4/4*

part one:
i do things i hate.
like, apologize profusely.
a stream of self-hating vomit
continuously getting caught between my teeth
and sticking in my throat.
how pathetic, you know?
day dream about New Mexico -
thinking about the sand and
the mighty saguaro,
(jesus christ! it's pronounced
suh-wah-roe)
and the sky that just might make me forget.
i remember your goddamned face
and
i'm sorry,
it makes me empty.
my terracotta skin breaks apart
and i decompose
in this life i've created in your absence.
nothing fills me up
except the occasional too-much-whiskey
and that just makes me thirst for your
hands.

part two:
the summer eats up my soul like a peach -
as i drip down her arm and from her mouth,
my nectar leaves a reminder;
it used to be simple.

part three:
we forget.
and yes, i use "we".

from June 22

i have a restless heart right now.
i have a healing tattoo right now.
i have voids in my life and lots of dirty clothes.
i occasionally have serious chest pains,
i have unfathomable doubts about myself and really bad skin.
i have two cats, one who loves me like i'm the only human on earth.
that's a nice thing to have.
i have feet that are spreading with age,
i have tits that aren't.
i have a sky,
and some ground
and some blood.
i have friends who are moving on,
i have some friends who aren't.

i know i'm not.

3/4

i wash in the trough meant for swine
but i am the pig and
he is me.
i let the water touch my skin,
washing my filth to the ground -
starting on my sun ward face and
paving paths on my chest
in between my tits;
cooling the heat between my legs.
finally, water at my feet
pooling in mud around
my toes.
i stand tall,
naked,
near the barn.

2/4: (project with kurt) Independence Day

fireworks sound like guns.
that makes sense, though,
right?

tell me i'm not the only one.

I FUCKING WILL SCREAM THIS:

DON'T DIE FOR A COUNTRY,
don't leave your family empty,
this noble cause is a farce.
you die and your family dies, too.

and what kind of peace is that?
what kind of peace is that.

1/4 (project with kurt): take 3

Eleven years sees changes beyond
comprehension.
The constant is
I ache.
Oh, and sometimes I can't
move because of the
pain.

1/4 (project with kurt: take 2*

A PLAIN LOVE POEM

What you don't know is
I savor the idea of your molecules
mixing with mine.

We're ancient.
It makes sense.

We were once formed in the sun
and probably then
I told you how beautiful
you were.

and also, I breathe you in.
I can't think about the complexity -
you and me,
dancing molecularly.

1/4 (project with kurt)

I DRINK TO A DRUNKEN COMMUNICATION VIGNETTE: aka yeah right

I tend to talk about my tits.
The shape they've maintained, color and texture, it's like,
"Jesus christ, is she talking about a fucking Cubi?"
I'm sure it's annoying and I'd apologize if
I felt it was wrong.
Besides that, I talk about my brother.
He's better than your brother. He's better
than you. His soul is grass-fed and thick
with honey.
If you want, I'll tell you about my weekend.
I'll talk about our societal triangle and it's
disconnecting three parts that are polarizing
a wide spectrum.
You don't want to hear that.
I will help you parent
without your permission
and I'll judge you easily and without
distress.
My favorite color is green, but
probably because of habit and I
think most christians are naive, but mostly
because everyone is.
You don't want to hear that either.

You want to talk about my tits again?
Me, too.