JUSTICE

Born of blood and restless sound
small terrible thing,
you'll find this pulse
of electric living.

across the red blanket
of your eyes shut tight against light,
making wishes
and pulling on feathery petals
but only fools make promises.

LOTTE

now that i know you put your head down every night to sleep
and that i am not allowed to like you-

i will admit it to no one.

maybe it can just be a friendship. so delicate they rise and fall.
and when they crash they make no sound, just turn into ash.

i looked at you out of the corner of my eye all day yesterday.
thought about what it would feel like if this were a date. if.
ican'tican'tican't.
i put the cut glass crystal we found
in the pocket of a child's jacket
next to the window

i think it sends out psychadelic rays.
i think they've got the best of me.

so far i've i smashed my knee three times in the same place.
it's so funny- to see her everyday. make a little game out of hiding my face:
blank expression/pretending not to notice/feign surprise.

you know the girl.
sits behind formica tables in those chinese diners that sell breakfast for 3.95?
drinks their coffee because it's cheap. vindicates her artist soul.
i think it tastes like vinegar.

UNWILD DOG

With his leathery black nose low to the ground, Reggie searches for purpose in these woods.
dusk hits and the clouds part above the Arbutus and Pine, their lacy streaks caught in the tops.
above, the moon waxing half full, is bright enough to cast shadows.
Reggie looks, alert, beady eyes trawl to the skies, but all cells in his blood cast long ago their inherent desire to pay homage.
somewhere,
a paw,
a sliver of moon reflected, a
slight shift in the wind.
Reggie lets a low bark and turns from the sound, running toward a faint whistle. the wild no longer his brethren.

FEMINAZISLUT

I remember the year you learned the word "hegemony"

applied it to masculinity.

over swigs of whiskey, spitting into the fire, speaking in terms of mother nature and wearing men' s clothes

twirling your hair- white pretty privileged girl.

foul mouthed and steel-nerved

soft white breasts: a palm-full

wide necked shirts: hand trimmed

re-appropriating sexuality.

dusk cuts to black

take back the night!

marching into the arms

of validation

sought but never spoken of

he doesn't mind that you don't shave, you empowered woman.

womyn.

free agent.

you've read feminist literature

and let your mother's generation plant apple seeds of awareness-

although not her directly, oppressed sad mother figure.

silky white petals stick to your perspiring mind.

surfing the menstrual wave-

of some post post post

(enter generational context)

OH sweet impregnation of feminine thought

feminine body

robust and fluid, you fill me with sweetness

that only

naughty little women can offer.

CALLED PROCESS

it is through this struggle
that these elegant young things, soft milky little things,
are defiled and made to
think core-less thoughts
of self
hollowed and reactive.

you sit, so still.
these big dreams tread on
tracked and charted, linear movement has
stripped those big dreams of all substance
little plumes of condensation-
absorbed back into the starless night
before they ever really leave
they are finished.

TRANSCENDENTAL EXPERIENCES

i've been waiting here

not so much for you but more for us.

we're meant to burn blue,

grow long hair, braid it together,

pile matchsticks miles high!

don't you realize looking at that big orange moon that we should grow old together?

we should have a million stories and

never stop being able to find small bones

new bones

little bones

undiscovered land on each others bodies.

see that leaky morning sky reflect on your pillow

and

it's empty right now, but hurry up!

hopeful words.

we have so much time to get started.

SORRY BAY.

i want to purify my intentions.

spreading smoke lines across my chest: cross my heart. hope to die.

i wrap wax string around crystal quartz, find little feathers to wind into things.

gestures.

apologies.

deep blindsided apologies.

i am not sure if everyone else can see-- do you not notice my rotten core?

i'm not worth your

pity even.

a sad little girl with so much more growing up to do!

the exact same things we want are so opposite.

there is no. more. time.

for church.

for absolution.

tell me little prayers to whisper in icy breath. God's words!

hard wooden apologies.

sometimes it feels that there is venom inside of these bleached out bones.

so many fall, so so so many fall.

i am not alone, i know this. but wicked company is not good company. greasy spoils start to deteriorate,

a person.

from inside out.

there is no. more. time.

to give me sharp bloody tools

for split apologetic words.

laid out in the open. attracting flies, butchered and all too real.

so many fall, so so so many fall.

i am not alone, i know this.

but wicked company is not good company.

the very thing about being destroyed, slaughtered, defeated, bludgeoned to a state of pity and crumpled on the ground

the very thing

is you still have to get up

#1

my mother cried on the telephone today.

told me the importance of ceremony, said that a ritual is needed for finality

when some one is gone.

i sat.

burned buffalo sage

placed over my heart

spoke wishes out loud and

reminisced about who i once wanted to be.

it's unfathomable,

the ease with which you can lose yourself in layered greys

that life builds up.

i can not remember the last time i didn't feel raw,

the last time i was strong

the last time i felt consequential.

i have to rebuild!

there really is a reason for everyday and

if i find that there is nothing in this brilliant damned world

for me

except myself,

ok.

i'm ready to feel at peace with that.

DON'T CARE WORDS

i sometimes say things

mean things

scathing brillo pad words

don't care words.

i have learned to stop accepting the consequences.

if you don't care, you can't be hurt, you can't be embarrassed.

above all else, there is no shame in the morning twilight

that brand new day: quiet, precious, bearing scars from a time it never knew.

there is no disgrace weighing your eyelids down at the moment when you wake up barely breathing. lead lungs pumping.

blood turns lava hot.

so much shame.

aged eighteen

nineteen

twenty

twenty one

twenty two

twenty three.

time to forgive.
forget.

time to be just selfish enough to watch yourself hurt someone else, cross a boundary, fuck things up.

cracked little teeth, bleeding gums, dried up hearts, bruised vitals.

so much pain that you'll never feel.

you learn to be the demon that your mother, in her eleventh hour before your birth felt, terrified, by herself, worried about creating.

you

feel nothing.

TODAY, TOMORROW, AND EVERYDAY AFTER THAT

wide awake but eyes shut tight

sheets smelling like liquorice root,

"rabbit, rabbit".

First words out of her mouth.

Her mother wakes up early, by an hour and a half.

sneaks outside, has a smoke, unfurls her mind.

Ever since she was twenty years old she hated morning encounters.

she breathes heavy, laborious, large intake of air- pushed out of bed

to standing.

each morning stooping, back curving like a sicle.

each day weighing a little more.

her grandmother wakes up, never thinking

about anything but whether the cat shat in the garden.

occupations

and priorities- are everyone's prerogative.

each of them mine,

these morning routines.

For today

tomorrow

and everyday after that.

GHOST PHONE

there was you:

rode past, rode back, mid sentence, i ate my words.

three months of silence unveiled just by you stopping by.

on the porch. five minutes too soon to eat the tart warming in the oven

and infinity minutes

waiting for you to call me back.

and you: 

you had to have seen someone tonight.

all golden headed and fragile, crushing egg shell egos

potentially not even knowing 

your own strength.

but i don't resent you,

it's just that it's quarter to ten, and maybe i didn't know what i was getting into.

you can't win when you're being careful-- 

long thought processes/laborious answers.

you can't win when you're going breakneck neither-- 

eyes shut tight/reckless decisions.

and me:

i'm still here.

i'm still going to be here in may, june, july. august smells like leaving

sort of dusty and brand new at the same time.

going steady side to side;

cracking chicken bones to suck the marrow.

i just sit close to the window

because when i  hear the sounds of small tinny voices

i always hope it's you,

coming over to see me.

and when i pretend i hear footsteps coming up the stairs,

i always look up, breath held short. heart strings tied in bows.

HE SAID

all of my imagining

could never compare

to the bountiful reality

that is your naked body.

UNTITLED

unwound, bristled, braided.

i wish with my seafarers blood i could tie knots.

i would produce entire books, volumes!

of knots meant to tie and untie. help and hinder.

  i find so many knots to untangle

i find so many knots to tighten   

i wish with my seafarers blood i could learn their names.

i would call them out as i wind them into

infinite pieces of string.

BLINDSIDED

your eyes didn't look so blue last night.

i stare: magnolias blooming and just to the right, the neighbor gardening.

everything is in exclamations (!)

this coffee is so good!

i will carve driftwood!

little acupuncture words insert themselves into my head.

we spent at least two hours extra in bed. falling asleep, waking up, waking each other up.

little finger swords swipe, make light marks.

I stare

looking at the feathers tacked to my wall and

knowing that when your eyes drift open

you see me

see me partially seeing everything else.

hair all matted, nipples chaffed.

when you bike away:

after ambiguous plans not plans not able to make plans i stare.

okay.

okay, let's go to lighthouse park.

STINGING NETTLES

you don't remember i want to shake you say it happened!

star eyed pine cone people saw it too.

no one cares except me.

VASELINE

you have, empty promises from a small gray cat.

let's pretend we're all okay

in the corner with warmth, icy sun, dark liquids,

such as coffee

makes pretending easy!

LITTLE BROTHER

Your shirt many days worn
my experimental haircut

we left too late for dawn
but

still silence in the dark car
except Johnny Cash lullabies
to the bald rock faces
and the neon dashboard




in the distance little grey barn ghosts
you keep your foot on the gas

blanket desert to the left
i keep my head against the window
the entire time
these dreams are a bit long in the tooth

i am aware

as sun dog lay dying
on the side of the highway

VIBGYOR

Our hell is violet hued
and like electric fence,
face pressed against.

Our bodies get bruised,
indigo leaks onto bone
we can't touch, we must heal alone.

As a child i dreamt in blue,
deep locked secrets under oceans
once earnest dreams rust, into silly notions.

My discomfort is reflected under your eyes,
those sickly shades of green blend
and your hollow face grows harder to defend.

Each yellow lace morning
we race to get through, but only commence
a burdened curtain of silence.

You are made for summertime
orange thick nights,
of sitting close together under dim lights.

As i walk away I'm concerned about us,
I used to think hell was buried deep and bright red,
but i look inside at my wounds and realize i'm living it instead.

DEBT/LOSE FACE

What can you say to the bleating pie eyes of every woman you've ever loved?

street lamp reflections
blown glass hearts
throw stones
crack in throats

you stand up in the middle of the street.
milky light bleeds from your window on the top floor.
get inside!

Maybe you didn't love her anyway.

but today's clear black night is
not the one
to have shards of glass
stuck in your palm.

UNRIPE

it was a lost conversation.

sunk deep, buried treasure.

choking on the sweaty air

it was too dark to see in their wet eyes

and too loud to hear anything other than

the hollering in your own mind.

you know when you aren't sure if you said anything out loud?

you know how you'll never take a picture that hasn't already been taken?

it was like that.

that hollowed out lemon pucker

feeling

of it all just being smoke and mirrors.

YOU DRAW BIRDS WITH BEAKS WIDE OPEN

the butterfly bush is skeletal now.

fat blossoms gone,
sweet scent night time purple flowers missing.
we were on our bicycles
and i can't remember if i was trying to make my boyfriend jealous or not.

who knew a summer night's butterfly bush could be so ominous?

MARY OLIVER

lustrous and pink.

two-faced and hot,

playing music in the street.

he: aged and gray.

like color like sky. 

agitated he turns, all corn whiskered face to the lightning sky.

asks, "tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

THIS NIGHT IN HAIKU:3

as your door opened-

i knew that i must push through

this instant regret

THIS NIGHT IN HAIKU:2

together we sit.

spilling our feelings like paint,

we watch the trains pass

THIS NIGHT IN HAIKU:1

I apologize,

but seeing your half moon face

pulls me deep in doubt.