REALITY USED TO BE A FRIEND OF MINE

Reality used to be a friend of mine

(January 1, 2013)
I.
Paradise first
It's an airy place
Airy on all sides
Like a hammock but
Farther away from the ground
Or anything touching the ground
By several removes
The ropes of the contraption
Might be standing waves
Stringing lenticular clouds
Smooth as flying saucer UFOs
Strange
(Sky white
And sky white floats unto sky blue)
Clouds
A hammock becoming
Spools and spools and spools
A yen for
Extreme figurativeness
And making only creative decisions
A swoon
Summer
Low summer goals
Expensive colors, New York
Supper rooms, bar swivel
Innocent and undercover
Wearing many hats
My favorite one for routine visits to our hiding spots
A slim shadow of a couple
Going everywhere that everybody goes
Even naked, always wearing clothes
Thought-provoking
What a girl means
I have waking dreams
I have waking dreams
Virtual, transformational, and smooth like a bead
Trying on these softest
Brainstorming clouds
Close as gears
Smooth as a bicycle wheel
Knowing the world as we know it
Is peopled to be one thing
2

Sitting on one shoulder

But mirrored
Experience is a funny song
II.
A mountain to a canyon
A mountain's mysteries
A mountain's melancholy
Never knowing the entire gauntlet
Even for the climb
Even for the smell of fir and cone
Even for the panorama, rhapsody
Even for the abandonment
Of form, shouting, a glow worm
Homey
A canyon is all arms to enfold
All trust, unselfish, spare
Fissures, silts
The sun comes here to be alone
Aware of giving itself completely
Its pools are holy, given so, and more rarely
And fall as real as snow blankets, here
As the only down a canyon would know
A mountain could lay in repose
Secrets only a canyon and a mountain could hold
Reality used to be a friend of mine
With unique comedy
What I know of love, transposed
What I love of humanness, in stone
Suppose a hamburger
One

PROMISED
(SELECTED POEMS 2005 2011)

Words Worth Words

(Summer 2005)
Words worth words
May swords worth fighting for
Ten fingers which ring
Which singular which fixture
Which tine or single
What functions are forming
What form is compulsion
What junction conjunction
What absolution
Ablution? Solution
Confusion will sound
Confusion will linger
Endanger will fear as
Endear is to human
Which sin and which sand
And which rock and one person

It must be said
(December 2006)
It must be said
That the unshakeable love of romantic love itself
After the initial heartbreak *has been
Makes a mockery of love, if it is so strong
Because the objects grow and fall
Like citrus fruits:
The peel stays on, reserving
Whole pits and all that damn sweetness
Somebody
Like the
Cold and
No trust

elses
plums that were eaten
perfect
wrongly breached

So what Im asking this time

Is whether solipsism, rightly shared
Could ever result in a perfect, shared reality
And whose it would be
Or if the real plane of each
Human individual
(Peaches for my loved and my lovers)
Being mine, is flat and yields only to me
This illusion of mine has been alright
Dearest fruited diary these words now are
And as far as Im concerned
Belongs to me and you for the reading
However, if I am your figment
And the reality I note is a brick of you
Dear house
I hope you are warmer than me
And more accustomed to these emotional shifts
Quite honestly
I am often not feeling the urge to build
Even though winter is cold, as they say
And I still cannot stand to see these trees weeping

I live with several cats

(Spring 2006)
I live with several cats
And candles
Balls and bats
Run I do from sunshine
From rain
Cloudy days enjoy me
I them
I am a whisper and a flame
Sunshine save me
Game I am
Take my picture
I am fame
Slain I am
I am tame
Run I do from lovers
I am them
Cover under covers
Over shame
Burning silver
Coin me
Once again
Larks we are howling
Come again
Bird circle branch
And flail
And wind
Golden sea in season
Days end

Hearts, moons, stars

(November 9, 2011)
Charmed, I have held these in my hands:
Hearts, moons, stars
Distant where they really are
And heart the meat of allegory
Disembodied heart of every story
With wings and strings and intense fragility
Or stone of lion, mind contrary
Set on something extraordinary
Think of something really far
Hearts, moons, stars

FLOATING AND FLIGHT

(SELECTED POEMS 2012)

Every Bird in the World

(February 12, 2012)
At the sunrise of the worlds every turn
The birds worming need rises a tide
Every bird in the world is an angry cry
Every one and one feather shoring one and another
The light and shadow of a dimension sublime
Every bird in the world is a moment in time
Trust manifests in moments of elation like a recurring surprise
And were here now wrapped in each others arms and eyes
Every bird in the world is an unmistakable sign
But when the going is tough and the labor is long
And the river is wild and the answers are wise
Every bird in the world is lifes cleverest disguise

10

She said
(August 2012)
Let's be a rock
A stone chest
Stone-faced thoroughfare on
A river bowed of a stone bridge
A bright forest
Community chest
The blue ice skate of my heart
And the other one
Funny movement to break
The jazz of another coin toss
Stadium seating
A chocolate eclair and French fries
Mornings are a finish line I lost
The art
Dragonflies for if my surf is an imaginary eddy
Cosmopolitanism
Coffee bitter and something sweet
Pleasantly familiar, continental
Thankful for the heat and the cold
Dole salted caramels after dinner
Let's be in love
As always, we are our perspectives
Sharing plenty
Emboldening persistently
Now we're in the blue sky
Can I see you?
Your photos are lemon Rorschachs
Gorgeous and graceful
Red marigolds in Portugal
Excellent digestion
Only your suggestive kiss
The finest chapels of the castle
Luminous on a train trip
Something like a to do list
Oporto, Coimbra, Lisbon
Georgetown, Bushwick, what I need from you
11

Sipping drinks in fishing villages

At universities on hills
While taking pictures of vistas
Skating on famous confectioners
Deeply in love and not alone
Brave hearts show invisibility
Beats like a watch store
Huge, closer infinity
Now music
Warm light silk touch hat cloak
Concrete jungle, green game
Literal, plum mystery
Waking up is pushing
Against a wet red velvet curtain
With gold ropes
Heavy
The blue woman who lifts up her moon face
Insatiable, wasteful, and plain
Sometimes I need to be sad
In my body and instantly
Good morning, good afternoon
Good evening, good day
Sometimes a bedtime story
Balloon pickers pulled in every which way
Sunshine your light
If life is a day
July if I could pick a month
Come to stay
My love, a good sieve
Chamomile tea, buttered carrots
A new flavor!
A fresh summer salad
Who can pretend like we do?
Your body shields my body from hurtling through
These many sensitivities that hold me
I imagine the pressure of you against me when I need your love

12

What's mine
(August 15, 2012)
My
My
My
My
My
My
My
My

song, my bow, my bounce

stone, my slice, my flick
reflect, my speech, my intellect
pride, my shine, my steps
mug, my head, my chest
coy, my shy, my nice
gem, my blend, my adore
reach, my heart, my rise

13

Roughness
(September 2, 2012)
To appreciate the common symbols of social living
To bottle a seeking round ocean in me
To say as a rainbow of the weather life is for the living in me
To be the difference
Poetry
The roughness of sand touches the worn sea glass
Sharing
The effects of our connection in me are deeply conceptual
As to flex me as completely as the power of the ocean, as auras,
as belief, as what I dont write, I draw as a filly nearer and
near, to perceive myself as a microcosm, wholeness, to touch the
unloved friction from within in miniature, and at the most
centripetal in motion, you held me here, actually and
conceptually, and I stay, and my body remembers, roughness is
roughness even, the difference I have loved, and it is no
addiction, life, and I make sure they can see you wearing
pleasantly on me
So rough there is only rough
Smoothness to my sphere of awareness and interactivity is another
heist

14

Distances
(November 26, 2012)
I have lost something again
I turned on the burner for tea after midnight again
I will burrow it again
The recess hood and her fur
Crating away the summer sails
Youre supposed to be kind
And pulling the lever, cruel
Thankful for a girl
I would hold a paper kaleidoscope
Enough that I am there alone
Running between two trees
In your separate space
But always how we are opposite
Patterned squarely, jaw to chest
Forever caught in the transitions
Ratcheting up the distances between us

15

Bean heaven
(December 10, 2012)
I imagine you would follow me better if I wrote longer poems
As you are unimpressed by brevity
Except that my own life is all separated or one real thing
A toadstool
And so a poem is a crystal in a geode
Would the light ever know?
Will the light have been unfolded?
A touch is so light to me
Like a fingers stroke to a hurt rock, I suppose
So I tell you I ride the subway with hurt composure
And that its honey to compose
And a jug is a mold of a mold, and so on
I know why I do what I do
It is either more or less organic than I care to say it is so
Bean heaven
I would tell the story of a conductor or commuter
The one I remember...
The house has many levels
The levels have many shelves
The shelves have many books
The books have many leaves
The monkey is moving so constantly
As to swing from tree to tree
So catching a leaf is a gift from the wind
So catching is capture and release
So catching is a microscope and a window and a door
Until I must run, again
Until I must run
Words dont always run on, anyway
Dog, do you know the right one and the other right one and the
other right one?
Such a dirty thing
Childhood thing
All separated or one real thing, childhood thing
Tickets, humiliation, structure, life kills
Do you know the right one and the other right one and the other
right one?

16

17

It may not be the right time for any of

that
(December 14, 2012)
I have taken several trips to the forest.
The camping trip was very dark green,
probably because leaves were in season,
and because of the canopy of the leaves making shade.
I
I
I
I

am the same person now as I was then.

grew tired carrying a backpack.
was scared of insects in the tent.
loved the lake and I imagine it colder, then.

Camping is bright enough to claw at.

Go backwards. Going backwards, outside.
Its not a new thing to claw back.
The fight is the craft; love will come back.
Its not a new thing, to try to be the thing itself,
to remember past events vaguely,
but totally believe in their reality.
The fight is the magenta of contrasts.
What was for love is now for loss.
Its not a new thing, to commemorate a relationship,
pitching into the good life, the good living,
having endangered His flock.

18

tabula rasa
(December 20, 2012)
tabula rasa gives me vanilla straight up
everything vanilla
my coffee, my tea, my lip moisturizer
and the body politic is stagy
with its social contract, sovereign, civil state
is this play one you could get down with?
night is a starfish with the ocean floor is the ceiling

19

SLEEP

20

...

21

Parting ways
(January 13, 2013)
I wish for the slim chance that we will only have to part ways
later rather than sooner.
I would no sooner lose this exciting hologram of you than lose a
meme or some mores, stay a right arm or vocabulary.
Soon enough we all part ways, but first, to each other, part each
the living and the other:
Always both colors,
Always your life and your bright shadow,
When you part as with a zipper, a coat in preparation for another
gilded dinner.

22

American
(January 20, 2013)
Rather than talk about the things I have,
I like to talk about the things I am.
This encourages attempts to best express
the other stories I encounter as I experience them.
To an American poet, how is your story told so beautifully,
and as loud as flowers of different colors on cinnamons of skins,
simply beautiful, and as sweet cinnamons on apples?
Im telling you this, like this,
because my eating skills have improved so much, its magic.
I am a person who finds her own palate magical.
I have a story to tell that requires a destination unknown.
Sometimes when my thoughts affect
my heaviness of mood, my sleepiness,
I acknowledge that there is, yes,
a brick wall in the serpentine streets where
wings of construction hustle me in different directions,
so Im buying coffee from a new cart or deli,
and really everywhere my students sturdy backpack
and unbaked leather satchel carry me, even home.
I do really have these things, but on with the story.
I become a friendly ghost and use my uncharted powers
to slip past its brick mourning of wings,
the wall with the wings and not the construction with the wings
this time.
Im actually not that deep in metaphor because
first, I must slow my approach in real time, because
I literally cant see far for the circling thoughts on my brain,
the concentration and the bow of my head,
and second, there is truly an obstacle, however mental,
I cant hurdle as an accustomed runner.
Mostly Im a poet and I carry a lot of stress in my shoulders
keeping to myself and developing solitary thoughts.
Im an American, and I have special words for anyone regarding
this tradition.
Ill call you something, and I mean anyone,
baby, mami (comes out mommy), or daddy, and yes, it gets
embarrassing.
Id say its a sex thing, but thats only part of it.
When you are an American, and here in New York,
and you get a glance down an avenue at sunset,
and you get that glance from the perspective of home plate,
as stopping at the crosswalk for the signal to walk away,
and you get to stand out in your plot for your moment in the sun,
and you get the figurative out in the open,
23

and you catch and remember the feeling of being alone but with
someone,
the internal negotiations get intense.
What more could you ask for besides prayer and pain?
Im so slow to walk around the wall because
Im relatively happy to walk along it, and have
the pleasant company of perpendicular thoughts,
like how my body had been a bell and was entertaining.
How often do I have to change my alarm tone
so it doesnt remind me of someone?
Forbidden jealousy for another poets themes.
The trick is to leave something to be desired,
Like a polestar could break and leave.

24

Chance
(January 23, 2013)
Huffed out of the house like puffs,
cuddled some up, its winter, suffer a little.
Sparkles everywhere, how is this possible?
The air is glinting, flying would be so freeing.
Thanks bird, youre so little, but the distances you cover.
Is pain the game under those ruffles?
A dogs love is heavy, I love
to feel spirit more than body.
I want to speak to the decision-maker.
I am always waiting for chance:
For someone to say, only a very special person would understand,
and to make someone that person, and to be for someone that
person.
The train will hold us in.
Id like to grab the clover end of the pendulum before my gravity
smashes it to smithereens.
Perhaps we have never communicated.
Man and woman sharing the same experience as different
experiences.

25

Chicken poem
(January 25, 2013)
I would not count my chickens before they have hatched,
but imagine a multiplicity of chickens to best identify chick and
chicken;
A kaleidoscope chock full of chicken pictures,
chicken sounds, rooster and hen, eggs quicken.
I identify one chicken in the differences among them.
I pull one among others traits and identifiers.
The differences and their swiftest arrows, subconsciously liken
my bird to any, my prototype my prototype more than others.
Even if that awareness is on a subconscious level,
the beauty is how they are collectively different.
Chicken-ness is of multiple chickens. We are lucky.
How do you choose one over another, and then how do you keep
choosing?

26

Glass and chair

(January 25, 2013)
Square and rectangle, line
Oval and rotunda, open
Car door and front door, shoulder
Glass and chair, press

27

I am shy but this feeling is owl sly (Fever

pitch)
(February 1, 2013)
I am shy but this feeling is owl sly.
I am an orbit that levels me.
I am gratitude that squishing grapes brung from a grape arbor
could supply, through changing tastes.
I am wasteful motions I make responding to delight,
not brave nor clean, nor having sown light
enough to be extinguished.
I am how hard I have to go for no to myself even.
I want to talk to street street.
The deepest things are between people,
interpersonal, deep and dark,
and unknowable light.
Just because I was not alive does not mean the world was not at a
fever pitch.
The world was not asleep.
It was not always-night into sunrise at my birth.
Thats just my own eyes adjusting to the earth; and morning is
the beginning of another beginning.

28

In every attempt to communicate

(February 3, 2013)
In every attempt to communicate,
there is some substance, some seed,
sometimes more beautiful is sown,
sometimes is sown again.
Breathing is a meter.
Every mime paints a portrait from her lovers picture.
Patterns are individual, personally understood,
colors memorized at their cusps.
Like memory tricks are used and stored,
a packed store of brightly colored bits.
Love languages are a personal thirst,
blown to bits, re-rehearsed.
Practical gods, reasonable men,
afternoons all around the world.
I wont say my breath slowed as my tactile hand shaded,
but maybe I did.

29

I am close to a star for twelve hours of

twenty-four
(February 4, 2013)
I am close to a star for twelve hours of twenty-four.
I sharpen my post like the pencil of a fellow here.
I can play dead. I can play dead again.
You know you know by how much work you are given.
If you could snap a feather--I move like that.
Then I thought I had no voice on earth--a dead bird.
I sharpen my post like the pencil of a fellow here.
Now I collide like the worlds of a star.

30

The whirled
(February 5, 2013)
I love the whirled
shadows on the snow cover,
painful sugar at the bottom of the coffee mug
a crystal crust.
Shadows black as plums,
wind stirring, my body played
in a mans song for another lady,
waiting for the wolf to come.
I released my mind,
explored it as the world.
The jellyfish of the seas,
who could see it through.
I held it all in a capsule or a pearl.
I held it all in a glance or a pace,
that allowed me to temporarily forget,
who I am, which you are.

31

Hungrier
(February 7, 2013)
Do you
Do you
Do you
Do you
people

believe
believe
believe
believe
move?

in buildings?
in cars?
in computers?
a flat screen pictures people moving as fast as

Do you believe in the word timeless as it refers

to the most beautiful music you have ever heard?
What could the sounds then mean?
What spectrum could they fluctuate?
If a city tells you its hungrier, you listen.
Peace, your favorite is the one you hold.
Stars are fireworks at ends, brilliant strands.
Tunnels are moles at their noses.
A familiar impression only buttresses my memory of a face.
These days of greatness, nothing gorgeous fades;
Or, if it does, the littlest worry would also evaporate.
Something candid, something saved, remains.
Do you believe in your favorite song?
Can you believe you can move along to it?

32

Mercy (with apologies to Lewis Carroll)

(February 12, 2013)
Word mercy, and adjectivally merciful
Did clemency were the brothers-in-lawful study:
And study is a word I know very well and mull,
And land, today the diction king was wordy.
A finger in the corner eye!
Carton-seeking for a various reason,
This nothing I have come to seek is an ugly sty!
Come cocktail sauce, come lemon season!
A brigade, trigade, frigade of better putters,
Would tree the city with population!
Unenviable is unenviable, mutters.
Would mod the silence in the spring collection!
How imagination-able, how patient!
Burgeoning with swivels, uncontainable,
A compliment fights against a quotient,
Just a moment, one more story un-rainable.
A beautiful
So suddenly
Would study
To drum and

day along came what,

the silent moment.
in the brown light of learning, but cut,
candle letters outshaping violent foment.

A judge and a professor thought,

Long time the stankish foe.
To traipse and trail the weight they sought,
Perhaps to knead the dough.
Word mercy, and adjectivally merciful
Did clemency were the brothers-in-lawful study:
And study is a word I know very well and mull,
And land, today the diction king was wordy.

33

I found so bold, unique, and rough (with

apologies to William Wordsworth)
(February 13, 2013)
I found so bold, unique, and rough,
With finer lines than any stitch-Was not looking for replacement stuff,
Could swear it was a hearty switch-This rare and brilliant camera-thing,
With feelers such as an albatross wing.
Another stunning daffodil gold,
With feel of hiding, playing dead, playing home,
Like love, how beautiful a story should be told,
Invisible to the world, in bed, for Paris, for Rome.
And from the words the faintest recollection,
Smoothing time's passage, this enduring correction.
Fascinating love and memory can be,
An animal love and a creative one,
Another than the love of a family,
A reflection like the moon, of the sun-Of love that is given, a heaven of distances-Reflected on scenes and resistances.
I've only loved a thing to play,
And how will you play me?
Solo as a single day,
As atom as can be.
A flash upon that inward brain,
I feel the loving all again.

34

Say everything
(February 16, 2013)
Always the music, the earthly silhouette,
The volume of human inspiration,
Birds plentiful as bees on a tree of anything, hugs.
Quiz me, I, quizzically, how I, believe.
Real verbs, being by doing, say everything.

35

Contrary (with apologies to Rudyard

Kipling)
(February 17, 2013)
If my lips hurt from salt,
Or kissing so much (they dont),
If my fingers love my hair too much,
And lemons love my cuts,
If my rhythms are the peak of embarrassment,
And shunt me hither and thus,
If my head waits for an everyman squared
(An ordinary person or the hero of a morality play),
If my heart takes every man (I had),
And signals coordinates and silent directions,
If my safe home is the spin of my last poem,
Peeling out and feeling reckless,
If I am a terror in my house,
Where the mood is quite contrary,
If I am sorry time and time again,
For these things which I may never have controlled,
If I can learn to fly, as they say,
If I can pay it forward,
If I can take the extra step,
And bow my head with nothing left,
I will know I have made it to hope,
And hope again.

36

In the kitchen sink

(February 20, 2013)
The earth will always be new,
With a ravishing house of stone,
It will always be new again.
Each pause, a blackout, then, a lightbulb,
Or in the natural world, a cycle,
Or a dawning, a blank page,
With writing in the future, from the past.
Form shifting. A donut and a coffee cup.
Back and forth. It will always be new again.
It will change and switch.
Ive been considering and aware of
My regular rotations. I am young.
I am terrible.
Qualities lessen while not segregating
Types of cookware and dining ware
In the kitchen sink.
Compare forkness, contrast
Diverging in a silver wood.

37

My rock is back
(February 21, 2013)
My rock is back
Half a heart
A wife
With all the soul of
Half of Pompeii underfoot
Time
To take care of my heart
Foot

38

Imagine she is at the center

(February 25, 2013)
Imagine she is at the center
When it is cooler on the sides
While it can be ice cold in the middle
Imagine the center has eminent ledges
Or is the first to fill and float a boat
Stillness matters most in the middle
So she finds stillness the quickest
Applies the skill sets, superimposes
Shadow-dancing, stilling kits with wits
If the rules dont apply in the middle
Where do those rules apply?
She even makes her own rules
Rogue as a table setting, which she applies
From the shelves of the living room breakfront
Magnetic to the dining room table
A known and complex shape
Replaceable
Retraceable
Run
Ever-ready

39

Fantasy
(February 26, 2013)
I do the work of one poet,
But I like the novel versions of exposure:
Those which deserve
The orchestrated attention paid
A crime scene by investigators.
New beginnings.
Fractals are used to model
Snowflakes and coastlines.
We can watch these visuals
Intersect in our minds, at crags, from balconies.
They produce a soggy coldness
Held in the nut-grasp of a novel and a state.
We may name the changes taking place,
But change has these nooks and crannies.

40

Who I am is based on you

(February 27, 2013)
Slowness is a depression
My body makes an impression
A hand, one hand, selects, for its delicious poison
One telephone operator with a various function
One tourist who can see the world moving through sustainable
acts, single motions
Who is not a tourist in New York Citys sets?
One emergence from behind the veil demonstrates a slow dissolving
of a solid
Words at the molecular level
A commitment to how to know something
The literary problem of honest self-reference, is a literary
problem
The life problem of truth-seeking as a life (and not a living)
A pentagon, who I am is based on you

41

Sleep
(March 2, 2013)
To clang the triangle,
To bang the gong,
To carry the bongos song through a part to a still pat, through
a hall,
A perfect form.
When I read poetry, I am
Glad that someone had thought about something with something I
had not thought of it before.
My awareness rests on my knowing,
Knowing things over time is the only way to know some things,
Things, crucial things, like identity, sometimes plain,
Consideration until that consideration is like a nose on a face.
I even use it but I am not so amazed,
Though to know my own nose is a scarce thought.
Over time I became aware of it.
It fit somewhere in a billion things being being,
Like seeing stars.
Animals and earth.
Animals, silhouettes that would hide in mother earths shadow
like a canopy,
Like a woman hides her shadow among a canopy of stars.
A connection to another person is greater than stardust or earth
or any impressed hole.
Antelopes are in silhouette.
Among them are a trillion more.
Sleep

42

STEAM

43

Steam
(March 4, 2013)
Do you know how fast it goes?
It just goes.
The walking could turn to prowling,
Or from prowling to strolling.
An invisible automaton works at an invisible sewing machine,
The light various in rooms where craftsmen work,
But the thread is so red and so continues and continues.
I am inside out feeling it,
Describing the light in various rooms where craftsmen work
without words.
Our ancestors learned to love whom they can help.
How much our ancestors must have loved us all,
As we love them as hard as we can,
As we are occupied with whirring mills and wagon wheels and,
well, showboats.
The gods of our ancestors must arrive
Not in thought balloons above a hushed ambient crowd,
But amidst scattering and rogue becoming what words had never
before known:
Emerging as someone would take the title of belonging to those
thoughts;
Lucky to write, I didnt mean them for what they meant, but I
meant what they mean.
Steam holds its form.

44

My mind is free, and passing clouds whether

(March 9, 2013)
My mind is free, and passing clouds whether,
do I choose the finest thoughts or not?
The apex of all flowers,
If in and of my mind is a field that grows
higher than where height and I part to reunite;
A measure of land that employs me with measures,
between my fingers of thought.
Somewhere, here the perfect flower hides.
Something, what the perfection itself represents in my life
If not the flower itself.
If over a moment, or longer,
an hour, or longer,
a day,
a month of good sun,
a year of accomplishments,
a decade of improvements,
a lifetime observing cycles and gathering wholeness.
Practical essence or vanity?
An epic battlefield for a flowers parts.

45

I hit my head on the past

(March 11, 2013)
I hit my head on the past.
Woman, that was black.
It was a stretch, and
I walked backwards with a backwards hat, a backwards outfit,
Though past the outfield extends forever,
I passed backwards into backseats of cars with fins, past,
Voices, using names, reduced pauses to an uncoordinated stop and
go.
No names.
This is the wildest country, and, boy, you're on your own.

46

Incendiary
(March 23, 2013)
I would tell you the things I know slowly, liltingly,
So we could be sure they stick.
The one-liner in a movie is a trick.
I love when line deliverys excellent anyway, like an apogee.
There used to be bloopers included for that something realistic.
The fall, like the drop, was thin like a pin.
My participation in cartoons,
In the realm of things I imagine I did correctly,
Was sufficiently spacy,
Conversations sufficiently slick in them,
And we would chase each other to that final thing.
Sometimes she thinks about just me.
A classic form becomes a classic form.
Little cats feet come down like a perigee, and perhaps I would
live it all again;
And you have no recourse but you are enticed, incendiary.
You start writing and your flows get extraordinary.

47

Romeo and Juliet

(March 25, 2013)
Romeo and Juliet, physically
Can be told about the houses instead
No enmity more funneled
No dicing more cubed
Its the game of not saying the word
Never say that name under this roof
Each house an envelope, hugs a human
More things for human beings bring it out
The
The
The
The

calculus of it
spotlight of all the human things with no outlet
love endured
city sprouts up in cubicles

48

Bicoastal tastes
(March 29, 2013)
Its not just a thing
Its my thing
So I should be nice to it
One word, onward
Again another place
The pools are filled in with flattened silver, for drinking,
fattened goldfish
Whales of blues, for dreaming, and terra cotta and egg cartons,
for seedlings
Orcas for pandas, and I write back
We have America in the rap knapsack
East of Eden
Orcas for pandas, and I write back
Wingtips and filigree in the traveling suitcase
Finery, then, I question, when my thoughts run
West, a direction across the earth for another animal corn-fed, a
direction is good
A direction and a place, like take off in an airplane underscores
Can see borders and coasts, buildings like flat square coins,
ants marching like cakes
A parade, a lake becomes a puddle
The brightest green grass and winds like light lace
A feathery relationship, life between visits, both sides of the
coin, bicoastal tastes

49

Thoughtful enough
(April 1, 2013)
I want to be treated with beauty, thoughtfully.
We should probably start at these full and working wells.
Discipline springs and stills; I rest, bucket spent.
I dont always want to know but at the same time I do.
I attach the light to the love that waters all the green life in
the evening, thoughtful enough.

50

It was most beautiful to me

(April 14, 2013)
Shades of blue, purple, and brown,
Light and deep,
Like a painting in my life,
It was most beautiful to me,
To scrape
Any trust at all.
We may not see how beautiful
People look to each other;
It was most beautiful to me.
Kids cry,
Pineapple salad,
Whatever motivates,
Changes taking place;
The words that mean nothing from the words that mean something,
Since words are used only for communication,
Person to person;
We may not see how
Beautiful people look to each other;
It was most beautiful to me.

51

Snowflakes fall in last

(April 17, 2013)
Snowflakes fall in last,
As magical as they are,
After the whole snow falls,
And the first of spring.
The snowflake remembered in its perfection,
The ultimate dusting,
Delicate and singular on the abandoned
Barbecue pit,
Picnic tables attached with benches.
The park had lain still like
An emotional waiting game,
Cracking, its ground like in winter
Human hands over a fire.
It smiles a pure cobalt blue sun at the ticklish covering.
The little indefatigable crystal
Is best expressed in an order of tastes,
A pairing, a moment on the tongue,
The fortune, thats what we become.
Like a superlative, spring,
Slowest to remember pleasure.

52

Colloquy
(April 21, 2013)
This memory is punching me boyishly in the shoulder, Im there &
I remember. I heard my name the way I wanted to say it; I said
it, I wont say it again the same. We all have characters in our
plays. At night when the horizon swallows everything, everybody
sinks to the line in some way. Im a piece of history, and
everybody falls in the bat sh*t cave. I cant change, I do these
things, I cant say my name, may never again say my name to
anyone that way. Walking to dinner, holding hands, the lights
change, varying almost nothing, but touching.

53

I am no stranger here
(April 24, 2013)
Youre not jealous of the bell
Youre jealous of the emblems, all the things
Move so as to surround myself
With decent ones, ceaseless vibrations
All the way into my thoughts
The apple falls, but time changes
I assume songs were pretty cherished when there were only a few
I am no stranger here, you never knew

54

A horse
(April 25, 2013)
A horse is brilliant, feeling its way.
Its freedom is laughable and legendary-Free to be fast and beautiful,
Most free to receive our sight,
To receive our pictures and videos,
To receive our literature, this poem.
Its fast, beautiful, and alone a horse.
How many ways to play with
The movement of a horse-To ride, to write, to represent.
We are shy and polite.
We preserve freedom to preserve in part
Our horses near-flight.
We like to say a horse is a horse.
The word reflects; its heard.
We also like mountains and lakes.

55

I hope you would forgive me

(April 26, 2013)
I hope you would forgive me,
If I had to borrow your hat,
To think about my many hats.
I was also daydreaming about
Each animal species as a ring,
And, looking in the face of one of each,
Then we become king and queen.
I was thinking of reflections of us in nature,
The ones we are fortunate to choose,
And our changing personalities over time,
All the hats Ive worn.
So I may have borrowed your brain,
To move forward in time several paces,
Maybe a few more than several paces,
As time dictated.
I think I really needed it.
Then putting it down gently and unknowingly,
Before I went to bed.

56

I am most amused
(April 27, 2013)
I am most amused
When I have a true learning experience, proverbially
Passing as through a needles eye,
To find a stack of hay, optimistically.
I love the running well,
The golden eggs, the honest emperor,
An aching tooth, a tongue,
The proper fruit and speaking louder.

57

Dominoes
(April 29, 2013)
It is tempting and everything brings me closer to it
Little together movements represent growth from calm centers to
calm centers
And love like paper to float folds to hold a new dimension
Men of stories who move to tell
Grab up corners of the earth like astroturf, projecting
Billions of perspectives creating value
Find what we value and cheering
And, like stars hold our hearts, believing in variables
Entering our perception of a complex equation
Only for another row of dominoes to quake
But you have other aesthetic sensibilities that require your
continued participation in organizations

58

Hold a note
(May 1, 2013)
Hold a note.
Chilly water chills in cups out there.
I flip a comb through my hair out there.
Make more sense in a relative metaphorical vacuum,
Those tied to the crust by survival.
We consider living on the moon,
Vacation in the living room,
Take so many turns
--Beautiful freedom-Tell ourselves other stories that help us.
Literality is doubly special to us.
We have what we have now,
We can help ourselves out.

59

1, 2, 3, 4
(May 1, 2013)
One is inspiration.
Multiply it times everything, anytime, for anything.
We are one.
The world is one.
Two is proven through a sequence question,
Like: which came first, the chicken or the egg?
I have them both in my mind.
I believe in them!
Three is an angle, a vibe.
A presence like any point, but at which could attach
Two lines into a relationship
That would require three points.
Four is a square,
Couples checking each other.
You cant know everything at the same time.
Please forgive us that.
Five is perfection.
It grows close to the earth
Or underwater.
I found a perfect one!
The spider is the light.
Consider eight.
Playing it the wrong way just to play it until,
Playing it right sometime, youve changed, let it live.

60

AMERICAN FOLKLORE

61

I am blind to the transformations of these

thoughts
(May 6, 2013)
A photographers beautiful seconds worth,
Next to, in my brain, other works,
Tightly close as the best of times to the worst,
With my finger on a pulse.
A mosaic in a sense, I have a three-dimensional road map of all
my thoughts,
Which are life treasures, travels.
Mapping out veins, we have carved rivers and other wonders,
Amazing like an eyeful of half an orange.
Fibers hold tight these patterns and I think within them, my life
Round archives of sweet-to-slice and return-to-tile.
Eyeballs speak volumes,
But I am blind to the transformations of these thoughts.

62

Story
(May 8, 2013)
I wrote a short story once that was a love story,
But I wrote it prematurely.
It was called love story.
I wanted my life to be a love story.
I wrote my experience with love from two perspectives.
I braided it with my favorite love poem, still one of them.
Inclusively and as the backdrop for the adventures,
Love tethers in the nicest way.
I do not fall out of earth like leaves out to the sky.
I have a nightlight inside and that, too, is sky, and you.
I have a taste of glory.
A story happens upon a truth and knows it has become a story.
It becomes the story of its communication.
I wanted my life to be a love story.
I am a story.
If I can be a story for anyone, it would be for a person I loved,
if I could be a story for anybody.

63

Palaces wash over me

(May 11, 2013)
Different parts of my life are blessed,
Thats why I make my bed.
I turn on the light and air the dream.
I like to fan and dress the room,
In the morning or afternoon, at home.
I listen to music and sit or clean.
I like to make my space nice when I have time.
The radio is great to listen
When I wash the dishes
I decline to segregate on the dish line.
I learn.
I write.
Im on staycation.
Large milestones in progress take precedence.
Laying down occasions and introductions like groundwork,
Paving the way toward a stable schedule like day work,
Accidentally eavesdropping on vacation conversations-Stronger walls for a deeper ringing-A gong could signal dinner somewhere not far from this thickness.
Im sad for the people whom have died
For symbolism I take for granted.
All the love songs,
All of them-I like them for their love meanings,
Qualified-by-life love meanings.
I love meanings when I know,
You real qualify love mean them too.
You hear them the same way I do.
They mean well what they mean to you.
You could be the other shoe on the other foot,
But its understood.
I take any love word any way it comes to me.
Anything goes, out the door or out to sea.
Palaces wash over me.

64

Bones
(May 15, 2013)
If you arrange the bones you can recreate the skeleton.
I wish a pile of bones could help me make decisions,
But I am slow and feel, so more animal than cell,
And perhaps less efficient morally than either one.
I, human, react against myself and my memories.
And what could we become better than one body?
I know happy cells with functions build in togetherness and move
toward the light.
A body needs to be one, like an opus, to have a belief, like a
compass, in itself.
An opus needs to be like a body, whole, and is an existence more
than a compulsion.
If the words were white as bones and intelligent, could they be
whole or no?

65

Take care
(May 21, 2013)
Take care,
Because of carelessness,
Because of the pain of being careless.
Carelessness in one arena does not imply carelessness in all
arenas, for all things.
Sometimes a person who can afford some degree of carelessness
cannot be careless with regard to one set of things,
Risks taking a major and unsustainable loss.
Good fortune makes carelessness a form of deference, devotion.
We prove our love for whom we love when we are not careless.
Care establishes connections, provides an unforgettable string of
real moments,
The richness of life, like perpetual vacations to pink and blue
places.
All things become careless in our eyes when we become careless
ourselves.
We become an island, and all things islands in our eyes.
Words fill gaps in perception like moats and oceans.
Words have a
Certain sense of attachment
To the objects of their meaning,
Lifting off their pages, labels, formations,
Edges wiggling,
Attaching like magnets,
Neither imbuing nor inhabiting.
Blue water stretching out
All around me.
Single palm tree island,
Deserted island,
Salty trap feel,
Crabby and wishful.
Gulls and real
Structures like an obelisk,
And others for vendors,
A pit-like theater for
Dancing and musical acts.
In my own life there are signs and symbols that stand out,
Their meanings so subjective they are merely themselves,
With no automatic second layer,
No attached metaphor.
Yet they stand out to us,
Amounting to nothing more than a decorative place card in our
lives,
Denoting a place, but no instruction,
66

No indication to look deeper,

No warning,
No belonging,
No deeper, hidden meaning.
I communicate what I know,
From the inner sanctum of family,
Our interactions among ourselves,
Some truth to them.
We are all trying,
Preserving times we know were good,
Through hard times and bad days,
Recognizing the universality of the family,
Faith in our ability to recreate the good times,
Though we outgrow these times.
Do we need to bring in new elements to establish our new
identities?
Do our new identities require explanations
Only satisfied by bodies of the ones that mean something to us as
individuals and whom have changed us,
These potential mates for new families,
Or those ephemeral families that we feel in moments we make with
near strangers,
Or families we have for years with friends?
These should never be enemies.
Here in New York City,
Where the trust is based in part on how important we believe we
are to the fabric,
Tunnel to something we can all perceive and understand from where
we stand.
Music plays and we imagine it animates the overnight laborers.
I am not completely unaware of what I am missing.
Specialization requires faith.

67

I want one
(May 28, 2013)
I
I
I
I
I

want one but

can sleep
suppose thats the best way to keep it
want one but
can go on

I want one with no

Cracks in it
Or if there are cracks they should be momentary
A reminder of all we cannot perceive at once
Like a palm crack reads
I want one who can lead
I want one who can follow
What I see when I see
The strobe light of the street
The beat tells me, I dont ever tell the beat which color
I want one like the staring sun
Like the human race is the star
Like the sum of our parts
Like a new heart taking its place
Like a new face to my face in my arms

68

Small world
(May 30, 2013)
Sunset must have been the biggest thing I had ever seen.
I never saw a sunrise as wide, but blinding:
The ocean bride a lover in the morning,
A gold untold come night, come night.
We take boats that pass
Through all the lights.
All thoughts occur
Within all the sights.
The spectrum is the biggest thing I ever felt as sight;
Im in a cool place with the breadth,
I have a discipline and I have devotion.
If we focus on our imaginations,
The new thing becomes me.
I have a new spoon that bends a mind:
See the spoons curve,
Feel the minds changing.
I would prefer to live,
And consider a small world,
The world we inherited,
And to be personal.

69

Freedom
(May 31, 2013)
I dont think should this be happening,
I think this is happening.
This is time better spent from my perspective.
I have been made to syncopate.
I am all lips in a pure kiss.
I am all lips and ears to compose a note of your tongue.
I am all tongue-twisted.
I am conceptual and fulfilling that.
I am so eyes-misted at the depth of our language.
What will outlast me?
What stretches out before me,
The extreme freedom of so much learning and believing.
I swim so I can daydream and transform thoughts of things.
Through impermanence, freedom:
Catching a feeling unlike any other,
Consideration greater than anything I could have believed.

70

Society
(June 1, 2013)
My love, I might not have all the love,
A collection of everyones
But, my love, its everything I feel.
As much as I can locate myself
In a room, my skin all kissed,
The whole thing, I can feel it.
Society calls, my sensibilities reel and real.
I grew up around the lions share,
I think I was dipped as a fable, so whole.
Thought I had been duped before,
Gorging on love, I would have been a lion,
But if you are society, lion, I take my tiger blood and bones.

71

Always the upgrade

(June 11, 2013)
Always the upgrade
Monopoly I always lose
Jealousy, if I had the life of a building
If it were me that you were speaking to
Psychological support is immediate
She stopped me from nothing
Thats why you have to be friends with everyone
To refill the chambers and untwist them
My
To
To
In

mind went all the way

the end of the thought
a decision, I would have made
the imaginary moment

Empty chamber, though...

And the light was beautiful

72

American folklore
(June 12, 2013)
American folklore getting good
Fulfilled stories of people
Following footsteps
All that beach
Taking the backseat
Days like these
We rock the boat
We go hard one way but young
Organization and support
So we go hard the other way
Creating opposites and opposites and opposites
America is the heaviest it gets
I want it all
And remember what you told yourself
The most human we have ever been
Meta colonies pouring in
Evolving with imagery coast to coast
Colors pop, we fill in
Seeing miracles
Bring the pain
I can stand it
But for whom
Love stories
And death, because it is unreal to us lifers
There isnt even a separation that exists
The inverse of what isnt which is
Maybe pleasure and order
America has hoarded its separation
But be scared of her
That chick
Where there is some full overlap
America waits
Youve got to keep them separated

73

No zombies exist before kittens

(June 13, 2013)
No zombies exist before kittens.
A family of things existing in grades, shades of anything.
Butterflies and panthers.
Love is individually like everything.
Associations over metaphors.
Metaphors are metaphors are vehicles for moving, like
claymation-And moving thoughts.
You can borrow one like a meme but not like an association.
An association is what it means.
I have miles to go before I sleep.
I borrowed that one for the snow.
Words dont lie; its an irony we may prefer now.
My nightmares started before I fell asleep,
When my head just became aware of the pillow underneath it,
I fell into it. An eclipse is gray, but I can regulate.
A nightmare that came to me before I slept.

74

Apples
(June 19, 2013)
Nothing and everything
The ends of which curl like a snail shell or a cats tail
They disappear and reappear like smoke into infinity
How Im feeling
Things worth keeping
Things we keep
These things exist
Symbols
Togetherness begins to symbolize itself
The same movements over and over
The same connection
The same patterns of behavior
The same steps
The same experiment repeated with the same result
Love every time
The happiest gasps
Buying apples from sellers
Choosing the best from the wooden section of apples
Bodies together can prove things about humans
And only bodies moving
For the health of the species
For our thoughts
Not really a precedent
Not really a symbol
Just people together

75

You whom I love very much

(June 21, 2013)
I write you, I know I do, and always,
Into the black and light.
In my world, Im the earliest bird,
And dawn is the freshest catch.
Youre an owl, and Im crazy, diving
Screaming into the black and light.
I would scream the loudest for your touch. I swear this.
Youre an owl. I write you like this,
You, whom I love very much.

76

DIFFERENT WALKS

77

Shes for me
(June 24, 2013)
We dont need to discuss this.
Shes for me. I like the look of her,
I am closer to her physical form,
I enjoy the stupidity that comes.
Im so whole, I have to keep moving to be so,
Always a direction to go,
Halves like which one is bigger-Eat the apple though, the peach.
Dearest, she is forever alone, even with friends,
To find you again and again and again.
I love you like this, always will.
And she loves you the best.

78

The best piece of sliced bread, a great

invention
(June 26, 2013)
Im melting; butter. Im toasting from the loaf.
Im half-thinking about being a woman; Im lounging.
How deeply can I play this role out as it will come to me,
Closer to the earth, first? Salt and dirt. I have to be led in.
Back to breakfast it is, then.
Some channels of communication are fast,
Some are distinct, some are filled to capacity,
Some involve wider collaboration.
Devotion could rise like dough at the satisfaction
Of our own immaculate pointillist model of communication;
Fiber optic connections.
I appreciate this buffer zone,
This indulgence, this rattling;
This is relaxing me.
I step up and over easy.
The newer album sounds pour out of those speakers.
The best piece of sliced bread, a great invention;
Im selfish and Ill prove it until Im done.
The nature we all take from, light and heavy on my mind.
I place a leaf in my palm, we revolve; the calm of the storm.
How does the earth relate to living, every one hand it holds in
its gravity,
In its sway, the winds swirling, and the atmosphere, we create?

79

The first waffle

(June 27, 2013)
The first waffle is floatish.
My heart is high and bunks apart when the phloem is too stacky or
flim.
I skip hapness past the cinnamon.
Not good boots but sexy boots,
Gulp on the leg streets, and shelve myself.
Others on the come up the trust is funny.
I tryst you, were of one mind,
Brains at a time, willing caucus lines fam in,
Willowing a cactus with a flimmer stem for the corner of the
room.

80

The other pain

(July 2, 2013)
I search the world, the rest is discipline;
I rest with what hurts, discipline fills in.
Basis of trust is imaginary, like sunflowers reach for the sun;
And the sun reaches back, but one does.
To what do I deserve this pleasure?
The other pain is overwhelming, the other pain of another,
The pain of loving somebody, I light up like a puzzle,
The pain of having proven other pain,
The pain of another, filling in this proving, this pain of
proving,
For this love of pleasure.

81

Different walks
(July 6, 2013)
I am bigger than myself
Prove I am bigger than my body
My body feels something bigger than itself and intelligent
My imagination is heady and physical
And I move into it
Extends like a fog
And the outlines sharpen
And the lines of the workers fill in
I seek the ink in its places every morning
And my imagination draws with distinction
And I know something about myself when I break my own rules like
clarity
Break through the image created by chiseled plot lines
The rock walks
The earth moves
The drills, the wheelbarrows, the fences, the gravity
You take me home but live in the real world
My pretty dude
I think about you like stars in movies sometimes
But we know better than to walk in dead roles
Green like a lime to a lemon
Got it right the first time
Green like my heaven because it was my choice
The heaviest ropes I know I chose, love
Green like a voice from the earth
Vines and whatever else
So I remember the life of every day
The speed of life and decisions and these spin-offs
And time is different for people of different walks

82

Hopelessness
(August 23, 2013)
At the docks again,
I have looped the town along with the guide.
I am the hopeless tour-Finally, a hopelessly lost tour through town.
When the tour is lost and ends, a beer for friends.
The air remains thick of brains, soda sweet straw and sour,
And otherworldly tastes and patterns,
From within one person's fizzing.
Words always bubble up to the surface,
Like my image in a mirror,
Kisses my face,
Faster than I know my name.
Without the full power of explanation,
I made decisions with my faculties,
But without the literal communication to parallel them.
The language is fast, but I had my loud emphasis even then.
The train tracks were parallel and this was the main thing.
Moving with the train together like a system,
I became more aware of my own symmetry in motion,
And my arrival when the stitches were done.
The living language has changed so much,
More capable of representing,
That which is actual communication,
Love, ongoing, and made best to represent the beautiful.
I might slide a mile or a million into this waltz,
I think the lines have crossed.
The art is of a capable artist,
The mosaics tell the stories of bodies, endless, and eternal
haunts.
Reflection continues; skipping on the liquid, a game of skill and
limits.
The train of thought carries cargo farther,
Zig zags through the natural hills, the empty country larder.

83

Growing larger, the distance between me and the cosmopolitan port

through the water.
I remember the turn was harder, the streets high, white halls.
The boat is a rider blown over white and black stones underwater.
The air is soft on the boat from where I observe the coastal
town.
The train models the rocky coastline and crowns the land.
I am forever building the tracks with my hands,
And a train--a window with cars and pearls outside in the city.
This harbor is such green that the ocean would know;
And here a junction for the traveling circus, accuracy, fire to
throw.
At this panoramic gem, an artist might bend inward, a prism, of
worry;
But, as I may embrace the most beautiful thing in the world, I
feel sorry.

84

Patience
(September 13, 2013)
Before the nightmare I thought I could break the world,
Widen the chasm, the meaningless core.
The faceless horror of the nightmare
Absolved me; I am not alone in the elegant night,
But what is lost is gone.
I choose to live and to lose,
Or to lose and to live, the situation preceded me, accordingly,
gratefully.
Choice, individually and collectively, becomes what there is to
choose.
The caged bird may transform;
The human version, the heart, can tick beneath its ribs;
The humanity of the words, the bird of a form can soar with
literacy and literature.
Always some symbol to represent freedom, the definition from the
symbol, the story, and the poem.
Always the word, excelsior.
Traditions use everything at each nexus to the next.
The hopeful singularity of choosing whom we love,
Gives choice itself an eternal rose,
Elevates choice.
The affirming power of a connection rooted in choice and hard
freedom,
Helps us navigate the miracles of life's dualities.
Perhaps I am so sure, that nothing is more like a rose, than that
experience,
In which patience furnished a rose, to replace itself with a
rose.
Patience, if it cannot be, must become a body.

85

The crow
(September 23, 2013)
Carving our axe out in the night,
Slumber jammies and deals like pizza wheels and meeting up:
Some trees belong to the evening.
The path is lit even as the crow flies,
And when the snow begins to fall after the sun sets,
Deals and debts,
We feel the drama set, bumping ourselves, and felt good;
Leaf sounds dry crackling powdering everything.

86

Hordes
(October 30, 2013)
The barbarian hordes,
Raping and pillaging our villages;
I echo the grand master in his thinking only,
Rising hidden like smoke,
From the sepulcher where we buried the unspoken words-Not the life yet unliv-ed, the bud, the sheath,
But the life that moved the sickle,
That fed the beast, that quieted the hides,
That considered the peaceful mystery of the grass in the spring,
The coin that held everything,
And the bones that formed a point in the soil, the unspoken
words;
The rock from which,
For us to spring forth, forever,
Visible in all directions from the water cycle.

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Man limits my words for me

(November 23, 2013)
Man limits my words for me,
To what flatters me,
In the apple of his eye;
And he's in the apple of mine.
There are 27 apples thus,
Each with seeds within,
And a stem that has had leaves.
I talk gently of digestion,
But sharply of the words.
I suppose I am the most literal,
Although I live in a figurative world.

88

Black, felt hat

(November 27, 2013)
I need a black shoe
To write my umbrella
Everything becomes a black, felt hat
The seven-layer cake, of course
Falls into that everything
There was a sound like a splat
But it was silent

89

Horses
(November 28, 2013)
Horses-Horse power-Horses overtake the earth-Run together.
We run the motor.
We imagine-We are them when we go.
They run and nuzzle.
They puzzle over America.

90

A calling
(December 10, 2013)
If it is not for the sake of history-(The history of what has been,
Between you and me,
Is it history?-We break up exclusively,
Me and all your brothers;
And I live ankle-deep with my mistakes--)
The history of our beauty together,
That we alone cherish to believe we have seen-A little bit we think maybe what we had,
Reflects eternally,
A little bit we think maybe what we had,
Will belong to history in some form;
But the history of a man is the history of all men of all time,
So my history is a small part of the history of man's form,
And it is to the death;
And being a woman, and believing in the binaries of my memories,
A little bit I think maybe what I am is the large part,
And that history is a calling,
I love most,
And a question.

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92

Yesterday
(January 23, 2014)
It's as simple as remembering yesterday's weather.
Gone outside, the human temperature falls;
Then it is winter.
A homeless thought: today's resistances
Breached the outdoor air;
Yesterday is here.
The girls lovers and boys lovers, now;
There was a song,
It was unmistakeable.
Outdoors in the frigid cold,
The romance blossoms-As ice blossoms were desirable without freezing;
The colder shadow curtain,
Yesterday pain animal human,
Tolling outside of time.
Yesterday is here:
What holds me back in shapes and in degrees and in longings,
The other side of everything that falls.

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The light within

(February 11, 2014)
The light within,
Is most deeply held, and I
Must believe in the person I had been,
The person I will be,
Whom shall not hate.
I can only compartmentalize,
The sweet parting of friends,
So much:
The pages run amok,
And the pages bulls to run.

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NOTES

Realityusedtobeafriendamineisafterasongofthesame
namebyAmericanhiphopactP.M.Dawn.
Itmaynotbetherighttimeforanyofthatisinmemoryof
thelivestouchedbytheSandyHookElementarySchool
shooting.
BicoastalTastesreferencesasalineofthepoemtheJohn
SteinbecknovelEastofEden.

95