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

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

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

sitting by the river being all proud of myself (truth)

I am homely, driving in my car
             waiting
how many words do you think are in my vocabulary
how many words do you think of me
  I'm too something to something
  some pre-you pre-yous I'm doing, I'm after
I'm tired
I'm sprinklers, I'm sprinkling under summer
I'm sorry, I'm out
my car will die
I'll need a jump
I'll dry eye the night
but I'll
  sing at the tops of me
Truth
  with its un
recognizable
bassclarinet
     goodbye
         I'm asleep
            & truly
         from the mist
         from the most severest place
       are my apologies

last call girl

I'm the end-of-night girl
I'm your last chance
the bar is lit
the teens are falling down the hill towards their cars
I'm closing this place down.
can you talk to me
can you walk me home
can you get my number,
can you call me tomorrow
can you kiss me
can you
  hey, free country
pretend
I'm not your last-resort
I'm not an act of desperation
that you're listening
when I tell you
  I'm in med school
  I'm 35
  I'm moving to hawaii in 4 days
  I'm gay
&tc.

ammmn't, anymore

one pack a day on some summer night! I am sorry I tried that, I have hundreds of unfinished paragraphs. what day is it, even? trying to count in evens. I think we're at 45. all of my relationships are mountains. I don't like some of your names. I like mine own. a bull charging at me, charge me. I slept with the one who broke my heart for years. I was a whole person, again and I thought I'd never be. I said inside voiced, I guess you'll own me forever. I would do anything you say. I would move to chicago instantly at your urge. ready to be destroyed again. but of course, I am bigger than I thought. big enough to brush away memory shines, pull out the splinters. lamenting at seven whole years passed. you're not a matter-to-me, I'm glad I'm on the internet where you'd never think to look for me. I'm alright with your living, our earlymorning why not. I didn't tell you anything, and you faded like time makes. my hair still grows, I still sustain a body. the craze wanders, dissipates. but we must have known when we started, again. smoke a pack to your face and die of young too-much, much too young.

in the forever

in the coast. there were coasts everywhere, canyons like cliffs. someone last week flew a
  porche off a cliff from the wind road we drove in the early hours
we talk abt deaths a lot, so often sometimes we become immune to that it's better
  than we, we immortal
standing in the place you were
when you exploded your head off
  we feel best when we climb over it
& we're standing there overlooking

like the night city is incomprehensible
like a new city is
but I'm picturing us all there
the ones who'll never leave our sides, hands chained, fingers interlocked
the width of us a city block
the width of us a city's thickness
the width of us deathless, now
the past a murmur
the past is murdered
and we've nights
for our bodies
to web out
like kids
like the future really is ours, then
to fly off cliffs
or to hold on & spread out & go
 at the good invented forever

who do i think i am

I did enough last night to justify

my never leaving the house

  oh... you're moving to new orleans?

  but I was planning

to go there, to never have to see you again

  and we could have gone together

  and you didn't have to give up on me

  and you could have given me a chance!

  because you're the one!

I'm the one,

  right

we were yelling in front of the bar,

  and we were crying

  bc I hear you so well

but I don't think you can with your dead ears.

do I get credited for the ruins of someone else's heart, now?

do I get to be the guy 

do I get to be the beloved, for a change?

  ha

I left & walked, and did some unsavory

  business in front of my old highschool. I was laughing, now

    and I rode my bike home

      and I did more bad things

        some regretables

          but I haven't any apologies

    I just keep

 trying

for some reason

 to not be

   the one, anymore

shark chin

look at you go! in my dreams I was in a closet with a screaming close-girl, we were being poked by invisible fingers, but you can't hide from invisible fingers

I'm going to make that life-deposit, now. It's early late enough. The ropes are twisting, shredding, I feel the pull more, gravity more, rope shred

We've picked out our $50,000 wicker porch sets

We cut the collars from our shirts to make room for the real breaths

but we smoke a pack

into the night

because suddenly, it is night

and we've gotten there!

I always use exclamation points, and some people never ever do

I wonder when I will find those of you who do?

in writing & otherwise?

And question marks?? I know we all do from time to time

I want the exclaimers. Dig me out to find them.

this year already better than last; an example

Saturday 2 January 2010

I am nervous. The heart goes in and out the veins, the heart thaws me numb. I have the dog panting at my side, the guitarmusic panting in rhythm, my own breath beating, the blood beating. I have been watching too much show, but today, but yesterday was my last day alone. Jon is back, invisible but with traces; the rabbit is gone, the kitchen is clean. And he is going to return from Arizona. I have to pick him up at the airport at 10:30 pm. I am about to have an attack. My fingers can’t find the letters, I can’t find a way to be. I do not want to see him and I feel certain of that, but then I do not want to see anyone at all in my house. I want my own little place, which has no one. I love the dog & cat. But I would rather give them up for my aloneness. I cried without tears, it was raining so I don’t know if it’s true, on the walk from the bar in between friends & acquaintances & coworkers; we left the bar on new years and I wondered, is new years over yet. And I could only think no, I don’t want to keep up like this, I don’t want to go anymore, I don’t want to deal with anything. Like being a human. I don’t want to look at him and listen to how much he missed me because I missed him, yes, on new years when we’re having a party it would have been nice to have him. I missed Kari but was mad, annoyed at her not being there; but who can I tell this to, I am no writer, after reading writing makes less sense, why do I think I could. If my only method of escape is this? how? I can’t write, I can’t put the letters together, nothing is honest, even, save for automatic spell checker. If I am to escape, just constantly for myself. From myself. I just need a break from being me. From the internet distractions, the sounds, my visions haven’t been. My tears haven’t flowed, my breath hasn’t come in gasps, I am not of passion anymore, and he will see this when he arrives. I want to trick myself, to say well now that he’s here I will be so happy! Finally the emptiness isn’t! But when he comes, I will have to be here, too. I don’t think there’s any way to live here. I want to be alone. Without roommates. If I really do go to college one day, in new york like I think, well I’ll have to be damned prepared. Also, I will be ready to be around others. I’ll have to be. So alone in new york. So alone but never far enough. Here the expanses can be great… and still so lonely. I liked the big dark house, empty but for us. I liked not thinking about anyone coming home, or complaining inside about my lackings. I like not thinking about anyone. But I hate not thinking. I numbed myself around, and am, just to avoid the true honest thoughts. I don’t miss Adán, he is a distraction from the real empty pain I feel when I’m alone, the pain which leads me to search frantically for something real to devour, and I am numb and searchless now. I can’t see anything. I am blinded bored.

8:42

It is restless. The struggle over I over it. My mouth is dry as can be, there are songs coming out (songs coming out of me) and the programmed static is like rain on a tin, and the things which jar and strangle. F pyramids. F hillary.

I was struggling okay all these things I have to articulate, and do I hear sounds of voices. Ah, the bright lights. I am panicking, learning forcing to force by means of love. The soundtrack of the night playing, of course, the important role. The progression of moment through music. Of feeling and the tinkle in the lobe of a basedrum.

            I suddenly relaxed. After hanging up all my favorite dresses (duresses) aloud saying, “I must throw all these away!” suddenly so jovial! Ah, the mere trash! I have to stop watching that trash, any trash. My trash, my treasure. Why does my heart explode my body? The theories, I see!

The height of the night, the eggs of sweet little salmon

passed around to us on loose baguettes. I used to know

the finnish word for baguette. If only.

Reluctant relaxants. Cigarette in the yard.

Unpaired socks are called loose ends. For right now

they sit on the feathered nest made for all of us. I

have never laid there.

hearts and bones……..hearts and bones………hearts and bones

The timing will tell a story if remembered. This is about the arc of a love affair. I haven’t a story to tell. My life, as I already described, is a numb skull.

But the dog is perfect

so the fleas too, are perfect.

“Why won’t you love me for who I am where I am”

this is a story! It is true, I dare it!

If gayle could only have married paul simon

would she then be called gayle simon?

They would have looked lovely

in pictures together.

Then to be called gayle marie, of course.

No, I do not think it’s the time to try to write a poem about my mother. For she isn’t really my mother, except maybe once, or for a time, but then only because I felt like mother is this faraway, unobtainable being, who can’t care for you or protect you but who wields absolute power. Is there a better phrase. Absolute, without a doubt, oh, doubtless. Incontrovertible control. Yew

She was my mom, of course. Molly’s mom. This is a replication of the cabin. I could try for an upper upper situation.

The soft faraway look of the dog, eyes semiclosed, gazing panting gently, and the pink earlymorning at far rockaway some hog july summer relate in an instant, stirring a spark up. But I was so desperate for those occurrences. Something in me has since died. And I am wont to bring it back.

Alas, at this fair hour I anxiously await the welcoming home of my beloved. I am aching inside, tiny dagger-stuck innards. The whistle of a train!

no beauty, all the beauty

songs of yesteryear

Thursday 25 October 2007: 8:16 pm

heartbeats (not yours but mine)

Oh! Tortured lovebliss. But it isn’t mine… I’m cautious, I swear, and eternally.

I haven’t mentioned him because I haven’t mentioned anything. He’s my neighbor, a combination of one and another but mostly more and more he’s just he. The records are familiar. The 4 track, the guitar, the hair, the nose, the everythings, parts of a demeanor. I have a few friends now at 64 & 66 Grove St. There are many others here: A man (in height and wranglers) dreamboar; another, a model, who shares my birthday and is my brother & not mysteriously… And the newest. We hung out and I smiled over and over because they’re all great. They sip whiskey and smoke. And the energy is always up, there is always dancing and the birds sing and there is always music in the air.

Last weekend they had a party. I arrived and was stuck to him the entire night, up until 4:30 or so when we retired to his lofted bed in the closet for final. Steve Reich on the tape player on repeat, and suddenly just a foot touching mine. And then the all too familiar fucking with our hands, and I find him so beautiful we finally kiss one another but somehow by accident. No making out, I refrain…

hello, beetle (hello, hello)

how are you today? are you walking on my sleepingbag? Well! And is that man outside chopping away the palm to rid of it a wasp's nest? How many angry wasps, now? At least he felt badly about it. I had to put on some shoes for his benefit. Wishing I wasn't the only one, now. Where are you? How is that voice of yours? Mine is low and cathartic. Which isn't a problem. Imagining summer squashes cooked in butter. Imagining you & I, in butter. My bruised arm, permission to leave the desert. How is summer anywhere? Is it turned to fall, yet? Where are my cousins & friends? Should I go ahead and look for them? Where's my sweet dog? Is she wondering after me? What about the rush of a train just going by? The fear of the rails beneath, the seismic moans into me? The wet earth? The hard, brown clay? My own moon away? And the pools, the soft rocks and the blisters caused only by shoes. Shoeless, maybe a wasp underfoot could be, or a snake, or a tarantula ant. The little bloods of fire ant. My body wants me to fill it. I feel the same. I suppose rescue is the only word. But I need nothing, just a cloud to float me away. The night is warm but the day is here, & earthly pungent.

yearn at the corn moon

In the tempts of maize, I attempt to weave around. Maze around in brightest-lit coldergrowing night. Chicha de jora, milk substance, strawlike color. In the americas of the opposite, tantalizing hemisphere it is drunk from a maize fermented by mine and your own ptylin enzymes in our open mouths, our readiest salivas. How it is true, then! The wild yeasts yes, but how forgettable is that of you, of us! Our own bubbling, budding abilities. We have within us, the powers of the distillation. Mine in yours, and mine in mine. My saliva in the fruits of earth, my burbling beings in the taste of a large white moon.

ant, the velvet words

It was just the words come in me, those to make seen the real simple of a night. The common scent of flowers on the night breeze of a week-end, the ones smelling like butter or honey. Different bee breeds hover from these flowers & in again at daytime. The crickets, common sound of august, or maybe in oregon frogsounds are commonest. I'd like a test to differentiate. a frog whisper in one ear and the rustle of cricket wing violined against cricket wing; stridulating forgets the hot of a night. Spiders in stridulation, the velvet ant...

events of hours hoped or wished down

pretty little, 53 to 55


The events of hours: by tomorrow I am chiaroscuro. I am whimpering, almost, with the night now and still, once again, of light and shade I'm made. I think as usual, hiding in time, an affect of silence.

Consistently a chicago coffeeshop, it’s contrasted light and moderately I attempt to hardly be here at all. Just a beautiful shadow created by furnished apartment. Choke back in the unnoticed French light falling unevenly. Preparing tears a mind never blue from two; I produce a clear cherubic direction. That adjoining abruptly, the life of me, all throwing soft light in. Seeing, difficult & dry. I’d like to wake on the table, leaving love hard and saying, knowing, thinking, goodbye at the rest of a room.

A dance around things, an epic poem, the East in chiaroscuro. To prepare then. Somehow, take me for some marked action mythology; have you found humor to recommend me? might a fire you are looking for?

Black must do to be breathing around. Velvet forms a part of female singing. I try singing it too, for me to keep most interested. The head knows all the words, I loudly need the feel. I never hoped or wished down.

purple find me

pretty little, 33 to 40

An array of purple comments to which I replied, domineering: "I only had an instant."  I couldn’t know avarice. Between the tap tap tap of fingers I’m on him. "I adore you," I say. He sat for wealth of my finger rubbing against his. You, he, she & I, the four of us there. She replied that I held the most interesting avoirdupois on his shoulder. A weight to keep him sitting. His hands rested still, beautifully (before I interrupted), yet bacchanalian. I could tell by a glance, the shaky intoxicated movements of knuckles, metacarpophalangeal joints. She held herself in the doorway and uttered. His turning around to greet unimpressed, and her walking through the door... his response was characterized by you. And my ass, I guess. He brought me to drunken revelry, so I’m gently feeling. It's wearing off now, and riotously. The backs of his upper thighs already in view, he's standing. Defense with wide-open eyes. He barely lets felt how I’ll feel.

I showed him my city, looking serious... a sigh, not a smile. Though I no longer speak, he is especially serious. For miles open-eyed. Uncomfortably speak to us, tower above, shocked. Kissing unacceptably my drawbridge. I was, and he looks beautiful now. This makes me feel particular. So I was, in the up-close dark. Communicating uncomfortable, and at a southern meeting, too. I try my idea, I stopped being pleasant. Bedlam, it would actually happen.

To kiss all over, to have our presence, to have uproar. I went to his face, sex and confusion. A big hotel with themed rooms. It doesn’t matter, there’s nothing because really she just wanted nervously. Recall, surround rooms for doing, happening here. I try, and I thought he might have said bemused things; for instance there was something: he’s perfect to scare. Puzzled, a room called out to him. Now I’m angry, the boy confused. Another pulled his penis satisfied and he then went on, bewildered. One for free, probably to accuse me absent. Abstracted orgies, and a room, it’s ash-grey. I think he was claiming distrait, faraway and relaxing. Cotton restraint right. Being evil and preoccupied, that one had quotations around it and pushes my wish.

Macabre when I was bibulous marked. Everyone knew that all aside. As usual he’d remain only reacting. Given to the consumption of the rooms. Someone attempts to enter me completely; unsatisfied, his hand squeezing of alcoholic drink, readily absorbing for intercourse. I climbed an abrupt. Suppose my special thigh.

Fluids up the manner, I allow it for moments so. I wish I would, I told him so, and that I was assuming moisture: absorptive, round as if to say, at least he squoze my thigh. Assimilative staircase as he does, and I say sickens. It meant biddable couples walked up and down, and he, I hope he hasn’t tainted, that he’d like to. Obedient, past me, all women says he has perfection. I was amenable to the top, then he says the sky once more. Have sex with me, a statement compliant. Docile, behind a wall to wait tired as seems the habit of late. He didn’t deny or agree. He apologized, submissive. I was and he says he doesn’t care. White and perfect claiming. Supple, you remember, suppose air below.

Only meant it, the division I used to know. Of course ideal music in my presence. Something into two. So I went shocked and willing. Hot dry air fingers the truth. Branches, or parts relaxing. Spontaneously into his, nearly bloodied. Uninterested in consequence, radiation, two women had me. They and the official, and I’d like only to offshoot. In one room from either side I’m afraid I must speak with nonsense. Any I’ve seen, laying in between, looking never and to not talk.

This mattress on the floor, a window, another I accepted. A person and I sat at the sky, little, last. His apology, and a man who behaves around. A lot lighter and lighter as night I was handed. We left then, taking dishonorable for the seconds pass.

A pomegranate, a lovely blithe showing into events of the night. An apple couldn’t readily have made me casual. And then I as usual found and asked. How old he was, cheerful, naked. Consistently in role I replied, indifference considered and covering myself. The shower, now I’m devouring badly, callous. I told him as I dress life depends on lying convivial. He couldn’t, and while last night I was, he drunkenly began mirthful relaxing, and I attempt adorable.

When I went, vigor always tears fairly & perfect. I wanted to stay for my vivacity, actually pulling successful. In the night forever he aged me of style. Back and forth between us while I produce, nasty tongued. Smelled of sweet bromide still abruptly. Days ago turned sour, trite and cold. Down to the evening spilled unoriginal, broken hard and saying moving. Dancing typically, sighs, and I’m not nearly falling intended. Loudly I’m smoke and anxious about arriving. Ask me to soothe visibly, try to find me.

full moon, emptry heart

I can't find it but I know it's there. I saw a full lunar ellipses last night, a red tinted moon far far away, a tiny little moon way up high. I stopped running around, scullery maiding for a minute or two and went outside tshirted to view it. We all stood in silence and appreciation and respect.

Tonight I will reminisce gladly. Another month to celebrate. When I find that old bitch in the black sky.