Posts for June 2, 2025 (page 14)

Shuffle, shuffle, smooth my energy over cards

“Am I betraying myself on this path I walk?”

Am I allowed to be an innocent, happy thing?
When God, I am so scared
it makes me wish I was religious
Then there would be a place
to put hellfire and damnation
the story of this lustrous girl dethroned
all her lovely friends smoked out of—

XVI: THE TOWER.

I do not know tarot but I know
waking up cold at the image
of butterfly effect-ing my way
into a cave that collapses
a man that takes my womb
and a job that takes my will to live

I have always been a queen of dreams
I have this picture in my head
of a little purple house, a black cat
a full table of hearty orange stew
a door mat framed by familiar shoes
I fear I couldn’t accept anything less

Somewhere between
the magic eight ball in my mom’s desk
the paw prints cemented in the sidewalk
the endless disorder of the universe
I will find it

How lovely it is to live in a place I can fall from.

If you don’t remember the past, are you doomed to repeat it?
If you hold on to the past, are you doomed to re-live it?
Aren’t we supposed to learn from the past and then move forward?

If we live in the present, doesn’t it change from second to second?
If we are always conerned about survival, do we never plan for the time we can self-actualize?
What can we learn from Maslow:?
What can we learn form Anne Frank, who didn’t have a future?

The future constantly reveals itself
Maybe we should remember that.

A robin darts past the window.

I am waiting for atomic energy
to crackle to life in the back yard,

to flash white and scatter
papers and spreadsheets around

the room, to erupt and flip
me over in my office chair,

a sudden change of position
for a shifted view of rough spackle,

the ups and downs and jagged
points, the nooks for dust and webs,

the walls and ceiling
like a slow bomb, dropping.

Where is the goddamn sky?
Where are my wings?

A robin dares past the window.

I get a weathered extra-long shoelace 
Kitties watch one end drag along the floor
Curious; observe “prey” from hiding place
Stalk softly; pounce on shoelace; look it o’er

Observing from behind the open door
Crouching alongside that overstuffed chair
Trembling in anticipation before
Slinking over to cardboard box with care

Hey! Look! Two ferocious cats in their lair
Reaching, batting, with movements sure and quick
Their favored shoelace “fleeing” here and there
Which they happily gnaw, bite, rabbit kick

Playtime is fun for Lyra and Butler
Tired out; contented cats purr, purr, purr

Someone once told me
“If you were a seasoning…
you’d be flour.”

They spun their stranger like head around quickly,
and unprompted—
not knowing more than the fact that the first
letter of my last name sat directly
next to theirs in the alphabet.
The blade of a thought spewed from their gums
as they created an everlasting lash in my mind
and then continued
unfazed throughout their day.

bury it down in sandy eggo

colder than grains, bluer than ocean

folding the bones, placing the pennies

whisper three days, lean in, 

whisper in three days I will come for you

whisper but who knows when that will be

now hear the sirens singing softly

– had your grandmothers been to the sea?

you think you have a voice without me

you think you have something to say 

mystery
the sound of Moon
murmering
lost in a mantra

words
soar like crows
ink
bloodblack sparkle
from the poet’s heart

I forgot the lipstick—  
  left it lounging on the counter  
  some shade of “Behave” or “Desire”  
  that never quite fit  
  the curve of my mouth anyway.

Didn’t blot, didn’t gloss,  
  didn’t paint myself  
  into the version of me  
  you wanted to kiss  
  or command.

I forgot the lipstick—  
  replaced it for natural  
  truth, grit,  
  the kind of beauty  
  you can’t wipe off my face.

They said I forgot it—  
  no,  
  I chose  
  to show up  
  exactly like this.

The little town had its own “Otis,”
A town drunk,
Generally thought to be harmless.

Went too far
When, instead of sitting on a bench
In front of the only gas station,

He rode the school bus,
Whiskey bottle in hand
Roaring and cussing
As children were being dropped off
After school.

Cowardly bus driver
Did nothing, but stop and call
The chairman of the school board
Took matters into his own hands

Confronted at the back of the bus
Otis lashed out
Fists flew
Fighting themselves up the aisle 

Until both men rolled off the bus
Into the street

My grandfather unhurt,
The blood on his mouth
From Otis’s missing ear.