never found our rhythms (lie)

And the light
Stayed off the entire time (lie)

We both knew that
Only those truly in love
Make love with the lights on (truth)

So aren't you relieved to know
This was not love (lie)

I am
Relieved (lie)

Sunday, April 01, 2012

Satisfaction 1/30

I am sitting in a bar
formerly the Blue Frog
sounds poetic enough
I am being stood up
And maybe I should have expected this
first time on a date
this is new
old dog
stood up

I Can't Get No Satisfaction
cranks through the sound system
and irony clashes with
this is so fucking sad
as I listen to the six women
sharing the patio with me
trash every man and women
they've ever been involved with
or friends with
associates with
maybe waved to on the street

these women are bitter and mean
I never want to be one of them
never want to let a drunken night of
I can't differentiate between pronouns
make me that angry, bitter
I was moving towards bitter
but not like this
maybe this is a teaching,
learning moment

I'm alone but not really
their voices
a needle scraping across a record
one they won't remember
when day breaks
you would think they were fighting
if you were here
but you are not
just me
alone, but not really
they are talking over each other
and it would be more entertaining
if I wasn't in my own head
writing this poem at their expense

Eric and Andrea
this is all they can talk about
the relationship they are currently
throwing under the bus
as they dissect what went wrong
how it's not a sexual thing
how tired they are
but they aren't
they are cutting and mean
rehashing and I get the feeling
that there is an underlying
or theme
I only catch snatches but
they are so loud
so redundant
that if I ever had shit put back in
had a love child by a woman with talent
one who was here to witness this
whatever this is
our love child would wear
the names Andrea or Eric
I am not alone
I am alone
not for real

still no satisfaction here
Just voices
clearly one
or all of them have slept with
Andrea or Eric
and now they are a fucked up support group
for love thrown away by all of them
still wanted on a level
I don't want to become them

I can almost see the bottom
of my glass
I will abandon the once frog
understanding why it is so blue
and if my new vibrator
lives up to its name
will be found

National Poetry Month

I am going to update daily, for real this time. I have not been paying attention to my heart (heART)and this must change. Can't promise perfection, in fact I'm pretty sure most will be craptacular! I also keep promising to blog more often, that will happen as well!!

Wednesday, March 07, 2012

WOWPS 2012 Denver, Colorado

It is not as cold as I thought it would be and the flurries are light. I think the night time temps are going to be the business. It is so good to see everyone!

I drew 34, which means I compete late in the early bout and early in the late bout. We all like to land somewhere in the middle but that's an impossibility so we deal. I have managed already to demagnetized my room key. I got talent like that. I've been drinking so much water I'm going potty like every ten minutes. Going to be a problem tomorrow since that's my nervous tick thing. I figure if I pee on stage I brought it with me but the person after if they slip in it, then it's a prop. Hahahahaha