Posts for June 6, 2020 (page 9)

Too early for cucumber,
I found pickles instead and

tote
my bunches
of radishes and
candy onions.

The chocolate zucchini bread
and the pina colada one (both small) are new indulgences.

As I leave I consider what else I didn’t find.
No notable people of color present. I would’ve bought from them.
I do not recollect if they were among the crowd, but as a giver
of tarot and tea readings and vendor of my book, I love to look over
who I buy from, who is casting their kindness, who
I would trust with my future when I give to theirs.

The crops rotate and yet the earth still grows some Strange Fruit.

Looking up at the night sky you see stars,
Seemingly an infinite number of beautiful lights,
Each one making you feel smaller than the last,
But each one is actually empowering you,
All the great minds throughout history looked at the same sky,
They all looked and thought the same thing,
We are so small,
From that they became great,
So can you

(found poem — pretty version in comments)

A Brief History of…

     SOVIET MOODS

         1 Profit and Loss are Numbers For The devil

         2 WE Will EAT YOUR CAKE AND HAVE IT TOO

         3 We’ve All Killed People, Have You?

         4 Tender Comrades: Justice AND OUR FORLORN HOPE

         5 EAT THE Harvest Horror-scopes

         6 The 80-Hour Work Week IS A Sworded Affair

         7 And THAT’S A RED Dead Scare

         8 Amnesty, AMBITION & Possession

         9 A Memory of Europe in a Feast Hall of Ash

       10 THE AMERICAN CURSE, The Reverse MULTIVERSE

The Seige, The Heist, the War

My cheeks are lined with sores I have bitten, trying to distract myself
The predator disguised as my hypothalamus
Dopamine no longer than the tears streamed from the grimace
Only looking to the stars wishing I could find home on this earth 
Earth is such a beautiful name, I cannot be shamed enough for my regrets  
They look like you, my hands
My head a humorous lobotomy dream
I ramble, my DNA to RNA, it’s all the same
Hopeless mourn, I can never make them love me
I fear the unrequited, I can’t tell the difference from the two
Maybe my vision is worse than presumed

I usually wouldn’t say anything,
but you’re my friend so I know you can handle this…
your hands are knockoffs.

Look at the way that little horizontal palm crease folds.
It’s not deep enough. Most people won’t notice,
but that’s a sure sign that those are knockoffs.

Maybe keep your hands in your pockets at the jewelry store.
They’ll scoff at you if you try to wear luxury jewelry
on those knobby knockoff fake fingers of yours.

this idiot I saw the other day
dropped an entire carton of 18 fucking eggs
face down on the sidewalk
and took a deep breath
and screamed at the top of their lungs
and then scooped the eggs up with their bare hands
and shoveled them into the trash
still screeching
and people slowed down their cars to stare

Once their hands were wet with yolk
They stomped the remaining shells into the pavement
Muttering god damn you
like Elmer Fudd when he throws his hat down
The idiot was me
I am an egg criminal and a stain to polite society

to hear people talk—
sea star, Christine, doubt it. 
our kind, we like to watch.
no quick luring words for you.
though sweet, they would be true. 

sea star you are you, and
everyone you talk to.
you are everything, and
you are nothing of them, so

kind sweet man say you,
i don’t say this to be kind.
you need no favors,
not from me.
when you are strong, or
when you falter—either way
you stand irrepressible. 

and through the cage of meticulous
flesh, breath, and reason I stare
at inimitable, illimitable

you.

Hers a spotless ball of sterling silver
Hers a frying pan of just remember
His a dried thought of mid November
His a tetrahedron of I surrender
It rings out on high from far forever
Here comes another fender bender
You mark the letter return to sender
The postman refuses assuming gender
you see too much all at once
you see enough never
oh disparity
oh the clarity
curse the smiley daytime pretender

The
deer
tick,
a-
bove
all,
is
no-
tor-
i-
ous-
ly
pa-
ti-
ent.
It
a-
waits
a-
top
a
tall
blade
of
grass,
then
at-
tach-
es 
it-
self
to
a
host
of
var-
i-
ous
for-
tune.

When I was younger I wished I’d been born a different color 
Because the girls at school who were darker than me 
Were loud and funny and colorful and brave 
(in my eyes) 
And I was shy and scared and quiet  
(on the outside, anyway)  

I got braver (sort of) as I got older 
I spoke in a colorful way 
(though not ladylike) 
And wore only black because I thought It made me look brave 
(I still wasn’t)  

Now I am even older 
And I sometimes wear bright colors in my hair 
(I’m brave enough to do that) 
And I speak my mind 
(not too shy for that) 

And not very much scares me anymore 
Except losing who I’ve become