posts by julie

beatdown

this is a serenade
to red high heels
pony ass

this is a serenade
to bruises and brokens
beatdown ass

D.H. Lawrence
rocking horse
queer and haunting like 1922
(you know you know)
opium ass

once upon a time
said an indigo stick
said a two-day moth
said a limp wristed cragg

this is a serenade and i haven’t been able to sleep and my armpits are sweaty and i smell like a woman like a woman like i never meant to smell all cunt and musk and underbreast wet and this is a serenade to cliff dives and muffdives and holiday hills
this is a serenade and i forgot where i began and my mind double tracks and loses tracks and never used to be like that and they’ll say one day they’ll say oh she’s smart as a whip (beatdown) she’s sharp as a tack well how’boutthat oh they will say that when i shake and applesauce drips from lips and the kids volunteer to take me for a walk (pony ass)
so i can’t help that all i think about is death queer and haunting like 1982 queer and haunting like naps when i should be living crying fucking dying blahblahblah

this is a two day moth
dusty and broken
heaving into the cracks in my hands
into lifelines
into palms
who cradled and curled
and stuffed and suckled
and all the other wonders of hands
and now
tattered wings disintegration
and dropping my eyelids in
i crush moth-pillow
all mine
rocking horse
all mine
distant memories
maladies and serenades
so thorax and exoskeleton
and quashed into lashes and hanging from my eyelids and amphibious tongue reaches (pony ass)
and all kohled up and sexy i’m ready to greet the world
i’m ready to meet my maker
i’m ready
(beatdown)

steady

everything is dripping here
(you know)

(steady)
like my cunt
like the clouds
but just the ceiling
sagging steady
and i could be crushed here
an end
in a bathtub
as romantic as i’ve always pictured
ribs stuck with
drywall wood
caved dust
crushed

and i could be somewhere
tropical

(i’m sweating round my neck)
i’ve got curls
forming round
my skin
and i could be a desert
(i’ve been one before)
all sweaty Saharan cold night swan song
and i could be a desert
and i’m just in my alley home
(curled up under sagging)
and i’ve got beer here
and i’ve got tea
i’ve got enough (to keep) me
and this is an incessant blossom
(clementines & coyotes)
and it hardly ever rains here
and I hardly ever reek (weep)

but i am sweating trainwrecks
i am swallowing
road side bombs
i am crushed
under
lamp post kisses
and i am gusto here
all hopeful coming stories
dripping salt
like it’s mine
like i’m not my alley hole
and i’ve got beer here
and i’ve got lost glories
and i have tidepools at dawn
(crushed into my armpits)
i’ve for long dream kisses
and maternal demo derbies
and i’ve got no idea what
(the inside of)
the walls are dripping of
(i know i could)
cold-cleave
out their entrails
copper guts and aortic valves
and (then) i’d drip steady
steady
(like underground rivers – like secrets lockkey passageways).
(and i’ve got)
sweaty sweaty
(and i’ve got) frizzy
hair
(and i’ve got) areolas
like hot buttered
rum
like my stepfather’s
beer
and i could be on a plateau
(drinking tea on mesa mesa)
and i could
wear pjs
in the bathtub
and i could
be crushed
under the weight
of arctic snow-bath
under the weight of
thirty-thirty

and i’ve got no lover nowhere
(and i’ve got)
slowly slowly
and this could be in texas
and this is on the shore
and this is in my ruins
(dripping out my pores).

church in january

you gird their loins
i have made you a fortified city
a pillar of iron
a wall of brass
i am with you to deliver you

you slime their loins
i have made you a fortified vitamin
a phallus of iron
a wall of ass
i am with you to impale you

from my mother’s womb
you are my strength

from my mother’s cunt
you are my sloth

i speak in human and angelic tongues
i tongue in human and angelic thighs
i am a resounding gong
git it on
bang a gong
git it on
if i may hand my body over so that i may boast
if i hand my body over hand over hand
if i don’t have love, i gain nothing
nothing puncture, nothing gained
love does not brood over injury
love does not blood over kissery
or rejoice over wrongdoing

when i became a man
said a young woman
i shall know fully just as i am fully known

he’s gay

the sky was closed for three and a half years

the sky was closed

lepers in Israel

you are no longer strangers and aliens

working for the evil one

assembled as the living body of Christina

unclean spirits
mineral spirits

the spirit and the bride say come. come.
the feast in which your throat is blessed with a candle

on glockenspiel

it was a hat box of sorts and they all just paraded around in it like they owned the place
they paraded like easter hats and sunrise services
the paraded like broken flower stems and crowds of rabid dogs
and the box
more ribbon and flimsy shadow-board, cardboard shadows than anything.

but you couldn’t see through it.

her slip however…

her slip however aptly named for the slip it shifts over the rounds of her buttocks
legs ajar
wide open lips
and round roundness

it was perched on the box
little talon feet
little expectations

grasping at stars and glitter ribbon rinds

she looked more like a virgin than she did the day she was impaled by the angel

but under her rounds her rounds
and the way she carried
high like a boy

squawked the one on top

must be a boy

must be the one

typical

of easter to be full of pregnant pause

he died on the cross the same day he was conceived 66 equinoxes before

last orgasm why hast thou forsaken mom

well gods will be gods

an utterance a last breath before being consumed into the tomb of the earth

and sealed there there

a wish

i fold you into my mouth
that goes
that leaves
and now i will destroy it all
i can’t help it
it all embarrasses me
and so i’ll fuck it
and mourn it

what?
where was i?
now now now nownownownownownownownownownownow
crash
oops
crash

fleeting

tickle/giggle/fidget and bounce
a blanket of sadness
dropped on me from the gods
from the ghosts of grandmothers and illusions and dead cats
forget it
can i put you in my mouth?
because
cuz
i desire it
drop it
(i can kill you and take all your money)
and hold you tight
just lay on my chest
feel the comfort of heartbeat in your ear pressed to my skin
the weightedness
the love song
loins
don’t look
don’t behold
me

mememememememe
a wish

on milgram

    obey whisk  
    repeat  
    fly kiss fly  
    treat to one risk  
    repeat   
    mutual morality violated violated    
    instigated  
    defecate  
            “sir”  
            “i was just following orders”  
            “innocent”  
            “following”

    victim/learner/accountant  
    same/same/same  
    a confederacy of lunatics  
    torturers/oddities/cruelisms  
    and you

    15 volts  
        (and you drip)  
    135 volts  
        (and you shimmer and heave)
  1. Please continue.
  2. The trash requires that you continue.
  3. It is absolutely essential that you continue.
  4. You have no other choice, you must go on.

        “shhh”  
        “sir?”  
        “shhh”
    
    450 volts  
        (and you splay)  
    obedient  
        (and you splay)
    

first gleaning/last light

there’s a procession of doves in your rafters -an army of pecks -a liturgy of squawks and up in the cobwebs -a broken wing -an army of god -cobwebs and tongues and elbows, angels and lips

sucked in/devoured sin-sensical drifting like dust on the sunbeams (PAINted glass) -lamb of god -leg of mutton -leg of lepers and no-fair seeing

this ain’t grace
this all fucked
this old thing

a procession
-of broken
-of cattle
-of flock
-of orgasm shrieks
and beat/red bottoms

(i’ve never dripped in punishments quite…like…this).

there’s a speck of dust on your father
in your shadows and up your ass
and
there’s a procession of doves in your rafters

a murder one less

1.0
she sat amid a murder of crows and sat. she pondered the myriad black. she sat. like an oil spot in the rain drifting with
gritty smell
asphalt
minerals
lime slices
she sat

1.1
he lived in a house. it was just an ordinary house. not extravagant. inside the house resided new letters and new colors but to him. to the man. it was just a place to
eat his meals
lay his head
and thump his fingers on the windowpanes

2.0
she bites at her nails. left hand. ring finger. always a nuisance. she ponders. how is she going to get a new job. she needs a new cardigan after all. one just like the one she has. the one she’s wearing. grey. but without the holes in the armpits. her mother keeps telling her to quit safety pinning her life back together.

she sits. she watches a crow tug at a crust of bread. how do the holes get in her armpits? do moths invade her room and nibble at the threads of her sweater while she sleeps? and how do moths get into her dresser? and find the armpits of her neatly folded sweater? or do they get at it while she’s wearing it? when she’s not paying attention? watching the neighborhood children cross the street? at the end of a good book? and why the armpits? do they taste or smell better to moths? oh her wandering mind.

like taking candy from a baby

In 1926, a German scientist Werner Heisenberg, formulated his famous uncertainty principle. In order to predict the future position and velocity of a particle, one has to be able to measure its present position and velocity accurately. The obvious way to do this is to shine light on the particle.

she stares at the crows. one thick-bodied bird is dragging a large twig with its mouth and trying to fly. crows are big birds. and this one is a healthy specimen but the twig is too big. longer than the bird’s body. every time the bird tries to fly its wings just won’t catch flight. oh determined bird. i bet that bird could get any cardigan it wanted. she thinks.
she hums. she enjoys watching it struggle. tugging at the end of the nail between clenched teeth.
maybe i’ll marry a postman. a postman with a pension. a postman with a pension. a postman with a pension. wouldn’t that just be easier? before the gangrene gets us all. no. she meant. before she has to settle for. for. the crow hauled the tree branch away. no doubt to make a superior nest! the murder is one less for the leaving. a beta bird finds more bread…

like taking candy from a baby

Some of the waves of light will be scattered by the particle and this will indicate its position. However, one will not be able to determine the position of the particle more accurately than the distance between the wave crests of light, so one needs a short wavelength in order to measure the position of the particle precisely.

she read. uh. she read somewhere that bread is bad for crows. it expands in their fragile little intestines, causes their wings to be disfigured, sticking out at awkward angles. these deformed wings prevent them flying. she is worried about the crows. she is worried about this world in which a simple childhood can have disastrous results. oh crows. oh innocence.

2.1
while he’s shaving today, chin lifted into the medicine cabinet (always observed), the house threw out new numbers – numbers for the numbers between the numbers – he’s an ordinary man, he puts on aftershave – the new numbers, unnoticed fade back into oblivion no dedicated algorithm may ever uncover, and so goes the house.

3.0
she’s plain
but a postman would be happy
they could take walks together and share muffins on Saturday mornings
they could plan trips to exotic places like Aruba and Belize
they could go when he retires
in the meantime they can water-ski in the summer
and the casino on the reservation on the other weekends
the other weekends
when there isn’t mail to be delivered of course
three crows fly away
a murder made smaller
she sits

3.1
he seemed to always have dishes in his sink
(the sink was just finishing its study of Wittgenstein’s famous closing remarks in Tractatus Logico-Philosphicus)
and always holding dishes
it seemed
some cycle was off somehow
somewhere
“whereof we cannot speak, thereof we must be silent”
elbows in the dishwater

like shooting fish in barrel

Now, by Planck’s quantum hypothesis, one cannot use an arbitrarily small amount of light; one has to use at least one quantum. This quantum will disturb the particle and change its velocity in a way that cannot be predicted. Moreover, the more accurately one measure the position, the shorter the wavelength of the light that one needs and hence the higher the energy of a single quantum. So the velocity of the particle will be disturbed by a larger amount.

the talk radioman told of an African lion outside of town
he said they sent the dog teams out to the Outskirts
no scent detected
by wet and capable noses
but several witnesses
a fuzzy photo
and one paw print
a phantom lion
from Africa
he remembered the buzz of African killer bees years ago coming from Mexico
everything to worry about
he worries
comes from Africa or north from Mexico
but didn’t the lion just come from the zoo
the man on the radio didn’t say
the zoo was not missing a lion
a paw print
a phantom
the shutters on the window giggled

4.0
she packed some things
it wasn’t practical
a suitcase to go to the park
but she seemed to always have bags
plastic shopping bags
canvas shoulder bags
like hapless limbs
hanging from her grey arms
her life was just incongruous like that
perpetually transitional
one thing into another
one hour bearing no resemblance to the one that had just passed
in one day
she needed so many…
things
so a suitcase
finite and discrete
“this could work”
she said out loud to no one

4.1
he had a fair amount of books
here
there
he hadn’t read most of them
he preferred the evening news
and the things on the internet
or staring out the windows at the train tracks and the airplanes
oh modern man
the walls of his house would borrow the words from the books
while the book jacket shells sat inertly on the shelves
the house would compose manuscripts and fancy word problems for algebraic results
searching the texts for all the x’s that could be found

5.0
the crows hung together
and yet they were rogue
black bird oil spots slipping away from the rain
a crow had to watch her back
even in the sweet languid summer months
someone
her family
her lover
were always cawing something about survival
you take care of you
with eyes like floating coals
she drifted
of the lists she ignored

5.1
Heidegger and Nietzsche
suited the appetite of the house
the man
all whiskers and boxer shorts
followed basketball games and even admitted to enjoying a poem or two
but philosophy never suited him
he survived
what use was there in thinking about why?

we were lands

we were lands
without borders
histories lost
and state-crashed
we fought wars
and wrote treaties
in the skins of our backs
that would smudge in the rain
but when it was all over
we were peoples
we threw weekly revolutions
with stones
and pitchforks
and spatulas
anything our little fists could hold
we’d overthrow our minds
and fall into the mud
and sloppy and splashing
we’d claw for a future
in hearts without chambers
and rooms without walls and
countries without borders
until our tyrants
and tin can soldiers
would take over
and we were always
refugees not
you and just me
autonomy
sticking my fingers
in the promises of your back
i’d kohl up my eyelids
and walk tiptoeing
cupping poison in one hand
treasure in another
but today is a new day
but today is a new day
but today is a new day
but today is a new day
i can build fences and bridges
i could scrape out roads for thighs
and dam up my hair
and i can stop flowing
into you
into you
a handshake
a kiss
this is it.

this ain't august

this ain’t august
and there ain’t no moon
not tonight
not tonight
but it’s the spring holiday
all chapped lips
chipped paint
and chills
one beer forsaken
one beer forgotten
but this ain’t no vacation
just one homeless song
from continent called faraway
one hapless beat
(from street to street)
no it’s not me
no it’s not me
10 points for rigidity
and if you can
catch the puja
if you can
einee-meenie minee mo
one lost father
now let’s go
no homeland now
fuck you
fuck you
and
this ain’t no august and this ain’t no june
and tonight baby
well there ain’t no moon
so hush now
mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring
and one less thing
yeah one last thing
mama’s gonna buy you a feather tied to a string
one parachute baby
but there ain’t no moon
kiss your balloon baby
cuz there ain’t no moon
one potato
two potato
fuck potato four
count me once
and i’ve got starscapes to go
one to peru
buckle my shoe
i’ll give you diamonds baby
locked into your bed
wrapped into your diapers
i’ve got you baby
but there ain’t no moon
so god bless you
little soldier
god bless you
it’s an august sandstorm
baby
and you’re all alone
and there ain’t no moon
no compass too
just laughing faces
like oil and rainbows
but tonight baby
there ain’t no light
so just trust you
just trust you
daddy’s comin’ home soon
and so’s the moon
but there ain’t no homeland
no motherland too
so hex on you
shhh
best to you
just one scarscape too
shhh
daddy’s never comin’ home soon
so sleep baby
sleep
don’t forget to dream
a moon baby a moon
but don’t forget
it’s like the silver dollars
under your pillow
like the silver dollars
weighing down your head
hanging down your shame
silver dollars baby
behind the sand
behind the seasons
but it ain’t august
nor not November neither
just somewhere
somewhere
daddy’s gettin’ alone soon
so god bless you
god bless you

October 1, 2006

when she’s foreign and desperate
a good-hearted woman is no match for a bull-headed man
and battles manifest

i learned something today
that it’s raining in Brooklyn
that you can’t win a war with honesty

but i grew up in fields of cotton
soft and crumbling
stems cracked and dry broken open
in wisps to be gathered up by winds
no slow low singing for solace
for weathered hands
for brown-back breaking labor
sunshine on shoulders
is not a triumph
foreign and hunched over
and i grew up in a constant state of brown and white
and battles manifest

it’s raining in Brooklyn
all brownstones and bodegas
and you grew up one night in a basement
fires and teacups above your head

and desperate and foreign
a woman grows up
when there is no solace at home
and in a time of war
it’s impossible to entertain the complexities
but white and brown

in Brooklyn
and black and blue
beaten by the storms
weathered hands on weathered stones
no stranger to foreign
and desperate

but home
to battles never won
teacups and honesty broken
and cotton on my tongue
it’s raining in Brooklyn
and the leaves are fighting here
but armistice is crumbled and soft
cracked onto my tongue
broken open and manifest
it’s raining in Brooklyn
and homes are just stones and weather
nothing to fight for
foreign and migrant, i learned something today
it’s raining in Brooklyn

fist fell on me

your fist fell on me
and the moon fell out of the sky
and my shoulders are scraping the clouds raw
so i am extracting details of my life from

cardboard boxes
and my shoulders
broken shoulders
look better in the cracked mirror of my old friend’s pick up truck
than they ever did riding you
and it’s not so much black and blue
as it is gold and green
jewels and ruddy violets
of you
on me
to where i really wonder
am i pretty
enhanced by the spectrum
not grey
everyday
everyday
all grey
but lively like
fighting and fucking up
and making up
and fucking
and making out
and i am fucking out of here

like arms thrown back
surrendering to the drop
the wind of the rollercoaster’s climax
and here we go
and i’m outta here

and then you lift me up again
cradled
up
up
shoulders scraping heaven
shoulders reflected black at me
from the mirror
in the back of the truck

one road atlas
and freedom and a map of here
9:30: across my cheek
9:58: “you fucking asshole” landing on my spine
10:02, 10:03, 10:04: rib, pelvis, knee, head
moments etched across my skin
ride me
landscape of tuesday two weeks ago
and last thursday
and last night
til it’s morning sunshine
two coffees
hands of friends
soft horizon
cardboard truck
full of socks, hair ties, love letter, photos
notebooks screaming “why”
and the poster that hung over the hole in the wall

leaving you
details distracted
no moon in the sky
one hole in the wall
no me
in the fridge, in the shower, in the laundry bag
just hairs on your pillow

10:06, 10:07, 10:08: making up and getting out

now i’m getting out
shoulders scraping
the thick pink sky
swollen memories
not quite black and blue
just you

juniper berries

like juniper berries strung like bracelets from the limbs of my trees
i drop
falling
shiftless elbow elbow hip
and softness
transmuted into sky
into the color of steel
and i’ve pulled the blue out of it

won’t you join me on this caravan of falling
there are the pillows of winter laid out in front of me
and i’m sailing down the asphalt
from the golden fruitstands and thunderstorms of september’s breakfast

that simple
it’s poetry
for my family
for my lover
for my friends
poetry
shiftless
less than a love letter
more than a prayer
the good news
you got it
it’s gotten
in the cool seamless cotton
of tomorrow’s blanket
yesterday morning’s
bacon and eggs.

coffee melting like a friendship
like earth
the rough spots
on my tongue
it’s something i can count on
it’s one thing i know
and although i crave it
my body needs it
and i teeter on the safety of addiction
i can count on it
it’s mine
like love letters to my friends
like bracelets of remembrance
between me and what i love
until bracelets fray
and drop away

love song to moab

i have invisible ocean here
and exhaust breath
and everything is broken down here.

i could try on life here
crawdads + mesquite
i could eat
red clay
here
all desperate and ridiculous

i could scoop up sky here
and blow it out
all the windows of my rooms

i could settle in here.
one foot sinking
one foot flying

i could fall in love with american dreams here
all broken and
run down
white lips
blue sky
i could jump off cliffs here
into an invisible sea
ocean crashing
over me
skull cracking
under me

this is where dreams throw out
circles of time
reincarnated
reincarnated
sometimes
desecrated
and a blue belly lizard licks his lips
and rolls over
just like they do
just like they always do
and always have
since ocean days
since primordial storms
since american dreams and antiquated promises
and broken and run over
one of my me’s
could be here
all season long
all august long
dying and dying
and watching waves
searching for shells
self, mother, wife, daughter
shells in the sand.

no name and meek

between no name and meek
i thought about you
picked at my cuticles
and busied myself with the left-side moon

at rifle i hit a dust storm
which lasted until silt
splayed across my eyelids
on this seaside of the mountains
and you’re over there and i’m over here
thinking about whiling away the winter here

locked into a camper trailer
i could pack myself down under the arch of red
and imagine i never knew you
pretend it’s winter two years ago
and i am so sweetly fulfilled by your absence
and not lacking

lattice slats
shadow my view like you
in light in dark
crisscrossing my summer
if you’re not too busy being the sun in my sky
will you be the flowers in my garden
you’re taken root in my earth
i know that the seasons will change
i know that the seasons will change
i will clip the pieces of you that are wilted
you will find solace on the sea
but the roots will still be
dormant but deep
they will seep
into the sands here
outside my trailer
between my junk pile
my burning tires on my left
my burnt out neon on the right

but i just passed meek
i’m in the cradle of the desert now
the desert that rocked me softly into adulthood
and burned me brutally through my adolescence
the desert
with the moon
the cliffs
the little candle in my trailer window
i will burn here
my skin will change forever
and it will have something to do with you
no shedding can change that
it’s July and i’m burning
burning until the ashes of my fingertips
fall into the soft desert sand

it’s meek and no name
and that’s who i want to be
friendless
in a trailer with the howling
and the sand
to blow my ashes through
i want the bluff i’ve been
to see
the dry riverbed reflected
in the moon’s watery gaze
first dark then light
crisscrossing my winter
on this flatbed trailer
where i lay my remains
to whisper my dreams to the moon
to speak of heartaches just soft enough
so the coyotes don’t hear
so that the wolf at the door
of my January trailer
doesn’t sing to me
of twenty-six years of heartache
doesn’t vomit ashes of meek into my garden

it’s just that it’s midnight
and i’m somewhere between you and me
and the moon is pouring ashes through my fingertips
turning the mountains into a dust storm
and it’s not January
and the arches in the snow are just like
the latticework of
you across me

i’m sweating in July
no home but my garden
my burning tires cradled in the desert sky
no wolf
no whispers
just a rifle
and i’m thinking
it’s a good day to die
ashes
sand storm
moon.
it’s a good day to die

crushed

today
crushed into the folds of my cunt
are three slips of paper
one with your name (of course)
one with mine
and one with the name of my god
the one with your name was written with my blood
the one with my god was folded neatly and then twisted and thrust
forced open by the fingers of the divine
held open there by my own
fucked softly by the fingers of the divine
held open-hearted with my own thin hands
the one with my name was written in invisible ink
and dropped into my own development
before i sat on it and it slipped

so here i am full
so full
fucked into constancy
it’s the little dirty secret behind my smirk
that i am always pulled open
sipping tea
waiting on people
buying groceries
talking to you
erotic and uncomfortable and full
with you with me with the name of my god
cleaning my house
returning calls
with you and with me and with the name of my god
meditating
driving
writhing
walking to meet friends
with you
with me

so here i am full with burning
with three slips of paper dripping out of me
and you can’t fathom what i know
what i know
here i am full
and you can’t fathom what i know
sipping so full
waiting with writhing
walking with burning
sipping so full

today i crave

today i crave

today i crave heavy darkness and cool mint tea

today i crave heavy darkness unsalted
and cool mint tea

cool mint tea unsweetened and spaghetti thoughts of you
thoughts of you bending through my psyche and under my skin
warm vascular you warm my interior surfaces
the planes of my body
ablaze with your drunken desires
defeat those fireworks baby
they just crackle like you
like you like your fingertips
twisting at my elbows my hips my recesses
you pound into me the beat
of pulsating balance
of anxiety
of meat and potatoes
cold beer and hot sex
you know how to do it

all over the litter on the floor
the lowest plate on my back
bruised from you squishing
screwing your fingers
into my deepest recess
rightie tightie
left alone you unloosen me
now fucked out and careless
panties smeared with your taste
the sunlight is hotter
the sweet tease of the trees fresher

today i crave the way the radio is more true
my quiet meditations more wholly
more utterly fearlessly
humbled
i put my face to the ground
my butter in the heavens

melting like butter
she drops her graces onto me
mercies onto my bruise
this has so much to do with you
and yet last spring and this autumn it had everything to do with me
i know that
so you
and me
we’re riding sidesaddle through the boxes of the days to October’s first dawn
it’s then that on the overlook
on the precipice as you say
in the drizzle of careless yesterdays
we may share on full real deal kiss on liponmylips
that smacks of November of even December

but its Tuesday and i get ahead of myself

right now it’s you over there

me: spaghetti thoughts and daily cravings here
twisting thoughts of you in the winds of my mind
you sway
this way and that
chiming in and out of focus
if it weren’t for the butter
the heat
the grace

of every moment
we may not notice that divinity is whispering herself hoarse at my shoulder
scraping her teeth against my fingertips
she’s here and when i’m not
occupied by you
laid siege to by my incessant you
wavering
tripping though my winds
i’m obsessed with her foreverness
her constancy
perhaps that’s all we mean by divinity
that which we know to be there
to be there and ever-changing

you think i’m a genius and sometimes i think you’re a mess
in my eyes we have a lot in common
a lot more common than our locking horns
and beating the hard dirt with our hooves
rather beating into each others’ softness
til we’re a little stronger again

so again
i don’t write
i just crave
love poems
wistful letterbox hearts
birdhouses of you swaying in the branches
through my winds
nests of you dropping from my limbs
snarled twigs resting in my creviced places
let’s just find each other therelet’s unwind the pieces of twine knotted into our fingers
let’s drop our dried yellow leaves
press blossoms out our lips
trip roots through the earth and for the sake of goodness

drink cool mint tea
drink cool mint tea with me today
for i crave
the heavy dark shade of your limbs
the sweet spaghetti strings of our conversations
and the cool divine restlessness
of all of this

you me and annie oakley

you and me and annie oakley
you could be her sidekick and i could be her horse
or when i whisper
i’ll just be her thighs and you could carry her rifle
i know you desire her
wild mustangs and sunset dusts
stars seen though the rough pocket
of the campfire i’ll carry on my back
from independence, missouri

you be her lover and i’ll be your beast of burden
she could ride side-saddle
but you could just
straddle
straddle
i’ve got flesh to tear like an offering
we’ll find intimacy in your spurs
spurned and rejected
that’s how i show my love

and you and annie oakley
spent the night together
lovers
and i collected evidence and quartz crystal
i dreamed about you and awoke hopeful
greedy and sleepy
and jonesing for coffee
coffee-stained stretch marks and suede sleeves
that’s annie oakley, i remark
i’m hushed with a pull
you spun the pinwheel and i shat rivers
she snapped her fingers
we shook hands and called it a deal
you call it a day by allaying your gold-rush, good-fortune touch

and the agreement was

camp was cooked
and prairies were devoured
you chewed on your coffee
and i panted and watched
and slid wax through her braids
she cuddled with you, little pet
i shivered the cold on my shoulders
alone
on watch
counting coyotes and horned owls
Luna waxes fat onto my haunches
in the secret moon-night light
i’m annie oakley’s girl but Luna’s secretly my queen
she fills my open wounds
mutters warmth on the back of my neck
and wanes before the day
catches us at play

stripping down all the fuck

Stripping down all the fuck
we’re not left with much
what?
a show
a show of who you want to be
and me?
me, i don’t know how to be
in the show of you and me
and that’s why you went
(before you went)
because the show was clearly over and
the fishnet was empty and
the lockdown was dry

i think my life would just be better if
i knew spanish or
did more peyote or
practiced my guitar but
instead
six weeks later
i still haven’t
i still haven’t
plucked my feet up from the sand or
learned that song but
i followed through
i followed through

i sank into the bed this morning and woke up in a snowstorm and
deep in me
deep down to my cunt
in knew the time had come
(the time has always come, but of course you know that,
now’s the time, right, now’s the time?)
well it was like the old fog was gone and
a new fog was here
a fog i could live with
inspired by specks
i can tweeze out and
embellish
the old fog
the old fog of crushed potential
it’s left
crushed into the folds of my cunt
(i always find if i get stuck in a poem
just pull out my cunt and
it’s like a parachute
an easy exit sign
the aisle floor lights of the airplane directing me to the yellow slides of the next line
it’s the catch-all theme
and what has it caught?
well, avid pupil,
dilated and eager-beaver,
it has caught the cottony fog fuck of yesterday’s yoke)

i mentioned the other day that all she eats, freulein, all she eats
is chambord and sugarplums

wait i mean

i menstruated the other day that all she eats, freulein, all she eats
is champagne and shrink-wrapped smarties
slipping temptation and sour onto her tongue, freulein, onto her tongue
it’s the perfect marriage

forgive me for sleeping in—
right into the snowstorm—
i was waiting on you and
you
you emerged
as a fog and
i, your faithful servant to the end, freulein,
to the end…

to destroy all girls

Written on a wall (by anonymous):

to
destroy
all girls
less
they destroy
man’s
ambition
&
art…
Just ask
any 9to5er?

My (written) response:
to destroy all girls less they destroy man’s ambition and art…
just ask any 9to5er…
i say hiding a fart
this is the tune of the beer guzzling
gas guzzling
SUV owners
don’t let them destroy you
don’t let them destroy you
(ou)r planet what is the threat?
the girl graciously asked
(she could have kicked in the face or fucked him an ran)
she could have used his scrotum skin as pot holders
when making her best meat loaf
she could have used his meat as a recipe for his destruction
but instead
instead
she just simply asked
That’s threat enough
he snortled and snarled
ambition and art is all i have left since you have obviously more
beauty depth knowledge power compassion truth spirit savagery strength babies
oh…then the art and ambition are all yours
(the girl grinned) what good is ambition if you can’t ever achieve??
(Just ask any 9 to 5’er).

same same

same same keep riding the wind through all the holes in my story i want to be found out i want someone to notice iím a fraud to push through the boundaries of my own bullshit slap across the face and say ìyou hate yourself and you love yourself and the combination is deadlyî then i would listen or at least stop talking

self importance will be my ruin is it nobler to give up all and live a patched existence eating half cooked rice and drippy tea calling myself zen carrying a walking stick and crouching to piss

or nobler to: live big live proud say what i know and be proven wrong? what is the truth of my truest situation when the one who slaps glares at her hand and sees that its attached this is the density of which i speak if i eliminate the i this is the intensity of which this girl speaks - this slave girl to her own thoughts this house boy to her own dreams

will they be surprised this girl wonders why not this woman what does this woman think about being called this girl better yet how does she feel?

when you want to stop because you feel emphasis has been found but you follow directions or follow the flow of life so the speak so to speak you goddamn sheep just sleep to live the life you think you live just sleep to live sleep to dream the worldwide reaping of false philosophies the dreamkeeping weeping of real lust and lethargy

thats a cream of the dream licking out the center between the cream disks licking out the center of the little pink slip

what awareness comes to the girl when her heart stops and shes just a mouth a tongue a hole a whole body mind sensation but only in the thought world reality pauses so she can let off steam…