Posts for June 6, 2017 (page 7)

in bed.
staring at the ceiling.
2 light bulbs above my head.
KU controls one; muses the other.
7am. neither will turn on.

Skills right there
got you a filet…
put a sign on it that…
myself and some friends…
I miss you honey…
I’m going to see my…
you..
I’m down sometimes…
if you know anyone…
come on over after…
hello my 3:…
hey! so you going to…
haha me too, let me…
and…work…
okay just let a sister know…
wanna hang tonight…
here…
hey we’re you at..
blah, this semester…
mic beavers…
do you know where…
no idea the last time…
take a gallon of milk…
not sure who wrote….
still working? my peeps…
ah damn. ok dude…
hey bud been trying…
aint me. don’t have…

Jesus

cross

-dressin’

got him

fired

by the boss

of heaven

The difference between extreme dieting
And starving 
Is an audience.  

This will hurt, the radio says 
You’re 30 now, the radio says
31,  I answer. 
This will hurt 

You want a pudding 
Made from a cow’s 
First milk after calving
You dream about 
Eating with people 
On the phone 
My sister says
“It’s awful. I can’t keep anything down” 
 Her baby comes in December. 

This will Hurt. 
But getting better 
Is to eat. 
And eating is so many meals. 

THE SPELL

In the woods by the river
there were periods of silence,
utter silence
inviting thoughts to come and grow,
feelings to swell,
and from which
–until a bird’s song broke
the spell–
a poem could be wrung.

One child is a settee
Who remembers nothing
But good smooth luck.

Another is a stump.
Everything around her
Bristles and sticks.

Skillfully crafted lettering in black and white surrounded
     by very violet polka dots and waves of grass green
     random squiggles shaded in carefully coral
     crimson red chevron and fancy squares of peacock blue
     stripes of totally teal alternated with bubbly blue
     lovely scallops in canary yellow.

Space with beautiful words
blank.

Still.

Pray Without Ceasing
it reads.

The inscription patiently bows

pauses

between artistic expression and everyday mundane

ceases

for a moment while pleas
for help and prayers of thanks lift
up hands toward heaven.

Neither expression nor mundane
ever finished.

Pleas nor prayers
ever cease.

Days are made of blank spaces
full of color.

Peter, Paul, & Mary sang, “The answer
my friend is blowin’ in the wind.”
But we never really see the wind.
We see its effects: trees moving,
dust & dirt flying through the air.
Likewise, we never see love,
only the results: a meal served
at a homeless shelter, a visit
to someone who is lonely.
When you’ve done it unto one
of the least of these, you’ve done
it unto Me.

Rain behind the wind
clears everything.  

The sky’s torn pink
and turquoise, powder blue.  

Swallows curl their arches,
sweeping, calling, eating.  

I saw my shadow, hunched
and limping, awkward, slow.  

Ridiculous, they think I’m old.
I’m just as shy as seventeen.  

When I’m behind my pen,
I’m twice as bold.