Category: Living on Purpose

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Wah-Wah Sowahwah

  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

Heart Clench

  Dusty was the mindset I set before me my jaw so tight my temples blossomed like children splashing in puddles, my world went westward, huddled in southernlys I thought I’d grow old like this, I thought I’d shrink so little I’d become the dust in mind — But the car door opened wide and, with a haze of warmth, you appeared; heart clench, … Read More Heart Clench

The Flower and the Cyclist

  The wind lifts and gusts, a squeaky whine of bicycle tire on hot asphalt, she rides the air with bits of dust and street debris and the cyclist sweats the streets to puddles. Her lithe body is frosted and at float his lean frame bends like the letter P she buds so nearly at the ends his rusted fingers grip roughened handlebars.

Descending

  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.

Look Up

  Only the birds carry the wind. With shrieks and shrills, they deposit their carriage amongst the palm trees, who— messengers themselves—gorge and sweep the leftovers into cracks of white-plastered windows. Dust, remnants of historic footstep fabrics, plays as if she has a choice; and with breathless youth flaps tiny wings and succumbs to the breeze. Dust is a messenger, too, brought long ago … Read More Look Up

Courtyard Scene

  The sun plays on the fronds of the ferns, the ones which frame the courtyard in dappled glitters of sweet breeze through palm. Light dribbles lucidly across the cobblestones, a symphony of pigeon toes scuttling across stones with nails like safety pins. The barista has her fingers twisting through her hair and sex on the mind.

Seaside Avenue

  Once here, I let out a long breath ; the sound thuds dully against the window pane which streams in sunlight from a morning mister. The sound from my breath outweighs the sounds of diggers and cranes from the site on the other side of Seaside Avenue.

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Visions

  I keep my eyes open when I look at you. Your lips read: espresso for here, please & my fingertips tap against the plastic screen & I slide it to you with my eyes open. You criss-cross your skin, diagramming the name you’ve owned for years, & before you leave for the corner table, you reach deep into your pockets. I’ve met you before– … Read More Visions

Self Serving

  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

Write Long

  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

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Step Two

  Step two : Get small, she said—small as possible you ain’t gonna reach the earth if you insist on being so big. Curl your toes; just like that til you sink neatly in on your center– double, triple, crisp and clean-cut like a paper brochure tuck yourself under and let the head droop.

Step One

  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.