Friday, August 31, 2012


Goddamn my gut and the three pounds of single celled ecosystems
that run my life like a graceful dictatorship.
It's almost got me convinced to change my political party.

*still working on this one... yikes. these are bad.


I'm not sure, really, what I would do. I might call him, or cry into my palms. I might whisper apologizes to my mother - but I don't know why I would apologize, maybe because I'm not the person she hoped for when she would bite my toes as a baby. Maybe she'd forgive me right at the last second. She might find it in her heart to remember the first day she met me.
Maybe I'd wallow in regret; steep in anxiety and metaphorically shake my fists.
Possibly, I would remember that one day, learning to ride a purple bike down a gravel alley, and my dad behind me being dad-like. I could then, with permission, remember crashing into the fence - as if to say, of course! this always happens.
I could jot down a list of everyone I haven't forgiven. Or, I suppose, I could try to forgive them.
Maybe I'd remember the pair of underwear that first slipped down my thighs with boy hands fumbling around... I remember those now.

It's possible that I would imagine an exploding universe; becoming undone but also apart.

It's possible.


Listen, I saw you at the mall.
I suppose what I should say is
I fell in love with you.

The bend of your elbow when you were paying with that visa
the cocoa color of your shoulder
and how you wore the hell out of that maxi.
I mean - it's like that dress was sewn for your ass.

It's mostly okay that I stopped myself
(about 5 times)
from telling you how amazing you looked.

I figured you had a boyfriend - and also,
I'm married.

Thursday, August 30, 2012


how can i walk by the same place
and have the same feeling
and not kill myself with wanting?

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

8/26: a tiny moment in time

some mornings are left
over omelets and looking
at coupons. Some aren't.

Monday, August 27, 2012

8/25: Remedies

Peppermint, I think is number one;
I've known that for years.
Jell-o water, 7-up, jazz and
(That one I just learned this weekend).


Warm milk helps you sleep, and honey in tea
is soothing.

Masturbation and organizing cabinets,
cough drops and those swabs you can rub
in your nose.

Writing, and reading, and crying until your hands are pruned,
wondering what your first boyfriend is doing,
remembering high school
remembering hating high school.

Saying good-byes, thinking about dying -
planning out the next trip to the grocery and buying avocados.

These things,
all these things,
they help.

8/24: for my papa

time moves slowly around you.

before I know it, i'm crying with your arms around me -
we're both scared of the same thing,
but in different ways.

i watch you on the porch,
your fingers move clumsily
with the tiny screws you exhumed from this dead flashlight.
you breathe steadily as you're fixing this thing,
but what I mean is,
as you fix the world.

before i know it, i'm crying with your arms around me -
and if we're honest with each other,
i'm dead the moment you are.


Alexis St. Martin, you poor bastard.

The sad song of rotting in the sun, buried a million miles
below the earth, rings true for every human.

There is no hope for fistulated cows.
There is no hope for man.

You knew this, with Beaumont's hand shoved in your innards.
He stripped the mysticism with his science and
you helped.
You didn't really want to, did you?

You didn't want that hole in your stomach;
that goddamned fateful day that sealed
your place in history.

What a curse.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Tuesday, August 21, 2012


what does zen look like - and also,
can I arrive there by washing the dishes?
How many cat videos does it take?
Flossing teeth can help, I hear.

Actually, I made that one up.
But really, can I wear hats once I get to zen?

It's a place, right?

Monday, August 20, 2012

8/20: dedicated to the dead neighbor

Maybe I'd tell you that babies are born without knees.
I mean, it wouldn't be like that, though,
I wouldn't just blurt it out. It'd happen naturally.
In conversation somehow.

It might start out with talking about your van
and maybe you had kids once
then I'd talk about my friend's baby.
The next thing we'd know, I'd say, "you know,"
I'd go on and you'd listen, because by now you'd find me charming
I'd say, "babies are born without knee caps. Isn't it strange
the way we change."

and it'd be more pithy than we'd both know.