paper office

37th street and 8th avenue, shining glass doors and a small elevator, the marbly walls like inside an egg, bright, and up in the box with the guy on the phone and into the dingy blue hallway, misspellings on papers indicating a business, something with trend in the name, a small baseballbat bottleopener keyring for the thin-doored bathroom, purple soap and white soap both, cooler in there. Paper house itself was quite warm, in between buildings, but meeting Ed and he removed his black pleather shiny satinlined coat from the rolling chair and gestured I sit down. The mashup of Mary and people bowed across a plaza in prayer, a quote about how if we humans knew what eternity actually was then we'd change every part of our lives. The gentle darkhaired about my age guy in a black tshirt, balding on his crown, looking at his phone, looking at his computer. The stained handsmudges on the printer. Dust on the floor below the window, the old yellowed panasonic airconditioner, the dirty windows, seemingly soot-covered by thousands of midtown years.

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.

voyage of my house around the sun

Moving from the cardinal to the blue jay. Feeling like anything past 11am is late in the day; watching as the sun moves around the house, around from the one window to the back window (through which it shines now) and around back to the kitchen (never truly shining hard but lighting a little) and then the diningroom for the rubber plant who won't grow more leaves but also won't die, and then finally by 3 through the front window for the palm trees and the rooms I never spend any time in

I am obsessing over the sun lately. The dog (the pointer) lays in her weird jump-ready manner in the one bit coming through the back window, now. On the little brown cabin rug. She always tries to lay in a beam of light, I do understand. It's hard because it's now left the bed (11:53 am, no sun on the bed) and it instantly feels colder in here, and I also am at peak anxiety at noon on account of how many cups of coffee I've had & how many more I'd like. And the sun sets in 5 hours, this I know because I visit sunset park each day now and watch the sky turn pink and watch the electric salmon mirror metallic off the buildings of the financial district way over on that rock island that looks close, looks far, is close, is far.

in memory of

I was thinking of all the mausolea
and each time is like the last, in only the fact
that it's artifacts collected, revered solemnly, or left to sit

the turquoise bandana I got you to trade me for my red
and then insistently switched, post shower, pre bed
in an effort to save our scents on each
to leave with the other after.
That turquoise bandana, worn by you, smelling of tiger balm,
and your body
well I wore it to a thing and we all took molly
and it was a million degrees and stagnant as a coffin
so I put it in the freezer to wear as a neck-snake
which I handed around,
and after
you were nearly overwhelmed by the others.

The pink lighter I got you to trade me for my orange
the one others pick up, light things with,
and I'm staring
for the fist that clutches
for the pocket it's sneaked carelessly into,
for the rotation of it paired with the bowl.
When no one notices, I snatch another lighter and pair it with the bowl
insisting, to all who ask, I can't find it? use this one.
Nearly overwhelmed by others.

The strength left on my bed of you, of us
the pillow your sweated head rested on, your neck
pungent,
pungented on
the sheets writhed in by you
the net, wound around by you
and my friend, my companion, someone other than you
naps there.
and you were nearly overwhelmed by another.

And then, simply, the objects left
the empty can of lemon la croix on the edge of a tub
from our shower, the
half-full jar of water (bulgarian yogurt) resting on the sill above the bed
these are not overwhelmed by others
these are the last touches of you
your prints on my life, my room, my house of intimacy
These are the relics, the artifacts of my mausoleum.
These are the last bits of your touch on me, now.
These are proof to me that you were in fact, you
here
earlier
with me, in total

these are the only tribute I have
And they fade with each movement of the others, of another,
  but you will not fade
                as they fade.

Dear diary

Waiting for what? Waitin for twat 8th grade me asks. Well, just waiting. I don't like to hurry but for when everything in me spills out and I need it now. I tried to buy a diary today. There were no coincidences today. There were no diaries at this shitty Art store, and I am on again off again, and the only thing I'm rushing home to is a different love in an unfeeling house. I finally shoved something inside my rotten little body. I've been quiet for days. Some might threaten, too quiet. I am shutting all of my holes: to breathing, eating, singing, shitting. I am a near empty glob of no exits, no entrances. Even my words have no place to go. That was my diary entry.

Justice

I had a long dream and in it was justin laying on a couch. There was a big loft, and layers of party happening everywhere. In it I was trying to reach out to him for that apology I've wanted for nearly 2 years. In it there was a moment of ecstasy where I touched his face and cried. In it he told someone that he wanted to be near me, from his lazed position on a couch, unmoving, untrying for it. I kept pulling him aside and he would push me away and the conversation would never happen. I think I have paragraphs for him but then in real life when we are face to face I have only a sentence where I dismiss everything and say, I've just pretended that nothing ever happened. Because my brain and body have thrown it all up and I don't want it to go any further. Nor do I want to ever anticipate getting what I've needed in maybe one sentence from him, because all of me knows that that's never. All of me has also always known that our coupledom was doomed from the beginning. How many thousands of miles away and the drop of a word or a line and then the dropping of a person from across however phones work. Dismissed as soon as it really begins to warm out, and I'm left with the imprint of my own body on the curb while the sunsets, waiting. For what? The invisible not-really person to become visible and really-there. I had at least hmm let's count them 5 relations with others the summer after and before I moved to New Orleans. I am always reaching out to connect with someone who won't shy from me and from my holding on. Of course it rarely takes but I still do and every notch is carved forever and it shows which makes sense because someone flirtingly accused that I was born in 1973 today. I look at pictures taken 1 2 4 years ago and remember the eerie feeling of existing that long ago not so different as I am now. Still wishing hoping but jaded on the needing of that justice, that sigh of alright, I finally got what I asked for.

Congratulations

The new thank you

How to talk about reading

Without talking about actually reading,

The active searching,

Without admitting that I actively searched for the words?

The active searching for response?

How do I boredly respond to yours

That makes not a quiver in me

But just the subtle pang

The good old jesus christ

The, that's all?

How do I even wonder at my reaction to your reaction

The emotionless chill

The chilled emotionless

The chilling emotionlessness.

The phone wants to Autocorrect to

Emotionless ex

Which is a laugh-out-loud slogan

Better a laugh-inside slogan.

Thanks, phone

Thanks, 'net.

Thanks be to god

I am no better than you. I weep at my own words tumbled from my fingers

I weep at the screen with dryer eyes.

This is how we see each other. Through all of this

shit

Just the most least of the worst of the best of the shit. Still nothing less or more than just

good

old

shit.

About waiting

I'm waiting in the airport for you.

I went and ate oysters and listened to people read poetry behind a bar and I sat next to the train tracks in the gentle rain and almost said nothing.

I laid down on the chaise lounges in the departures area.

There's jazzy Christmas music playing still.

I feel really excited to see you but I feel empty.

The emptiness I feel is so unrelated to you.

All of the bathrooms have been closed for cleaning for 45 minutes.

I don't know if we will have enough quarters to pay for parking

I liked a lot of heard words today.

I liked the rain near the tracks.

I don't like driving in the rain.

I don't think I will talk to you for at least two more years, if ever.

I don't care if it's a few years or if it's never.

There are only cops here, and me.

I think sometimes we rehearse things and they evaporate when we're faced with the opportunity to go there.

 I guess
  Don't feel sorry for us anymore 

We don't know when it happens but it happens

Make yourself a pad to be in

I'm reclined

That's not true, I'm upright on the stoop

2:21 am, December 5, 66 degrees Fahrenheit 

The Full Frost Moon in Gemini approaching

Which is haha funny

The full part? The Gemini part

The FROST part

I just got a little shiver there

The wind in the pecan tree

My anger leaving in the fronds of the pecan tree

Repeating the pecan tree for emphasis

I will apologize and I am sorry, I know

I'm on some dumb planet

Orbiting this dumb sun

No signs

No blurry constellation hatching

No frost on these fronds

Just the haha of my fogged-on world

Barefoot on the stoop like summer

Gases consuming around me

My own system of farts

I am sorry!

Who Me in the South

Who Me, bathed in pecans

Ovular orbs

Cascading about

Keeping the moisture out from my meats

So tender

O little triumph of stars

O, the twin

O, my mes. Apologetic Mes.

Too hard

Watching you from the porch, socks up to my knees

There are kitties up to your joint ends

Kitty smudge

A bigheaded creeper. 

We spend all these times

With our passwords

With a cigarette

With the neighbors in our rooms.

Shut me off

I'm too hard right now

sober

I was laying in my bed trying to 

sleep and I was thinking about some things that make 

me sad. Im thinking about the time I got 

my heart broken, one knows the time. The one person who I loved and who left, twice. It was a relief to have him again this late night in Tucson over spring, over 7 years later. In the stilldrunk sunlight next morning I was barefoot and my face still reached to his chest, his button clearly still aligning with my nipple. and whoosh! I say it was a relief because I let go and remembered that we are older now, that he doesnot rock my world. But I remember it a lot. Not often But A Lot. Im thinking that I dont know who will care for Ida for the three weeks that I am away. That I dont have plans. Im thinking and I have chestburn and lonely contemporsry future. I wish I was asleep and it was later, I dont know. What I wish.

dear diary

  I am stoned

What's goose

Hey it's my first time blogging from my iPhone. Pretty cool! Look at that autocorrect just going apes hit! I'm sitting in front of my job on Dryades St in New Orleans Louisiana, it's about 9:56 pm, I'm drinking a strawberry beer and am about to light up a light blue American Spirit cigarette. I unbuttoned the top button of my first (of 3) denim Cherokee brand skirts, on account of being bloated, on account of having my menses. The sounds of crickets and other southern summerbugs rubbing theirs thighs on winds and wings together about me. I made $54 in tips tonight at my job which is easily 2.5 times the amount of tips I normally make. On account of a group of parent-like people having a really truly great time. They applauded, blew kisses as they left. I was a little jealous, they were out in the backyard eating pAninis and bruschetta and other Italian delicacies, and hey were smiling and laughing and, as one of them put it, having such a blast. There was even a giant fan blowing over them.

I'm being destroyed by mosquitoes, too, and the insides of my ears hurt because I sleep with plugs wedged in there on account of my boyfriend who snores and I who can't sleep with rhythmic body sounds about me. But that's all alright. It's called love, and I've for the moment a livingroom, and a couch in it that I can smother into. I just took a sip of beer and it went down as they say, the wrong pipe. I don't care, the displeasure is nearly gone now. Now just back to the squitoes, smoke in my eye.

It's a classic New Orleans summer night, and I say y'all at least twice a day because it rolls out of a summer mouth! It's all fine by me. 

A man just rode slowly by on his bicycle, wanted to sell me a nice push-button umbrella for $3, he is trying to get him some chicken. I do want a nice push-button umbrella; it hasnt rained on me in 3 days which is highly unusual for a typical summer in the sub-tropics. But I have no way of carrying one. I do wish I had given him the $3, though. And I don't have an umbrella when I need one, of course.

Yes, it's shaping up to be quite the typical late July night in the southern USA.

maudlin

bits of mullein in the light
my gentle promiss
persuasion song
hello?
it's my last time, roll a louisiana cigarette
some hickory street smoke
no
something about it
something about me liking
something about me
I'm liking me
the acoustics I'm all about
my environment, you know
my environment

I love Kyle
I love Kayla

but they won't be coming back
....................................................................
last night at 8241 Hickory St, New Orleans

obit

April 4, 2014

Conventional! I have a witness for volume, the neighborhood roars, the lap lap of the sea, the atlantic, little boise roars, the waves lick my ankles of the sand I'm of the sand. I think

 I'll smoke a cigarette. my name is molly, I am just short of 30, I've fallen in love a number of times, I live in little boise, I'm drinking strawberry beer, chad is cutting isaiah's hair sadly, crying at the lostlocks, daydreamy, cedar oil. I shaved half of my dog, she is flearidden. the era got eerie.

 Or, do you want to celebrate?

I live in a room up top, upstairs people land of balcony people, the haunting neighborhood roar. the roar of wet neighbors and dry neighbors, the land of faraway loveslost, lovelocks, lostloves, lostlocks.

recently I have acquired a weddingdress, of course we mean weddingguestdress, bestdressed weddingguestdress, the first lady would wear it before she was she.

pie slits. let out the steam a bit!

bring it up a bit. competing multitudes

signed

MARTY MEMBLEM

to be taught
righteous, riotous,
your hand in my sand
my billowing, running sand.
she and her sad of course
to be taut

  your running off on me
your running off onto me.
your run off onto
  you're running, about to.
I have a point
to point to the purposeful.
you're a rock, you're a cane
you're a beet
red pulse-baby, my made hands.
how do you destroy months
how do you tangiblize months
how do you blend
them, yours, mine
how do you make a new calendar from them,
how do you tick days
click lick lick lick swish,
 flourish


I'm smoking herbs and pot rolled up into a joint, I'm in my room
on hickory st in new orleans, there is a candle, a scene.
globebook,
thermos,
gravitas.
mardi m emblem
beautiful lighting
peach curtains in the breeze
songs to get high to
songs to cry or wail to
to drive to
my table.
so another words,
succulent, rememberful
  = sentimental
riesling with berries, bugs
collie in frog position
dangling from the fan
coon tail, lavender crocheted jellyfish (nickey)
pink & brown cabin rugs

waits

if for nothing but the
yours and yours
  truly

<<<<<<<<<<<--------->!@3

the part of my body that fell asleep

a part of my body fell asleep. I'm waiting for you to fall asleep. I take back that it's all the way all the way. you come, we stay awhile. I'm not meaning any of it!
Let's get real!
I made sangria at work, I washed the dishes, I danced and I sang.
I sent text messages, I thought about cigarettes, about my new dresser, about secret love affairs.
I thought about dating
versus not dating
I thought about my white legs in kneesocks
I ate steak with bits of glitter on it.
I do not mind at all eating glitter.
Did you suck up some of its MAGIC? I was asked
I thought, how do you know
I said aloud, It's complicated
with a scoff-aloud
I thought, when is the last time I made anything?
I'm making sauerkraut. but that's not what I mean
I am trying to translate this into meaning
to translate the wine + lemonade into magic
your hiccups into silence.
I think about the days
where we'll walk around the swamps
the sun filtered through
oaks
and across the ridged backs
of saw palmettos
feet in the sand
fightless mouths
wordless gestures
apologyless.

these are the objects around me,
these are my surroundments.
the translating winds in me
of course,
only wishes still
no magic
yet

hippiemantra

ooh!
hey
pretty moon, pretty planet-up-there
I was reading about you, and about
what the earth mothers are thinking of you
and about how this is a time for bringing loving care to myself
to let my emotions
come up like waves
because they're water
and I'm wet.
I am a wetone, always, and
why do I feel so calm & serene? I mean, for me?
Molly Merrill Stoddard?
fucking serene queen

the palm fronds framing it
this mini-moon
guiding those wild dogs out
on their traipses
they got the trots
and so do I!
the drip
      drip
       drips

I'm calm in my love, there's an understanding in it
an acceptance of it
an abundance of it
 that I'm comfy in
I'm blanketed by how I feel
  is the right way
it's feeeel feeeeeel feeeeeeeeeeel!
    feel away!

a song for love in the new year

songs with women's names
the number 14
the light of the moon, near full
I avoid it!
 I don't avoid it
I avoid the urge to
my ring slipping round my finger,
  maria        laura        marlene

a train   choos

   10:53 pm, tomorrow
(this time of year, the nights fall longer)
so let your beard grow round your neck
and your torso
and past your new boots
and down my throat

make me toast

        read your fortune!
        little new-year son

I always have liked
the german pronunciation
for marlene

the soft lilt,
the forgiving!
                         (do you remember proclaiming
                           that you'd never love someone
                           that you'd never love someone explaining
                           that you'd never truly love someone
                              who's never caught exclaiming)

  oh, me!


       hello, little new-year babe
        hellow, last smoke of smokes
       hello, pretty whistle
     of pretty, nearby train
        hello, sleeping city-that-won't
                                        the oh-she-won't-quit place

                               dreamy babe,
                              I've never said this to anything
                            I've never been that guy
                              But I wanna die in You

      and, therefore
    thereby

    tinkle
         tinkle
               tinkle
                      little bell, ring
                                           ring
                                               ring in me
whistle past our bedscapes

the (sub) tropic of (pre) cancer

woke up in the kitchen  saying how the helld this shit happen oh baby

to practice

the why?

remember the garbage destroyers, the ones

who takes the reproductions you do

of you,  the waste you

think you made enough of

from the black notebook on the table, an open letter:

I am sorry I doomed it on the drive, in the dream, from my body a day after

those little caresses on the 

hairs of (my?) a heart

coming true

giving me yours, make it

I'm glad a glad a

it started pouring down tropical rain 

and I went out into it

and Chad came out, flipping off his slips

and soaked himself in January

January in the Tropics

you deserve your name

invisible limbs

a cloud of verse

make me

full

  funnel

you

make me forget

that I'm my month

 and I'm hunting for my

full

  wolf

confidence mustard

christmas 2013

I did the same thing they do, how many years, teens in the street, thin merino wool caps and northface jackets, shiny pillow coats filled with weightless goosefur. gray earlynight light, bald trees and trees few in leaves, silhouetted always, for daily we're twilighting. the dog moans, the house is empty save for us. all of the windows seem uncurtained, meaning there are curtains but they're heavy, and folded or shoved away, impossible curtains. I'm leaving Idaho in the morning.

lately

elements of a day

downpour, palms asway, explosion on the wires. your grip on me.
laying in bed with the clouds
balcony
nevereat
benevolence
the perfect soup
mirepoix
driving in the rain
personal hell, snores in stereo, clock tick tocking, tick tick tocking, tick, tock
little roach
bigface, pockmarked
folding your sportcoat over the spine of the sofa
new cold wind
new baby asthma
fighting the funk
fortunate,
luck

stereotype, a song (explicit)

  I'm hysterical

  watch me spin

 whirlwind

wash the place,

wash the world

my innards trying

 as women are wont to do

with the ra shon a ble
world

my wet stuff enticing like

as far as your
 deal   can squish
measure me in that way
ruler me

sorry, to be rude

 sorry, but I'm crying? right

look at me go

swish around

 I'm a heart 

  in a shape

cut off the arteries, the connectors
cookie cutter me

 obliterate
  into dough
masticate me mush

I'm sorry, I became

I behave

 in    that  way

so

the only genius in the room is   y  o    u

 disimportant  me

wash me
 down the drains of history

histrionic       girl

pull me out

push me

 push my breasts from my body

thumb my nipples from them

scrape it off, 

grate me

 cut me out

slice me, sliver it, silver it

wealth my slit

suck my gold voice

savor it

 drink my words,   betray them

take it upon yourself to translate me

 who could write it better than you.

 name me

compliment,

stand up for it

defend.

   my dear darling,

  I'm for a girl

 all of my ins

  and the bones of me, & marrow
 and my heart

but boy
     as I hang a shameful head,
you've the heart of my brain

  and the brain of my veins

decembme

with a whimper. I put down the meusli, I put down the grapefruit I halved (done right) because it tastes bad to me, or it's from texas, or, or, the beans in my stomach making puff puff at me. I think all the herbs from all of the world come into me through the nostrils down the throat. I lost my appetite because you thought I might drive round the crescent to fetch you at 8:30 drop my hat, take you to work, did you stay up too late? oh no, did I should rescue you? I am not that me, anymore. it's december, let's get up. this is pretty real, in me. growing back your bones, we see with it in them now.

somewhere

I am a little beast in here, a beast for you 

babe.

who has fingered me? don't stop touching on me. don't use your words at me, leave your swoll fingers afar from. I'm grippable. take my city from me, push it out my holes, fill my brain with other-fluff, the stuffs of else. I already knew, read ahead in all the books of this. once I was at your house and we were fighting, I was in the bathroom and you put on fade into you by mazzy star and I started to weep. I thought it was an example I could grip, of you connecting to me. and you hadn't any idea I felt your playing this song to be a reaching out for me. I started to cry because it felt like we were in the same place for once in awhile. you were hearing & responding & sending it back out. but then you changed the song in the middle, and I looked at my tearface in the mirror and the illusion was spoiled. welcome back, I said to us. but always remember, to never understand should never be a surprise maker.

oh well

what would a miss be, a true one
aligning alternately, who can you hear?
I've the salmon wall
I've the meat separating me
I'm the I'm sorry
I'm the original I'm Sorry
I just want my blankets back
I don't want you to have anything of mine
I want to bury you
I want to be the most unforgivable, the meanest
I want to tell you how I never believed it
and that could have stayed innocent, but now I'm free and now
it digs
because sometimes I think I'm better than the world
and I'm standing on air
it's nicest to be alone in winter
it really does something to us
I think you're wrong and I hate a lot about that
so abandon baby
break the space in two
winner
make me too easy

acetaminophen

there are so many other words I'd have used

let's get real

it's still thanksgiving

you know thanksgiving, the whole day you're thinking how you want to break up with your boyfriend. do you ever look at yourself

and not out of self depreciation, or self pity

you look and you think, now honestly

let's be real

how do you like me? what have I for you? and there truly is something, then, isn't there. isn't that something. so driving around new orleans on a cold day, and tearing up with headcold, and disgust and fear and hate for someone to love, and the streets are bare and cold. I like that everyone seems to have a place. too many places for us. it took hours to finish the cranberries, the green bean casserole. aunt sue always calls them greenie beanies, which I'd forgotten all day. 

I'm going to wake up tomorrow    a  new   woman   I think

I can be so mean, I can be so very ugly

  you're right about that

a year ago today

we weren't yet listening to born to die by lana del rey, but I am now, and we did soonafter. it was right before christmas, days before and I was making screenprints in my room and it was 17 degrees outside in december. I remember walking from Gayulz Club down state st. to the hardware store where I purchased painters rags and who knows. I was almost crying, but it was sunny. this song really makes me remember that feeling. I had just been abandoned, the heart was sagging in my chest with loss. I remember that so much. but one year ago today (it's thanksgiving today, but a year ago it wasn't, but say last thanksgiving is a year ago today) I was too hungover, I think I threw up. I think andy left Gayulz Club to go to thanksgiving dinner with sun blood stories and I was left huddled on the couch. nickey made me scrambled eggs in coconut oil which is all I wanted, but I didn't tell her that the brown part of the eggs made me feel sick. I hugged andy around his waist and I urged him to come back soon. I wanted him to just hold onto me forever, thanks. 

we had gone last night one year ago today to brittany's SAD party, which was pretty fun, andy & I played piano and I danced with brett and nickey & brett & andy & I all walked home to Gayulz Club in the 17 degrees and we separated and remet at home upstairs. then it was the next day and I was too drunk for thanksgiving and honestly, I feel just about the same right now as I felt one year ago today. well?

what now

what did I do today. I went to westwego, la to the department of motor vehicles, it's in the smallest building and you have to walk around to the back where you're surprised to find it isn't at all the david lynchian experience you'd hoped for but a quiet smalltown city hall experience, endless waiting room all quiet with one or two voices on a cellphone and then the waves of murmur, people getting up to go because their ticket says J85 when we're only at J16, let's be honest. I was trying to read this ernest hemingway story called up in michigan when dan came traipsing through to say it wasn't going to happen today. or any other day, I didn't say. Let's go get a thanksgiving po boy, he sighed. and then he got on the phone with his folks and said he'd need a new birth certificate. this is the first time I heard the voice of his father. he had a nice florida drawl I could tell. sometimes I can taste it on dan, and it's like beach and it quicksands one in. sometimes I don't trust it, which shouldn't be, in fact I distrust that I distrust. no matter. but we didn't, we went to his house, we had to, he's getting $ in the mail and his peacoat, its 49 degrees outside, it's like burgeoning wintertime, louisiana style. it's alright with me, it really is... but for some reason I can't fathom it. I am a hard-to-please. I am like the version of me I regretted years ago. I watch myself with the hands on the wheel, no traffic to speak of. how hungry am I, will there be a second chance for a thanksgiving po boy? is it thanksgiving yet? 

I took some offbrand nyquil about 15 minutes ago. My left nasal cavity cleared itself. 

I went to the thansksgiving po boy place, I thought I'd get us one. I even made danny call them to order it ahead of time but guess what, me & everyone else. so I drove on over. I realized as I got on orleans avenue that I knew where I was, connected the 7th ward to treme to bayou st. john to mid-city to uptown. I keep blowing my nose against this hawaiianprint skirt I've been meaning to dye olive green. a sexy beyonce knowles song called speechless comes on the headspeakers.

The line for thanksgiving po boys snaked through the restaurant. way more people in line, reading menus, applying lipgloss, smartphoning than those eating po boys at tables. it felt almost empty of spectators, just mad paraders. I left. I wasn't even mad, but I did leave, it was like the dmv all over again but without numbers. this is a terrible lovesong but it's straight r&b '93 style but who wants it like that right now?

I went to rouses. I liked it immediately because no one cared about parking places anymore, everyone was shoved together against the yellow lined drive and I knew it was not the legal place to park but that no one would do a thing. it was a small triumph, the first of this holiday season. it's strange to think that I might have moved to nebraska. I almost never think about that anymore

In rouses I got cranberries which were floating in a red pool, scooped them up with a slotted spoon. some satsumas, couldn't find a fucking orange! save for a bag from- get this- california! can you imagine? with florida just around the corner? 

The drungs are starting to kick in. left nostril totally clear, right, hmmm... I lit the end of my hippie smoke and another shitty beyonce knowles song comes on- rather die young

Then I went back to dan's and I drank tea and we talked, I laid on his couch actually and we ate all these cookies his mom sent to him. I'm sorry I'm such a sobby I mean snobby person sometimes.

Anyway I hadn't had anything to drink since I had this one beer on sunday when we saw the puppet show about the history of the red light district of new orleans, which was amazing. and I only had a la 31 roasted dark ale and so tonight I dropped aja at her place with the firepit for tomorrow's feastparty. she made me a hottoddy and it was great... I only worry I might not be able to taste thanksgiving. but there are worse things.

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

I just gotta finish this smoke and then I'll get on the road I might even stop to get you some ice cream

I'm still sitting here on the bench in front of work
still drinking the same old drink
Charley's steakhouse eliminated
I called my drunk boyfriend
he's pretty drunk
he said come scoop me
but I think I just got to smoke another smoke
I'm talkin to myself
making the most of myself
I'm following my instincts
it's nearly 11:30 p.m.
man that kids been drinking
Group me up
why don't you come screw me up
uh oh

this is a little bit after work it makes me think about to work

the street is empty and humid
I don't know what temperature is anymore
I don't know what I did this drink at anymore
don't know what kind of drink it is
it's free after work drink
I'm sitting in front of work out
and I'm wishing that I had all of the minutes of the world
to Castle Rock on me
to turn it rock on me
order it
rock on me
I sweat out this in the kitchen
the sins of the kitchen
the wet slimy under my nails
the slamming me under my nails
it under my nails meet under my nails
I have more meat for my bones
what I have in my milk crate:
animal on a sandwich wrapped in tin foil
chicken eggs wrapped in a brown paper bag
a quart container of coffee, dipping in wrinkled on the lead
addicted and then a peach and LA sky
and non negotiable pay stub with my name on it
a box of roasted brussel sprouts
a bottle of water I always forget to drink it
phone charger
sliced bread.
I'm in a good mood
I like my people,
and I like the scene
just wish I could call Kyle
because I miss him
any send me messages that a Dad would send
I could see how you could be lucky to have him for a dad
but I've got mad dads
every man I've been very close to, close to by choice
other than lovers
has been dead to me
they've been dads to me
but it's alright after work hard one
in short sleeves and short dress
and a compliment from a woman
and a smoke with new friends
but I forgot to change out of these Pumas
so my style remains fresh.

most sloppy

I'm so fresh,
not worn down at all
I'm such a tight ship
I'm     ask girl
    how you say,
   so tight
I like this better than with anyone
and I say, that makes me sad for the past you
and so you said, don't be sad
       you're my future    you're my future


from your dirty dish work
with your dirty hands
with your master jeans
mustard jeans on
what hi fashion
  sure that
the mess
we bring this
  is home all the time
all of the messages         all of the masses
all of the messages
  every mess
we mess up my bed
I miss my hands into your hair
I miss my arms around your shoulders
you mess up and down my body
you message across my back,
you mess up
  my mind
we missed in and out of each others brains
mass in
mess out
  we are massive pod
on a flat floor flat surface, cush ground
breathe heavy snore me for me
I'll whisper tired hate at you
are breathing so rough so sleep
    estoy dormir
I'm sorry it's just a mess
something called something
  for something
it's unsafe to step across your body
it's wrong to walk up on it
and through all the sorries
we can sure of it laugh at it mess it up more
just call it out
  of love

give it a week

I'm actually wearing wool. I'm actually final, here. I am surrounded by the latenight drilling of the roads about. I was sad and awander, I fell into step. I felt time dally around. I make the most of it, child's bed. Make me. 

We picked up a hitchhiker, we were all going to New Orleans. Danny came back to the car and said, He's pretty dumb, but he's harmless. He introduced himself as Christopher, then interrupted himself to say in drunk drawl, But erryone calls me MISS'IPPI! Y'all mind if I DRINK? and I'm sprayed gently with beer. AW NO, this un's sprung a leak! So he chugs. He's made up a song he doesn't mind singing over and over. The chorus says, simply, and straightforwardly: Ga pocket fulla LINT. Pocket fulla LINT. Pocket fulla LINT. Danny says, Aw man, yeah I already heard this one. He puts his hand on my leg. I'm driving. Missippi ain't talking to me. He's not talking to anyone in particular. But I'm at an advantage because I've got the window down, and I'm smoking and drinking coffee. We're outside Mobile by now, Missippi HATES MOBILE, ALBAMA! MO-BILE ALBAMA CAN DIE, KNOW WHIME SAYIN?

Well, shore enough, he passed out for a spell. And we made it to New Orleans, Louisiana. Passed through & over Lake Ponchartrain and it began to rain a bit. We got rid of our traveler but he left in his wake a bottle of smartwater, empty save for the dip he'd been spitting. Bye bye.

I was worried three, four, five six weeks ago. Wondering, will I? I read aloud to him the poem I'd written, we were at the bar neither of us really likes but the one that's close, and always has an empty patio. At the picnic table. He was tired but I read it anyway. I was worried but I'm not worried anymore. I'm a weepless one, now.

no prob

hey pretty getreal
we have to $$ too much
I always hated air conditions
but I moved to the south, to the endless summer so
we pump her up
I don't like to sleep enclosed is a room without windows
is hard for me, for my want of fresh breaths but
the buggies
they fly invisibly in
and suck at my ankles
at the underside of a toe.
so seal up we do.
but we can't afford it anymore, controlling our climate.
so now it's a heavy 85 degrees
both in the house & out of the house
at 74 percent humidity
rains in waves
I don't mind it at all. covered by 150 yrs of balcony
but
inside my skull it's humidest
and I can't defog it
I don't bite my fingers anymore, too relaxed to chew me up.
leave that for the buggies.
I've got nothing wrong. I'm adaptable, you know.

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

anymore

I miss having fun with you, do you think we'll ever have fun together again?
I wanted to have a cocktail
at this poshplace, I had an oldfashioned
at the bar
and I sat next to this bearded guy
who I couldn't look at
 and who left instantly
I feel like if you want to live here you have to be in love
with her
here
I feel it in me, it's not devastating
I wonder if I will drown, here?
or get up?

  of course we will
be laughing
and nice to each other
I don't know where my   space    is
  it's everywhere

I got pulled over last night
I don't want to drive anymore
I get nervous
I want to put an e in nervous
I want to spell nervous with molly

I don't like to be a  thing
in your freedom thing
your venge
isn't mine
I wish we could fuck loudly for someone else's benefit
  I don't tear up that
  just makes me shake your head
  it makes me a judge where I don't want to be

my throat hurts
my head is filled with coffee
and with shit
and with chocolate scone
and with a nap
  I think
              I won't tell you everything
anymore

dear diary

where am I?
it's night the bugs are silent
but this: go about my legs
scheduling, sucking at my blood
well, turn around slowly, fat body
move about, checking
for degree of lost
for debris I've lost
I slap
bet you squash it, you
everyone else talks about how
the winter is coming for them
but no winter comes for me
I'm bare legged, short skirt-did
I'm sheeny, I'm shy
I'm processing ponds
little pools of poem in my head
my arm stay open
my legs spread
I'm a constant in this pool
I'm a constant sweat
it gets dark early
that's the only way to tell
there's a change
can see more stars than you think I can see more stars than you think.
you'd be surprised at the recognizable constellations I see
the same as they're at home, or whatever
its all open late
arms all open late groping
groping at the full night the full  night
my warm wet me
where am I?
I'm a big open wet glad sack
and I got all
that I smile
and I schedule
and schedule
and scuttle
and sad, at it all
but really not
at all

in me

it is a body heart
a panic muscle
my lungs, yours
full up to the throat.
I talk too much
everyone seems better memory
repeat my repeats
rememberize me.
it hasn't been
long I am
afraid of the big
I am afraid
to fall out
of love with my city
with my girl.
how much room is in me?
to quiver in me?
to pulse & pound in me?
will I shiver me off
around over through to finished?
will I kill the gapes
will I fill with sound, me?
I want to
I want to give it
I want to give it all away
I want it celebrating not
cursing
I want to course with you
I want to birth
it not
death it
I want to steal the
deal
to spark my wordless mouth
my fullbellied, worthful mouth
I want to spout the right ones
at you on
you in you
, in me
  I want us safe inside
we're unsafest. world fastened.
harnessed.

<no title>

Don't tell anyone
I am here thinking about all of the sad sagged faces
mine too is sad

I don't know you, let's hold hands
jump on a train
bergman, tarkovsky
popmusic
I'm young
victorian window display
person of the people
pidjin tongue
crescent moon
crescent city
dance to your neighbor's motown
sweeping glass off your bed
barracade your door
forget your keys
pockmarked
greasehair
mosquito bites
drowning cicadas
saving a cicada from drowning in the fountain with a discarded sandal
cicada makes a dive at my face
spilling a cocktail on my face
carry your groceries
climb through your window
fix a wound
sour shirt
fickle
ice cream
kissing
driving
sob
wash your pants
wash your cellphone in your pants
foodstamps
cheesestamps
grungey
asthma
little roach
singing
bulbous
hacking
husky
river bend
orange porchlights
magazine street
kitten
blue eyes
shower
sit on my face
beignets
dogfood
bruises
hydrogen peroxide
late for work
call me

hey, romance

I love
sitting in a car and drinking
outside the new orleans food coop
84 degrees
77% humidity
windows down, listening to Active Child
I like Active Child because it might
be the super-genuine
it might also be
the sarcastic type of falsetto


I went to the bywater
with a two-babe entourage
in cloud shirt, mulberry skirt
& the other, in the dragonfly print dress my Auntie Sue gave me for christmas
I think she should wear it always


I, like the others like me,
like the bywater, what little I've seen
for it's sprawling bed-stuyness,
for
that we're foreign & safe & unsafe & belong & really don't
like, we can & do afford your neighborhood
so adopt it for our art studios
& our coops
in our glasses sliding off our humidface,
disinterested, jaded, working

I'm sitting in my subaru legacy outback
smoking black american spirits
drinking a la 31 boucanee smoked wheat ale from a sweating bottle
awaiting my sexy entourage
thinking about us
midsummer us
some energies
  are up
I'm trying to get them
I'm displaced & sidesmiling about that
I've cheers to make up
I'm a girl with a cause
I'm a fitting in I don't fit in here
I'm shopping around, taking advantage
of my natural
  luck
& my born-in guilt is all overme
all over one only subaru in town,
  we drove it here
this is a chant
this is a waving regular flag
these songs are our songs
how many times a day can I mention I've been to college? I've been to 3 colleges
where'
s my college?
it's serendipity, that I'll sing
song it through all of the
most obvious
  cloud
  & voice it all out of
my wet wet wet
upper
  lip

why not

I'm going to write a story called, "I forgot where you said you were from"
it'll be a sort of relationship, subtle-drama
the kind where nothing happens
I came outside without any pants on
to think about it
and to hear the thunder
and my glasses fogged up immediately
but the storm was over, of course


I can hear an argument across the street
a guy is saying to another, You don't have any friends. Doesn't it bother you that you don't have any friends?
he's saying, No one likes you! You're a fucking asshole!
I can hear a train whistle somewhere close by.
when I lived in Portland, I had one friend
his name is George
he thought writing poetry and writing fiction was a waste of time.
reading it, too.
he told me that he'd had a friend,
back when he had friends
who had promised herself that she'd never
live in a place
that didn't have a clawfoot tub
and she'd never live in a place
where she couldn't hear trains running by.
I thought then, as I do now
that these are good rules
but I haven't been able to live by them
until now.
now I live there.

I'm going to get up early and I'm going to write a story
because I can't think of a reason
why I shouldn't

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

wildly

I said I'll give you a month. I said, it's only going to get worse before it gets better. I said I'll never be an empty husk, a broken shell. I said this is all that matters & I won't give up. I said read me. I'm pushing on you. I'm pushing so hard I'm pushing infinity. I'm trying myself out. I said, if you ask me, I'm ready. I'm grasping wildly open handedly. I cried nearly everyday in August until I left Idaho. I said, there is justice, there will be justice. I would have written something, titled it justice. but my brain was strangely clearer then. then I healed up, contained cask. I keep on finding you but you'll never find me back. I keep on but I'm still here. just swollen full like it is. I'm around and nowhere. I said it again, too

me, again it's me again

I'm getting too good at this
like being too old at this
I'm reading a short story in bed and the story ends and
I realize I've been doing that thing
where I go back in a murky ball
  for you
a guy at work told me about how he cut his knuckle on the meat slicer once
and that the worst of it
was the sound it made.
it was just like the mortadella
it was just like meat.
reminding him we're just meat.
oh I know
it's a brain day
that I'm tender meat on the in & out.
I'm all brain heart lungs
but I look like a regular body bag
and I force them on me
and one day, someone might want to, again

stickygirl

get me! we made that allnatural health poison
the squitos drive around me, knowing I'm delicious
but knowing I've the poison skin
they land on my safedress
and I knock them dead
their striated legs in a little pile
on the ancient cement stoop.
I doubt I've ever stuck to the air
this much.
bye bye, louisiana
august

why are you following me

I'm empty nest
but my body's gettin biiiiig
sooo float
I walk around new orleans in these hippie sandals Barb gave me the night we stayed in denver
and the pink hawaiian shirt I got last week, it's the only clothing thing I bought since leaving idaho
  17 days ago
I walked down the middle of the road
at twilight
saw three cats
to buy cigarettes
I would trade cigarettes for love
  with you
  with any of you
it's chocolate city, you know
           heeeeyyy, chocolate
I got ice cream
in lieu of screaming that
and I've got the bug
the hotbodied, bloaty bug
& I know,
  I know you're not
  really following me around
we aren't tether limbed
we're not elastic lipped
I'll shush me
but I haven't enough
      friends
         in this sultry, sultry wetnest
yet

VENUS

my evenings in summer. I couldn't smoke at Kari's when I lived there so I found the clubhouse. when I'd ask people if they wanted to come there they'd say yes and we'd zigzag sharp upthe hill through the sages and past mellow pink & graygreen donkeytail succulents and we'd wedge our ankles into seats to prop us on, and they'd say, I thought there would be an actual house, here. I loved it at sunset 10:30 at the tip of summer mountain standard time, when up & to the right there'd be glowing venus. I can do anything I want to now, here, so I sit on the balcony in the trunk of summer at sunset around 8:07 central standard time and up to the right there, thar she glows. familiar as ever. if I were in Idaho still I might lament that the trunk of summer radiates nervously, that days shorten at not my wanting, for I've no doubt the same sun sets there, too. I share a timezone with you. doesn't that craze me? meaning makes me crazy. I'll always think of the sultry air surrounding me at this moment, forever I know it. I might not ever quit at saying so. time changes, my zoning mutates. but I've my forever promises & my familiar footholds in any muting sky of summernight. I'll die with some imprint of a silhouetted palm behind eyelid quakes.
there be no doubt in that.

get mello

hey, chocolate
hey, me
how is this southern night so quiet? where're my bigbugs
just the subtle quiet singers tonight?
and topless bandana'd summer teens on the porch across the street
in hammock house
the forsale sign is gone
hey, pretty mansionhouse
I love it in you

how do you do still

watching this very sad Spanish movie
I'm thinking of a you
wondering, did you ever watch them, things like these
& did you read subtitles
and lay on the couch alone
I thought of you today when I read that Raymond Carver story
called Fat
(how boys love their Raymond Carver)
how they've excuse to be witness
to the Great Calm Mess of
Us All
how they've permission to write
in a simple language
to be expressionless, loveless
nondescriptly appreciationless
you wouldn't appreciate this heavy European film, I'll bet
you're too heavy yourself
too Fat
too otherthanthis
I don't think of you too often, anymore
but when I do
I still fully wonder
for a time

sunday

there's a neighbor to my left, coughing & smoking
at his low brick house.
does lethargy
set in earlier, here?
what's the type of overcast here
the bright light blanket
lavenders & cadet blues
trademarked
I don't know, there, I said it.
I'm overcast in sprays of grayed down, too.

big rubby

sitting on the front balcony in the wet wet wet wet we're buggybodied
insects
sliding legs against wings against hair! in wave clouds, soundclouds
  like little pour cloud passing over the house
solid mists between
biting my sunset
the significant gray lavender
rubbing hairs with a gray butter peach
  where we are,

in denver

little dooms
a light
pile of chirps
an element
  I need to think of
an element
a string of vowels
insects brushing against
night
when is the next full moon? is a question

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.

even if I try. even if I wanted toooooo

I'm sitting on the yellow house's stoop, again. This for the last time, maybe. It's an immanent tomorrow. Tomorrow is a better day to leave. The neighbor, not at pukeneighbor's house but at squat brick house, is listening to something punk or something, he wears a black tshirt when he smokes and looks at his phone, there's a tv inside, the neighbors watch it with the door open. He isn't doing much on a late Tuesday. Is it Tuesday? What day is it, Kyle asked some guys who came in to his restaurant tonight. I think he had some lines lined up, he probably knew the day. Kyle's good at being a waiter. I like the words waiter and waitress better than I like server. I like to sex things. None of that is particularly true. I'm drinking a watermelon beer again, we got them for the road. The car is packed. Save for the soda maker. We don't even know for certain that it works, but. What if it does? I'm going to make us sodas when we get to Louisiana, and Thousand Island dressing. I think I could make delicious Thousand Island. I like the name. Sometimes kids only want Thousand Island dressing. None of this is actually on my mind. Today a vase fell a couple of feet from the bookcase and onto the carpet in Luke's room. He hollered for a second, and later, on the log at Brody Beach, he surprise-gripped my sun arm and warned me that there is broken glass, to be careful. I thought it was funny because the thing broke, and also because he didn't pick up the glass, and also because he was being careful at me. The vacuum has been in his room for a month at least, a bunch of ants came in and we got the vacuum and had a great time sucking the ants up. So I had a pretty great time sucking the glass up. So he won't cut his foot later, thinking of me. And the little pieces I'll try not to leave behind. I'm sitting on his stoop sort of listening for his skateboard wheels on the sidewalk. He might be surprised that the car is packed. That I said goodbye again to John Shinn, and to Bri, and to Kyle, and Kari and my dad and to Britta, the last. No one is crying, which is a good sign. But smell makes me cry. The picking up of a handsome plaid shirt with sweetsmelling collar makes me lurch a little. But I'm more more more than ever, and it's ready in me. I wish I could write sweet notes for all over the cute yellow house. Maybe butter yellow is a forever reminder of the Summer of 2013. It has been a good one, thanks to many, and to one. I am glad it's true. All of the hugging is out, I've got it in. I've got a shower, I've got a salad for the morning. I've got an ear to the sky & an ear to the heart. I've shaken off the butter sheets with the black ink constellation. I've sucked up the glass. I've got me wrapped up. I've got me winding away, I think I think I do, now.

when I die bury me in the liquor store

I'm sitting on Luke's stoop listening to Nickey's birthday track, it's pretty loud. Drinking an Outlaw IPA not because I'm crazy about it, but it's a pretty good IPA and I taste IPAs all day sometimes, but because it's from Garden City, and made by an acquaintance from highschool, I never had a crush on him, but I guess I'm trying to be pre-nostalgic for Idaho because I truly am leaving it tomorrow. This song doesn't make me nostalgic, just makes me think of Nickey but I'm taking her with me. I mean she's taking me with her. We're taking each other with each other. I'm going to Dad's for a final Dad dinner, and I'll maybe sell the dogcrate for $50. I made $55 selling my synthesizer to Britt. I was going to sell it to another exboyfriend, but I like Britt better. Maybe it's because he was never my exboyfriend. I think I like the music he makes more. No I know. A giant man in a BSU tee walked by with a golden on a leash. The golden was wetfurred, and peed on the tree in front of Luke's cute yellow house. Ida didn't chase it. But I was gripping her by her aqua bandanna. It's not too grubby for a bandanna. For a dog bandanna. Or even a girl bandanna. I said goodbye to Brittany. To Chad, to Gray, to John Shinn. I wanted to say goodbye to John Shinn again. I've said enough goodbyes. Everyone's like, Why aren't you gone yet. And we're like, We know. Because we've got to pack the car up, and I've got to clean my little messes I've messed Luke's cute yellow house with. But then, maybe I won't. Maybe it will become real to us. Maybe I'm more excited than they are. Maybe later I'll write long words about long skins to miss. Long bodies pulled tightly down over a butter yellow bedsheet, long feet dangling. Can you dangle straight. I have hours left of goodbyes, I know. I will be saying goodbye forever, I know.

slowjambs 1 (5/12/13)

your touch is so wonderful
your touch is so marvelous
the joy that I feel when I'm with you
it feeeeeels so good
I'm so glad yer mine
know that I love youuuuu
make it last forever
ya ya
give me kisses
oooh love me
hold me
squeal me
chimney
you know I do
oh oh ohhhh ohoh
mmmmm mnnnnn
you know
know that I loooooooooooove you
hoooo
prettertnnnener
oh io
never never never
make it last forever
I want our love to last a lifetime
I lovey lovey lovey love you
got to make it
ohh honeyy
I I  i I I i I i

how do you do? (5/14/13)

I've got these goodmess
those good meds
I've got those who will do whatever
big bosslady
Trundlelegs
it smells like garlic at work
we got a lotta tomatillos
I'm at the beach
I am the beach
I am a beachface
with riverhair
But we're talking abt mt rushmore
and how crazyhorse will never be finished

I will dedicate a tango to it (5/16/13)

define sentimental
blood red sentimental blues in the style of van morrison
when I was listening to van morrison I was thinking oh man
I'll bet he was like 23 when he made this album
because I was thinking, he had to be 22
and of course, he was
when I was 22 I was in a bloodbath
I had black hair
I weighed 113 pounds
I chased my own tail
I was sentimental
cleaning the sink with bakingsoda and vinegar
the gum red, it was dry
I threw a mango into the yard
I threw the ball for the dog a couple of times
I said what is sentimental and you told me it's the by-product that oozes from your pragmaticism

I'm just sitting downtown Boise Idaho

what I'm actually doing is hanging out next to Lewis and Clark
there's some little Indian kids and stuff
looks like they're treating a fish for some chestnuts
you can always tell Luis, he's the one hanging back
with a raccoon fur ahead
and Clark pointing
and the other guy pointing, too
they've all got on these crazy friend you jacket
the friends hanging down
of their bronze arms
I'm going to miss the way
of the Great West

things we think of alone

in the stars & bars, the neon bikini
wet from river,
it sucked me in
this is how drunks drown
the water black linesnaking across
I wouldn't have fallen in there in daytime, too dangerous
wet home, always the sprinklers on the greenbelt between 3 & 4 am
things we think about alone
the dry eyes, the good goodbyes
the dreams I have about masturbating
always a mother or stepmother figure to embarrass myself in front of
the geminates: double rs, double ss
the ending of sentences with prepositions
I'll let you sleep all day, I'll tiptoe about you
find you coffee
watch your skin on the butter sheets, your shorts of a dusty salmon pink shirt
long pretties
I get jealous when I overhear things sometimes
but alone on a bike in the dark, feeling cold, wet, driving fast to beat it
coming alone in the heat, it's nice like winterblanket
it makes a sigh smile across me.
thinking of your leaving, of my staying put
I'm putting out even in sleep.
get in me
you did, once, many
I'm alright with that now
so I think it
so I build it true.
now

screamy

for those of you writing, I'm suspicious
I have amillion miles long
I am waiting.
I'll sit with your body folded up in me
we're under them, dots con to each, like the pen drops
on your sheets
wish I could find an animal for it
but no matters.

I am growing, in & up too
I've
left, we've talked about it
I'm here for the 4 or 5
nickey britta luke river dad

I like to look at what the others are doing.
I DO not like to think about what I'd be doing otherwise.
I keep glancing out the window for your
spiderlong
and I am wondering, where did you,
& I fairly shed on you

going out

waiting is not moving. shaking limbs out isn't staying. I cleaned I cleaned I sprayed, I even cinnamoned the ants out of mine own evil, watch them shake & burn. isn't that just, why you gotta be so mean. the party neighbors are at it again. mine whine friends, my dad & his friends. they're good, they only really remember one or two stories from my babyhood. or else there aren't enough good memories. or else two just stories for them to shaken their drunk heads & their squint eyes at. When I'm their age, they warn, In 34 years I'll be thinking, Weren't those the best times. thanks for making me look down at the bodworld I've made all shameful.

wasp

"Last August
  I Gave you My Heart
  and The Very Next May you Gave It Away"

this written on a sign above her bed. this lighting the afternoon cigarette, but they won't sleep sober so it's noon when a roll-out can happen. it's august & maybe it's assumed but the shortening of days can be assumed. there is a broken sprinkler head just shooting out little waterspurts. she went home drunkenly to care for his dog, she was being funny at the time. one can write paragraphs for another so long as they're cryptic to let the other roll eyes because their meanings are decipherless, meaning-less. a long white limousine driving by, the pound of bass in some other car in vicinity. tap your dog out of the bushes. don't touch those eggshells. wen't isn't a contraction. it's august, we're leaving tomorrow. go back three months ago & say so. may was a shell looking out of it at an august too far away. but here we are! sleeping in your bloodbed, all of the dreams bad ones. we aren't sex. se'x isn't a contraction. moving all of the cups in to move them out again. a view from before. tears dry, little cheeks for washes all dry. I made you oatmeal, I invited you disinterestedly. I'm back to disinterest, aren't we proud. wad up in my arms saying nothing but that. is it bass or bass? I guess I've the things to go through, I want to be alone in my own arms. to share my own anxieties with my own disinterested self. dis all over me. give me my push-me-away. give me fortyeight hours, push me away. fuck my eyes open, shower me, my hair to grow long outside from me. look up from your paws, feel the breeze on your pretty cinnamon back, feel the scary unfamiliar humid real in front of you. I'm excited for next may. I'll be such an alive thing then.

garbagepail

so many Gs in the bank
I'm listening to the neighbors party
someone just walked out of the house saying,
Party tiiime, gurl
and I'm like, Hella! I'm alone in pretend house, the dog isn't barking
another guy just called out, Text me in 2 hours to find out what I want from Jimmy John's
and I'm all, Helllllla!
one of the neighbors is a super-puker
he superpukes really loudly in the mornings
right outside the window where I'm waking up, and
rubbing my eyes, going, Hella
Hella puke it OUT, bro
get it
another guy who lives in that house is the breast marauder
the tiny razor pube man
it's a gross story
but he doesn't remember me, so
I'll underbang glance grimmace at him, like, ohh Hella
I never have to remind him
that that's not the romantic way to fingerblast a babe
that he has a million too many identical sweaters
that ripping off a hot babe's nipples isn't the way to get
your sharp little penis inside of it

sorry, this was a bad one
but I'm alone, and feeling proud
of life, of brain, of heart & future
  for at least the next twenty minutes, or so

hungover

I can't tell if I'm straightup being ignored by you
I don't want you to leave, am I? where are we going
I don't want Kyle to go back to Nebraska, it makes me feel like I'll never see him again.
I don't want to never see you again.
I did too many bad things, I lost all of my words in one paragraph
I lost all of my tears, down my throat, backwards
I don't remember getting home
to your home
you interrupt ignoring me to ask me if I know what time it is
I don't know how to find the things
the people-things
I've lost
I'm already gone
I'm trying to be capable
I want dates
but I am so sick on dates
I don't know if I impress
leave impressions of, on

I like your face
I like your beard face
I like your profile & your mouth
& the way you point instead of speaking
I like that I'm in your kitchen
& I'm writing about you
& you're moving about

and you just handed me a black ricecracker
with hummus & pickled okra
it was really pretty

I'm always asking so many questions
so people shush me & hush me
when in bed & I'm talking in my sleep
I forget sometimes to not read your
poems and then I can't tell if I'm
sweating or if I'm crying

there's a golden retriever wandering around outside
and I feel this weighty terror
& a terrible jealousy at it

bucketlist

I don't have enough paper to excuse myself. cricket sounds, alone on your stoop. too date to, too summer to. L H D C. I met my date's unknowing mom today. I walked into his house expecting to find nobody and there is his mother sitting stooped in the kitchen seemingly hairless with a hat & shades & cane, and I introduced myself as my date's friend and she introduced herself as my date's mom. I went to the bathroom & thought wildly of laugh-saying, Oh so you're my new mother-in-law haha but I just said Excuse me and It was nice meeting you, afterwhich I afterwished I would have said, It was nice to have met you because I think this is a far pleasanter way of sharing the sentiment. I am not mad anylonger, feeling unjustified or afraid anylonger. I was talking to Chad last night about how I worry more that I am incapable of feeling Those Feelings anymore that maybe I am trashed & shredded more permanently than I'd thought, anymore. the feeling of not feeling being sadder than any feeling. that maybe I am a sad incapable husk of humanity myself, then. I think maybe I am just losing steam on it all, on everything & maybe I get whiffs of it back often like when I realize that my date has not one but two pianos in his house. & his cat eats my dog's food & my dog eats his cat's, etc. his script on his french homework. his tall bed. underclothes, wet from river, draped about. we're both buying blueberries, now we've only too many for a blueberry pie. I'll go extra & sadly to the yuppy store to buy noodles & corn & squash for you through my hate for the place, parking my subaru legacy outback, parking my collie at the Temporary Doggie Parking Zone. walking past the old white ladies lunching with biodegradable packages. my date has dad hair, I told him there was a fine silvery one & he wouldn't believe it, asked me to pull it out to show him. now he is whitehairless. I've about 9 different pretty iridescent hairs coming out from me. his record collection endearing. there are long shoes, the kind I'd have worn should I be stretched out longer. maybe I am tired from it. in my fantasy hotair balloon basketride. in my I'll make you dinner when I get Home. in my parents' house, and they say, You don't have to leave! We like you here! in your arms & you subtle say, Don't go, just stay & live with me, with your insinuated shared invisible chuckle. I'm blowing kisses at everyone these days. Amanda zipped it away for keeps in her pocket. my date caught one across the alleyway & threw up back to me. John Shinn & Bri stored theirs away like best friends can. I can see actively the shortening of days and my dad reminds me how shitty is Boise in November, that might I just leave then? a year ago today I was fastened to Matty & Kyle & Brittany & Nickey in sweat, blood, pus... oh, tears. it's all the same to us. I quit my job in Portland exactly three years to the day, yesterday, when I quit my job here. But I was out of town on August 4, like planned. that was then, when my buckets were all full. my future was inflated, helium'd. & now it is a solid wonder, but I'm sunk at the wonder. maybe my organs have flown grown away. thought I'd my heart back by now, but it's a wash & my wickerbasket is a frayed mop & I'm moping away in my girl reflection.

on today's date.... those muffled rofls

on today's date we thought of defining irony, we can tell the difference, but can we define it? we can tell the difference between it and coincidence, certainly. we went to the high note, and who was working but brett who said, You'll be gone by halloween, right? I scoffed a scoff meaning, Of course I will, yeah or maybe, God, I fucking better be. he told me it was our anniversary. I looked at him, not wanting to, and he said, When we met, and I laugh muttered Oh yeah, and he told me that sun blood stories is playing a show on halloween with wooden indian burial ground. when I met brett & andy we danced together at the wooden indian burial ground concert. It's ironic, said brett as he wandered backwards away. I looked at my date & told him how this is a perfect example of what irony is not. after, I thought to look into my diaries of yesteryear. this is what I found for today's date, uncut, uncensored, unedited. and all that's left is, Did I do that? 

monday 30 july

salt tears

& the worst cramping. Waves of pain, maybe I do have cysts all over my ovaries. Isn’t this sad? I will never be able to give this birth.  I’ve a new long-distance boyfriend called Justin Ryan Fyfe. A super-unfortunate first two names but I like the ys and the double fff.

LAVA
for magma

i am in lincoln nebraska
my heart only bleeds when you open it
i screamed gin blossom lyrics
at a bar in omaha
how much of what i say
makes it to you
i was excited to go through tunnels
in west virginia
on the way back from the beach
the ocean is terrifying
i haven't said a word
to my father in over a year
and he tries to kill himself
and that sort of thing hurts me
i don't want people to feel
sorry
i am sorry
please forviv me
yr turqouise
i am i am the shades of a wasp
i am smoked in
i am in SP CE
listening to third eye blind
writing you a poem
did you write today
i am 28
and i forget
to drink
water
will you math me
will you hold my hand at the edge of a mountain
cliffs or the beach or the ocean is sky
my eyes are barely no years old
but i hear
or i can't listen from here
the wind over nebraska
lifts the cranes to other planets
kyle to the moon
you can call me
or i dont know why anyone would
imagine being stranded on a desert island
with your southwestern kitsch
am i missing south dakota
how do you say coyotes
what color are the hills on the moon
all these 90s hits i hear
break my heart
break my heart
break my heart
with a hammer
with the fist of rocketships
i am dreaming of clean water
but i cant dig deep enough
the earth wont open
where i am dry
is it too late tonight
are we just going
to skip to the end
i am asleep
i just woke up
it's nice to see you again

This is a Justin Ryan Fyfe original, the first no, no not the first, Erwin I think may have written one for me. But yes, from a person who doesn’t know me. Kyle’s best friend from Lincoln, NE.

After work, now. Tim made me a delicious salad with coconut chickensalad & greens of all sorts. He then brought me a plate of strawberries, chocolate, and whipped cream. What?!?

I'm hung on coincidence, now. & so quietly loling

the luckiest girl in the new world (3/20/08)

I just got home in perfect timing, just between rainstorms. I stopped making fun of myself and said hi to my room, in a happy tone. I found the cat, invited it in, opened an aventinus, and gazed longingly into the shattered remains of my reflection. That last sentence was a joke! I am so funny! I forgot to laugh! Not! I am laughing! ANOTHER JOKE