The coffee molting in that licked cup is stale already, gone the steam, gone the beans, gone the money-bagged Peruvian bean man, never stood a chance against this batch. Doesn’t matter anyhow the cup’s not there for consumption anyhow, the cups there are all for aesthetics—my fancy word for look at me in my mood, look at
Hold hands with me. My feet won’t point in the direction I will them to, they’re on a loop and my mind is getting dizzy. Hold hands with me. I’ve been watching your stride. Your clean-limbed foot swing mesmerizes me. How can you keep so steady? Please hold hands with me.
The things that woman can do with a trumpet— they say teach a man to fish but I say, give a girl a trumpet! She’ll call forth the inside animal to roar against the trees and slash long marks in the careful lawn. Roar! she trumpets, go forth and roar! The open air hears you and raises, the wind will gust that roar … Read More Wah-Wah Sowahwah
So it is with civilized care that I kneel down to the open blank pages of a crease-lined book and cast my memories in its bronze borders. You’re my marauder, my hopeless staircase looting the use from my crouching soul and leading me to dark places too deep to stay dark.
I wrote myself some love poems today, outlined in sun near the ocean’s smile. The waves beat down upon charcoal rocks and up frothed a great many minerals. I absorbed them all, flesh-first, like the fern drinks in the rain. I loved myself with pen and with sun; when thirsty, I drank; when hungry, I ate; when sleepy, I slept—and felt no reason … Read More Self Serving
Be patient, and write long. As long as the strokes of your eye lashes pulse the fingers to keys, then both of us remain alive. Be patient. Your dreams have no anchors; let them float light. Let the throat grow easy and jaw relax. Open and close the hinges of your mouth and feel the knobs of your shoulders merge with the elbows. … Read More Write Long
Step one : I throw up my hands and jump out the bus window— What you doing?! I shriek and laugh as my face slams against the hot asphalt. A car screeches beside my left foot. Sticky exhaust blossoms into my mouth from the butt of the bus and the squirrel by the trash can squeaks.
At the top of the outcrop I sat with my knee-bones tight to my chest— the river undulated below, swirling in shades of blues and yellows refracted light on stones of marble the guttural current cut the cliff to slices–jagged & twisted and
If you scowl, they’ll know. They’ll see into that cave smile and know—if you frown, it’s clear to them, that your mind is a burrito and you are the tortilla, wrapped so endlessly it’d take the sharpest knife to separate that mound. If you let a tear squeeze through they’ll see and gasp and wonder what must have happened to you to make … Read More Voices
Release me— my mind is a maze of serpentine storylines, bending and swirling with the Kabul River, cuddling, carving belting the Hindu Kush; Hindu Kush to the Tian Shan; Tengri Tagh or Tengir-Too, anything at all to breathe in Mountains of Heaven. Sharp, cascading inhales of the ice gods, the grins I see in the snow lines, the dusk-shades cast by sunlight—