{calling quits.}

i have a lot of things to say, but don't really want to talk about it here. it's nothing i haven't said before. nothing i haven't felt before. maybe i haven't felt this exact way before, but pretty close. the basics are the same. i'm tired.
.

{ another broken psalm. }

save me by the blossoms
by bike rides and clean laundry
the fresh fruits eaten by morning
the sweat of my brow.
and the sweet words of night.

pray for me. as a father.
as the farmer
sifting hands
through the parched soil of spirit
on the hottest days of the year
pressing taught and tanned
face and fingers
into the corroded earth within me.
your breath is mineral.
breathing out and into dirt
taking in malignancies

sleep there.

rest your head upon my heart.
hum unto its beatings.
and beneath everything
the folds of my thoughts
the darkest parts
cause the sweet sting of love
to infiltrate my dreamings.
lacing your hands with my nerves
squeezing through the sinew
and scratching at the pit of my stomach
where all the old blood lies

every rib is yours
that you could break
if you wanted.
flush through the arteries
be my true synapses

building a home
where the old stood

oh, i am reminded

constantly.
and made new by the sun.
.
.
.
i rode home on my bike. it was late afternoon. peering out at blinding sun. i am a woman weeping to the Lord. and hoping no one notices. that no residence happen to be looking out their kitchen windows as i pass, to see my face contorted. painful to the point where i speak aloud my longings. please, please, i pray, i am so alone. and it is fine. and it is good that i would have this time to become so reliant on a power not mine own. except sometimes, although rarely, it seems i can't function without the help of others, who also love You. i say oh, i want to speak of Your wonders. but there is no one to talk to. and i ride my bike home crying drinking whiskey.

where have all the friends gone? the ones that praise. i felt i tried to keep them, in my own ways, despite my follies. i felt that if they loved You, they should love me as well. and embrace me like a sister. that although i lacked so much, they were still called to love me for what it's worth. but they all went away. so i clung to the world and whatever seemed to care. i think about it now. i think about throwing jelly beans at apartment windows bearing brothers who could have leaned out and said, "come up! you are welcome here!" but no one ever did. they left me smoking cigarettes at the bottom of the stairs. was i wrong them. did i distort so much? i feel hurt, why does the world continue to hurt the few feelings i have left. i know there is a Greatness looking out for me, but while i am so separated, i wish i could rejoice with someone. and at moments like these, i want to cuddle with my mother, and have her tell me everything will be okay.

{ force feeding myself sorrow. }

the world broke me
now i stow away,
rebuilt by divinity
bodies cast the shadows
blood on bed and blankets.
there are names to cry
with no response,
fingers without feeling.
a dog barks in the backyard
wanting to be fed
calling out to deaf ears.
the brass tacks of being.
this love can't find you.

once the soul took over spirit
and a sense of self was lost
to the caprices

called out, i came blindly
though the brightest light.
i am praying
to become unsegmented.

the contemplations have passed
and turned into involuntary hunger
for words and feeling.
this is where it takes me
to a hearty artificial grief
force feeding myself sorrow.
where could i be apart from here?
at home and happily longing
out a third story window
not in this false waiting.
feeling the ailing organs turning.
please, remember this emotion
remember this absence.
turning life to mush
thoughts to dust and dreaming
and selling yourself short.
don't go to the bar
on the weekdays
no. not ever.
not ever again.


everything can work out wonderfully. a few alterations. here and there. i'll be like clockwork. before you know it, i'll be golden. i'm half way there already. thank you for my life.

good days and good days! contentment within reach. it's funny how being on a schedule can clear your mind. my mornings are wonderful. things i'm happy for: life, bike, thermos, music, tea, tuna, water, sunshine, shannon, bedtime, my job, organic food, my get-home cigarette, dogs.

strange days strange days! spring makes people crazy for sure. and if they're already a bit nutty, then it's worse. i spent most of this glorious day inside, like a fool. but finally, around six pm or so, i made my way outside. day light savings time occurred last night, granting the sun more time to grace us. so i'm strolling down 21st, not sure what i'm doing, and in passing the grocery, happen upon an attractive white man on bike. blocks later, i see him again, crossing the street. he seems to be smiling, so in turn, i vaguely smile in his direction. since he's biking it, he reaches my corner before i reach his. and maybe i was in his way, and maybe he was trying to cross the street, but he was looking in my direction for some time, and i became flustered and blushing. so i looked at him and smiled very awkwardly, almost embarrassed. my body flushed, and i didn't know where my purpose lay. needing said agenda, i rushed to the park, to sit and work. not five minutes into my park venture, a seemingly drunken burly black man, with incredibly ashy hands, came to sit next to me asking for a cigarette. i presented him with one, and hoped he would leave, so that i could continue with my thoughts and newly found album of delight. he didn't, so i tried to ignore him via headphones. but people don't seem to understand that when one is equipped with headphones, it generally means they don't desire conversation. so i took them off and chatted. he then asked to listen to my music. how in the world!? after politely discarding my headphones, i lieu of personal interest, so what, a stranger might then enjoy their bounty, and simultaneously make me incredibly nervous, while haphazardly benefiting from their musical power!? outrageous and ridiculous, but oh well, i allowed him to partake in the glories of jamie lidell. shortly after this bothersome transition, a man approached me, some "british bloke" asking what i was doing, and offering to share drinks. he gave me his number, and told me to write about him, as this was the present endeavor to which i had adapted. his name was supposedly "nick" and his dog was called "buddy." i decided now was the time to get up to leave, my phone was ringing, and my company sucked. it turned out the burly black man's name was "tod," and he asked me for my number. i turned him down, as gently as i could, telling him i would be at the park again soon, and we could hang out then. so yeah. i'm horribly awkward with men, and don't usually enjoy talking to strangers. it has served me well from time to time, and great stories have been written on account of awkward interludes, but never often. not to mention, the men who approach me never interest me, because they are typically ever so blunt, or just drunk. and how can you be? i've never met you in my life, and i don't really believe in so-called "love at first sight." maybe that's because my romantic relationships have been cultivated through friendship. or maybe i'm just jaded. i think anyone who believes in such an occurrence is simply lucky. good for them. this city bears no shortage of crazies. and a boyfriend seems like a nice idea, but i would like to sort my own issues out, before taken on the load of another soul, which i would gladly do, if the correct circumstances permitted. it also seems the unattractive or crazy individuals talk to me because i'm not horribly attractive myself. i'm not "bad-looking" but i'm neither gorgeous. and i'm nice to boot. so that equation leads me to assume that i somehow strike these men as easy. also i just spilled my beer all over the place...

all the real men. unclothed and unworthy. shall we speak candidly then? oh God, i'm torn. don't tell them i said so, but i'm pining. i'm beginning to know where i am, but really. really really. this is fine. i'm the woman in the long, plaid coat. in the headphones. on the bike. with red lipstick. i say, see me! but what's the use. there will be a day. and i believe it's planned. i pray at night to stop fabricating, but it seems to bring me hope. and tomorrow is a new day. tomorrow does not belong to me. it was not made for me. like so many other things i've taken. i have great hopes! of touching. that which has been given unto me.

{with bee:}

everything is fine.

everything is funny.

yeah..

this is the day.
the daring dimensions
of seasonal subtlety.

we sing songs
and try to talk sense
in spite of
encroaching reason.

this is as well written as you make it
tongues tied to the whipping pole
for no reason, save the wanting
of such situational standards
they say

but the standards take time
to be canonized
and we won't wait
wait bated breath
for whet it's
worth.

life comes so fast at me
dreaming in the wake
pointing bloodied fingers at reality
days age and evaporate
simplified after date
a fluid motion
when it rains it pours
then sun was given to me today
as i was napping
slowing reaching, lazy eyed
like a stretching kitten
and the windows
there is a whole world out there
that night devours peacefully
where loneliness is just a thought
which passes if you let it.

i am a simple child
filled with hope.

sometimes love comes reeling
and i place it in my back pocket
sometimes the thought
of everything i've experienced
everything i've witnessed
the ones i've loved
the places i have sat, drank a beer, drove my car, walked those streets, dreamed in bed, laughed out loud, listened to and touched by those songs, became so still within this world, or grew so loud with love or any emotion, anything i have seen innocently, all these instances come flooding back to me. all at once. and i wonder if i'm wrong. in any capacity, about anything.

it all seemed so real. and it was. the redefinition of myself overwhelms.

i can remember being no older than seven, standing on the edge of a bathroom tub, so that i might see myself in the mirror. pretending to be a young man, a towel around my childlike waist, in the preparation of shaving a creamed face with the red plastic razor, bearing no real blade, but a painted silver strip. staring in the mirror at a still white face, and thinking over and over again, as though the remembrance were crucial, as if i didn't know it now i never would, that i exist.

expensive margarita

separating the wheat
from the chaff.
what makes sense
what is good.
the days i enjoy
that leak away
into heated drunkenness.
bad smells.
direct me towards the light
and everlasting.
having proof
showing worth.
there are steps forward
and the motions back.
onwards and upwards we say
and the day after merriment
i feel nothing
will ever be right again.
knowing the fallacies
reeling back
from my own disappointments
walking away.


all the cool kids

the ghost cars
careening up the street
towards what would be
their impending doom
were they not already ghosts.

my nails are done and shiny
my lips are red
as i'm waiting for the bus
to take me home
i've already left this party
before it even started.

you win, cool kids.
too much for me
and i don't desire the company.

that is to say,
you won't talk to me
and i don't know
anybody.

they come
jaunting up the street
towards what would be
their impending doom
were they not already cool kids.

kissing each other and keeping warm.

that stupid longing
it gets you.
tearing down
and breaking you to pieces
in moments like these.

so i go to bed
and try not to think about it.

so i get drunk
and try not to think about it.

so i stay home
and try not to think about it.


watch out face not mine. i'm dreaming in my wake of faces and firm hands. God help me as i hold my pen incorrectly. learning lessons daily. finding fault in every action. stupid shit. i'm an idiot, and need no one to tell me otherwise. as i drunkenly drop my scarf inn the toilet. as i drop my scarf in the toilet and try to dry it off with paper towels. thinking, well, at least sterility can comes from my body. at least my own piss is sterile.

i'm not right. my heart is in the pit of my stomach. my heart is under my dress. it's not right. boredom eats me out. my fingers tap-tap-tap on the keys, searching for futile information. as my mouth drinks. loosen me up. let me go. maundering. i'm not right. back in the day, i begged for my being. and love came easy in my own heart. it came easily to me. now i'll have a beer. now i'll talk. the sun comes out when i go inside. i say baby love me truly, or don't love me at all. the latter being best. for both parties.

ghosts in the head of my beer. drink them up quickly. they're possessive. that's how they get you. with the ghosts. in the beer. gulp gulp. beer on monday. beer on tuesday. i'm still here. waiting for myself to catch up. drowning out my desires with beer or music or dreamings. that's how they get you. everything's hard to quit once it brings you comfort. even God. the only thing that hasn't let me down. my best habit. reminding me constantly of all the bad ones. this world i'm in is a mess. the world, it sucks you dry. that's how they get you.


the writings of a dead man
born dead.

the rising sun
at the bar with my big hands
i tempted fate
and watched the world wither
like a prophet
sad tears grew in their eyes
when my parents made me
they were loving
and when the world took me
i started grieving
we write each other messages
on the telephone
the world sucks me in
and i am gonna die.
i am gonna die.


establish the work of our hands
hear my cry
with pockets full of sticks
thoughts filled with dreaming.

days are a dangerous reality
the ability to balance
a waking life feels hard to come by.
the blessing called sleep.

last night bore tremendous nightmares.
you were there.
an amalgamation of thoughts and prayers
of life and love. in that place
i was just as much your child
as when you were thirty-two.

today my fingers paw
at paper cups.
seeking warmth blindly
so similar to nightly gnawings.
anymore, i can't stay awake
long enough to wonder.

part of me hopes it happens soon. but it doesn't really matter. when the time is right. when i am right. i dream of it daily. i want to dance with you. butterflies in my tummy. i want the world to witness my joy. i want them to be jealous. not really. i just want the inability to quit smiling like a damn fool. giggling and silly. bathing in compassion. i can't stop believing this. it is my bedtime story. i desire it, as righteously as i can right now. i'm drinking to that hope. giving way to my dreamings.

oh man. this day is half way through. the first part, we will forget. my countenance was lackluster, not the best today. i apologize. to be stoic- not stoic, to be righteous. always. bearing grace and patience. oh God, long lost friend. the news. the fights. the basketball. oregon lotto. "i don't want to come here." is my feeling. the lost flock to the bar stools. most of the time. them or the dreamers like me. barely making it. barely getting by. i come in here to dream of deserts and wilderness. adirondacks. climbing and endless landscapes. am i close? am i getting there? oh God. i hope. because there's always breaking news. someone is always winning. someone always loses. the beauty resides in the spirit. in everything you do. focus. focus. focus.



when i get like this. alone, and recognizing it. i want to abort or execute. i want an absolute. preferable solitude. not this. a self-imposed alone. instead, a place where no one could contact me, even if they truly wanted to. and couldn't contact anyone, even if i wanted to. an all new life. i like this one. i am very blessed, but that idea of absolute loneliness enthralls me. it would either kill. or enlighten.

you learn something from everyone you meet. radiohead on the radio. reckoner. all my dreams. my thoughts. my ideas. personally intense. this is what i have. all in the making. the excitement exhausting. so many good things. as rich as a kingdom. to see the earth.

i went black in the city
all my motions and mannerisms
were shadow.
no one saw me.

i have a never-ending fantasy. everyday it comes to me. i have abandonment issues. and my skin is especially sensitive today. i am hungover. but not in the typical sense. my hangovers are true emotion. i am a fool for many reasons. the prospects of manliness are alluring. i lived the first eight years of my life on Prospect Street. North, to be exact. an encouraging notion. a hopeful thought. but spiders have typically tried to shack up in my bedroom. so i am wary. i usually squash them. eventually. only after they poison me.

+

can i just say, can i just say, that the strange man sitting behind me, writing in his large yellow pad book, with blue ink, is ROCKING in his chair and it's about to drive me bat-shit insane. he creaks in such a way, it makes me sick to my stomach. please stop old man. do us all a favour.

to be continued...
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