things we talked about

eyes, colors, nausea, autumn, showers, blood, being Irish, come, stubble, being Turkish, being Canadian, lying, misuse, anxiety, border collies, language, love, fear, drinks, smoking, hands, feet, newness, comfort, guilt

just a couple of times

ooh dusk

Months. I found two welcome-home pinecones on the patio. Brown and yellow beds everywhere. I can't kid it, there is piano, the music of one I think, and it's one of those songs I've long chided myself for keeping around. Surprises happen all over. Can't draw the shades completely! The autumn is out there. Watch her come and go. I've got to use the heavy woolen hooded coat. The one I'd dreamt about, but in plum. And then the voices! 

My friends are listening to poetry tonight. Some of us admit not to be. I'm having hard enough time keeping myself company! Like an argued room with distant relatives, we talk. Make faces. Feel the rush through. Little waterslides of blood. Maybe it's because who would read this, anymore. It's like an end to it all (oh, no, I've unpacked all of the grocery baskets and suitcases! one was filled with costumes, and just in time for halloween), or rather I will somehow find something better to do, a waste making sense. Where is everyone?

poem(s) for hearts

from crepuscular orations

The heart goes in and out the veins, the heart thaws me numb.
Why does my heart explode my body?
my heart acts ravenous in my body.
the weight of my heart in my chest.
the constant heart spangles.
My heart dancing.
Gaining weight in every part but the mind & heart,
I could put lots of heart and soul into a dinner.
My heart is more awake today, my mind is more.
or breaking my heart.
how he broke Molly's heart,
most of my heart,
to not let my heart open up on the way.
Into my open heart
who broke my heart,
The craving for newness and adventure hasn't left with my heart.
Murmuring in quiet tones on the porch and my heart swung and I greedily thought,
This is the heart of my fear.
My heart was beating and to have
enough room in this heart for all this love,
we had a heart to heart
soaking into my eyes and my ears and my heart, in a heady, low volume rush,
abrasions bursting from in the heart and up to bubble at the surface.
my heart is a stupid little asshole
because he still holds the key to my heart?
my heart does
the heart is heavy
and my broken heart will heal with immediacy, because
total eclipse of the heart.

from momentos preciosas

that's why the heartpangs.
and autumn begins wholeheartedly.
I was thrown out from my hilarious and lighthearted dream;
I can feel the heart now.

I knew the tune which lacks in roots

I knew the tune would be here. And in this cool place where I live, legs beneath layers of down, and blankets, too, and the impending sun of autumn. The subtle morning brain is like a muffled country and western performance, the light tingle of the mandolin or the hesitant whine of a slide guitar. I can feel it up and through my veins and feelers. My spine is filled with the music of stars. The ones hid, now. Last night's cloud sprays, the quiet dark. My warm wet body pricked in the fresh, an opened dress. And now, like a mushroom, grown overnight in these crevices, waiting willfully to be uprooted. Even to uproot that which roots lack.

it is silent again, and will

(songs of yesteryear)

7 September, 2:27 pm, ne 59th avenue, Portland

It is silent save for the burbling of brown rice. I hear the froths, the drips of steam collected and singe splashing against the burner of a distasteful electric range. And outside, the snipping of branches like of the rose and such, those which hang and throw themselves after the rains to block the walk just south, outside the window, of where I sit. Oh! I really just yelped there; I felt my mind’s eye wander back and behind me, through the open window and into the aforementioned walk, where ARMK clips clips away. I envisioned him and then lo, a begloved hand holds a perfect perfumed rose of the palest pink before me. I did happen to cry out in surprise, as my expectant mind was, just then, in the walkway south of the window. I see the steam rising, waiting for the rice to finish its process. And then, to dine on such delicious stew! I used kale (after de-aphiding and sadly disposing of many, many long curled leaves) and two small beets from the garden, as well as a sweet potato, lovely little onions & garden garlic, cabbage, fennel seed, ground mustard & cayenne. Oh! In this kitchen the light is common to change, and the day hasn’t yet appeared in rain, nor would I hasten to call portland anything drab. Is it sad for me to not capitalize the town in which I live? It doesn’t mean I no longer feel it so!!

Drinking in yerba maté chai, and autumn begins wholeheartedly. I want to fall in love with mine again, and will.

no v ember

the sight of leaves on street. the fold of my hand around one, veins transluscent through and towards a streetlamp, or the bright of the sun, or the shine of the moon. The wet sky making through the dark of the early night, visible only too by these orange and yellow lights. the size of one leaf, bigger than a face. the sight of a leaf appeared dipped bloody, or into the juice of a beet, or any other naturally staining intoxicant discharged by a wet autumn root.

on riding over the dry leaves in the road

finally, the red leaves a litter. They like largest driest petals dropped from crusted rose. I see here, the roses still on their tall stalks, if brushed would crush to fall. If a rose could talk it would bloom; in the times I've felt the nearest push of prick into me, my cushioned thumb in hazard, in lightning, I never hasten wonder when wilst the final bud drop to crumble. Anchored now in thorough autumn, still open and gushing sappy pink light of softest flesh petal skywards. The open rose, the frozen palm.

equinox

And autumn, and tuesday, and only to have the celebration, on days later, something befitting to us. And us never includes me. but the sunshines in me immanently, and what if it isn't anymore? look I know I see, look, it isn't anymore. you isn't anymore and I don't dare to be.