driving through bayou

that daft punk song is on
I looked at the map
there is water everywhere
I'm thinking about the alcoholics I've loved
I guess I'm reading a lot of Raymond Carver
it feels like the closest I can get
to them
and I've been alone for long enough
which isn't long at all
but maybe it doesn't do well alone for long
it dies inside a little
the people around me love 2chainz
and they overuse the word yucky
I don't like it
it makes me feel lonely when everyone else is laughing and making noise
the white longlegged seabirds with the slender bills
sifting trash
from the gulf of mexico
I should stop reading these stories
or I should stop thinking of people I used to love
or still love
or I should stop loving
or expecting to
or I should stop drinking
even though they do love me
more when we do
I like living in a place that's sinking
I like keeping my mouth shut, just
watching for the other mouths
of sewers
to get taller than
I

get in the zone

on this first day I woke up like a new girl on a 366th day of the year, skylight above me roasting me, white thigh from out of the blanket, flannel sweating stuck at skin, breathing around, where am I? we got in too late to see abundance of gardens and trees and coloradoness. I just changed out of my clothes & into my better dress, the good dress from 2008, the always dress which is now the always dress of summer 2013. I woke up differently from me now. now I am coffeed and cooled and thinking of autozone. but I came out from the house and I am dreaming of my new house in new orleans, walking around it in my mind.

<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.

spice juice

give the length of a sip trying for sun,

the grass always an unnatural shade

faster and fast crawls across

this time of day, meaning, this time of today

or a similar time, but yesterday

oh accidental chives!

oh concrete cubbyhole!

  & the waving nylon slap, whoosh

oh waving onomatqxrzzzdrzzzfzxzZ (onomatopoeia) 

red, always the dull sunworn red

  on flag day

on your staggered haphazard white poles.

pour hours into your glass

heat to serve it to leave it to cool

the tops are for you, they froze for you

finger them out, thumb them loose

they move away from your touch instantly

cringe away the cold, frozen moment

but thumb them, finger-to-mouth them

make them last till 9

with its highwilling sun

and longmoving shadows

 watch melt it

gather your hair in your hands,

  sunset glimmer grass of heat

  grass of heat of head

  mow your head in the sand

   guzzle your years by your roots

     melt melt melt drink

 do,

      only finally but

minnesota

I'm on the phone with shareowner services

through a bank

across the country somewhere, classical piano...

ahhh! those tickle keys

and a woman keeps interrupting the piano

to announce that my call is very important to them

and that a customerserviserepresentative will be with me

in the order I was received

& I think, my call should be answered in the order in which it was received, see

so I'm already incredulous

like how do I really know these guys are legit?

If you're worth billionz, get a grammarian on board

Awhile later she begins to give me addresses and phonenumbers,

and I'm clearly dealing with some depressed midwestern robot 

and I've never heard anyone say zero like this before

but that's how I guess they do in St. Paul.

I've been to St. Paul once, it was in February, and there was the ideal

Minnesotan snowstorm, so all of the roads were white thick,

and all of the thousands of lakes had fishinghuts & fires burning on them.

The blanket sidewalks had skiers on them. Such a place!

I drove a drunk guy home in his car 

and he told me that I didn't need to worry about stopping for red lights

that in this kind of weather, you go slow & peer & just keep going slow.

(with all of these billionz, you'd think I'd get a grammarian on board!)

St. Paul, Minnesota is also the only place I've played big buck hunter in my life. 

Someone answered! but...

it had to have been the same Minnesotan robot

Her winsome whiny decantering a

her overround lowered o

I think everyone should move away from where they were raised

she ought not to be in Minnesota

I ought not to be here

so sue me, I'm getting alllll that $$$

so let's gooooooooooooooooooooooo

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) about black

from crepuscular orations

The buildings were lit, black silhouetted, with little squares of yellow light,
purple, black, and gray
black rosy-finch
black tern
in black bathing suit,
in black silk bathing dress.
And the black silk cardigan from five summers ago.
white kneesocks and tall black boots
and black silk cardigan.
black belts with southwestern emblems.
Watching a black gay & lesbian comedy,
thick sideburns, black frames, eyebrows canted.
Long curly hair, dark, not black, almost a deep, deep purple...
There is a man with a black security tshirt.
in a holey black tshirt smoking a cigarette.
outlined in detail through the thick, black cotton.
all the auburn and black...
Now I have the black dog and the black and white fluffy dog piled with one another on the porch sofa.
Navy tights (black?)
my black & white dog,
the brown and black dogs
run through blackberries and snakes.
With our black,
black dog.
With the salty dogs, and black.

from momentos preciosas

Sleeps in a black & white curl.
I can just see her black & white prance  
and her black leather couches
and black leather couches.
Black magic.
Blackness symbolizes
death wears black.
a black hoodie zippered dress.

a poem for smells

"The lovesick, the betrayed, and the jealous all smell alike." - Colette
I will smell the ever-wilting white lilacs.
The mosses the lichens the smell of wet grass and clover,
I can smell my feet and netherregions stinking away.
I actually smell really, really dirty
And the memory of your smell is mostly what reminds me.
and to smell the neck of a beautiful man...
the smell of liquid fire draining the sink.
the sweet smell overtaking.
the smell of wood
always will smell of tortilla chips.

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.