2016
PRIVATE
I am not your caged bird
I am not your pedestal princess
I reject this crown and scepter
Throwing it back in your face
With force enough to shatter
The Christmas snow globe you are murkily floating in
do not rap your knuckles on the tank
thinking I'm swimming inside of it
that glass is around an image in your mind
one you created
painted
stuffed in there like a closet sexuality
like a sob-story
like a choke chain
made from an umbilical chord
pumping your mind and life
hopes and desires
guilt and longing
into the fetus of a thing
that has no life of its own
that wears my face
but only when I look pretty
enough
for you
to care about
My mind and body and heart and soul
are elsewhere
they got on the last train
to Clarksville
wearing legs I haven't shaved
and tears I've shed you've never seen
The portrait you hang me on
is a poor likeness
she is more beautiful and too small
than I am
she is more cold and less needful
than I am
she has no secrets or lovers or friends
she has no armies no names no history
she is a watercolor
I am a sculpture
I am a general
I am a misanthrope
I am not for the making
and certainly not for the taking
I am for the... no
no, no, no
I am for the privacy of the secrecy
of the only...
still not for public consumption
not even here
I am not that doggy in the window
I am not for sale
I will not wag your tail
Do not inquire within
Do not ask the man about a price
Do not make me an offer
you should know I will refuse
Just because I'm not rich
doesn't mean throwing $
at me will solve the problem
of ownership
I'll mothefucking walk
I own my papers
What keeps me in one place
...
What keeps me in one place?
...
What keeps me in one place
...
Who keeps
What keeps
What lasts
I will not give you answers
or clues
or expressions to draw
upon the doll with my painted
lips
She does not taste like me
She will not hit you back
Me...?
I will slit your throat
if you cut me open
I will gut you like a fish
if you hurt any I love
That is not a threat
It's a fact
I will take my pound of flesh
I will not turn the other cheek
I am not a martyr
I am not a victim
I am a survivor
I live in a glass house
I was raised in a glass house
My laundry is clean
Is yours?
Is it?
Careful now...
Careful...
Keep your distance
This one isn't friendly
Move along
Go about your business
Mind your business
You do not know my name
Happy
I do not want to
but if it happened
I would die happy
today
Works from 2015 Written by Anonymous
"Polite Society"
I hate that I'm not a part of the lie
I hate that I want to be part of the lie
I hate that the lie is so appealing
so rewarded
so applauded
so valued
so cherished
so approved of
so worshiped
so revered
so RESPECTED
so accepted
accepted
accepted
that I believe it
and I want it
even though I hate it
and I know it's a lie
Interlude
You come over me like a storm
the wind rising
my lips part to smile
a reflex showing my teeth
and grinning
memories of happy times
laughter together
you being funny
me being silly
Both of us being adamant
our inner children playing at adulthood together
expressing the hidden best of us
releasing our ideal selves
standing tall
or sobbing unabashedly
holding one another
and then the rain comes
I recall the life I had before meeting you
the place I was in
so terrified and guarded
clinging to sanity tenuously
and how found me there
how you didn't run away
how you loved me
how you didn't let go
and the thunder comes
my heart cracks open
your flesh against mine
you inside me
lightening
the connecting of our souls
through our lovemaking
stronger than gravity
a tornado
lasting an eternity
and my cheeks are wet from tears
happy ones
the beautiful storm ebbs
and I'm back in the present
the memories recede
time returns
but is changed, infused
with you
You said Barbra Streisand was beautiful
On the night we met
I cried at your life
played out in front of me
recognizing my own
inside it like a fortune
inside a cookie
And yet I couldn't see why
you were so sad
how could you be lonely
how could you
that man
be so isolated?
It made me mad
infuriating that he
could be so alone
it was so jarring as an idea
that I recoiled from it
as even possible
I was mad and confused by it
but then you spoke to me
with such kindness
that I wondered why
why would you speak to me
with such warmth
So tall
So handsome and quick witted
Who were you?
I wondered...
And so much else happened
Novels and revolutions
but there was a moment
when you touched my leg
as we talked about our fathers
our criminal lineage
and time stopped
you touched me and the world halted
There was another moment
you told me Barbra Streisand was beautiful
and I didn't believe you
because I share her profile
but you melted my heart
when you said it
and for a few moments
neither of us was alone
Middle Earth
The hours
stretch into days
into weeks
into months
into years
into new decades
this way
time drags itself
and me along with it
across the gravel road
on the path to
tomorrow and next year
childhoods pass
adulthoods rise
eras have ended
and begun
before my eyes
while I slept
as I made dinner
as I cleaned the dishes
as I made the bed
fights for freedom
were lost and won
were abandoned and entrapped
were aborted and birthed
aged past the meat of our lives
into the coffee and newspaper years
salad days long gone
will I have made enough
change
to have my dessert
served on a silver tray
or will it be rich
on a paper plate
or might it be nothing
these failing eyes see keener
into the distance than ever
they did when I was young
would that what they see ahead
could be softer
but the sharpness comes
with clarity
Midlife Crisis is such a bad phrase
it implies one will no longer be in crisis
once out
and that before there was none
rather than only seeing one's life
in relief against the past and into the future
The Frame being birth and death
The crisis
scrambling frantically to assure
the second part does not repeat the mistakes
of the first
and hurriedly so
because now one knows
how fleet time's feet
in fact it is already late
HEROES
We are bursting
for the opportunity to be heroes
but it never comes at the right time
We are bursting
for the chance to show the world
goodness
but it is always just slightly out of our
pricepoint
We are hungry to fight the good fight
stand tall against evil
feel righteous rage
unleash just force
Change the World!
But... each time we think about it
we think it's not really prudent
Self-preservation is more important
We want so much to fill our souls
with action
yet instead we fill them with wishes
with almosts
with 'not now, but soon's
with the feeling of guilt weighing heavily
so heavy that carrying it feels like
doing something
making the world better
and it just makes us feel
There is an adversary to be bested
It is coming for us
It will not stop
It is true evil
It will tear us apart
Are we strong enough
smart enough
brave enough
big hearted enough..?
My G-d I hope so
ISIS is coming
They came for the women
and we watched feigning helplessness
we watched hoping it would go away
like children
Is this what happened in WW2?
Is this why so many Jews died?
Because everyone was waiting to be a hero
Waiting till it was convenient?
Waiting till it was affordable?
Waiting till they would not be judged?
Meanwhile... life is lost
precious life
souls are being stained with inaction
It will never be the perfect time
There will always be casualties
But we are worth fighting for
We can be heroes...
indeed we must be
nobody else is coming to the rescue
It's us
you
and me
Election Season
Pundits pontificate
while the public dodges chokeholds
and stray bullets
CONFLICT in the debates
CONFLICT gets the website hits
CONFLICT gets overblown
CLOWNS in a circus
point the finger at one another
while the public takes a selfie
while the public holds a sign
with a cutup fetus
and ignores the cutup women
and ignores the rapes
and ignores the homeless
only the unborn are worth saving
Tis the season for answers
and lies
backroom deals
MASS APEALs
social media won’t let abuses
of those with dark skins
and vaginas
go undocumented
any longer
but Cecil the Lion
stays in the hashtag kingdom
the longest and gets
the most outrage
EASY answers
to EASY questions
are the preferred form
of OUTRAGE
Where is the OUTRAGE?
Where is the OUTRAGE?
Where are the
s o l u t i o n s ?
Leaders with answers
had better learn to sell their package
cuz looking good on camera
matters as much as
what the fuck
you are saying?
about us as a society
and where we R
a rape culture
a trying to be better than R past
but not knowing the way forward
fighting over who knows
the way
which way
who gets to speak
shouting lies is allowed
when the media sells its soul
it knows it has no legs to stand on
when the candy-date-us
asks for your vote
they promise you blowjobs
from hundred dollar bills
they promise you a world where
YOUR KIND
will be respected
ask not what your country can do
has done
will do
but what you...
What are you asking?
and you don’t have time
to read this
whole article poem book
you have to get back to work
quickly now
what did they say about
taxes?
was it taxes?
no… it was…
reproductive?
no that's HobbyLobby Handmaids Tale
it was…
WHAT?
China?
two babies okay now?
ISIS
wait... ISIS? Jesus Christ!
Foreign policy?
Domestic policy?
I just...
I need a new job...
I don't have time for this
I have to get a sitter so I can
vote
in the primary
in the general
can't we do that online?
WHO'S THAT GUY WHO SHOUTS?
The rich one?
The other rich one?
Not, not the rich one.
The Socialist
The Woman!
My God can't we have a Woman?
Red, White, Black, Brown, Yellow
Blue skies from sea to shining
Global Warming
Fuck the fucking environment
are you keeping track?
keep up
it was…
Who? What? Where? When? Why
N.E.W.S.
All news baby
all day
all news baby
all day
Did you get the latest?
The Bright Side
Things are never as bad as they seem
unless you're in a concentration camp
or you're about to die
or you just got a really shitty review from the NYTimes
Which by the way
I would kill for them to even know my name
Things are never as bad as they seem
unless you've just shat your pants
which I've done a lot so I know
but even then it could be worse
you could've just soiled your fancy boyfriend's new rug
not that I've done that
Things are never as bad as they seem
unless you just lost literally everything
and even then
if you're alive...
and you're okay
it's really not that bad
Things are never as bad as they seem
unless you've been sold into sex slavery
and that's not a joke
it's a reminder of gravity
that things which seem bad
are almost never as bad as they seem
Break is over Bitch
It’s time to get busy
It’s time to stop trying to impress you
It’s time to stop feeling sorry for myself
It’s time to stop wasting time thinking about
reasons to be mad at you
or anyone
who has it easier than me
It’s time to stop waiting for good luck
It’s time to stop hoping for the fucking miracle
It’s not coming
There is no break
Breaking in
Or catching a…
It’s not happening
The only thing that is happening
whatever I slowly
painstakingly
methodically
one teeny tiny little brick
and mortar
and brick
a
n
d
more
tar
fill in the cracks
with unanswered prayers
stuffed with dreams
that don’t come true
scrawled on scraps
receipts for tax purposes
counting each penny
that did not fall from heaven
and landed on my ass
time to get back up
time to pick up the pen
the phone
the email
and patch together
the scarecrow of my work
drop it in the field
where the audience grows
and hope it frightens
the crows of doubt
long enough for the seeds
hand sewn
to grow into an evening gown
made of audience members
like you
like me
slip it on over my shoulder
and knock the chip off
because the break is over
Leave the inspirational talks
smoke up someone else’s ass
this bitch just needs to
lipstick on
Chin help up by a white knuckle fist
Mascara running
Who gives a fuck
get back to work
Bitch
Fall in morning in The City
A ban of light rising in the east
the heavy rolling clouds
lift up and westward
over the tall steel fingertips
of people's reach skyward
the wind pushing a heavy blanket
weighed down by rain like soaked feathers
trying to fly
Two birds and a plane
cross paths in the distance
as the sun makes the pale brightness
turn lemon, peach and lime
like a tart from a French pastry shop
but we are in the apple
and down on the street
all the sidewalks are being scrubbed
high power hoses and brushes
washing away the stains and smells
putting on a clean face
for our smart heels
on the way to work
There is still a heaviness
pervading the subways
the rawness of the daily news
wears on all of us
but the small blooming moments
a season taking hold of a city
Leaves turn from young
to beautifully mature
trees shake their branches free of baggage
pumpkins decorate stoops
with toothy grimaces and grins
vestibules hide boxes of candy
for children and adults
Take a piece or two
Be on our way quickly
Get there soon
See you there
Not everything but something
Not everything is everything
Sometimes some things are just
part of everything
Almost nobody is everything
Most people are just
part of everything
This sounds unromantic
and maybe it is, but maybe not
Anyone who is everything
has too much weight on their backs
or stands too high on the pedestal
Both are dehumanizing
I myself
have been someone's everything
And it was terrible!
Oppressive and imprisoning
Let us not be everything
Let us be imperfect and glorious
Let us not confine nor be confined
Let us be honest and have our privacy
Let us wrong and forgive
Let us not be everything in life
Let us be human
Let us love
and be loved
The I's have it
Forget everything I've said
It is nothing against the silence
That alone
alone
alone is my truth
Sorry it's not cheerful
I don't owe you cheerful
Marilyn Monroe owed you cheerful
and that poor pretty bitch is dead now
I'm alive
I don't owe you my smile
or any smile
fuck smiling to please you
or writing a smile into your face
You haven't earned it
and I don't owe you jack shit
thanks for nothin
thanks for the memories pal
buddy
bucko
I will retire now
but it won't be to my grave
cuz I don't have to paint a happy face on mine
and burry my truth
planting a poison
I can be a pissed off bitch
and live
in anger and sorrow
better than dead
so say I
The I's have it
4 years in the blink of an i
Can it really b
Yes it is
As of yesterday, last night, in fact
I cannot think on this
I have work 2 do
but my goodness
how different my life is
from having met u
Did you hear about that shooting in Oregon?
We are impotent
We are a society of lazy shit fuckheads
We are too busy concerning ourselves
with ourselves
to take care of ourselves
We are too busy putting on the makeup
Too busy earning the monies
Too busy trying to get to work
Too busy checking social media
Too busy reading all the bullshit newsources
that just regurgitate the same crap
and HYPE all the shit that sells
instead of TELLING US WHAT WE NEED TO FUCKING KNOW
This is a rant
I don't fucking care
I can't say anything poetic about the firecracker spray
of bullets
every day
When we all wait in line for the subway
and hope there's a seat for our fat ass
so we don't have to stand
so we can read... our phones
so we can avoid eye contact
so we can avoid contact
so we can avoid feeling
so we can avoid our guilt
that we have built this FUCKING HORROR SHOW
that our movies spray all the bullitz
that our tv shows show all the bloody titz
that while we were busy making babies
and buying a new car
and buying rogaine
and buying viagra
and buying lipo
and buying collagen implants
the fucking superpacks rose up like
cock roaches
and we didn't do a fucking thing about it
How can we stand ourselves?
How do we sleep at night...
well, ya know we all do our best...
well, ya know a lot of folks are struggling...
yeah struggling to find some weed
struggling to find some ambien
struggling to fucking forget we are
impotent people
FUCK U
FUCK me
Fuck this stupidity
Throw your tv out the fucking window
I threw mine out years ago
but I still don't have the news
What news source is there to trust?
Who fact checks the NYTimes?
I don't
10 people are dead...
9 victims
1 shooter
this happens every fucking day in America
Land of the free to be a dick
Land of the free to be ignorant
Land of the free to tune out
Land of feel free to turn this off and go back to your regularly scheduled
sniff, snort, smoke, watch, fuck, I'm running late and don't really have time to...
tomorrow
I will do it tomorrow
I will
But wait didn't I already sign those?
Didn't I already write to my congress-person?
This bullshit again?
Still?
Still?
Hey I'm hungry now
Are you done complaining?
People have real problems out there
Homeless
so many homeless
The fucking mayor coming after nipples
In Times Square
when he could be fixing the homelessness
So
Much
Greed
Kool Tits
1 of these dayz i'll b 1 of the kool kids
less excitable
unaffected
remote
aloof
insufferable
lovable
wanted
cake
fake
follower
monied up
skinny
smokey
chilly
secure
write shit
be the it
it
it
girl
instead of
the me
woman
or
may b
n
o
t
fuck that bullshit life
and fake tits
rtist
Work in progress...
new poem coming soon
It's half-written
The author asked me not to share it
yet
Next
I have five minutes to write this poem
I have two minutes to send those emails
I have zero minutes to rethink
I have missed you more times than I can count
I skate over missing you like visiting a memory
Of a feeling I had and I wave at it under the surface
I fly over it
I have things to do
I’m almost out of time to write this poem
I did send those emails
I did get those things done
I did not eat too much
I did work out
I did get up in time to take a shower
I did not sleep too much
I did change the sheets
I did get the laundry picked up
I didn’t do my hair very nicely
I didn’t repaint my toe nails
I didn’t wax my mustache
I wish I hadn’t told you that
I am going to go home and not eat too much
I am going to work out
I am going to get things done
All the things
I will get all the things done
I will…
I didn’t get the chance to write much today
Except this…
Except now…
This sort counts
It counts
I told you truths I didn’t want to share
I cracked open things that are private
I put those words, these words on the page
Next
I have stuff to do
Get it out
Spit it out
NEXT!
NEXT!
NNNnnn-
Horizon
I’m trying to see the sun
My tired eyes squint
There is a heaviness clouding
Pressing on my chest
Like Stonehenge
The significance is evident
But not the purpose nor the path
Shadows cast themselves
To play my failings
They trick the light
Into blinding the moment
Out of use
And into confusion
Paralysis takes hold
The labyrinth is complex
And there are many ways
Out
But only some
Will bring me to the dawn
Of the day
When I wake up and am myself
Today cannot be
Yet
It is
Although I am not yet
I must be
I repeat and doubt and delete
I chose the words…
and hope they are
write
Not Your fantasy
I am too full of my own life
to be your empty vessel
I have too much to express
to make my face a blank canvas
for you
to draw upon it the an inauthentic acceptable
over sexed and under thought
a coquettish cliche that does not threaten
anything you hide behind
I have seen too much
to empty my eyes of hopes and dreams
so that you are not
intimidated
by all they reflect
I have my own name
that bears as much weight and history
as yours even if it doesn't
earn as much money
I will not and nor could I even
bankrupt my person to fulfill
an easy fantasy that allows
you to remain less of a man
than you could be while
pretending to be the kind of man
you are afraid to become
by letting myself be less than I am
while I am with you
I am too big
to make myself small
I want too much from myself
to take what little you offer knowing
what you are capable of
without demanding more
of you
for me and for us
I am not and will never be
a safe haven for mediocrity or falseness
neither mine nor yours
I'm too tired
from trying to create
an amazing life
to deny the truth
my truth
for the insanity and ease
of pretense
Convenience is the worst
of all traps
Quicksand
Sticks in my throat
I'm expected to swallow the bullshit
The false lies you feed to others?
THIS
IS
ME
Would you really taint my feeling
for you
with deception?
Are you so weak?
Would you unwittingly make me into one who demands lies of you?
DO NOT
lie yourself down
because you think it's easier
in the moment
It's not
It's just a bad habit
a shorthand for, "I don't want to hurt you"
hurts me anyway
and I spill...
my heart, soul, blood out
let it out
and the emptiness in return
makes me understand why
you are with such a stupid woman
such a putrescent pillar of falseness
she likes that
demands it
and I... do not wish to be her
i am not her
do not make me over
make me under
undo
redo
remake
take away
i
fooling myself again
hanging on to threads that I imagine
are tapestries woven for me
but i mistake myself
they are breadcrumbs
and I cannot live on crumbs
so many leftovers from a table that isn't mine
I beg for them like a dog
and I fucking hate dogs
I am a cat and always was
Do not make me a bitch
ugh... this sickens me
the whole fucking world sickens me
i belong nowhere
i have had nightmares the last many nights
you do not care
Who cares about anyone else's fucking nightmares anyway? (I say that to protect the innocent even though they would have me burnt at the stake those beautiful little cruel things who would rip my wings off and light the kindling beneath my toes)
This is all nonsense
MOST IMPORTANT
it's nobody you know
anyway
I am folding time
Is she me in the Alice Wonderland?
Questions I don't want to wonder...
I feel sick
I should learn to play games like everyone
I am a broken puppet
Stop pulling my strings
They don't work
I am a space guild navigator
I did not say this
I was not here
Confinement
The world spins around me
not that I am at its center
but more that my experience
is merely relative and all angled
reality happens to my either side
above, below and behind
a barrier keeps me at a distance
it's my own doing I can admit
I don't want to surrender to contact
I am disturbed by what I see
corruption, abuse, murder, pettiness
vitriol looms like an armor waiting for me
but I will not put it on
instead there is this heaviness
wariness
retreat
...
I will hide in a quiet place
scribe my l e t t h e r s
send them out silently
in broken bottles over stormy waters
and look at the view
from the solitary seeing shore
Nobody’s Child
I am translucent
Tattered by the judgments of others
Each snide remark poking holes
In my butterfly wings
I tumble to the floor
Gravity has me again
I cannot fly being so heavily put upon
Cannot escape being so scrutinized
Pinned as I am to the wall of a dream
That belongs to someone else
It is an unreal expectation
Framed by an impossible world
Yet I am shoved behind a glass
And mocked for not attaining the unattainable
And what is mine
Taken from me by shame
I hate society and all its traps
Arbitrary double standards and LIES
Let me hide
Leave me alone
Do not put me on your broken pedestal
And ask me to dance for your amusement
While wearing a fake smile
Painted in the color of your choosing
I am not your monkey
Not your bear
Not your doll
Not yours
Let me have
What small thing is mine
Stay away
Don’t touch me
You know nothing about me
I am not your daughter
I am not your son
I did not write this poem
It was whispered into my ear
By someone you never met
Someone you never heard of
Someone who is free
You don’t know her
When you're far away...
So much weighing on you
Shredding you until you are down to the nubs
The glassy eyed sadness
circling you like mosquitoes
stealing your lifeblood
pulling down on your heart
caging you
It doesn't make you less handsome
even though you fear it does
I want to protect you
wrap my arms around you
kiss you
let you know that I see it
your solitude
and the real troubles lurking
those that plague you
I don't want you to think I don't see
just because I'm happy to see you
I'm not made happy by your sadness
but only by your knowing I can see it
that you want me to see it
understand it
recognize it
and feel it from afar
and still, still, still
I want to kiss your face all over
both passionately and tenderly
feel the heaviness of that which presses on you
let it go in my arms
you need rest
I'm strong enough and fast enough
I'm so strong that I'm bursting out of my skin
By holding onto you
and all that lives within you
the enormity of it keeps me grounded
anchors me to humanity, to love
Do not think that because I am happy
to get to see you
that I do not see you
Sight for Sore Eyes
The way you notice every detail
Your eyes see all of me
Taking an inventory
From my fingernails to my jacket
My nervous hands…
My righteous and suspect anger
sensitivity
The speed and rarity of my thought process
The staggering and at times outlandish depth
Of my holistic comprehension
How you compliment me
Simply by delighting in
Relishing in
The uniqueness of my person
And the approving, surprised, warm grin on your lips
That spreads to your cheeks
Your hands that purposely distract me
Your racecar thoughts revving quietly
Patiently
until I finish
my
sentence
These small readable expressions form a novel
A bedtime story
A moving sculpture
A poem
A waltz
To see them is to be loved by you
My oh my… how I miss you
My sight for sore eyes
Everything Goes Dark
Suddenly you’re in a black hole
I can’t reach you
Something I’ve said made you vanish
I look around and…
And then I do an inventory
Was it this?
Was it that?
What was it?
What did I say?
And I can’t reach you
And then I get scared too…
And then I search backwards
Things which were good suddenly seem not so
And I’m lost in the darkness
Where are you?
Un-hidden Un-titled
Your Beasty Boys
Architectural landmark
References
Make me swoon
Your torn leather jacket
And nice wool blazers
Your posture
Long neck
Strong chin
Those mischievous
And haunted eyes
The way you hold
The stem of a glass
A song you put on
Made me have to fight
To hold back tears
How you hold my hand
While walking on the sidewalk
Or racing up the stairs
The fabric and pattern
Of your chairs
Lingers in my dreams at night
Such a silly poem this is…
Such a fawning declaration
Can I be the author of it?
I mean can these words come from me?
I mean can the person I am
Truly be responsible for its writing?
I didn’t mean can I love you
For I can’t help that part
But these silly poems
Like drawing hearts over the letter i
Not something I would do
I blame you
Hiding
I’m lying about the specifics
I’m not lying
I’m just not saying what they are
What if you think I’m foolish
What if you don’t feel the same
I know you do
But what if you don’t
What if how I feel is too much
I’m so intimidating and big
Even though I’m tiny
What if you see that I’m talking about
Loving
You
And you run away scared of me
What if it displeases you
So I hide the specifics
So you don’t know
For sure
I can’t write romantic things
When you actually know it’s me
And I’m writing about you!
I did not write this
It is only maybe about you
Forty
How did I live this long?
I’m 40, 40, 40, 40 there’s so much shame in getting older
I feel it but I’m also really proud of it!
Contradictions are like my grey hair
I get more every year
My body is so different now
Everything hurts and breaks really easily
Except the things I make
All the youthful vigor of my body
Is now living in the works of my hands and mind
In the world
I pour it all out through me
And my body gets a little shortchanged
But it’s worth it
I think
I know
What’s important about getting older?
Being more of who I am and less of who I am not
Doing more of what I want and less of what I don’t
Loving more and receiving more love
Did I mention how great you are?
Did I mention that you make the days better?
Did I mention how much happier I am with you in my life?
I have now.
I just did.
Good.
So long as it didn’t go unsaid.
You Should Give Up!
Look me in the eye and say that shit
I fuckin dare you, bitch
You heard me
I fuckin dare you
Go on
Try me
Do it
Take your best shot
Oh... but do make it original puh-leeese
I know how you LOVE to copy and flip
Since you can't divine your own line
C'mon...
Open your mouth now!
I should give up?
Me?
Say that to my face!
Go on...
...
Mine
I love my apartment
Sometimes I turn around in it
and I start tearing up
happy tears
and laughing in disbelief
because it's wonderful
and I made it with my tired hands
live in it
with my greying temples
and wrinkling skin
it is a small world
that feels
smells
looks
like the inside of me
and it's peaceful
lovely and happy
and I cry believing
it's mine!!!!! ? !!!!!
Splinter
There has been a splinter in my chest for long time
Twisting
Bruising
Burning
But at last
It it starting
to come out
And I bleed
It hurts very much
And I bleed a lot
Being mortal is overrated
And I...
too much
I'm not gonna cry
I'm not gonna cry
I'm not gonna cry
I'm not gonna
Damn it.
I'm not gonna cry
for very long this time
Im stopping it now
Damn it
It's funny
Except that I keep crying
If I keep busy
I don't have time to remember
I need to cry
I can do it later
After I'm farther away from it
And it will hurt less
I think
Why can't I just feel better
Right now?
Failed at being a monk
again
I never know what to say
I write stories and poems instead of speaking
When the moment comes
it's gone
I've not said it
I've said it wrong
I've said the wrong thing
Even here I butcher it
Even the word butcher is too crass
Today the letter will not obey
I'm like a bad queen wife
Who never learnt to please the grammer of her king
I shall be wrong at everything
I fear all of which I cannot say
But why
For none of it matters anyway
Only here where ink meets page
Can I hide the truth up on the stage
Sweet Valentine
There are so many things I want to tell you
So much of me I want to share
But you are not here
I go to write or call
And then stop constricted with the knowledge
That you will not reciprocate
When I pour myself into the complex
Honeycomb
Vastness inside you
You are so huge that
You can hold me in all my shades
It is a release, a welcome release
And you receive my inner life like a sanctuary
Wherein you are affirmed
You are loved
You are kept safe
But you will not provide such in return
I am not your priority
My needs are not your concern
You place all others before me
And if I ask for what I need
You see me as selfish
To need, to require, sustenance of soul
The crime of humanity
So I float adrift
The anchor cut loose
to sink without a ship
And I must unwillingly
Seek
someone who will give back
Who will love me back
In action as well as in thought
In action as well as in emotion
In action of which you are capable, but choose not
I so very much wish you would
Then this river within me would be preserved
And I too would have solace
I miss you very much
My Valentine
Xx
Written in Invisible Ink
There is a poem that goes here...
but it's hiding inside me.
It costs too much to spend it
And I am too in need of it to sell it
too in love with it to delete it
and too
too honest to pretend it doesn't exist.
Happy Valentine’s Day to My Mother
(Poem Present Promised and Delivered)
So often I look in the mirror and I see you
The haughty throw of my chin as I pony a laugh
The squint in my eye as I disbelieve
The steel in my jaw as I set for a battle that demands more tact than I want to possess
I see you too in the features on my face
Your uncompromising nose that never acquiesced to the siren song of a surgeon's scalpel
Your high cheekbones that traveled from Wales
The almond shape of our Panamanian eyes
Mostly I hear you speak words with my throat
their cadence a carefully measured meter from an immigrant's child
Who was taught to speak the American way
With proper diction and the confidence of being able to pass
The confidence born of necessity
Self-doubt is a luxury item for a single mother
Bold practicality mistaken for arrogance
Gets me into as much trouble as it I know it must for you
Even as I write this you sit in my hands
I don’t have the long poet’s fingers that you do
But I have the same quickness on the keys
Playing the letter piano for your present
A gift that came from you
Through me
And back again
~With Love
Some days the sun won't shine
I feel the heaviness of time in its full gravity.
Gone are the quick stinging toe splitting
youthful pirouettes en pointe
and thick muscled grand jetés
that pulled all my focus away
from that which held me earthbound.
In their place I have chained myself to a cannon ball
on the tip of a sword
that bleeds red ink on white pages.
The relief from the now it gives
comes with the graying of my temples and eyebrows,
the wary look in my bearing,
and the steeled jaw above my over exposed neck.
I would not change the medium
any more than I would revert to the child I once was.
She is gone now
I will fill this aging skin
with the rest of her life
and I will do my best
to fight the pull of a painful past
fill the now with some kind of hope
anything that I can find that is worth living for.
Always
Please
Don't forget
I love you.
The then to my must it be... and it is... NOW
In the last few days I've lost some people.
I don't mean I was in Central Station
and I looked around
and couldn't find them,
I mean that they died.
I like to say "passed on" or "passed away"
because it makes it feel softer.
Both of these human beings were acquaintances of mine
who at various times over the course of my life
either in the last few years or the last decades
did at moments,
events, parties, dinners,
or special occasions
have the space within their soul
to take me in as a person.
They had the curiosity to notice my unique presence,
enjoy something about it,
pause in their goings on,
and were witness to my experience
in such a way that it moved them to pave the way for me
with their kindness and humor and indeed the power they held in the world.
I know that it falls to me to pick up
what they had the strength to do
to pave the way
to speak truthfully
to honor what is deep
to honor what is naked
to attempt to bring forth something
that speaks of what is hidden
yet needs to be recognized
brought into the waking world
healed and set free
planted
grown
fostered
loved.
From the Renaissance to Absurdism
In a strange thick fog full of fear and mystery
we fell from Shakespeare
into Chekhov
and finally descended
into Becket.
The Queens and Kings we had played in our private moments
the grand ideas and ambitions
the tender poetry of our intimacy
the heights and depths of our passions
were laid bare and they were beautiful
But in the course of life and love’s failures
in promises not kept
dates broken
moments of happiness uncelebrated and unshared
lies told
questions ignored hanging in the air like executed criminals…
we closed the door on portions of our hearts
and spoke only of the small things that mattered
of money and goals
but not deeply of the mind
because without the heart
such important conversations are indeed frivolous
meaningless
and the kind of luxury
that only those who have achieved their proper status
can indulge.
The discontent and longing
of all we had not been able to do
was guilt on our mouths
strangling the sentences
mutating them from truth
to half truth
and then loading them with the hurt
of a tenderness that was already spent
with less and less return.
We spoke like Chekhov
and banged ourselves against the truth
of our inequities
until we were wary of one another
despite loving the other objectively.
To avoid accidental cruelty the quiet descended on us both
and the distance took root there growing like a mountain between us.
To say anything across it was to shout
with so much effort all that could be managed was a few
sparse
malformed
echoing
nonsensical... words.
And the vision of one another
blurred so greatly that it was no longer sure
if the other was even there at all.
What is or was became unknowable
and with my own hands
I cannot tear down the mountain alone and what hides within me
is a trepidation that what is on the other side
is not anything I would recognize
so I am locked in this room
looking for a window to spy a better view
where perhaps a young boy will wave at the old woman in a tower.
Atlantis
Today the grey sky is my mind
silvering from time
and with brightness flashing humor
among shadows.
It calls for the rain to come
and make everything glisten
by being washed
in the sea from above.
Let us all become mermaids and mermen
swim into the clouds
for a better view of our beloved city
below.
Candyland
The Men on Park Avenue
in New York City
are the most beautiful in the world
It's an international male runway
where they're all dressed
in tailored shirts and suits
and Italian shoes.
They are so pretty
well groomed
I think they must be works of art
They would look perfect on my wall
But would they be worth the cost to purchase?
And can they live outside a frame?
Michelangelo's best is still a man unable to move
But so perfect
Beginning Works from 2012
The New Year Comes and the Old Year Goes
This is true as a relation between time and space as we experience it
But this New Year and the night and day of it's change
It's arbitrary
It is of our choosing
So much is in our life
And yet like the passing year of space and time
that which will never come again
it is also utterly beyond our reach
Somewhere between the experienced truth
and the cold hardness of fact
is the brilliant grasping of a moment
held in suspension with gravity and possibility
Soprano's Falsetto
I think I would have made an excellent man
I have the hungers of a man for meat
for flesh
for drink
and a man's ambition
but I have no desire to inhabit any other form than my own
even that... is rather manlike
And in keeping with my womanly form
my aesthetic is feminine in the extreme
my intellectual investigations lead me to an impassioned female point of view
one that is so apart from men
that I find myself looking at them like strangers when I look too deeply
at their actions and decisions
the divide in thought perhaps coming from the difference in our bodies
others would disagree
I am not positing a biological determinism
Living in the body of woman is a particular kind of experience
not just with concern to moving, lifting, fighting
but being dealt with as the world deals with women
changes one's entire perspective on what life is
Life is different in the body of a man
to have the expectations of worldly success mantled about you like a man...
strengthening and encouraging you forward into the full capacity of yourself
to be treated like man...
to be respected like a man...
to be revered... to be loved like a man...
What a host of luxuries
and yet, I cannot say I wish to abandon my own sex
It's not penis envy that fuels this
I wouldn't want one attached to me
I don't envy it
In fact, I enjoy it as a heterosexual woman enjoys it
I like it as part of the body of my lover and inside of me
So why then am I so out of tune with the chorus of my sex?
I love the melody of the verse, but cannot sing with the chorus
Impossible Questions
On quiet mornings when I don't have to hurry out of bed
When I can linger for hours at last
When there is only the pen waiting and an afternoon show to attend
When it's the shower or the gym or the gym and then the shower
When my body is heavy on the mattress and my eyelids blink slow
Sometimes I imagine
I wonder
what it would be like to be pulled from slumber by a small hand
by a head of dark curls and shining eyes that look like mine
I see that little body reaching up to be held
I reach down and want to raise the blanket to make space.
To cuddle in and embrace, hold safe, dream
or get up to make much needed breakfast...
I wonder what that must be like
and whether it's something I'll ever know
Reading the Ever Changing Deck
The swirling mystery of what is
what was
and what may be
Looms like a Tornado of Possibility
From the past of hazy inaccurate memory
to the present of slippery reality
into the moment when I realize that something has changed
had changed
in the world
and in me
and the future that was
can no longer be
Oh Mr Right
Oh Mr Right Now
How charming you are
How handsome
How fun
How smart
Oh Mr Right Now
How almost right you are
How near
How lovable
How endearing
How marvelous
Oh Mr Right Now
If only you were able
If only you were older/younger
If only you were more of yourself
If only I were Ms Right
and not Ms Right Now
for you
or for me
Coming/Going
I can still smell you coming out of my skin
You leave so much of you inside me
even my palms smell like you after two days
It takes that long for you
your words
your expressions
your jokes
your body
your reservations
your abandon
your curiosity
your surprise
your arrogance
your fears
your gentility
your complex essence
to work your way through my soul
pumped by and into every ventricle
fired through each thought pattern of my brain
and eventually to my instrument
the surface
my hands
and out again so strongly
that your exit is like an entrance
The NYTimes
There's good news and then there's Good News
I've received some good news
and that's nice
There's bad news and then there's Bad News
I've been given some bad news
and then a bit more bad news
and some news that was bad and sort of Bad
But then right away I got some contradictory news that said
the Bad News was only bad news.
So I'm trying to hold on to the contradictory news
and read it like it's good news
Good News is hard to come by in the NYTimes
It might be on the last page
Gotta keep turning...
The steep assent
to the summit of a single pillow
on my unoccupied bed
Sometimes the way home
Up the spire staircase
To my tiny chamber
Is a gauntlet of truths and magnifications of truth
I must prevail over in order to find solace
Each floor higher than the last
Bringing me closer to the metal behind the glass
The only thing that waits
Is that deeply staring reflection
That which causes my halting gate
Can I force it to wish me goodnight?
Only so much as I can force my walk to the warmer side of the street
Where perchance I meet
a brief touch of sun
in the dark of night
goodnight
Them's The Breaks
Some truths exist like fiberglass splinters in the mind
They are a constant state of agitation
to attempt to remove them is to cause agonizing pain
They only borough deeper
to examine them too closely is to menace all the surrounding calm
So what's to be done when there is no plausible deniability ?
Perhaps just take note...
For there they are
and there they stay
The world spins on obliviously in its merry way
Any Day
I love you
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you
I also
Love
You
InSalt to Injury
I hate being told that I’m in my sexual peak
No one needs to tell me something so painfully obvious
It's like pouring turpentine into a gunshot wound
this, Time
I've built a house of cards
The wind has come and blown them all down
I'm left looking at all the pieces
and everything they've been trying to protect, console, and comfort
Standing naked among the shattered glass walls of an illusion
peering out to find a reflection but there is none
only the gaping discontent staring back and through me
it's a troubled perspective
A eunuch in love with a castrato
bended out of shape and twisted from nature
the proper course aborted in favor of formality and propriety
caged for a society that is corrupt and itself a sham
my mortal enemy - my only friend
I give all into her hands and wait
Letting the sun and moon bed one another
While I blunt my fingertips on the keys to write a better year ahead
I have too little it seems
And yet nothing but
Bright Lights in the Biggest City
There's a steel mist that rises from the manholes
in Time's Square at dawn.
The taxis fly over it
making swirls like smoke from dragons’ nostrils.
The twinkling flash of billboards
with huge naked bodies
are windows into an alternate world of giant fairies
who peer curiously on the exhibit
of we fully clothed humans
anting our way to and fro
beneath their glossy gaze.
I make my way to work
among the mythical names and lights and buildings
scurrying along to get to where I’m going
to eventually find myself staring up
at a literary version of my own reflection,
a giant with my name
while I stand on the street below
and wonder how long she can stay in that magic place
before the earth’s gravity pulls her back
into my shoes and aware of the chill.
Lamenting the Lack of the Phrase and Days and Ways to Get it Done
The Distance between me and where I need to be
Is longer than my eyes can see
And how to traverse this unsure path
Is a gamble at every missed and taken pass
There are wrong turns
Double backs
Backward falls
and iron traps
There is Hourglass Quicksand
Holding me like a carded player
Fouled into a penalty box
and so losing the chance
The minutes mock me even now
If only I could learn to write better
Faster
Somehow
After Math
Already CNN is speculating
Counting the minutes until
The President will return
To the campaign trail
They are wetting their mouths
To sup from the disaster trough
Trying to sound smart
While pitting relief efforts against failures
And framing them in the stacked odds cockfight
for their bloodsport paychecks and zingers
As if there can be nothing more important than that
Given all that's still going on
In our drowning downtown
and darkened skyline
Our NEWS disintegrates
Like subway power lines drenched in watery sea salt
While the Power Lasts...
I'm sad and scared for my beloved New York
The water is rising
falling cranes and explosions set the backdrop
for the climbing waters
I remember the floods in Iowa
when peak reached above a person's head
and shop and restaurant owners and workers
had to return to their place of business
to cry and clean
the fights with insurance companies
and the parks that look like a desert wasteland
all life swept away
It was as though one was stepping back in time
and witnessing the aftermath of the dinosaurs' extinction
I shudder to think of our Lady Liberty tonight
drowning in the waves and rusting
I take your shirt and hold it close
I scent you and some tears escape
I'm almost not alone because I have a physical thing to touch like a child with a teddy bear
I breathe in your heartbeat and remember the feel of you near me
I hope everyone is safe
These are dangerous tides
Hurricane
The wind is blowing a chorus
between the skyscrapers
swirling down the clouds
like sailors answering the Siren song on the open sea.
The moon and storm
are dancing up the tide
so we are pressed between all that is above us and all that rises.
Soon all the bridges and tunnels will be closed
and we'll be marooned on the Island
like a sinking ark.
It's days like today when I wish I could grow gills
so I could let myself rest in the arms of the waves
and happily surf in them to calmer shores.
Sunny Side Up Town
The morning broke like an egg
As I walked down Park Ave to get to work
The night’s edges spilled away from the yolk of dawn
They tried to pull me back along with them into some angry purpose
But the blue above me refused to allow me to yield to flavorlessly flawed pursuit
Instead I soldiered on heading south for warmer greetings
Leaving behind me the shells of pickled and prickly exchanges
Hoping that my imagination is fouler than the truth
So I would be justified in letting Karma ride rather than take up my sharpened pen
And that those whose methods of advancement repel me
Will get their fill from another plate
One I needn’t taste nor scent and its fading remnants
Frame the brightness of the day to come
Untitled
I am a reluctant vision
The untouchable version
Reaching into the blackness
But daring not to touch
Because I know what waits...
nothing
nothing
The violence of insufficiency or the anger of disappointment
the pity and embarrassment of a mistake
no thank you.
I'll stay in my convent and keep the only thing I cannot loose
distance...
Held in the frame of now
but never in arms or hands or in the embrace of a kiss
or many
I am the ethereal me
Trapped behind morays
and corsets of quietude
restrained as much by my pearls
as the binary bars through which they are seen
Is it me that demands the distance unknown, but by my being?
Or is it life pressing it's role of me
into me
upon me
shaping me
changing
in any case it's unappealing to one who loves to laugh as much as me
it's unfavorable to one who loves to sweat and scent the sweet man perfume of an inner crook inside a bent elbow
where a soft cotton is folded and pressed with care and heat...
ah... men...
so beautiful and so...
so
so
so...
far away...
Train Ride Home to the Convent
Damn it.
It another too long day
of fighting the ups and downs
and what I need is the flesh
embodying the human
with thoughts and ideas,
dreams, drives,
heat of lust and anger and desire,
the arms, fingers, lion paws and claws,
the legs and thighs,
the feet of wide balls and strong toes,
the firmly planted heels,
with stretched Achilles,
the bent and straightening knees,
veined calves,
flexing back,
broadened from lifting and carrying and caring shoulders,
the neck that bucks
at society's bridle as much as my own,
that's strong from pulling
all in the cart
that must be delivered
which is laden
from the intake
of too much seen
by young eyes made old
and skins toughened
by a combination
of the ability to feel and the path too rough.
That firm housing
that man is what I seek
at the end of this long
and lonely night
after a day spanning a decade.
If only I could come home to that,
to him,
Instead of crying on the train..
Oh for someone to hold in my weary arms,
for someone to listen to with my hungry ears,
For someone to love
To give my love to
And to be loved by
Excalibur 8.20.12
Can't sleep.
There is a part of me that's hungry
and it's in my body, mind and soul.
I jolt awake
in the night
realizing it has not been satisfied
and so it nags me from a dream
to shake reality back into focus.
There is more
to be done
in this one
day.
I search the catalog of things
to find the answer
of a small stone
I forgot to unturn
to search beneath...
It's not there...
And then I try
yet one more time
to reach the mountain
under which it lies,
but come face to face
with my lack.
So I try to close my eyes
for now.
Yet I'm too far away from it to rest easy.
Unless it's near enough to touch...
I know I'll have no peace.
Let the dawn come soon
and I'll try again
under some other stone
with better light,
where I doubt it will be
but hopefully
I will get stronger in the effort
and know myself better
for when I am close enough face the mountain again.
5.18.12
The sunrise this morning on the water
played jewelry music of gold bracelets
with amethyst and sapphire sparks…
a mined and pressurized paint
for liquid traffic lines
making streets of black water cobblestones
that only boats can cantor across
and we are stranded
on the landmasses who strive
to meet or part
like all bodies celestially inclined to exist
held in our love affair with gravity
And it is no accident the same word%2
I love my apartment
Sometimes I turn around in it
and I start tearing up
happy tears
and laughing in disbelief
because it's wonderful
and I made it with my tired hands
live in it
with my greying temples
and wrinkling skin
it is a small world
that feels
smells
looks
like the inside of me
and it's peaceful
lovely and happy
and I cry believing
it's mine!!!!! ? !!!!!
Splinter
There has been a splinter in my chest for long time
Twisting
Bruising
Burning
But at last
It it starting
to come out
And I bleed
It hurts very much
And I bleed a lot
Being mortal is overrated
And I...
too much
I'm not gonna cry
I'm not gonna cry
I'm not gonna cry
I'm not gonna
Damn it.
I'm not gonna cry
for very long this time
Im stopping it now
Damn it
It's funny
Except that I keep crying
If I keep busy
I don't have time to remember
I need to cry
I can do it later
After I'm farther away from it
And it will hurt less
I think
Why can't I just feel better
Right now?
Failed at being a monk
again
I never know what to say
I write stories and poems instead of speaking
When the moment comes
it's gone
I've not said it
I've said it wrong
I've said the wrong thing
Even here I butcher it
Even the word butcher is too crass
Today the letter will not obey
I'm like a bad queen wife
Who never learnt to please the grammer of her king
I shall be wrong at everything
I fear all of which I cannot say
But why
For none of it matters anyway
Only here where ink meets page
Can I hide the truth up on the stage
Sweet Valentine
There are so many things I want to tell you
So much of me I want to share
But you are not here
I go to write or call
And then stop constricted with the knowledge
That you will not reciprocate
When I pour myself into the complex
Honeycomb
Vastness inside you
You are so huge that
You can hold me in all my shades
It is a release, a welcome release
And you receive my inner life like a sanctuary
Wherein you are affirmed
You are loved
You are kept safe
But you will not provide such in return
I am not your priority
My needs are not your concern
You place all others before me
And if I ask for what I need
You see me as selfish
To need, to require, sustenance of soul
The crime of humanity
So I float adrift
The anchor cut loose
to sink without a ship
And I must unwillingly
Seek
someone who will give back
Who will love me back
In action as well as in thought
In action as well as in emotion
In action of which you are capable, but choose not
I so very much wish you would
Then this river within me would be preserved
And I too would have solace
I miss you very much
My Valentine
Xx
Written in Invisible Ink
There is a poem that goes here...
but it's hiding inside me.
It costs too much to spend it
And I am too in need of it to sell it
too in love with it to delete it
and too
too honest to pretend it doesn't exist.
Happy Valentine’s Day to My Mother
(Poem Present Promised and Delivered)
So often I look in the mirror and I see you
The haughty throw of my chin as I pony a laugh
The squint in my eye as I disbelieve
The steel in my jaw as I set for a battle that demands more tact than I want to possess
I see you too in the features on my face
Your uncompromising nose that never acquiesced to the siren song of a surgeon's scalpel
Your high cheekbones that traveled from Wales
The almond shape of our Panamanian eyes
Mostly I hear you speak words with my throat
their cadence a carefully measured meter from an immigrant's child
Who was taught to speak the American way
With proper diction and the confidence of being able to pass
The confidence born of necessity
Self-doubt is a luxury item for a single mother
Bold practicality mistaken for arrogance
Gets me into as much trouble as it I know it must for you
Even as I write this you sit in my hands
I don’t have the long poet’s fingers that you do
But I have the same quickness on the keys
Playing the letter piano for your present
A gift that came from you
Through me
And back again
~With Love
Some days the sun won't shine
I feel the heaviness of time in its full gravity.
Gone are the quick stinging toe splitting
youthful pirouettes en pointe
and thick muscled grand jetés
that pulled all my focus away
from that which held me earthbound.
In their place I have chained myself to a cannon ball
on the tip of a sword
that bleeds red ink on white pages.
The relief from the now it gives
comes with the graying of my temples and eyebrows,
the wary look in my bearing,
and the steeled jaw above my over exposed neck.
I would not change the medium
any more than I would revert to the child I once was.
She is gone now
I will fill this aging skin
with the rest of her life
and I will do my best
to fight the pull of a painful past
fill the now with some kind of hope
anything that I can find that is worth living for.
Always
Please
Don't forget
I love you.
The then to my must it be... and it is... NOW
In the last few days I've lost some people.
I don't mean I was in Central Station
and I looked around
and couldn't find them,
I mean that they died.
I like to say "passed on" or "passed away"
because it makes it feel softer.
Both of these human beings were acquaintances of mine
who at various times over the course of my life
either in the last few years or the last decades
did at moments,
events, parties, dinners,
or special occasions
have the space within their soul
to take me in as a person.
They had the curiosity to notice my unique presence,
enjoy something about it,
pause in their goings on,
and were witness to my experience
in such a way that it moved them to pave the way for me
with their kindness and humor and indeed the power they held in the world.
I know that it falls to me to pick up
what they had the strength to do
to pave the way
to speak truthfully
to honor what is deep
to honor what is naked
to attempt to bring forth something
that speaks of what is hidden
yet needs to be recognized
brought into the waking world
healed and set free
planted
grown
fostered
loved.
From the Renaissance to Absurdism
In a strange thick fog full of fear and mystery
we fell from Shakespeare
into Chekhov
and finally descended
into Becket.
The Queens and Kings we had played in our private moments
the grand ideas and ambitions
the tender poetry of our intimacy
the heights and depths of our passions
were laid bare and they were beautiful
But in the course of life and love’s failures
in promises not kept
dates broken
moments of happiness uncelebrated and unshared
lies told
questions ignored hanging in the air like executed criminals…
we closed the door on portions of our hearts
and spoke only of the small things that mattered
of money and goals
but not deeply of the mind
because without the heart
such important conversations are indeed frivolous
meaningless
and the kind of luxury
that only those who have achieved their proper status
can indulge.
The discontent and longing
of all we had not been able to do
was guilt on our mouths
strangling the sentences
mutating them from truth
to half truth
and then loading them with the hurt
of a tenderness that was already spent
with less and less return.
We spoke like Chekhov
and banged ourselves against the truth
of our inequities
until we were wary of one another
despite loving the other objectively.
To avoid accidental cruelty the quiet descended on us both
and the distance took root there growing like a mountain between us.
To say anything across it was to shout
with so much effort all that could be managed was a few
sparse
malformed
echoing
nonsensical... words.
And the vision of one another
blurred so greatly that it was no longer sure
if the other was even there at all.
What is or was became unknowable
and with my own hands
I cannot tear down the mountain alone and what hides within me
is a trepidation that what is on the other side
is not anything I would recognize
so I am locked in this room
looking for a window to spy a better view
where perhaps a young boy will wave at the old woman in a tower.
Atlantis
Today the grey sky is my mind
silvering from time
and with brightness flashing humor
among shadows.
It calls for the rain to come
and make everything glisten
by being washed
in the sea from above.
Let us all become mermaids and mermen
swim into the clouds
for a better view of our beloved city
below.
Candyland
The Men on Park Avenue
in New York City
are the most beautiful in the world
It's an international male runway
where they're all dressed
in tailored shirts and suits
and Italian shoes.
They are so pretty
well groomed
I think they must be works of art
They would look perfect on my wall
But would they be worth the cost to purchase?
And can they live outside a frame?
Michelangelo's best is still a man unable to move
But so perfect
Beginning Works from 2012
The New Year Comes and the Old Year Goes
This is true as a relation between time and space as we experience it
But this New Year and the night and day of it's change
It's arbitrary
It is of our choosing
So much is in our life
And yet like the passing year of space and time
that which will never come again
it is also utterly beyond our reach
Somewhere between the experienced truth
and the cold hardness of fact
is the brilliant grasping of a moment
held in suspension with gravity and possibility
Soprano's Falsetto
I think I would have made an excellent man
I have the hungers of a man for meat
for flesh
for drink
and a man's ambition
but I have no desire to inhabit any other form than my own
even that... is rather manlike
And in keeping with my womanly form
my aesthetic is feminine in the extreme
my intellectual investigations lead me to an impassioned female point of view
one that is so apart from men
that I find myself looking at them like strangers when I look too deeply
at their actions and decisions
the divide in thought perhaps coming from the difference in our bodies
others would disagree
I am not positing a biological determinism
Living in the body of woman is a particular kind of experience
not just with concern to moving, lifting, fighting
but being dealt with as the world deals with women
changes one's entire perspective on what life is
Life is different in the body of a man
to have the expectations of worldly success mantled about you like a man...
strengthening and encouraging you forward into the full capacity of yourself
to be treated like man...
to be respected like a man...
to be revered... to be loved like a man...
What a host of luxuries
and yet, I cannot say I wish to abandon my own sex
It's not penis envy that fuels this
I wouldn't want one attached to me
I don't envy it
In fact, I enjoy it as a heterosexual woman enjoys it
I like it as part of the body of my lover and inside of me
So why then am I so out of tune with the chorus of my sex?
I love the melody of the verse, but cannot sing with the chorus
Impossible Questions
On quiet mornings when I don't have to hurry out of bed
When I can linger for hours at last
When there is only the pen waiting and an afternoon show to attend
When it's the shower or the gym or the gym and then the shower
When my body is heavy on the mattress and my eyelids blink slow
Sometimes I imagine
I wonder
what it would be like to be pulled from slumber by a small hand
by a head of dark curls and shining eyes that look like mine
I see that little body reaching up to be held
I reach down and want to raise the blanket to make space.
To cuddle in and embrace, hold safe, dream
or get up to make much needed breakfast...
I wonder what that must be like
and whether it's something I'll ever know
Reading the Ever Changing Deck
The swirling mystery of what is
what was
and what may be
Looms like a Tornado of Possibility
From the past of hazy inaccurate memory
to the present of slippery reality
into the moment when I realize that something has changed
had changed
in the world
and in me
and the future that was
can no longer be
Oh Mr Right
Oh Mr Right Now
How charming you are
How handsome
How fun
How smart
Oh Mr Right Now
How almost right you are
How near
How lovable
How endearing
How marvelous
Oh Mr Right Now
If only you were able
If only you were older/younger
If only you were more of yourself
If only I were Ms Right
and not Ms Right Now
for you
or for me
Coming/Going
I can still smell you coming out of my skin
You leave so much of you inside me
even my palms smell like you after two days
It takes that long for you
your words
your expressions
your jokes
your body
your reservations
your abandon
your curiosity
your surprise
your arrogance
your fears
your gentility
your complex essence
to work your way through my soul
pumped by and into every ventricle
fired through each thought pattern of my brain
and eventually to my instrument
the surface
my hands
and out again so strongly
that your exit is like an entrance
The NYTimes
There's good news and then there's Good News
I've received some good news
and that's nice
There's bad news and then there's Bad News
I've been given some bad news
and then a bit more bad news
and some news that was bad and sort of Bad
But then right away I got some contradictory news that said
the Bad News was only bad news.
So I'm trying to hold on to the contradictory news
and read it like it's good news
Good News is hard to come by in the NYTimes
It might be on the last page
Gotta keep turning...
The steep assent
to the summit of a single pillow
on my unoccupied bed
Sometimes the way home
Up the spire staircase
To my tiny chamber
Is a gauntlet of truths and magnifications of truth
I must prevail over in order to find solace
Each floor higher than the last
Bringing me closer to the metal behind the glass
The only thing that waits
Is that deeply staring reflection
That which causes my halting gate
Can I force it to wish me goodnight?
Only so much as I can force my walk to the warmer side of the street
Where perchance I meet
a brief touch of sun
in the dark of night
goodnight
Them's The Breaks
Some truths exist like fiberglass splinters in the mind
They are a constant state of agitation
to attempt to remove them is to cause agonizing pain
They only borough deeper
to examine them too closely is to menace all the surrounding calm
So what's to be done when there is no plausible deniability ?
Perhaps just take note...
For there they are
and there they stay
The world spins on obliviously in its merry way
Any Day
I love you
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you
I also
Love
You
InSalt to Injury
I hate being told that I’m in my sexual peak
No one needs to tell me something so painfully obvious
It's like pouring turpentine into a gunshot wound
this, Time
I've built a house of cards
The wind has come and blown them all down
I'm left looking at all the pieces
and everything they've been trying to protect, console, and comfort
Standing naked among the shattered glass walls of an illusion
peering out to find a reflection but there is none
only the gaping discontent staring back and through me
it's a troubled perspective
A eunuch in love with a castrato
bended out of shape and twisted from nature
the proper course aborted in favor of formality and propriety
caged for a society that is corrupt and itself a sham
my mortal enemy - my only friend
I give all into her hands and wait
Letting the sun and moon bed one another
While I blunt my fingertips on the keys to write a better year ahead
I have too little it seems
And yet nothing but
Bright Lights in the Biggest City
There's a steel mist that rises from the manholes
in Time's Square at dawn.
The taxis fly over it
making swirls like smoke from dragons’ nostrils.
The twinkling flash of billboards
with huge naked bodies
are windows into an alternate world of giant fairies
who peer curiously on the exhibit
of we fully clothed humans
anting our way to and fro
beneath their glossy gaze.
I make my way to work
among the mythical names and lights and buildings
scurrying along to get to where I’m going
to eventually find myself staring up
at a literary version of my own reflection,
a giant with my name
while I stand on the street below
and wonder how long she can stay in that magic place
before the earth’s gravity pulls her back
into my shoes and aware of the chill.
Lamenting the Lack of the Phrase and Days and Ways to Get it Done
The Distance between me and where I need to be
Is longer than my eyes can see
And how to traverse this unsure path
Is a gamble at every missed and taken pass
There are wrong turns
Double backs
Backward falls
and iron traps
There is Hourglass Quicksand
Holding me like a carded player
Fouled into a penalty box
and so losing the chance
The minutes mock me even now
If only I could learn to write better
Faster
Somehow
After Math
Already CNN is speculating
Counting the minutes until
The President will return
To the campaign trail
They are wetting their mouths
To sup from the disaster trough
Trying to sound smart
While pitting relief efforts against failures
And framing them in the stacked odds cockfight
for their bloodsport paychecks and zingers
As if there can be nothing more important than that
Given all that's still going on
In our drowning downtown
and darkened skyline
Our NEWS disintegrates
Like subway power lines drenched in watery sea salt
While the Power Lasts...
I'm sad and scared for my beloved New York
The water is rising
falling cranes and explosions set the backdrop
for the climbing waters
I remember the floods in Iowa
when peak reached above a person's head
and shop and restaurant owners and workers
had to return to their place of business
to cry and clean
the fights with insurance companies
and the parks that look like a desert wasteland
all life swept away
It was as though one was stepping back in time
and witnessing the aftermath of the dinosaurs' extinction
I shudder to think of our Lady Liberty tonight
drowning in the waves and rusting
I take your shirt and hold it close
I scent you and some tears escape
I'm almost not alone because I have a physical thing to touch like a child with a teddy bear
I breathe in your heartbeat and remember the feel of you near me
I hope everyone is safe
These are dangerous tides
Hurricane
The wind is blowing a chorus
between the skyscrapers
swirling down the clouds
like sailors answering the Siren song on the open sea.
The moon and storm
are dancing up the tide
so we are pressed between all that is above us and all that rises.
Soon all the bridges and tunnels will be closed
and we'll be marooned on the Island
like a sinking ark.
It's days like today when I wish I could grow gills
so I could let myself rest in the arms of the waves
and happily surf in them to calmer shores.
Sunny Side Up Town
The morning broke like an egg
As I walked down Park Ave to get to work
The night’s edges spilled away from the yolk of dawn
They tried to pull me back along with them into some angry purpose
But the blue above me refused to allow me to yield to flavorlessly flawed pursuit
Instead I soldiered on heading south for warmer greetings
Leaving behind me the shells of pickled and prickly exchanges
Hoping that my imagination is fouler than the truth
So I would be justified in letting Karma ride rather than take up my sharpened pen
And that those whose methods of advancement repel me
Will get their fill from another plate
One I needn’t taste nor scent and its fading remnants
Frame the brightness of the day to come
Untitled
I am a reluctant vision
The untouchable version
Reaching into the blackness
But daring not to touch
Because I know what waits...
nothing
nothing
The violence of insufficiency or the anger of disappointment
the pity and embarrassment of a mistake
no thank you.
I'll stay in my convent and keep the only thing I cannot loose
distance...
Held in the frame of now
but never in arms or hands or in the embrace of a kiss
or many
I am the ethereal me
Trapped behind morays
and corsets of quietude
restrained as much by my pearls
as the binary bars through which they are seen
Is it me that demands the distance unknown, but by my being?
Or is it life pressing it's role of me
into me
upon me
shaping me
changing
in any case it's unappealing to one who loves to laugh as much as me
it's unfavorable to one who loves to sweat and scent the sweet man perfume of an inner crook inside a bent elbow
where a soft cotton is folded and pressed with care and heat...
ah... men...
so beautiful and so...
so
so
so...
far away...
Train Ride Home to the Convent
Damn it.
It another too long day
of fighting the ups and downs
and what I need is the flesh
embodying the human
with thoughts and ideas,
dreams, drives,
heat of lust and anger and desire,
the arms, fingers, lion paws and claws,
the legs and thighs,
the feet of wide balls and strong toes,
the firmly planted heels,
with stretched Achilles,
the bent and straightening knees,
veined calves,
flexing back,
broadened from lifting and carrying and caring shoulders,
the neck that bucks
at society's bridle as much as my own,
that's strong from pulling
all in the cart
that must be delivered
which is laden
from the intake
of too much seen
by young eyes made old
and skins toughened
by a combination
of the ability to feel and the path too rough.
That firm housing
that man is what I seek
at the end of this long
and lonely night
after a day spanning a decade.
If only I could come home to that,
to him,
Instead of crying on the train..
Oh for someone to hold in my weary arms,
for someone to listen to with my hungry ears,
For someone to love
To give my love to
And to be loved by
Excalibur 8.20.12
Can't sleep.
There is a part of me that's hungry
and it's in my body, mind and soul.
I jolt awake
in the night
realizing it has not been satisfied
and so it nags me from a dream
to shake reality back into focus.
There is more
to be done
in this one
day.
I search the catalog of things
to find the answer
of a small stone
I forgot to unturn
to search beneath...
It's not there...
And then I try
yet one more time
to reach the mountain
under which it lies,
but come face to face
with my lack.
So I try to close my eyes
for now.
Yet I'm too far away from it to rest easy.
Unless it's near enough to touch...
I know I'll have no peace.
Let the dawn come soon
and I'll try again
under some other stone
with better light,
where I doubt it will be
but hopefully
I will get stronger in the effort
and know myself better
for when I am close enough face the mountain again.
5.18.12
The sunrise this morning on the water
played jewelry music of gold bracelets
with amethyst and sapphire sparks…
a mined and pressurized paint
for liquid traffic lines
making streets of black water cobblestones
that only boats can cantor across
and we are stranded
on the landmasses who strive
to meet or part
like all bodies celestially inclined to exist
held in our love affair with gravity
And it is no accident the same word%2