I moved my goodnight

I moved my bed so it's parallel to the wall, between the two windows, still. I thought I would go to sleep with the red notebook, the one without lines. I used to write in it round my birthday last may when I lived at kari's club, and I was drawing pictures of flowers dying every day, and I was really stoned all of the time & I'd go to bed alone because I wasn't allowed guests. I would read kafka's blue notebooks until I got too bored or distracted or tired and then I would write a little something in the book and I would fall asleep. An example:

   19 May, bed

      You've a lot of work to do. Read    deal   finish/throw away  your library         move to New Orleans

I started again, writing in the red notebook, and it produces similarly, only I am not the devastated one I was in may. I am still sad to report that may of 2013 was historically one of the worst months in my recent years. it remains cloudy and dismal in my memory, and it has cracked something of my view of idaho or of impending summer or of love or hopefulness or something of those natures. I am still sad that I can't laugh at that. I had the sweet depressant in my skeleton. so many questions. I had begun to see luke and he knew me enough, made me come in the park, screams echoing and I snuck him in kari's club afterward but then in the morning I wanted him so gone. I was like that guy, we all know. I felt like the truest broken thing. it was late may by then. I was a dead finish. r

I made some apologies to them. I was sorry that I wasn't going to fall in love anymore. I was sorry that a whole, flat bland vacuum of the country was off limits to my wandering brain heart fingers breath. my best friend moved away, I moved away. I haven't smoked a real american cigarette in days, just the herbs of the world, it seems better for your health and for your pocketbook and for your roommates and for the smell of the world, right. I like to smoke while I cook, like while cooking things like chicken noodle soup for my boyfriend because I want to reach out to him, and he is sick, and I want to prove that I am good & careful & capable. there is science in the chicken soup thing, and I believe usually what I hear right away as the truth. why lie?

which reminds me I wish I had a cigarette paper. I would roll one of these good smokes. I have these little butts, but I, too, am ill. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be smoking, I almost almost even considered quitting smoking for someone this spring. may2013 killed notions of that, so I must have smoked 100,000 smokes over the last 6 months.

I liked smoking and cooking. I spent four hours in the kitchen, four hours at least maybe more. we have a nice big kitchen, and a table ben secured from a house where he was working, it came from someone who overdosed, he told us. it in the sorry for him, lucky for us voice. it's nice to sit at a table. I watched project runway and I ate sweet potatoes and rice from louisiana, and arugula from louisiana. I asked ben & colette to get me some rosemary from the store, and kayla looked at the show with me and we all tried my smoking blend. dan came in and he tried the soup and he told me not to overdo it with the parsley. we don't like to fight but somehow we are fighters.

I'm listening to rumours, which I'm waiting to remind me. ever listen to music expecting it to shock you back into something? after justin left boise I listened to all of the music he sent to me. he sent me music over the internet, and he sent me flowers once, which he probably purchased over the internet. we had an internet relationship & so I listened to rumours on the internet. it wasn't ruined for me, I keep waiting for that. I don't feel anything about it either way, the sting is gone. somehow that's a little disappointing to me, like it felt like so much back then and now it's almost as though nothing ever happened. like it should remain important? sometimes I'm such a dreamer.

I haven't been drinking or doing drugs or anything. I am trying to drink tea & lemon & ginger from louisiana. I have never lived in a place where I could eat ginger grown from my earth here. it feels lucky, but also like an of course kind of lucky.

I think the cigarette paper is the toughness I appreciate. I really shouldn't be smoking, but I feel justified. I still wonder. I met someone in florida named justice and I told him about things a little. I'm glad I love the south, and even though it bums me a little to feel so little, I'm glad to not feel the pull sting anymore.  goodnight

optimism

the haha you!
the edit you
there's always the you to write about, a sort-of you
the all-sorts-of remember
mes
I think back
in a few months ago
or 6 months ago
I was trying to see the pain end
trying to date that end
telling things, to picture it happening
like Molly, you won't live here forever
in a deep sadabandon place
you'll find the surface
you'll move in with your blood
get comfy together, you'll get comfy
together
swim up in it, bubbles coming from a nose
for my mouth
how I shout, mouth
to suck
being a stop-now
suck it out, stop being a shop mouth
a sob cave-maker
let your burbling oxygen bubbles rest
let your breath turn into flowers again
photosynthesize
on the horizon
oh haha you
oh, 6 months later you
oh where it came, from where I am again
the dissolve of flowers in a vase
the burning of your name on a hill
my abundant cusses
I've almost forgotten them
empty hole empty house
no more radiant crevasse
full of sinew & thread
the prettiest sky
the prettiest scab
peel me off
smile laceration me
the pink soft of a nomore scar.
  the teen is    dead

<no title> (12/22/10)

I make feeling of the brain.  Mostly low-growing, the mixture of that sun and me tryless. A little frolicky. Belonging to the primrose, those strong legs of his. I’m a magnet for choking the mind outright.

I’m not family; I don’t like this like that. Making love, having tuberous rootstocks and nodding strong legs, I’ve been complemented often. A self promoting deprivation. In the alps with deer, white, purple, pink, I see. My ability to create such a young and early death. And berries, unfortunately, crimson flowers with reflexed petals, can get  pretty intimacy only just awhile. In that mindset.

Describing expectantly comfort with strangers, a life donated to my abilities. A circular boat so I can find severe athleticism. Here I am, viewed from inside.

chamberpot

sitting in the dark of the culdesac,
it's funny bc it's halfair of night summer birds and
desert flowers & perfect roses
but half also the foul sewage some nearby place, human waste afloat
we're human wastes wafting, too
long arm me
say, I'm sad that you're leaving
so I can say, No you aren't
how could you be?
how could you know I'll never like you enough
how could I teach you what dtf means
how could you insist again, thrust the acronym on me
tell me I'm a really cool girl, okay
let's go with that, it gets me places
impress people with my lightness? a quickness
I don't even notice it
it's 3:33 am, repeating
& if you hadn't danced like that,
I wouldn't have attempted such an acronym myself
I'm trying to acroname me, here
but the odors of the earlymorning on the foothills' roots
of the way things have always smelled there
and new miasmic winds from this recent development, the upturned earth, the toilets & bowls for our newrich filth,
are reminding me too much
of all of the world's beauties & disappointments
I've got an appointment with alone,
with the softbodied dog
with the blank page
& by the time I'm in bed, staring at it
I've forgotten the inside letter I've composed to you
bc of course I still unreadily compose them
(you know).
I am not sad I'm leaving,
your long limbs longer
just longing at my acronyms
I'm just sad to still
be here, in the fresh in the gross
composing at an invisible dead eye, ear, heart
& to hear you say that we were once in love
is like the crush of night
and the wash of earlymorning birds thrusting their calls at me
and I want to tendril down the drainage, too
for you
and very, very away from you
at a ravaging pace

tether

anymore we can just ask straight each other
the anxious can pass, smoke
in an overcast bedroom
  chill
these being the words,
purity ring on repeat
well
may ends
well may birthdays are gone
well I have to move a mind again
  somber just doesn't justice

the flowers are so dead
  & so meaningless that I haven't bothered
  to destroy them
or to even throw them out
I just moved them from the table
onto the floor
  so I've room to elbow around

can it be managed, a life getting saved
time isn't what this was
the great length, big old distances
something so desperate
something so drown,
something so make gel bones
slither
  
   throw a brain away
   puff up a balloon heart & fly up in it
   trust only that
   your hands in the silk sand
   sands in your eyeholes, nostrils
  babybird it to me

I'm sorry my heart is an infant
it should never have arrived alive
it should have been stillborn
I should have had more to drink
  while it was parasiting, puffing
but now I've to raise it up
  nurse it
I can strap it to my back when I go camping
and I can toss it in its harness
  and pull it taught until it snaps back to my arms
 
come on, baby
    grow already

sexy

guessing what comes out? melancholy & sanguine.
sometimes sacred. mercurial baby
  bet on that rocket
  rock me asleep, stone me
    to death. print me with letters
      talk me out of it, talk me into it
close me up
  close up beside me
     close into me
      close, into me
maybe it's the weather
maybe I make the worst weather
  tengo mal tiempo
I wish I had allof the world's balloons to ride
  back to last August or July or someplace
    to some preplace
      when I was just a kid in the sun
         with a different kind of weather
I'm sorry I've been a wrath
  I hope I am honest
  I hope I am a trustful
bc I can sleep through the nights, now
  I do things before bed
  I draw those flowers
  I let Kafka in my ears
& my melancholy blood
  it is a pretty lot still, me
    I mean, I could be a graduate with this mind of mine
  I could muster the strength of many men up in here
  I could rally
    my virility
       I could smoothe her hair
          caress her down
  make less lonely how-it-is
I wonder if I'll get fired for taking all of these breaks
  but I'm trying to get true broke, see
    bc I've heard that sometimes you need to break it
  to snap back into place
       

a million bucks

thank you for the invitation

  I woke up with flowers in my eyes

  something happened when I was asleep.

  what happens when one is asleep?

all of my millions left me

I was knocked at the knees and 

all of the change

  is in gutters around.

    where are my shoes?

     where are my cadillac dreams?

        where's my word of today?

perfect

  mercurial

I was trying to flirt yesterday

  with this miniature bikejock

     he asked if the tunamelt was poisonous

I said, Hey guys, mercury is in retrograde right now

  so it's left the giant tunas of the world

  sucked back up into the atmosphere, right?

I mean, that's what that means

  I want to empty out thermometers in you

  I want your insides to burn sizzle out

    or is that mean?

I had a million bucks yesterday

  and I blew it, on a couple of things I wrote down

  on a drawing I made.

I felt the soft edge of some bend

I felt me pulling round it.

but dream memory

  and reality sad come by

    even in my silk vermilion blouse

       and the woolen plaid & everyday's tiedye

         I am still a solid wish 

                        a wonder

                         a so very solidly disappointed

I'll break my own record

  it's a tedious thing
  
   and what's left

                   but to wonder at         disappointment

there's nothing to be done with it

there's no effective

diss
diss
diss

bros

boys sitting around drawing portraits of flowers
boys laying in platonic bed together
with candlelights
boys telling each other that this song reminds them of their exgirlfriends
and then telling the story why
boys weeping when they drive
or when that phosphorescent song plays
boys in sleepingbags that smell like sweaty girls
boys apologizing to one another for being dicks
boys explaining why they're being dicks
boys talking on the phone for hours
boys buying boyznberry pie
boys crying when they pass the bookstore
or a tall road
or a tunnel
boys understanding other crying boys

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

mothersday workday everyday

today a guy came into the coffeeshop and said, Happy mother's day

and I said, Thanks, happy mother's day to you, too

and he stalled and said, But you don't seem like-

-The mothering type?

and then I told him that I am actually the Mothering Type

but I didn't tell him how I try to take care of all of the kids

I let them cry, and I keep a dryface

I let them rain for hours on the phone

I let them rain in the rain
and I shed nothing

bc I am Trying to Take Care of Someone,

sometimes.

I didn't tell him that I will hold you with patience

even through a shakesobfest

which I too have, at strange intervals

like behind the espresso machine

or when I look at the shitty art in the gallery at work

or when I ride my bike, listening to purity ring

bc I am Trying to Understand how to Care for Someone,

sometimes

when it doesn't want me to

today a very old man came into the coffeeshop and handed me a pink carnation

and he said, May I give you this flower?

and I said, smelling it, 

Of course you may, thank you

and I didn't do what I was urged to at the moment

I didn't fling the pink carnation at him, announcing,

The last person who gave me flowers 

BROKE MY HEART!!

lol

I wish I would have

it would have ruined someone's mother's day, maybe

but who says he deserves me to ruin things

who says you need me to ruin things

who says I need you to ruin me?

No one would say that

that's retarded

we can't

ruin

each other, we're not big enough to

1 may

I was young & spring showed up

I was told that on mayday

tradition says

to leave flowers for a beloved

on their doorstep

to ring the bell, and to hide in wait.

I did this for my best friend-

she knew to look for the flower giver

to find the flower giver

and to kiss the flower giver once she did.

She found me behind the lilacs

and she kissed me.

I got mad

or I got embarrassed

not that she'd kissed me

but because 

she knew it was I who had given them.

I got so mad I made her cry

and she was my best friend in the world

so I cried

too

20 day grace.

period
period
period

I haven't had a period
in like 28 years
or like
20 days I think
is what I told the doctor,
but she knows what I know
that 20 days is an arbitrary number
But at the doctor's office, they want figures
not just my figure, though I was more than happy
to show her, sitting up, naked, with a thin sheet over
my abdomen & thorax, & I had to hold up my arms over
my head in a way I thought might be misinterpreted as maybe
a little too ZEN, like I was searching for some yoga pose I've never
done, because I've never done yoga. That's weird..... I lived in portland
for awhile, you'd think I would have gone & done some yoga with those
tightbodied haltertop-wearing necktattooed gage eared dreadlocked mothers
who Needed their chai lattes with ricemilk, rolling their eyes in judgement that
I didn't, that I PERSONALLY didn't have organic ricemilk for that darling drink
that they'd need to get to that motherfucking yoga class. You'd think I would have
taken to following along, to grace along, to put down the smokes, all of the beers, the
intake & inhale to trade for the outtake, the long slow meditative exhale, but instead.......
period period period period period period & I like to live the long slow meditative death life
the one with Life beginning in a capital letter & ending with all the world's periods........
& so... I Inhale. I let her go out & through me. My sorry young lungs getting all the
more tired, all the more old. 20 days is plentiful mine. It isn't quite three arbitrary
weeks. It doesn't have to include a final weekend. It can & will include at least
a dozen meals, about a million snacks, multiple brevities regarding foods
eaten, foods craved, foods desired wished-for thought about, discussed
& that, that talking about what we put inside ourselves, that, my dear,
is learning how to Chill. But I am warm, so warm inside. I have a
slick thick gorgeous coat to lick clean to lick so dry, will you lick
me clean & dry, will you comb my hairs straight & slick thick
for 20 long days? & your tongue with its short tough hair
like a bristle comb like a pig hat like your rubbery snout
like your pink skin in the sunlight, mottled in the bow
of the springtrees, like the flowers still-lifing away
on the table, wilting, petals cringing, slowly
dying, but waiting, with at least 20 long
gorgeous promise-days of life left
not wondering, not anxious
but I can change the water
and I can brush the sludge
from their yellowed
stems, in forever
patience for
that period

on watching the bodies move, live

I ask So Many Questions! it's true. but right now I haven't any questions, I've the goldens here, Gayle's goldens, & i am wearing the pink flowers dress that is worn for sex, for going to work, for sleeping, for swimming, for switching into metal outfits, for sunning & drying nice slow in summer. the kids are all watching tv, because football is on. I can't watch it right now, and am so tired, so tired once more. the summer is a blanket and it smothers and floors me. my eye are always dried-up little beads. my skin is the color of worn white girl skins/. with freckles. "ooh a bears game is on" cries a child. I let the child eat chips. the children bought & paid for the chips. the fridge is full with beers, with rolling rocks & pabst blue ribbons & of course the frightening necessary steel reserves. the chips fall across the glass table, and little riverbeds left marking from a thumb and greedy little pointer. some have hats. "kyle, stop" cries a tiny voice. "there's a fucking door, go outside and fart" it goes/. my mistake! impossible to repeat! the sideways braids on us, the girls out of us, allover the place. I want my new york song, but I only get it in an advertisment. Atdvertizmunt.

I make feeling in that mindset

prettylittle 80 - 82

I make feeling of the brain. Most recently low-growing, the mixture of that sun and me without trying, simply. The avocado’s point of view is a little frolicky. Belonging to the primrose those strong legs of his. I’m a magnet for choking the mind outright.

I’m not family; I didn’t like this like that. Making love, having tuberous rootstocks and nodding strong legs. I’ve been complemented often. A self promoting deprivation. In the alps with deer, white, purple, pink, I see. My ability to create such a young and early death. And berries, unfortunately, crimson flowers with reflexed petals, can get pretty intimacy only just awhile. In that mindset.

Describing expectantly comfort with strangers, a life donated to my abilities. A circular boat so I can find severe athleticism. Here I am, viewed from inside.

ant, the velvet words

It was just the words come in me, those to make seen the real simple of a night. The common scent of flowers on the night breeze of a week-end, the ones smelling like butter or honey. Different bee breeds hover from these flowers & in again at daytime. The crickets, common sound of august, or maybe in oregon frogsounds are commonest. I'd like a test to differentiate. a frog whisper in one ear and the rustle of cricket wing violined against cricket wing; stridulating forgets the hot of a night. Spiders in stridulation, the velvet ant...

on bees

They have little baskets behind their leg joints which hold pollen. They flit from the flowers and back to the hive where workers help them unload. If we were to live only on royal jelly, our lifespan would increase fifteenfold. Royal jelly is the food of the ultimos, the utmost. If we could only find out in the hearts where to live & how.

http://www.fao.org/docrep/w0076e/w0076e16.htm

but we are not queens, not a one of us.

modern underparted

And the sweet ones, all having names. I like the looks about, through a slotted glass a peach or salmon through the pines, the last of the fleshy sponge day. A true summer one. My own little sweet fleshy peach one with the dewy down sits in sitz, I'm with the water rush through pipe in ears, adjacently by rooms. The too many pungent flowers behind, still awaft though twilight somehow nonexists tonight. I like this luscious spring, the hot of sun fingers still presst against the uppers of arms and backs. All brown and ripe like insides of fruit themse.ves

Mediterranean stairs

pretty little, 27 to 29




Mediterranean, sighs the year. Just you and I considered momentarily in the reaches. Bedroom  me, and us being together, the prospect of family. It’s broken in half. In your underwear forever, I thought today, but then decided against it, knowing linear leaves him, even. How my elongate clusters of white look like his arms draped. Interesting. Dislike me pink, broken over my hip. And later...

Yellow flowers from upstairs, of my lifestyle. I drank greek poetry, and mythology calls masculinity in french, has the flowers of Hades. Dinner I wanted him to be, and new. Nothing to do, dead, still. Staring, relieved, actresses with india & sacred to Persephone. I hope you never die triangular. My lone french poetry, rest: I do, because to think further. To my good fortune, the daffodil rolled underneath me. I’d sink further.

I was approached by assuagement; with this I’d wonder even more. The kind of delicious and english intensity you remember. Think about that tantalizing possibility, thinning distress. Back to the second, impossibility cut short. Pacification with the tiny subject. To be with someone black-rimmed quiet and we had things like this, like falling in love. For now a red appeasement and we are going to take fear for a future. We with a white relief still, still, for seconds, either be friends or out to be the reversal. Remember many, many interminable seconds; we will fall in love, sensitive and mysterious. The strangest I’ll be. Nowhere with each other, emotional but relating around, unplanted. I won’t know where to look for you and I. Hiding behind something ancient from the grass.

I ask for a general rule, rules and ancestral footsteps. You try and should, oftentimes, to make amends. A door opens and a few steps are taken, not to begone for that long. Be abode by me. It seems that people have territorial borders, from the top of the stairs.

sustain hers

Sustain able, to think of two hipbones now. Never speak to me again, I don’t know the pelvis,
I’m starved for all of us.

Don’t worry treating sexual matters decentless. You’re not even near the beginning. I’ll take care displaying your favorite meat, my hand gently on her face, the subject horse. I am here, an edible European plant. I see her in nature; she stifled a tear and put the daisy near the potted flowers. I am a weed with him, with a long root like little icicles.

And guess what
He fucked her slow and a parsnip is standing on one foot, still. Just the way she wanted it. Slow, stately with pink cheeks, holds true after they finished. A piece of music and lips and we possibly forever will.

She looked at the seven stars; we stand and smile. Can’t see him near, and she puts her face in sight. “Are you the north pole?” Close to sightless eyes because I don’t love like a serum. And we touch, I wander; I love thin, watery.

I put my chin in her, sort of experiencing everything. I love the distant stars, warm with the other senses. Why don’t constellations smell her? Though to have a baby with fixed stars, we kiss more particular than any other. They were silent, not cold and we’re not paying any attention. Show me lavender, softly. The sun, she rolls in styrofoam... She looked at him, considering, a position requiring little nothing keep from touching you. Various types looked into his eyes, rinsing. We can’t really stop… and examples of vague and meager depressions looked into hers.