two months worth, damn.

been a couple of months. got quite a few new poems. um, yay? i guess?


speak freely

for a second
the gloves are off, the
muzzle removed
and i say if i
knew then, i would
change it all,
yet being here
i wouldn't leave
if i could.



yew may-ed yer bayed

ah say-ed tew hurr,
ah say-ed "chile,
yew may-ed this-yere
bayed an' yer uhgunna
hay-uv tuh lay
ohn dahwn." yew no
mah mawmuh alwuyz
saihd 'yew plays yew
pays' an' ah'm gessin'
thithur gurrul is
lernin' it thu harrd
whey, yess boah,
she shurr-is.



climbing the walls

bored enough to
climb the walls,
gone without my
usual sedation,
something in the air.
odd curiosities,
skewed perception
or glimpses of honesty.
perhaps this says
i am no shadow,
maybe now i'll
have a voice.



games?

the animal isn't in
dreams, no curiosity,
just the knowledge
that it is known
is enough to make
things strange. my
behavior is noted
and there is an urge
to play the game
just to laugh as
it starts to manifest
because i percieve some
of the web that
hangs us all.



bombs are dangerous

toss that one in
the lockbox, the
things that are
too dangerous
to play with. a
joke to shake
the foundations
of my home isn't
worth risking the
sill. sure i could
give in to the impulse,
i could warn those
who cohabit, i
could lay the fuse
and light it, but
aware as i am of
structural issues,
i don't know how
well the neighbors
would like it.



trip to the zoo

he turns that song
on and i start chewing
the insides of my
cheeks again, no
hand on my knee
(which was really
all i needed) and
i got nothin to say.
we arrive and it's all
crowds, more happy
faces than maybe
our whole town or
so it seems to one
socially anxious as
me, smoking in
designated areas only
of course, and the
boy is rebellious, wants
more metaphoric leash,
lacks the experience,
and so i'm nervous.
there was sun, at least,
and honeysuckle, and
a giraffe who stood
and bowed, shook his
head and held us
in his regard as if
he remembered still
the savannah.



big picture

what is there now
that rings true
all speech is hollow
when i've no faith
in perception -
misinterpretations
and misrepresentations,
i try to look at
the Biggest Picture,
i step back and
got nowhere to put
my feets.



fill-oss-oh-fee

nawh ah'm nawt
whun uh thum
ed-jew-kated tahps,
ah ain't gawt no
pees-uh paypurr
taillin me ah'm
dumm enuff tuh
pay uh bunch-uh
aigg-heads furr
nuhthin, buht ah
dew no thyiss:
thurr ain't nuthin
true, 'ceptin folks
thinkin makes it
so.



the story behind

forced to admit it,
i guess i can own
it, it's etched in my
skin for fuck's sake.
i think there's not
one of them who doesn't
know that blue-white
scream of hell, the
time when there is
nothing to hold us down
except the will and
the wonder, and so
i will say this: i
knew what was
happening, and
i chose to wait it out.
i knew it would swell
and then ebb, i
knew it would twist me
close to breaking.
knowing the path i
chose didn't make it
easier, but it might
be what got me through.



story part 2

oh to chart the
timeline, oh to
tell the tale. how
i was a fledgeling,
how i tried to fly
but fell instead,
how i went without
a map in the general
direction of madness,
setting out in the
names of Love and
Art. i lost both
early on, but still
wandered, too proud
to turn back and
admit my arrogance.
but i go to set it
all out, first this,
then this, and there
is no flow, no good
chronology, just some
disconnected images
and a taste of desperation.



the choices

we knew from the start
the choices: the Great
Adventure by the Seat of
our Pants, or a
Quiet Life with all the
Creature Comforts. the
Man of my Dreams don't
need to know money if he fucks
like a god, if we can cobble
something together, so
long as it works i don't
care if it's pretty. my idea
of relaxation is a joint
and videogames after
dinner, a glass of wine
and some smooth jazz
just ain't my thing,
and i always knew
Warhol's Frankenstein
was right -- to know life,
you must fuck it
in the liver.



straw-bherris n creem

wellnow th' garrd'n's
wehll iyn an' ah gowt me
uh few uh thaim
zoo-kee-nee flairs
awl arnj n reechin'
an' lor' ha' mercy
thaim termaters arr
juhst uh clime-in up
th' cayjis an' ah
pyik'd uh bunchuh
straw-berris forrus
walla-go, ah thyink
thill bee nahs wyith
suhm myilk an' shu-gurr.



panic
first blind white panic
then still sightless but RED
somehow made it home
somehow the kids are ok
now flat, dull steel
gray, slate, shale,
some sort of fractious
friable rock, now
my feet ain't so sure
now there's arrhythmia,
now another difference,
i bring it on my knees
hands out palms up
sober but sweatin like i'm
dopesick and i say
please and how many
times, how many times
did i know it was heavy,
how many times . . .



simple truth

ah ain't mayud ah'm
jest uh lil'bit
diss-uh-poynt-ted
cuzzuh haow yew
wurr sayin' 'atchud
bee thurr furr meh
an' ah thow-yut thyat
mint wun thying an'
wull, ah gess furr yew't
mint sumthin yelse
all tugethurr,
an ah dohn' myeen tuh
soun' awl uhn-grate-full
cuzzuh haow ah no haow
harrd yuh bin
werkin fer sowh lohng
but lor' no's ah trah
tuh show yuh haow
muhch ah 'pree-shee-ate yuh,
ah'm jest a lil say-ud.



it's not for lack of faith

i always know
what my options are
and am not limited
by difficulty.
a lifetime of insecurity,
of never knowing
what would happen next,
leaves me constantly
vaguely prepared for
the end of the world.
i don't step in without
looking for exits,
just in case of
fights or fire,
just in case the
foundation crumbles,
just in case
you step out for smokes
and decide
not to come home.
it's not that i
don't have faith,
it's knowing that
almost anything can happen
almost any time.



no class

go ahead and
laugh, i know
i've got no class
and i might just
be exactly what
you think.
i know however
the difference
between choosing
to be what i am,
and living in
ignorance of choice.
i know what i am
and i own every
decision that brought me
here, my means and my
terms are not exceeded,
and there is
more to me than
your contempt can dream.
sure,
i chose the dark
i chose the silence
and all that came
with it. now i've
come out again
into some sort of
light, and if it isn't
quite what i'd thought,
i know it's only me
to blame. i do what
i can and hope, and
if my honesty and
my stained clothes
and my tax bracket
and lack of education
are gonna fit me into
some neat little box
in your mind you
go right ahead and
call me white trash.



infection

it ain't finished and
i won't be able to sit
easy 'til it is. some splinter
so small it'd be easy to
forget, except it will
fester, it will grow
infected, becoming a
pus-filled boil, swelling
to cover every inch of skin
red and crusted yellow, if
we can't find it and pull it
and clean the puncture.



flashbacks

the alarm, again
with the snooze
at 4:30 a.m., even
though i'm already
late, and then the
dreams turn sour
and i'm back on
dawn court, it's
2001 and i'm
trapped, too scared
of possible attack,
too powerless, and the
4:39 re-alarm
is blessed and joyful,
the stumble into
clothes and car is
bliss, because i
escaped, and not
one thing remains
to haunt my heart.



i know better

i believe my bed
has parkinson's
disease - last night
as my husband and
i lay down to
sleep, the early
july heatwave
sticking us to our
twenty pounds of
cotton sheets, the
mattress seemed
to start these
tiny tremors that
then varied but
only seemed to stop
when i rolled over
or the kids awoke
and all my dreams
were unstable again.