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