Friday, November 19, 2010

39/13: He wore his socks to his calves

i used to have a dad;
he was a good man with a barrel chest
and a ruddy face.
his hair, plain brown and his hands smelled
like oil.

he's dead now.

he died in a frenzy;
his voice broken apart by fear the last time i heard him.

i'm still incomplete

Monday, November 15, 2010

38/12:all put together and pretty

the anatomy of my body is set.
My bones are formed,
my ribs are both true and false
and my cervical curve starts with atlas
and ends with my tail.

my bones are trees and i wrap my legs around the earth
at least 1000 times.
this is a truth i can only know in autumn,
it's something about dying.

my blood is here, too,
tying me directly to you

as i sit under my nest, all put together
and pretty.
being part of every thing is exhausting.

37/11: secrets, also known as personal preferences.

I have pieces of truth hidden between my ribs
very particular reasons for
not shaving my arm pits.

You will never know either.

36/10: quiet musings of a server

Sometimes life is cleaning carpets
and picking up straw papers.

Other times, it's not.

Monday, November 8, 2010

35/104:09/30: "The Smell of Leaves"

The smell of leaves is deep like lungs.
It's a brittle smell, submerged, flowing with my blood
and rooted like love.
Each inhale is a breath of earth,
it smells like a hymn for the sky and also,
a flowing ovation for calming down, digging some holes
and crafting a nest.
Each leaf is a sensation of dying and living
and singing and grieving.
Leaves smell like ancient dirt
and becoming.
Deep, like I said before.

34/104:08/30: "Pretend You're an Old Man"

I once had a face that was different and I was younger then.
I had days that stretched seamlessly into more days
and in any given moment i would live and had lived

My steps were ethereal and nimble and, had I known,
I would have praised each movement as holy -
something worthy. Each heart beat might have gotten

The rust in these bones have turned my eyes orange,
time is done and my skin says so. I was younger once,
I think. Now I'm just a relic of a lifetime gone

33/104:07/30: you know about Gingko trees? for andy

So what if the Gingko leaves fall like rain?

At a certain hour the top leaf might decide
the sun is cutting him a little short.
He's definitely made up his mind after he thinks it through.
No one likes getting one minute less than what he's bargained for.

Once he falls, his friends summarize the past few days and decide
this is how it must happen. (and you know what they say,
if this is the way it must happen then this is the way it shall be done.)

One after the other, and sometimes handfuls at a time,
Little yellow fans spread out like the sky.
And just like that, the day is done.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

33/104:06/30:Love Poem-Take 2

I've been meaning to say this,
but you know about life.
The bills that are behind and
how my feet hurt after work and
the dishes that balance on top of other dishes
with left overs stuck on each fork.
But, still, I've been meaning to tell you -

You are good like jumping canyons
and breathing deeply and
feeling your own heart pump your own blood
in the morning.
A fundamental and unrestrained good.

And sometimes when I'm driving home,
desperate with the heater on my feet,
the street lights swell up in me all that I can handle;
the only thing I can manage with any grace whatsoever
is getting to you.

Friday, November 5, 2010

32/104:05/30: Two Days is a Long Time in Some Circles

A new elegance comes from waiting -
Perhaps, a new quiet.

Accidentally, the scenarios aren't too docile,
slightly uncontainable and out of control.

And I want to say one thousand things (but don't)
and do at least half of that (and still don't).

Maybe it would be terrible,
or maybe it would just be.

32/104:04/30: Sometimes Things Were Bad

That was my first library number.
When I was 8.

I was a tiny wristed, white toothed 8 year old.
I learned to ride a purple bike with a purple dress on.
And I blew the hell out of bubbles
on a creaky porch swing.
I had a baby brother who I sang to
and made laugh and sometimes cry,
but more laughs.
and sweaty cousins to play hide and seek
and set up fake carnivals.
I even took piano lessons.

Sometimes things were bad,
but sometimes they were the complete opposite.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

31/104:03/30: Let's try optimism

Take an inventory of all the things you're good at.
Start now.
It may take a few days.
Add items to that list that may not be completely true.
Then add "creative connoisseur"
if only because of the lies.

Anything that comes to mind -
write it down - or, better yet,
write it in the sky.
Let your neighbors know that
yes, in fact, you may cry a lot
(a lot),
but that can be a radiant and delicate characteristic.
The ability to openly weep, well, not everyone possesses it.

For example, on my alphabetized inventory
I might talk about my rib cage.
I think it's beautiful.
And occasionally,
I blast light straight from my sternum.

See? It's simple.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

30/104:02/30: Two steps to remain lonely

For starters,
think about when you were little.
Remember, laying in you bed,
how fast your heart would pump hot blood
through your tiny body
when you knew this night was the night
you'd have to call the police again.

Sometimes he drank too much
and sometimes, she hit him with the
meanest words ever spoken.
(The reciprocation would blow the walls down)

Remembering; that's the first step.

Secondly, know that no one you know
can relate.

29/104:01/30: Never Ceasing

I will stand knee deep in heavily laden soil.
There I will craft that wheat grass into ropes and
tie my own wrists tightly.
I will rub the mud on my face if only to jump start
the decomposition.
(Not in a field of lilies, mind you,
just soil.
Stripped and full of broken boulders and empty)
That's where I'll die.

I will walk there willingly and I will
rip out my own intestines to beckon the crows. (i am them)

And if there is a god who cares about my personal queries,
well, it'll be then that I ask her about things like my skull
and my rib cage,
and I'd probably bring up about sacrifice.
But probably, I'd just ask,
politely of course,
"what the fuck?"

And for once, I will
let loose the glass from my marrow.