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

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

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

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,

<no title> (12/22/10)

I make feeling of the brain.  Mostly low-growing, the mixture of that sun and me tryless. A little frolicky. Belonging to the primrose, those strong legs of his. I’m a magnet for choking the mind outright.

I’m not family; I don’t like this like that. Making love, having tuberous rootstocks and nodding strong legs, I’ve been complemented often. A self promoting deprivation. In the alps with deer, white, purple, pink, I see. My ability to create such a young and early death. And berries, unfortunately, crimson flowers with reflexed petals, can get  pretty intimacy only just awhile. In that mindset.

Describing expectantly comfort with strangers, a life donated to my abilities. A circular boat so I can find severe athleticism. Here I am, viewed from inside.

cruelbod

the teens are sitting on the bleachers at the highschool
but they aren't teens, anymore, basically 30 now
kelly is arched back in a vermilion haltertop
and tad lays flat, looking at the stars.
she graduated from highschool
and comes & drinks rose on ice
on the bleachers
she does reverse cowgirl on the bleachers
tries to pee between steps
as latenight athletes run the track.
God, why aren't YOU running with them, she accuses tad
who exhales smoke
and sips rose, ice clinking in his plastic cuppy.
I know, right
kelly sat with brody
on the highschool bleachers
when she was pushing 30, a couple of augusts ago
she was wearing a white dress and a denim jacket
and brody was drinking a big beer
he was trying to convince her to just drive with him all night to nevada
so they could get married
she thought that sounded like fun
but they'd just met the day before
and she knew they'd get sick of each other halfway there.
she never sat on those bleachers when she was in highschool,
just after she moved begrudgingly back after years away
and it was only twice, and past midnight
with guys named tad and brody.
kelly only fucked brodys, now
she was done with seths and aarons and todds.
she is feeling pretty superior in her vermilion haltertop
she is looking good, teenlike
she tells tad about the jeremy she'd been harassing
and tad tells her, kindly, that she's been humiliating herself.
she is gleeful
she doesn't care, has nothing to lose
she claims a lack of cruel organs in her cinnamon bod.
but she's a liar,
and pathetic,
and she's alone in life and she's mean
so she smokes & she chugs
& she takes her shoes off and pees freely.
she's got those good strong outside peeing legs.
she says Whatever
I'm Me
never growing up
just justifying her moves
with evil eye glimmers
and secret, hopeful tears

2:49 am voicelog

the even like you
fleshbrain
sketch my feet in the sand
wait for me I'm on the salon
laying here legs outstretched feet taking
a little diff in the forever from forever ago
I wanted to read you but then I remembered
that I don't even like you anymore
but if we're still on there, that, I like me more
everybody knows I like me more what's not to like me more
so I'll try
with my voice with my feet in the sand
I'm out so its legs pointed toward the river
to the dark water and the swish of it and the glow from the streetlight
in the dark of everything in front of me from the trees below to me
waiting for someone to show up so I'm not around here
anymore
surprise me forever for the middle of nowhere
come at me in the dark of the water
learn me learning tell me
your whole thing to me stories
we're at the gas station what are you going to get
I'm going to pick up some beer and some condoms
do you need anything
no I think I'll be fine thank you
its 1:42 a.m.
I'm standing in the light at the Maverick
I'm watching our bikes
I'm watching that easy cab
listening in the lights the gas pumps, right musics
deal homeless in the cars with a truck
  fun sounds on
its 1:43 a.m. and I'm still standing in front of the matter
what you get at me now
your pain in the grass
I'm sitting at your picnic table in your yard
at the stars come out
we'll have a beer and the end of it
what's going to bed now
you and I
the morning jinx me
good time on that long
long night with you
I don't cry dude
dude I'm a dude
I wouldn't say anything in front of you
Evernote
music notices me hiding
let me stand, boy
I'm to end
catching
me, you never will

blanket

millions of pillows, windows open
  we have had an excellent try, molly
  we went to a movie
it was made by those who brought us the twilight saga
  bc all I wanted was some icecream
  to solve my 29yrold headache
I brought the leopard lisa frank blanket
  and I wore it to my legs
  and snugged with my milkshake.
I sat with nickey, and britta, and that tall one with the sparse face hair
  and the long feet in long shoes
    that's my favorite thing on him
  besides the 13 inches he stands over me
but he doesn't know me very well
  he had changed into a handsome date sweater
  but I'm guessing he rarely wears it
    rarely dates in it
we didn't hold hands, or touch or anything
in the car we leaned toward one another
  with a seat between us.
he knows enough, maybe
  like that I won't ask
                 I won't try
who knows, can you hang?
  I had a crush on him because of 7th grade orchestra
  he played stand-up bass
  and I was usually last-cello
    so I'd get to sit by him.
  he never talked to me or looked at me.
he was a skater boi
  he'd dyed his hair black and he'd headbang while he played.
  he doesn't remember the jr high me
    so is it cool or not
that he wants to hang 17 yrs later? with old-new-me
  I guess
    I live in boise, so
on our first date we went to the gasstation
  there were 5 dudes, all posing toward various audiences
  one bro was absently chewing a box of nerds he was about to purchase
  and I was able to look around at each of them
  bc none would make eyecontact with anyone
he bought me one of those giant glitter-fleece roses
  and he held up the line while he filled out the card
  he spelled our names phonetically
    which I found pretty endearing
       even though the flower is hideous
         and it makes this gross crumply sound when you spread open its petals
  I guess when you want to be a good date you do things like that
I had a dream I was going to nebraska
  and someone said, I heard you got a bus ticket back
  are you really sending me a mixtape?
  is it going to be a lamentable one? are you an across-the-country date?
  is that something to look for
when I came home, I asked my new landlady
  how she felt abt overnight dates
  she really doesn't like the idea
no smoking pot
  no sleepovers
     is this the kind of adult I'm expected to be?
fun
  I guess at 29 I'll become like you, then
paranoid
anxious
and lonely
with no one to share
  my millions of blankets with

flirt

sometimes all it takes is a glimpse out of a cornereye

to notice that the future is pretty ones

filled with bodies with arms & sturdy legs

and maaaad bloodflow

& I've done this before

wash

I first practiced devastation when I was six, it was a devastation determined by a crushing guilt. I would run a bath and sit in the pink bathroom waiting for the tub to fill, and the roar of the rushing water would ring my ears like two speakers switching on back and forth. I thought I was going deaf, I was deaf, I thought I could hear so well that the sound was damaging me. And during these moments my heart would rise up to deafen and I would feel the anxiety building and I would become weak and fall into a rush of panic, which I interpreted as guilt. Capital Guilt. I would try to calm down, sit on the edge of the tub, and would eventually decide that I'd have to stop the water from filling the tub so much. It was all I could stand. Before I learned that I had to stop the water, that I had to sit in a tub that would barely cover my legs, I'd run out of the bathroom to find my parents to admit something to them. I'd tell them only one thing that I'd done wrong. It usually had to do with saying the word asshole or pretending to fuck one of my friends. They'd shake their heads, confused, trying to stop my sob panic, assuring me that what I'd done wasn't so bad, really. I've never understood why I had such a debilitating guilt complex, I was only ever told to treat people well & to not lie to my parents. It was because I had secrets, and that to me meant I was a liar. Keeping a secret isn't telling a lie. Keeping is holding, knowing, treasuring, being inside of a self. Telling is exposing, pushing, forcing, demanding, active & obtrusive. But keeping can also be taking, stealing, and telling can be truthful & necessary & helpful. I'd like to hold & give over & over forever, but the feeling still shakes me away sometimes. I quit admitting, though. I haven't enough faith in that.

plug

I've got a meal in me now, it feels pretty weird

it also doesn't feel like april should end today but it will

because I think it's my favorite month. 

it's the early early mornings, and the sick smell of blossoms, 

and the promise of may

which is historically my favorite times

& I guess still should be. I am waking up, now

I can feel the blood back in my legs, the bones replacing the gelatin sog

& the sinews hardening, or maybe it's just the poison leaving my system

and I was supposed to be there, a friend

but I have only been friends with myself

keeping a mirror as a pet

making promises to the past.

but I'm sitting up, now

& looking at my face again, and it isn't as bad as I thought

and my smoke hair

is coiling like silk on the end of april

and my breath is sweeter than the sick blossoms

even with dying flowers

finally

like a motto from a tea bag I used to carry around with me to

always do the most beautiful thing.

so I'll try before I die & long before the great byebye

vengeless & celebratory is me

did I die

What's up, I hurt myself again. All I wanted was raw oysters, so I ordered a sauvignon blanc & Gayle cried out, well get the FRENCH one, duh, and then my brother asked her how do you say purple in french and she sort of gave an answer with an accent I could have better done but I've never been in any sort of immersion course, not to say I am a natural, but I can pronounce using the int'l phonetic alphabet, but how hard is it to learn this?

So I got it out, and I started this teen diary to help me forget the confident amazing woman I "am" and so I can just be a heart on legs or on sticks, walkless. Stupidest gusher! I am a jellyfilled sac, emptying of everything allover the sidewalks. I make myself vomit whenever a thought comes in me.

old relevant

I don’t even need to kiss. But I do anyway? & I showed late to a dark lawn with a poet reading from the scrolling light of a smartfone. I was quiet, in ambience. eyecontact unwavering. And sitting next to me, introduced, and lovely because from us the conversation then readily flowed. In the grass with jars & cups of wine, like oldest friends sharing knowings all together too easy. Maybe it is easier with a boy. I haven’t met anyone like that who I’d like to just sit by and keep talking to; the girls I know in some sorts because of how easy it is for us to just be. But he it was like a lost brother of mine. Then breakfast, sleepless, and it was a depressing breakfast, in that the breakfast was depressed. Eggs in a weird isolated pile, a couple of biscuits that didn’t fit anywhere, some sad potatoes. We only go places for geriatrics. And hopefully will. It is exciting and we can’t be. We are a secret, a secret shared with bars & the heavens & some select northend streets. Our bicycle seats & our diaries. He asks me questions. No, he just listens. We can’t talk anymore about the good that feels, or the beauty of faces. I can’t think about the feeling of a hand pressed hard against a low-back, or the clench of small arms. Golden beard, Nordic eyes. But our smiles! the best, contagious. Not for those long distances and uninvolved. I got through a day of clenching my lust-carved jaws, of hiding my heartattack chest. And just the saying of the bare-minimal, just that I like it, I want to be best friends, I want to. I have blood-filled veins, after all, and a heart that shakes and pounds, and legs which want to wrap around, and a mouth that kisses with all of itself. I am not there, there, there. I am older now, smarter. I am not in love, I am in love. I am in love with every second, sometimes. Since Sunday night. I am in love with time elapsing, with an everpresent future, with the thoughts that a body feels! The movement, the passions, the lust embrace that I KNOW isn’t gone, has just been hibernating, has not been there, at all, real. It might not be he; he I like so much and feel so connected to, really, like everything is just there and so honest & obvious.

It’s 28 or never baby.

poem(s) for a body

from warm snow

I can't keep my hands off a face, hands off a face, from a body,
I will stay here with you, and clutch your body to me every night
But I don't want anything in my body!
I like your body in a bed with me 
the sweet feel of a body beneath tight jeans, fucshia sweater
my hands sliding down a body
I almost never use my body anymore
I would never use a body for sex
at my body
The holding of another body at closest range
too hard on a body,
especially when a body will of course go back and smoke harder and with more intent after.
sweet body
I am tired of this uncertainty about my dying body.
beautiful in Universe hair and torking body
My body is constantly full with the salty fat and sweet things which make it middle-aged.
Body in suffer.

from crepuscular orations

why does my heart explode my body?
my heart acts ravenous in my body.
my body is too old for my mind.
I held and rubbed a naked body and I tried to recount everything I saw and said aloud.
no matter how nice it is to hold a body and look at pretty eyes,
the things one intends through body movement and flickering eyes.
my body steaming.
fires in my body will always burn.
My mind is tired, my body needs more movement...
with all my mind & able body,
do not do any wrong with my body.
Avoiding my mind & body, too.
My body is fading away which is completely unfair.
every second my mouth is on a body,
I watched myself leave my body, my breath was caught.
My body isn't sweating at the moment too terribly,
and how have I barely used my body in days?
My body still smells strongly of summertime,
the body morphing into a filled balloon.
The scent of a body, perfectly soft & real?
Mine own hands on my own body, no...
Body posture indicating a hiding or a withdrawing,
the celebrating coyotes hollering so loudly as I lotioned my fresh body.
My body is like lumps of mashed potatoes.
A body small and smooth and pretty, yes.
A hair-covered body, thin, toothpick legs.
My body quaking, atingle all through...
My body reeling and relaxed, legs out on the porch sofa.
I wish I could lick every inch of your body.
I climb a body, hands across me
with my body, with my life.
Body feels so good with mine, hair in my hand,
a bed, a body, the walls in his room.
There are plenty of sexual bones in my body,
smoothe large body, pretty.
And for body touching.
I do like the idea of hands on my naked body...
I just want your hands & my body.
A body so different.
But I want a cock in my mouth so I creep down a body...
hands on my body...
a large soft body,
a giant body.
A thick smooth body, a face always on the verge of smiling...
what am I doing here, body?
And I couldn't think of anything but my body and the world right there.
I can't have a body on mine.
Get a hard beach body?

from momentos preciosas

How I miss the feel of a body.
I even stretched all my body today
massaging her body,
the human body when it is standing. 
Dreaming is always accompanied by the body's sexual arousal?
When I came my whole body convulsed
between the body and the earth
keep the body separate from nature even in death.

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.

16: pacific duck, ruddy loon

Oh at the grass I am, and there the ducks, ruddy & floating without legs without feet or arms, on water consistent like yogurt. The marsh lined with mallow curtaining the down afloat. The water, the element of, heavier than air. My fingers creeping lichens over your face, over your face, presenting you a spring shell-flower; within it hidden ring-lichens, concentric fleshy loops for your pretty hand. The celtic cross shaded over us before the sun, its snakeweed shadow-maker blowing. It is a breeze. It is a breeze which makes a howl throat out from the dog-lichens, their membranous moans keeping the screech-owl up too late. I want to know, at night, the loon and its stories of sweeping the Pacific. Make me sleep for the better.

I make feeling in that mindset

prettylittle 80 - 82

I make feeling of the brain. Most recently low-growing, the mixture of that sun and me without trying, simply. The avocado’s point of view is a little frolicky. Belonging to the primrose those strong legs of his. I’m a magnet for choking the mind outright.

I’m not family; I didn’t like this like that. Making love, having tuberous rootstocks and nodding strong legs. I’ve been complemented often. A self promoting deprivation. In the alps with deer, white, purple, pink, I see. My ability to create such a young and early death. And berries, unfortunately, crimson flowers with reflexed petals, can get pretty intimacy only just awhile. In that mindset.

Describing expectantly comfort with strangers, a life donated to my abilities. A circular boat so I can find severe athleticism. Here I am, viewed from inside.