cats

Woke up to the 7 degree sunshine, blue blue skies, the rusty pump call of the blue jay, I searched around but couldn't find it. I just realized I can't know the difference in sex; do all blue jays look the same? Males are larger, but they have the same plumage. My female cardinal is bigger than the male, but there is also a smaller male although I haven't seen him in awhile. The cardinals have gotten very puffy, and very, very red lately. I watched two cats fucking today. They were on the little shed roof to the yard south of us, and orange cat and a white cat I thought cuddling, I thought how sweet, cuddling in the sunshine cold, but then I saw his teeth were sunk in biting the fur on her back, and she was just laying there, both nearly falling off the precipice legs sometimes sticking out trying to keep balance. After, she kind of growled at him ears flat and they parted. I could hear wailing yells from her from off a bit, then saw him stalking her on a fence and she taking a swipe at him. It was over for her, and he looked like any dumbshit creep just hanging out for no reason being scary and overbearing. That was the part that made me most uncomfortable, the white cat frozen on a fencepost while the orange cat just glared at her, not letting her move.

hysteriaparty

haha

I am laughing, it rarely sounds like that, but I am full of it

 my dad used to say I was full of it a lot

 it took me awhile to realize being full of it is being full of shit

I was young, shit as shit didn't cross my mind

I left work yesterday and took nathan with me, and he met her

and she had that shellshocked look, like who's this man in my house!

and I don't care... but I should

  I should care, really I should

I locked us out of the house, I had to call Nickey to ask her to rescue us

we sat in the car

  Nathan drank the end of a bottle of flat rosé

  and I drank an apricot cider from a jar

and we smoked, and we listened to the lana del rey pandora station

  and I read him a bad poem, but I didn't write it

  we laughed

  he buttoned up his pale blue collared shirt to the top 

and he put on one of the bolo ties that hangs from my rearview mirror, 

  the one someone in my family got as an easter present in the '60s

  with the aqua leather and the silver horse running.

she rescued us

  we bought more beer

  we took our beachchairs

and I got into the river.

the others came & I had the other others on my mind

  and I was tired of looking at everything

  like my hair, my body

Nathan said If it's inside me, if it's invisible, it doesn't exist

and I said, What lungs? and the crowd echoed, laughing  

                 Liver, who?

I was tired of looking around until the wind picked up

  a fuzz layer took our sun away

   Where's my son?

then the cotton was floating around from the branches,

  it looked like snow

I looked downriver, the wind blowing all the trees, the white fluffs

and I thought this looks like the strangest storm

  here, with my damp swimmingdress on

  and the warm

  and the vague light of the sun,

but this could be a winter's storm

and this could be snow.

what if it was snowing right now?

the wind picked up around us, blowing us over

I went to the car to get sweaters

I got naked in the car for a minute

I walked on the sharp rocks

I told myself to stop looking for it

to stop searching it out

to do what it takes to unlatch

  and when I'm drunk, it's so easy to clear everything but these sorts of words

   with an understanding chuckle, here & there

but I woke up sober, so here I am again

teeth in, ready to anxiety-attack myself

  but what doesn't go away

  is the knowledge that you don't inspire me, you any

                                     & I don't admire anything about you, at all

  and of course, this makes me feel more the fool

as I continue

something so gross,

  so uninspe-rable

  so unadmire-able

but I'm going to go cut my hair now,

  the ugly ombre that everyone brings up

   because I've got to save that money

   because we've something like 44 days

until I break

   physically

from my gooey cords 

  giving me sicklife

  from your gross shells. I wish this was only but finally about one person

a one You

  so I could have an explosion party, so I could blow you up

but You are Many too Many and my brain splashes

 in an overdone explosion party

   where I'm the only once celebrated, and I'm the only one lauded 

and I didn't even get invited because I 

just

live there

i think we're presenting

What is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen? I was asked and I have never been asked. Once it was your eyes, a most boring blue. Because they looked at me in this way. Or because they looked at me. Now they are not. For awhile I thought I would only love a blonde. I like the translucent skin, to see organs and veins. It makes a body seem brittle, like flesh to be ripped. I wanted to look for Scandinavian peoples. Like the tall strange-faced ones, like this was it. The crawl up a long body to some exaggerated feature. A bulbous nose, small bead eyes. A long thick neck, scar tissue, adult acne. A touch on some underground pustule. If you can, I can. If only while you are a mattress for me. I'll wish you'd read the line from Song of Myself      not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar then the rest        I wish you'd read that over & over as I have. This is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Where were you looking, just now? Erase JUST from a vocabulary, replacing it with ONLY or BUT or FINALLY. Which of these words is oldest? Guess ONLY because it has to be, english is only just but finally slightly old. Ancenned is the old english form. Take your justice back to the century, be better off. But you won't have your common comforts. Finally would be french, you'd never be french, you'd never go to france, you wouldn't leave your flat pocket, would you. I had a french boyfriend once, only, but he was my amant français stupide and he had the most slender hips & hairless body, and I gianted, and that was beautiful. Sunken cheeks and brown sad eyes. The brown-eyed are saddened darkfolk. It isn't the lack of pigment, it's all of the world's pigment like a vortex for all of the sads of all of the worlds. Lighten my load. Look at my very eyes. Match them to yours. I'd trust you less if you were trusting of soap. I'll plunge all of my buds into your dirt, familiarizing your everythings with your everythings else. This was a beauty. Dancing toward me in my graveyard. After my destruction, the wideset green eyes & giant bones I cast to the wind for my own downbringing. Dance toward me. This wasn't as beautiful after. I hate promises, but they can be the brightest beauty. Apologies can drop holes in you too often. I'm jaded by the landscapes, now. Unless you're my landscape. My face makes you cry, I am too terrible to look at. All of this is true, justify my text please. Take my picture with you obscured behind. If only an easy thing to delete, it was. A memory can be a sad beauty. You tell me you've broken up with your girlfriend, you're in my body & you've forgotten me, but I've remembered that I love you forever. This is the bluest pretty memory, looking into a depthless pool. You are a pretty cruel. Memory bones. These are what I used to imagine as the Truest. I pull my hair out for it, when I was young I had very beautiful hair. It never got brushed so sometimes that was a discussion. I can take part in the tedious with you. We'll talk later, we have lists upon lists. Only once to open my eyes and be unable to count them all. 

closet muscle

I think of cyan in everything
I put it on all of my clothes
someone got fired today
it's sortof dullsky, I wonder if he got to the bar
to get shitfaced after being shitcanned
I have a birthday present for you
happy birthday! here is some of my smokehair
oh, you left a quarter in my bed, how tender
how tedious, I left a button beneath your pillow
  from my dusty vermilion silk shirt
  I wore cornflower blue tights
    peeled from my body
and can't wear my shirt anymore
  till I sew back the button
you should ignore me, I'm a firelight
  watch, I ignite
  gold ingots, look it up
impressss me
  get another pillow so we won't have to share
  put a shirt on it
let me sand allover your bed
  brush it off
   dog paws running against your wall
  scratch me off, cook me dinner in the waxing morninghours
   tell me to move in to your attic bedroom
     I can say whatever I want
       abt you
         bc you'll never read me
  suggest fingers to point at yrself consciousness
     tell me I don't appear to have any, make me laff
read abt how to woo a woman
by bringing a blanket out
  read about how to fuck
    or how to trade tender for passion
   or let's discuss
     that I love the talls, the uglies
       tell me that just bc I'm tan... thank you
          tell me I'm too goodlooking
for any of them
   tell me abt yr disease
     and yr panic
     and yr sad because-of-it-all
  and I'll tell you how we're ready for ever

treasures

what are we
if not jewels
little faceted gems, shining dully in the sunlight
  grubby precious delights
     stoned by rushes
        of water wear
            water tear
        like a tear-us-down
        like a tear-up-now
      worn at the edges
     all of the boring rivers
       and the boring earth
  were trying to wash us away
but we're
   bedazzled
      and through the skin haze
you can see our glow-worth
like old patinad coinage
    in some boring blue fountain

bros

boys chugging wine out of a jar in the cabana parkinglot
boys getting nervous before going in the bar
boys being disinterested & brave
boys acting cool when they see the girls they came to see
boys getting cocktails
boys getting handed a matchbook with a phone number, an address
boys being glad the girls are stupid, too
boys texting boys first thing in the morning
boys driving to sad breakfast with other boys
boys listening to that girl's alt-country band
boys laughing
boys smoking pot in the car in front of the house
boys smoking smokes in the sun
boys hiding from their neighbors
boys laying in platonic bed together
boys eating cold fries in bed together
boys listening to all of their joey-exgirlfriend CDs in bed together
boys talking about how gay their exgirlfriends are
boys in purple, lavender, blue, chartreuse
boys suggesting that maybe the next girlfriends they have won't be sad, or broken
boys laughing because that will never happen

brand new balcony

let's get marrowed

dreams not talk, but I have that fresh air

 a fan blowing around you

I dyed the pillowcase blue

it's so pretty now, it looks like cloud springsky behind those little blue flowers

it's funny my immediate intentions were

 to send the pillow in the post immediately

 to pillow you

 but I got greedy

 and wanted to roast in the gone-scent

it's funny, I wish I would have 

 a non-pillow

but I've the bedding to change

because we're never rollin in the club, here

closed ∞

  get yer coats on, take the shit out of me

  the balcony closed even to girls, now.

over the winter the sparkleporch, attached directly to the cougar den which is the vip lounge of gayulz club 

  closed to men

  not because we're inherently sexist, here at gayulz

  but because boys in the balcony ruin it

  make it dangerous

  it just took two bigbodied slams to unhinge the thing

  and it became girls only.

it's like the balcony of the club parked in front of Kyle's

  balcony party

  girls in the back

  like six chicks deep

  could.

I like memory

  it's like a bite

  or sometimes a cut or a bruise or a break

  then a veil

  and a thin little blood vessel

  or a juicy foods

but I'm digesting at every turn

and ingesting them all to marrow me

hardening the arteries of my softbod

the uncut fruits of our little labor

selfish

I got someone's digits!

ya, when was the last time that happened

he was at my garagesale

he came early 

with another longhair don't care hippie 

I can't remember what he bought, 

but he came back for some speakers I'd already sold

He'd put his hair in a low ponytail by that time

and I was in rollerskates by that time

and I was sort of drunk by that time

so I complimented him on his turquoise rings

giant rings on every finger

each was so solid & big & pretty and all so different from one another.

Was that a mistake!

he took the opportunity to tell me about each one

longwinded stories

but I learned that turquoise has sex

I mean, it's sexed

I mean, it's sexy

but apparently, green turquoise is female and blue is male

so I learned something

which is always a fine, fine thing to do. 

He had hair down to where his brastrap would be

which is what we all pine-for

long, wavy, salt & pepper hair

and a tiny round butt on his chin

I'm Italian, he said, So I know how to do just about anything

I grew up in NY in the '70s, it was pretty out there

I'm a non-believer - he paused - I don't believe in anything, I'm a nihalist

I don't believe in age-barriers

or gaps

So we should party

but before he said this, he asked if he could pay $.25 for a bunch of index cards

I told him he could take them

so he wrote down his name

and as he did he said, I also have Penmanship

and I said, Well you certainly do

he wrote his number down

and his email address. He hasn't gotten "into" tweeting

So... Let's Party Sometime

and I said, ya

But, I don't know

I don't believe in age-barriers

or gaps

but the second he said,    I'm a nonbeliever

I thought, screamed inside

Well I Believe in EVERYTHING

but what I'd mostly be believing

is that this dad's-age-hippie

wants to smoke doobies

wants to rock out

wants to fuck

wants to give me some stories

wants to give me some turquoise jewelry

made in Albuquerque in the '70s

and I'm down with like 2 of these things

but I am not Pure

and I am not looking to be

       new friends

       because I am eternal selfish

get up, get out, and GET THAT PUSSY

dear diary, 

goodmorning! and such a promising morning. sitting out on sparkle porch, three days from it never being mine again. oh why do I keep my alarm set for 7:30? as if I'd need it! there's a squirrel chewing seeds and chuckking, Ida is keeping it together but she wants to destroy that shit & I'd like her to. such is life, never getting exactly what you want, am I right? so I've made some coffee, and I've got the morning sun kissing allover my skin, and the sounds of rich people's yards getting mowed around me, and that damn chuckle squirrel. I have much to do today. everything for the sale. I made $8 yesterday, diary. I sold neon yellow dirt shirt that advertises a company called knife river and on the back it reads like Singin' and Diggin' Deep. also, a faded glory brand child's bomber jacket, the "hipster vneck" - heather blue dyed purple-orange like pollutant sky, with triangles sewn around the neckline. and the weird robe dress thing, called Models Coat with the pearl snaps & giant pockets & paisley meant for an elementaryschool art teacher. I wanted to write the six-pack story, but a friend came over and then more so I drank the fox beer, 3, and a half of a sweetgrass. then I had a watermelon and a giant glass of ipa. that's nearly a six-pack story there, isn't it. I also made some hummus which the stoners were titillated by, but there is something not quite perfect about it. oh well, dinner: over!! for days!! I had some dreams I don't remember, the cabin of a sailboat, maybe, the caress of a hand lost to me. the thankfulness I have for friends who came by- that isn't a dream- Nickeys shows me a hand not lost. the ones who haven't heard, but who listen. Ian said something like, I don't mind a relationship that's a theater of pain... it is a theater of pain, and a theater of happiness... sometimes someone has to bang their head on the carpet, and then they stop, and then you watch terminator 2, and go to the bar and go to bed... and I'm thinking, it isn't so hard, is it? Kyle & the akron family would urge that love is simple. but I still haven't any choices so I will read a short story in my pretty last-days-of-cougar-den as romb, toom? ooh. 

I will wake up, 

I will get up, 

and I will get out, 

and 

hoodie

 man, I keep leaving the screendoor open

and all of the fly guys keep coming in

and I yell and swish them around but they don't care

fly guys don't care

don't fucking care

FGDC

oh man, I just put on a hoodie

and it's like 80 degrees here on the patio of gayulz club

and I'm wearing a fucking sweatshirt, like who AM I?

I told Nickey her blog is fucking so good

in all caps

and she told me I was drunk

and the cool thing is that I got home from work

and there are watermelon beers in the fridge that I've nothing to do with

and I'm drinking them, but am not drunk

but I'm tryin

ok so it was Nickey

she literally just told me 

that I need to try

try

try 

try.

all I do is try

  

  Last summer around Nickey's birthday I wrote a poem in the blue book she made me for my birthday

  we were sitting by a pool

  I was drinking watermelon beer

  and I was melancholy

  because I felt very like I was in love with someone

  who I knew wouldn't ever be there back with me

  So I wrote down something like

   

    Don't cry

      Let her die

     if the ship has sailed

         say

           Bye Bye

and I didn't realize it rhymed, which instantly makes it a poem,?

& it was later abrevved, tried to become my motto

try, die, bye bye

which is not something I ever had to commit to memory

bc my memory has long forever made me a committer to it

this, mostly

I was thinking, am thinking of color. I am always thinking of color, and was reminded even more of it at the reading of Bluets, and am reading it now, and it is about color, and it's about sex. An old boyfriend once told me that one of his favorite things to do with me is to talk about color. We had been on it for hours, watercolor. This winter I printed some kitsch scenes for presents, giant bats hanging above palmtreed vistas, pyramids sitting dumbly in the background. Maybe I did this was for the mixing of inks, for making a green grayer with red, and  photographed each tightening flush of color into itself. It gives me chills too. I keep ink as a pet. Sometimes it gets rancid if you don't tighten its container. It ends up the bottom of the barrel smell, not like anything in particular rotting. Mildewy, maybe. But I keep them... add a little iridescent gold, I think...

When I spoke last night at the bougie bar to the pbr salesman he asked, do you know what my favorite color is? and I said no, how could I. Black & White, he smiled. I see. Nothing in between. No uncertainty. But my favorite color is vermilion... and he asks if it's a blue. There are birds with vermilion breasts worth finding as examples. The color of 2012. 2012 is over. I overheard my friend last evening at the sunset on campus tell a woman that I have a checkout roster for my personal library. I do this so people can be held accountable for my books, for returning them. There are books signed away that I will never see again. It's  more likely I won't see them again when they go through these proper channels.

Jim the pbr salesman said there are two types, mechanics and creatives. But of course I have to argue. I need rules to dictate what I do creatively, how creative I get, all of it. I could never be a painter. Paint on a blank canvas to me is too hopeful & eternal. I am an extremist I want it all of it right now all of it, all of the time. I think, he loves me, or he hates me. I think I am beautiful or I am so terribly gross. I think I am a genius, or I am the stupidest. I have the most full heart or I've never learned a thing. Black & white have all of the colors in them a scientist says. It is sort of beautiful. But I got a yin yang calendar to color as a gift. & I've definitely been coloring everything. Vermilion, turquoise, chartreuse, gold, pale pink, magenta, ultramarine, my yin/yangs know no lacks/infinities of color. They everything me

before I went to this reading last night I dyed most of my clothes a deep bright blue like

poem(s) for yellow

from crepuscular orations

with little squares of yellow light, like the background of a play.
lesser yellowlegs
yellowthroat
greater yellowlegs
yellow ribbon lichen,
yellow ribbon lichen.
a yellow corona tee-shirt with cutoff sleeves.
he wore a yellow
to Yellowstone at freezing temps,
folded delicately between the now yellowed pages.
The blue yellow gray between the shades fades.
his beautiful yellow labrador;
kicks the yellow dog out of the way and exits the building.
To him, my butteryellow bandana.
yellow trees,
yellow slowmotion leaves falling.

from momentos preciosas

green and yellow peppers
yellow winter remaining

poem(s) for eyes

from crepuscular orations

Eyes semiclosed, gazing panting gently,
and my eyes sped along ahead so I could see the trains turning quickly around the bends as the women, exhilarated, held on tightly.
To open my eyes.
Look at his pretty eyes,
and flickering eyes.
My eyes are dry,
maybe the sun was too much in my eyes.
He also has prepossessing eyes.
But in my eyes
long tall dark eyes and moan, silently,
his smooth hands and his crystal beautiful eyes.
Even though she glares and corner-eyes me.
Pretty hazel eyes.
For his eyes to see.
Dark eyes.
His dark eyes forever engrained,
through his eyes
when I force him to keep his eyes open
for the eyes to soak it up, the lashes lining.
We looked at eyes with our mouths open.
Desert skin on ocean eyes.
Or his eyes?
All I had to do was to close my eyes
but for the moments when his eyes would grow big looking upwards,
my tears fogging my brain and my eyes.
My pretty dog with her pretty eyes.
His eyes & profile.
My eyes began to leak and he stayed in me,
eyes on theatrical display.
Soaking into my eyes and my ears and my heart,
his dark eyes etched with the charcoal lashes of a woman,
his beard grows all the way up to just under his eyes.
I can still close the eyes and find you warming down me.
Rolling eyes,
his surprised, opened-eyes:
He has green eyes, or hazel, and they go down at the corners somehow...
I can see the color of his face and the tactile reactions of his eyes...
and the teeth and eyes,
my eyes are watering
his eyes closed
my eyes, his.
I'm glad hat he has hazel eyes that go blue.
I want his brain & eyes.
All sorts of eyes on me,
conversations & eyes!
I can barely use my eyes, they are so teary...
My eyes filled and I said,
pretty eyes, pretty face.
He has redbrown eyes like his hair.

from momentos preciosas

my eyes I can feel are closing.
eyes dilated,
my problem is not just dilation of the eyes but the mind,
I feel my eyes dropping closed.

18: sneezebush thornwort

After a time of sitting by, I feel a sneezewort rising, and there in the blue haze of morning the turkey of wild dancing by. And she moves, shakes, scattering feathers, inches towards the duck of wood. My dragon funnel erect, attentive; lubricants dripping the snowball bush. The hawk soars calmly, investigating the upgrowth of newborn kidney lichens. The birds weave and wind, creating a six-pointed star in the tall grass rippled with ring lichens. My ear perks, the sound of a snowdrop a little yonder. A pheasant warbles and the thornbush lichens shed their weapons. 

december the twentyseventh

8:55

And my blood, lungs, full with it. The piano, or the blue, the whale cry in the smoky club scene. You are a scene. Scene the scenery. I thank the piano, and the slide guitar I whimper to, asking please, but not needing to so doing it silent. The last five years are the ones of life. I slap across the song. I flood myself across the piano; a piano spark waterfall. Forget the semicolon; this is what I need. Skipping punctuations like stones. An explanation like pebbles dropping on keys , the comma, an upstroke. I can feel the heart now.

    Subtle smoke curtain now. Ash on a pillow, the porcelain dish. Not a dish but a lid. The porcelain lid to a hairbox. This a particular delight remnant of Nanny. Poor Jack, didn’t get a gift. The only one at the party. Jack Clark wish not to write his obit. Without mentioning death, will they surpass it? Without mentioning death, they passed it. Without mentioning death can one suppress it. Without mentioning, death surprises. It’s without mention, without mansion. Without mandibles, death surprises us. Death sells us. Without mention, mandibles surpass. An ñ of sourts, the unitalixized ways, her little fingers skipping stones. The brown stones, the ones  made from porcelain, the little stubs of fingers wafting generously. Like the breeze. The bees worked with them, that’s a fact. Soon as the sky fell earlier in day, like a shade of red over everything, and a call given to elbows and arms in favor of sweaters. The possibility of sweaters, sweater possibility, sweater ability. My shadows over everything, the letters abrupt and flat. Oh, but if I could go back then! The only time is time viewed rounded, like the edges of courners cut, and made curved and painless. The letters, though: the letters are so straight up and square. The haunted voice

    could change eventually, ending gorgeously. Yesterday, yesterday: yellow winter remaining, gold drives serene. Enough hazard dreamt,

    Scratch the spelling off that piece of bark! Knowing gratefully yields some emotional leverage. engaging gratefully yields savory youth, harrowed, dimly, yet triumphant, trying, gggggg

    Songs stretching, going grim, marbled divine,

we found your virginity, to hunt in time and bounty

"bloodstain on your majesty

four seasons dark combinations

13 years of Karen

to be given all the unity

the hunt & tie of bounty

bloodseed of your majesty

in this mighty plan

dark correlations

I found my 13 years of Karen

in all four seasons and their dark brethren

your four seasons and their embarrassment

with dark combinations, I found my

13 years of Karen"

What an unnecessary document! considering the effort, I would like to offer an effort, in trade, a words with five or four letters time.

We will be together in Old England we’ll be together

And as for falling in love, this mighty contemporary thing. Trying to recreate the divine. Only smokers need desks. The ashes are flying!

Hot to it. / Fall summer. a melancholy feeling

songs of yesteryear:


2007, 1 september

Hot black rooftop on A view. for miles the skyline, clear in a thin blue veil. perfect from afar. Lovely cloud puffs and delightful blue sky. This heat’s too perfect and lonely, it burns my legs just laying next to it.




2006, 1 september

Fall a feeling morning I dreamt being somewhere standing closely but not touching, or maybe touching but not kissing awoke so clear and real melancholy a summer.

events of hours hoped or wished down

pretty little, 53 to 55


The events of hours: by tomorrow I am chiaroscuro. I am whimpering, almost, with the night now and still, once again, of light and shade I'm made. I think as usual, hiding in time, an affect of silence.

Consistently a chicago coffeeshop, it’s contrasted light and moderately I attempt to hardly be here at all. Just a beautiful shadow created by furnished apartment. Choke back in the unnoticed French light falling unevenly. Preparing tears a mind never blue from two; I produce a clear cherubic direction. That adjoining abruptly, the life of me, all throwing soft light in. Seeing, difficult & dry. I’d like to wake on the table, leaving love hard and saying, knowing, thinking, goodbye at the rest of a room.

A dance around things, an epic poem, the East in chiaroscuro. To prepare then. Somehow, take me for some marked action mythology; have you found humor to recommend me? might a fire you are looking for?

Black must do to be breathing around. Velvet forms a part of female singing. I try singing it too, for me to keep most interested. The head knows all the words, I loudly need the feel. I never hoped or wished down.