FOREST HONOR STODDARD

"The typist lived in a kind of limbo, hovering between heaven & hell." C.L, The Hour of the Star

tiny brimfilled winejar

just colors to design us in

someone's exploding

across the lake

  catastrophe bangs echo

are we in a rough neighborhood

I feel like a tough place, sometimes

on the lake in a dark wet breeze,

    Do you think we do things on purpose that are harder & worse for us?

it's raining on me, on my books

  my winejar has turned into a kalimotxo jar

it's raining around that good lighter

 and on The Hour of the Star

   and on The Blue Notebooks

Forest Honor Bali

  at the cabin we wear our

cut off cardigan sleeves

  as legwarmers

over our jeans

     they end up looking like

  festival wear

      burning the forest down

       with all the lights & smoke & vibrations

I have smoke face

mouth, ears, nostrils all smoke

smoke in my eyes

do clouds get thinner when they rain?

is it just

  I  L  L  U  Z  H  U  N  N  N  N

trying to be a poet in the rain

  trying to use a notebook in the forest?

           Climb a boulder

           Drop a laptop in a lake

  attend poets diversity college

   and get one for free

     if you graduate

on nonboredom & revengespectations

The nonboredom, but the unwillingness to live hard. Maybe it's my blame on the lacking braincells, because of illness. It doesn't stop the beachparty popmusic, nor does it stop all the showers I take. The chapped upperlip is a result. The claws are not. I also am not stopped from wearing the bright red dress: it is a powercolor. How can one not smile consistently with all the confidence mustered? 

I have plans for us, for us too. It will take weeks, but I'll be placated meanwhile; my bruise tattoo will be mollified. And everyone thinks he's a poet when he says "mollify Molly" and his peers congratulate him, but I say, you're not the first. And won't be. 

This is too much information to keep in a head! How exhausting. I'm going to sit serenely on a sheepskin painting aqua and crimson, threading a needle in & out of folded pamphlets. Plastic ono will be there, and the appealing overdose of theraflu. See you in four weeks.