afternoon
lemon grass and ginger
cardamom and mint
steeped in a pot
of black currant tea
poured into a porcelain
lemoge demitasse
served with macarons
and raspberry scones
an hour or so to savor
as I read Lorca’s Yerma
i’m going to escape behind my eyelids now
shroud myself in my brain cloud, solipsistic
good glowing blue night baby burnt brown
girl all my thoughts micro plastics,
cool greywater streaming out in subliminal
bliss, smoggy hands intertwined branches
dangling from a vapid rose brown stone body
empty brick weathering away at all conceivable
scene setting moments, i roll to the back of my
bottom soil cinnamon coffee corneas & wait
for the world to turn cyclical & bare around
my lilac spine i’m ten miles tucked
into my cranium dancing away to the pace
of my sultry & vexatious thoughts
a mad woman
curdling in angst, licked full of dreaded nerves
bolted to her body in murky shivers
lukewarm & sweaty
reality reeling before me but i’m taking it all in
at the speed of silence & creeping into my
comfortable conscious to stay
four days of bonding between families–
reprises of the first waltz fuel the reception
the couple’s poise and abandon
ripple through every dancer
and catch the room on fire
long goodbyes after the last song
Is Anything Clean in my Drawers?
I get up from my desk to leave
happen to look down and see dirt
on my white with a painted sea scene shirt
the I-thought-was-clean shirt
I put on first thing this morning shirt
the inherited-from-my-mother shirt
the purchased-in-Cape-Cod shirt
the Where on Earth? tagged shirt
I wonder whose dirt is on the shirt
I take off the dirty white shirt
put in the laundry basket
say good morning to Mother
put on another shirt a pink shirt
the mastiff-drinking-wine design shirt
the Wine takes the bitch out of me shirt
ink-stains all over the back shirt
the a-pen-got-into-the-washer-and-dryer shirt
that pen splotched lots of shirts
I wonder if I have any clean shirts
I slide the
too little used books
back in their place
on the shelf. I never got to
have the adventures
I wanted. And now
if I ask if they can
come out and play,
no answer.
The truth?
It chilled me
The soft lady’s voice
Beauty sans
humanity
reading me
in my car
Helpless without
training wheels
& words lose
their love
when run together
A zombie read
A lifeless read
less of a poem
more like a screed
Passion dissected
conforming to
fashion
& my title
“Paterson Conversation”
hanging on the
bluetooth screen
a musical note
at its side
lovely like a pendant
lit up like a lie
My poem stripped
to the bone
Alone
How she (it?)
found it
spoke it
& me never
requesting it
I don’t know
I don’t know
if the future
is for manufactured
voices alone
& this I fear
that when AI
recites a poem
of what it does
it doesn’t care
A toxic drink ceremoniously sipped
sun rays glistens through the frosted glass
making gleaming every morning
yet, tasting remains so bitter storming
Tainting what comes next in line
no matter how perfect the day,
sweet the sound, lovely the setting
poison’s purpose is never forgetting
The drink rides slowly over lips
turning all to ash while on its way
with just a few swallows
it rips hope from the day
Fears arrive autonomously
lurking in the day repeatedly
as smirking sirens in my ears trilling
do damage, without quite killing
Shouting reasons for regret
for certain pledges not quite met
overall, my inexactitude of being
over what it was I was not seeing
And such provokes this death of joy
a dark liquid swamp of gooey guilt
wrapped in a secret that I must keep
where history remains incomplete
I had to borrow this one from a previous iteration
from myself mind you no stealing in my house only steeling
too busy today cleaning clearing rearranging making rooms changes visitors hopes dreams making room for it all without know what room I am making it
for
I am game though always again still
for whatever comes and keen beyond a reasonable day
to delight in just the well now
shall we begin?
