June 10
With 8 minutes to go
I dash off a poem
Mascara smeared
Bangs askew
It’s been a good day
Or life or moment
The poem captures
The motion
In stillness
The page still
My center.
Worry drives affection away
Impermanence emphasized by the too-loud clicking clock in this hotel
What’s the use of a moon if you can’t think of someone else
Seeing the same one?
What’s the use of worry when you don’t know how to fix this?
Worry drives despair away
Nauseous and restless
Trying to remember how we talked differently a month ago
How (if?) I could go back to being someone you could want
Follow the script of “before” (has anything changed?)
And why can’t I be good enough
To command attention
Deserve love
Write good poetry
Make art that means something
All not for me, but to display as proof that I am someone
Or could be, please, to you
please like me
please like my poetry
poetry is therapy
poetry is life
life is fleeting
life is crazy
crazy complicated
crazy to predict
predict my failure
predict my success
success is undefined
success is brief
briefly here
briefly high
high on dopamine
high on accolades
accolades for nothing
accolades for something
something that took years
something that took decades
decades of loneliness
decades of fear
fear of rejection
fear of regret
regret for things undone
regret for songs unspoken
unspoken prayers
unspoken love
love for others
love of hidden beauty
beauty imperfect
beauty from ashes
ashes of facades
ashes still burning
burning with tears
burning with hope
hope for present
hope for future
future of triumph
triumph over depression
triumph over inner voices
voices that degrade
voices that destroy
destroy potential
destroy peace
peace that is perfect
peace that is mine
mine…
perfect…
A calm social gathering
The smell of gunpowder in the air
Lingering in between
Rounds of Roman candles
And laughter amongst us
The warmth of pavement beneath us
All I can think about
I’m ready to slide into bed
Become tangled up in you
Its like finding my way home
For the first time
Every time.
from this country porch
the world seems to be doing its thing:
sun setting moon rising
frogs croaking calves bawling
you keep your eyes
on the thin border of the horizon
without turning around
without blinking
in your somewhat serious voice
you ask “what is a tomboy?”
hummm
how to tell your seven year old
granddaughter about such a term
its history longer than
all’s well that ends well
from bad boy to bad girl
a leap like a genetic mutation,
today it’s a wild romping female
and how long will that last
who called you that
some out of fashion adult
your baby teeth are gone
and so are your barbies
now you play in the dirt
and dig for worms
in cops & robbers you’re the robber
you climb trees and jump
out into bales of hay
days go by without brushing your hair
pink has left the evening sky
moonlight defines what is seen
and what is not
any answer is put off till morning
it’s that brief period between fireflies
and complicated explainations
you run down the night path
to your tent
fifty yards from the house
where you will sleep out
for the first time
by yourself
9: Ni no Kuni (Level-5)
the thing about video games is that you’ll spend
twenty hours grinding levels to one hour of
pig-rotten brotherhood seaming back together
neat as unsplit puzzle pieces,
like fifteen years and dead fathers and heartbreak haven’t
stolen an ounce of the ease they once felt
holding hands or knowing each other’s names.
and you’ll spend twenty hours hand-picking
every nitty little item off the whole damn map
while ten thousand years of regretful, ivory-towered pacing
through another day alone
and another and
another for three million more
is summarized in five minutes of voice acting and a longer boss fight.
and i know i’m playing this to exercise a different muscle
than the one that writes
these words,
but it’s hella weird to expect the legerdemain of Ghibli
yet to get Pokemon instead.
is when you get a paper cut,
While still in art school I was told
being an artist may take a toll
just forget about material wealth
work hard while you still have your health
wash your clothes in the sink and try
them over the radiator so they’ll dry
Burn your drawings to stay warm
like Picasso did in Paris, but be warned
Never burn your sparks
(After-poem inspired by ”Fire” by Billy Collins)
We walked into Cal’s
and walked out with
two boxes of books,
our wallets too light
for comfort and
our bookshelves
burdened and bending.
We walked into
thrift addiction just after
and walked out with
a pair of new work shirts
and John Denver
and the Muppets,
a Christmas together on CD.
We walked into Winco
with empty stomachs and
long lists of whole goods
and walked out with
mason jar vases,
roasted pine nut hummus,
and a too large tub
of marscapone.
We walked in with
a fight hanging between us
and walked home with
easy silence and love.
The best days end with a champagne
flute of sparkling apple cider. My family’s laughter trills like clinking
glasses as we burp bubbles that tickle
tickle our nostrils. We toast the mundane splendor
of unspoiled Saturdays, so deep in our cups we forget
to set the next morning’s alarm, a trifle for tomorrow
while we doze smiling today.
