Diary

The dull brown hawk circles

eyes downcast towards canopies of life

faint glimpses of movement, creation, coming-into-contact

heartbreak, loss, apotheosis

he hovers in the wind, wary-

watching, observing, above

layers of green 

Fighting

Smoke stuff
            Mental notes
Unpreserved memories
Synapses rolling slowly
d

o
wn
Where has she been hiding?

Apartment Se7en

Wholeheartedly, I love this place.
The sticky white walls
Dust floor makes for dusty feet
Brown chocolate reminders of privilege
Stucco removed from sight

There is no beige here.

Only a simple complexity
Rough edges of unsynchronized walls
Blue edges of a hidden city
Undiscovered places between
Here and there and everywhere

The lies of knowing the stuff of intelligence
Philosophies, inadequacies, being.

Work in Progress.....

I see the small boy, his hands filled with tiny rocks
He climbs up, throwing pebbles into water
One at a time, they gently drift into the unknown
He seems fascinated with their soft sound, the moment they disappear from view

I see the tall tree, her branches burdened with leaves
She looks at me with anger and fear, controlled by the sun
Over time she bends and curves, mutilated by unseen forces
Then, when she is sick of fighting, lays down in the soft coffin of earth

I see the clever squirrel, his paws soaked in water
Washing away the remains of a stolen meal
He finds another nut, rips it's flesh apart, devours it
He ignores me, too occupied, scanning the ground for his next meal

I see the molten cloud, dancing with the atmosphere
She is slowly fitting into our definitions of her
What at first is intangible comes into view
A cloud, a boy, a tree, a squirrel, a rock.

I are We am

There is a luminescent apex at the centre of our eyes
The universe collides with endless star stuff, carbon dated diamond moments
The microcosm of every larger thing
Lies like a child, restlessly sent to bed early
We are that shinning singularity, captured only in brief remembrance, tiny hands on the endless clock of Time
We are that bright instance a rough patch on a gravel road, the twinkling moon as seen from the ocean floor
The prairie highway populated with secret stories
The branches of the bush heavy with dust, collecting water and ambition, growing inward

There is a subtle paintbrush that decorates the back of my head, dances in the green leaves, and heralds the unknown particles of a magical somethingness

I are water and earth and light and breath we am the negatives and subtleties and expansions and praises

Tiger

You celebrate me,

Every moment is an opportunity to enjoy one another

We are made of cloth, golden and singular

We discover one another in the smallest particularities- You leave something behind

I will never grow over you, under you – I will seep into you

You fill me, the necessary witnessing of brilliance, a shinning sunset, the bottle of sparkling necessity, our feet dirty and happy in the indulgence of dance, the short breathes of pleasure, stolen glimpses when no one else exists, clothing left behind as a reminder of the coming days,

You lay beneath my eyelids-

You are an inhalation.

And this is the truth that beauty discovers, the veil hidden beneath our stubborn skin- I celebrate you.

Sepia

There.

The rain started falling
We then started to dance.

And the roof caved in,
we fell right through our plans.

There a dry day umbrella
Underneath the bough

A rough shaped Cinderella,

Bootless.

Multi, tasking

I wrote you a love letter
The gift of a single breath
Somewhere between sun
Rise and set

       Oh, fuck. I left the stove on
and the tap is leaking
and the fridge is warm
and the salt is sugar
and there goes the alarm

What is a Writer? (i'm not not a writer)

There's a secret poem somewhere,
-I can't tell you where, it's a secret-
and it grows like ivy, in the dewed virgin forest
nipping the bud of nearly there blooms
-shhhhh, you can almost hear it dancing-
it settles between bricks, half sheltered by moonlight
-quiet now-
sleeps near the horizon, closest to the dawn

Twilight is a Spendthrift

Tease me baby,
Tangle me up
Find me relentless
Hold me rough
Tuck me in tightly
Roll me up snug
Dance me home softly
Suck me down, on, in.

Scre/am/n

It's a daily duty to fold back the sheet
Slide gently down into oblivion
Well adjusted brightness level on the screen
Eyes mind-as-well-be-closed

Sneak your pre-requisite peak into something someone somewhere was an
expert on
you

merry-go-round-and-round-we-go-merry

you
expert on
something someone somewhere was an

But overall, I really feel like this is unfair.  Please, give me a chance to redeem myself. I promise, I won't let you down.  Merry, go round.

Inspired by Kerouac

tomorrow I will
start writing the narrative
of your life, your own

Generation

Even though the wind swept,
categorically boxed in
20 somethings
read labels
follow directions
know right from "right"
describe her to me
are less than monopolizing
tell me how to live my life
lists of lists of lists
and zombie comic movie books
letters to this and higher ups
are connected
what to whom, and nobody says that anymore
connect less dots
are afraid and entranced by touch

distract
ed.

NDSU

This day has barely begun
I miss the yellow that dances in your eyes
salty smell of morning
your smile as you hold my hand
across the driver's seat as golden salmon sun behind us falls

We divide and conquer ourselves,
our strengths float like bubbles
in the bathtub of our weaknesses

Silver moon
We wake up and scream 
ONLY LOVE
The phantom pain of an empty bed
permeates our senses

I am sitting on a plane
I am laying in our bed
I am listening to your voice
I am waiting by the turnstile
I am climbing up the mountain
I am walking through the forest
I am here where you are, with you,
love you.

summer

we fell together, amidst the ocean of eyes
unaware and unsurprised of one another
until the sky opened up, dancing with northern lights
hillsides whispered around us,
and the sun refused to set

I looked up, a small beam of dusty light revealed itself to me
and time collapsed

we fell down, between the pages of a book
a soft cloud-like hammock
the dull pressure of sun on our faces
dry and restless wanting
between the linen embrace of ink and words

we fell asleep, amongst the reeds of the marsh
tickled by the swaying of the breeze
the earth slowly pulled itself over us,
tucked us in beside the stream
and we awoke enveloped in water

A Little Something Something

I'm so sick of writing (about all the things that make me inadequate)

The half-truths, the insecurities, the need

I run through a field of weeds that grow like flowers,

the temporary greenest of my bare feet

the sky welcomes me with outstretch arms

I touch the centre of myself so briefly I collapse

in the overwhelming ecstasy of self-fulfilment

that explodes between both hemispheres

cascades down my spine

and flows between my legs

I remember the morning I woke up and said:

"What if the light from these eyes is extinguished?"

In languor, the quicksand of knowing, trapped.

I smell the drying of storm water in the eavestrough

The light mist of dirt that accompanies the cat 

A sticky yellow flavoured refrigerator door

Welcoming and vast and endless and comforting and small and open and scary and liberating and 

and

and

Leaving

I tell the mountain: you can only be this tall
the slender hand of forgiveness, forgives us all
and if the stream runs upwards,
the woods and meadows call
I sing to the slighted hillsides, I sing them tall

I watch the night guard wander: I tell him to be loud
the simple pleasure of a a mockingbird, unable to be proud
and if a single stem is broken,
the lark can barely sing
I whisper to the enchanted landscape, I let him scream

I let you touch me: you can only be this person
the fists that captures the waves, salt stained tongue
and if the violin strings tighten
the sounds is even clearer
I lay asleep at night, I create you

Dream Journal

Jan 27. Live cats in a display case. Some big, some small. Some were dying and malnutrition had set in, others were fine. I thought about selling them in a big Internet ad, and the room they were in was really dirty. I fed the kittens solid food but they needed their mothers milk. One mother looked really sick. They all looked like Moll or Anna except for a few that were ginger and white, with pale eyes that looked confused.An East Indian man helped to clean the room the cats were in and he did such a good job I thought about asking him to come back every week to clean. But I realized he wasn't a maid, he could have been my landlord. A man that could have been a different man or maybe not came and said he would take care of the cats, but he took the sick and the healthy ones. He put them all in a box that went into a red firetruck. And I knew they died or were going to die and I was sad but I felt a tinge of relief because the house would be clean and I felt the strange contradiction of guilt and relief shake hands inside me.  And then something else happened but my mind left me.

I thought I saw the sky explode
and watched the moon slowly envelop us
like the sun peaking through a rainbow morning
and the colorful tarps we wrapped around us in kindergarden
mud caked between the treads of our jeans
blessedly unaware

25

Where does our youthful vigor go?
Does any earthy creature know?
Upon the meadow or in the grass
The wind with haunted means does pass
Until we are left with dampened dry
Gentle Earth disconnects from Sky
Politely asking to pass the milk
Passing from ladybugs to worms of silk
And I'm left beneath the waterfall
Questioning the value of oxygen
Struggling to breath the understanding
the mathematical precision or it all

Haiku for a Sneaky Beast

Orange summer fox

Differs from the undergrowth

through movement, and grins.

A Completely Different Person

I'm writing in the chair your cousin left to us

Before there was no us

In a time before I cried 

at the sound of your voice on the telephone

The meaningless wonder that describes why

and the sky might indeed be falling

into the recesses of my need

laying brick

I don't really know what I don't want to ask you

and how to stop crying

Thoughts on Education

Two birds lived here

One, older

The other golden yellow with the irony of youth

A warm and cozy nest
A nest of torn up pages, lives imagined
An endless
Intimidating
Sky.

Haiku/ Otherness

To protect myself
I sew the quotes together
A warm winter quilt

Sarcastic Poem

Remember to be enchanted, don't forget!

Remember to feel loved, don't neglect!

Remember the smell of sea salt, the ocean's touch

Remember the edged mirror, the sun warmed sugar cane

The grass drenched summers, the glassly window pane

Remember to live fully, don't regret!

Remember to be special, don't digress!

Remember the sight of eggshell clouds, the openness of pores

Remember the barely pink watermelon mouth, the twinkling eyes

The rough edge of lips, the struggle to control surprise.

Remember to be enchanted, don't forget!

Remember to do your job well, don't neglect!

Remember to be the best you, to wipe from back to front.

Meta.

You dreamt that the book had four covers
a box to hide yourself in
with a metal handle that produced sound
a lazy any-kind-of day
with a bursting grocery bag, melted ice cream
and spilled juice
You dreamt the edge of the world
as you fell off the book and into the story
the roughness of sinking into another
the silky smell of saturation

watching too much

upside a mountain
the wind fights with the stillness
and a cloud waterfall forms
the knot of a sunken ship
made stronger by the salted sea
gently to and fro, my heart escapes
and in the quickening bough
and upon the narrowing mead
and amonst the tallest canopy
my heart escapes, and soars
an eagle wrestled with its mate
diving down in ecstacy
the slowly drying coat of sunset
and dew drops in december
my heart escapes, and lingers

dawn/dusk

the nestling birds, and in their pride
a glow of amber, a restless sapling attempts to break the soil.
a minor wave, a subtle crash alongside the rocky shore
the pace of heartbeats conforms into a slow tattoo
breaths shallow as the dusk, settling into the horizons bossom

Questions about the window

What more does the tree need,
than sun, water, and earth?
does it grow tall in order to gain admiration, the gentle touch of wind,
and do it's branches crumble when it is ignored?
Does the tree think of shade and sun,
does it water one side more than another?
Is the tree expectant, like a petulant child, when withdrawn a gift, gets angry?

some little things that can be together, if you like.

Sticks quietly to the brain
Outside first, then slowly in
Unbecoming, somewhat vile
the sneaking suspicion of denial

creates a postcard as a home
rough beige paper bed
and with the moistening of the stamp
becomes ever so slightly damp

Cats in the cradle
Dogs in the pound
Rats in the attic
Humans abound.

Sitting at home all day

an attempt to leave my life for a moment,
that's all it takes
the squirming insecurity, the wasteland of garbage time taken up
by otherness
it smells remotely like clean linen covering stale dust
and to be departed is a sin in and of itself
an attempt to leave my life for a moment,
just to look back at it - stare into it's putrid eye
grimace, snort, scowl, tense
the act of self mutilation never quite complete.
the dull timeless tickling of a young clock
a freckle, a speck, a spot.

The summer after I stopped writing

It's like a simple, what's it called?
And then a sigh
I walking sidewalk foot caught accident
The twang of an of tune banjo
And I'm not-so-gently falling.

To a place, but where?
Where is anywhere if I don't know it there?

It's like a tiny trickster, an aging tree
A simple melody, a rhyme, a tireless plea
A nothing, a something, a shallow yet endless well
A mockingbird, schadenfreude,

And once again I'm falling.
And once again I'm falling.
And I've again, I'm, I

Falling.

Pints

There's a silent flowing stream
An inverted, internalized scream
Glass shards are hypnotic reminders
of the blood that flows inside my veins
And I overwhelmingly, achingly want you
Yet this sober restraint calls me to clarity
What can be will never be,
Fruition lies,
unrealized.

Oh, to be dissatisfied, disillusioned and impoverished
The wounded, lonely heart
beats just as well as the nourished one
Just as regularly
And yet,
I cannot fathom this canyon that lies between us
As anything less than impregnable.
The clouds refuse to part,
the dew begets the drop,
Micro-chasm of life

And all the while, I pine for you,
The half that is quartered,
the life that is shortened
the music that is silent
unguarded smiles,
soften memories of your undying skin
and an unwavering sigh of frustration

All these lead me closer,
and the closer, further away,
From and to
YOU.

Remembering

The death of the explorer was kept from his mountains,
No field, no stream, no rock responded
No outcry of anger, no avalanche of tears, no tear-stained mourning
The molten lava sunset slowly curled its way between the blackened trees of the sky
A new leaf softy grew

Some strange wind inside me blew,
Desperately trying
to force a tear from my eye

Oh, earthy things are not moved by absence,
but rather touched by light,
a life of admiration, respect, devotion.
The gentleness of fascination, precision, description.
Rocks lightly covered in dew

The hollow earth inside me fractured,
Desperately trying,
to force my soul to cry

The hollow of a tree
The laughing mid-day sun
The roughness of granite
The shear beauty of remembrance.

For You My Friend.

In the beginning, you began to begin creating me...

Drawing lines across my face
a smile appeared
Lazily caressing my back
and I inhaled
Lips grazed my own
and I felt human,
the warm comfort of being
wrapped in cellophane
the shell of an emotion

Stay away and I dissolve
Come closer and I disintegrate
Only severance will sustain me

(be)for(shawdow)

How does the moon forgive us?
By quieting the starkness of the light
and paling us, in comparison to,
the unparalleled unfathomable inexplicable.
Oh, the sheer hubris of even trying to compare
Opens the abyss of our inadequacies.

(and the kitchen door swings in the breeze)
(and the petal gently floats to the ground)
(and the breathe is thoughtlessly given)
(and the eye is lovingly lowered)
(and the seed is silently growing)
(and the stream is ever flowing)
(and the heart beats only once)
(and the smile is hard earned)
(and the raindrop is created)

How does the moon forgive us?
By casting a silver glow in the night
and paling us, in comparison to,
the unpredictable immeasurable immaterial.
Oh, the sheer hubris of even trying to compare
Creates the underpinnings of yearning.

Openocean

This reckless ship
Runs against the tide
Desperately attempting to reconcile the notion of
Home
And I'm trapped in your soft smile,
gentle touch,
The whirlwind of remembrance.
Stranded, abandoned, mid-ocean,
How do I find a compass that leads anywhere but you?
The constant torment of the wind, sleepless nights,
Just to catch a glimpse of nostalgia.
Floating on the open sea, directionless because the only direction
is away.

And worst of all, you remain on shore, unaware and indifferent.

Past, present, the blur of time as it fades into lapping waves.
(I want to remember, but not to hurt.)
How do I change the sun, the wind, the tides, the earth?
How do I mend the hull, the cabin, the heart?
Solace, eventually, find me, will.

After, Noon

Once we've smoked the smoke-stick
We can travel to the alternate universe
and ride the golden pleasure-craft
until we are both enveloped in flames

Once we've smoked the smoke-stick
We can touch one another
Below the level of consciousness
and transform one another's dreams
until we are both overcome with imagination

Once we've smoked the smoke-stick
We can create a moment
Free of any kind of worldly infraction
and devoid of any God but pleasure
until we are both slaves to one another

I'm Trying To Find You

I gently pull up the barrel
Filled with smiles
from the deep well of my heart
Don't spill anything
(OVER)
The sun is bold yet coquettish
She teases me with her moments of warmth
and then retreats back into herself

I want what I want
And you should know what that is
And you should give it to me

Once I've drunk the last smile-drop
And the sun has me fulfilled
I breath in the brick mortar of the ancient well
Privy to the timelessness of water
Feel the slight scratch of rope on my hands
The tiny drops of blood that cover my palms
The peddles beneath my bare feet
The tiny gasp of wind that uplifts me
The translucent scent of the encroaching evening

I want what I want
and please, forgive me for it.

Morning Stanza

and I'm reminded of your beauty,
and i'm reminded of your grace
and I'm reminded of your ever changing,
always constant, effervescent face.

There Are Good Days and Bad Days and Just Days

The secret's secret
Delves below the milky surface
Into the depths of my inadequacies
Amongst the crumbs of warm chocolate chip cookies
Cat hair covered pillows
and your gentle witticisms
whispered into my ear with a laughing smile
This liver has been split in two
and the growing back
is the most painful part
I begin to look inside
because I can't make it heal faster
I want to know, but it disgusts me
Where have we fallen to, a place beyond the best parts of ourselves
I'm still falling,
Falling upwards,
Jump out of the ferris wheel when it reaches its peak
Onto the pavement grounded
...but not until I reach inside myself
and feel the fullness of my liver
Reprocessing the process

Selbstmord

Clear
Clarity
A single leaf falls slowly dancing, in the wind.
Elegance

Can this circle be broken//?
I fall knowingly to my death
and the most amazing parts of my life become apparent

The single, overwhelming
sensation
of
feeling
and being
L
O
V
E
D

To(esday)

and if there's a lesson
that's meant to be learned
and if there's a reason
that i've been spurned
and if there's a waterfall
beneath the diamond sky
and if there's a renegade
flying by and by

then i'm amongst the living
I have climbed through the gates of hell
and Hades no more controls me
I emerge from the depths of the well

Pale Blue Dot

That tangerine sunshine
Transcends into fluorescent porous
Experience
and I am transfixed by the simple tear
sliding seductively down your cheek
until it finds a home in the crevasse of your lips
and reenters the devine something-ness
that is your body.

Oh, to tempt the sunshine godess of
silver underlinings,
pained translucent awkwardness
and a dirty pillow cased
covering a filthy pillow.

Funny how the orange light
makes you seem even more human
less like the envisioned memory
I have of a Tuesday morning,
waking up to the mirror that was not myself.

Smoke flies and love dies and all these small niceties
are suddenly trapped
on this tiny periwinkle dot
that houses and delouses
find and discomforts
salts and slides
across the permeable membrane of my body
into the void that is
and continues to be
the void that is me and is also
without me

Newness

Pretzel stomach
and long forgotten middle moments
Embracing the folds of air
between where I am
and where you want to be

The constant lack of consistency
Bright, unguarded purities
an envelope, a bill, a pillow
The stiffness of breath after a climb
into the cranberry reaches of my porcelain home
I descend underearth to regrow
and mold, or flourish
The twisted cliff of something else

Dreamwork

I take the tips of the world
and tie them together
(like taking out the garbage)
and then the oceans drain and spill onto my feet
and I fall backwards into space
enveloped by stars
until the sun is the smallest point of light
and, still holding the earth,
\my insides are out
and my brain floats like unravelled intestines
knotted cords of experience
amongst the most unfathomable age
tiny moments amidst ancient legacies

and I gently release the world
from my skeletal grasp
and it falls, floating until
(like pizza dough being thrown)
it flattens and unravels

and then, quicker than you'd imagine
it disappears...

The Friday After(noon)

Standing,
the snow helps the Earth to turn
Diagonal assistance

And for me,
it covers up all those things I want forgotten
At least for a while
the peace of purity descends
and I am enveloped in the thick white rain drops
Flying through the air with my feet on the ground
I look up and marvel

No matter what happens,
I can always be transported
Standing.

Listening to Horses

It's Okay,
Half of my(self) is less that Everything
Exteriority replaces the momentary lapse of reason,
-(or the beauty)
of a mesh veil covered face
Where sunlight still finds a home
Despite the attempts at disguise.
Maybe the mask is the mirror
the crystalline pond into which,
unaided,
(I gently lean forward)
I fall

and remove the half to uncovered the w(hole),
we are I.

Myth and Mythology

Is it the void
that makes us?
Or the act of constantly trying to fill it?
The Danaides vainly struggling for completion
in an attempt to gain freedom

...and then what?

After the Flood

Money is the language of deep
under
water caverns.

Left unexplored and
untainted until now.
This canvas of crystalline waters
reminds me of softness
laughter
and the underwhelming
veracity of fracture.
Effervescent moments lead to
strangled edges
deep ends
and a reminder of doves

Midnight

There are so many lines
that translate into drawings
from the deep well of
pure and untouched water
I slowly extend my arms
and salute the sun-drenched
sky line
enamoured with some idea of freedom
that involves selfish abandon
and irreversible damage
to those around me
oh, to be truly free
is to ignore the lines
and drench oneself
purely in water

Blue, White, Green, In Between

Tracing lines down your chest
With a neutral colored hand
Reminds me of the steady to and fro of waves
And the white crashing
of a slow and tender ocean
as it hovers between gentle caresses and
rough thrusts
cresting and returning back
mirror-like calm before the wind
warming slowly
until the tide can't take it,
anymore
flowing in and out without restraint
the highest barrel, the stillest glass

Something About Leonardo

Beyond the shimmering abyss of Time
I lie in wait, knees bent
Fingertips grazing the lowest part of Earth.

Taking a moment to inhale suspends Schönheit
and I am once again
Locked onto the wheel of Time
Splayed out like the Vitruvian Man
Hands connected to expectations
Obligations weight heavy on my Heart

It would be useless to move
The neverending motion of the Wheel
Gives the impression of stillness
Amongst the Mind's thrashing frenzy
and the slow trickle of blood is simply a sign
of the dangers of resistance

Oh, how I yearn to lie in wait
Beyond the ever spinning wheel of Time

The Exploits of a Renegade Nun (And Other Stories)

Here is my conscious effort to escape mediocrity:
I run my Honda Accord off the road
Hover between life and death and then visit Heaven
and redeem my ways
and then impregnate myself (using my womanly wiles, of course)
and it turns out the father is...
Someone rich and famous.

And so I move in with him and castrate him and then I'm a lesbian
So turned off by the whole bloody-penis-on-the-persian-rug thing
So I find another hot female lover
and discover places on her body no one's ever been
or, no, wait
places on the surface of the moon
did I mention I'm an astronaut?

and surgically enhanced to be the most symmetrical person on Earth? ( That's what people want, right?)

And, I suppose,
after staring into the vast chasm of space (and/or the vagina),
I discover how entirely minute I am
and open the exterior door
shoot into space
and am sucked into a vacuum somewhat like a ziploc freezer bag.
only deader.

To be continued....

The Birthday of the Enigmatic Student

Want to know someone
Shadows create a tapestry of light
Want to know myself

Romanticism and PTSD

This is one small ever-encompassing
journey of pure discovery
and the absolute wonder of the world
has not even begun to begin enthralling me
beyond any sort of rational approach
there lingers a deep and bottomless
abyss of indescribable beauty
that holds me softly in it's grasp
and begs me to take a single breath
and to take a single breath again
and to take a single breath again
until I am overcome with life and the encroaching tragedy
of loosing the youth that is wonder
and the ever-present knowledge
that love of beauty is not innate.

Stillness

stalling time, suspended
between footsteps that never even attempt
to touch the ground
obvious lightening of gravity
and Earth's gentle smile
twisting ever upwards, ever
the true randomness of being suspended
mid-air, between

Oh, I touch your face
and the physical universe descends into irrelevancy
a cloud lit sky unveils itself to me
the truest beauty, raw
the bright lightness of right here
moment
being

Oh, I touch your face
and fall beyond direction
into the pureness of neurons firing
beyond
any
fragments
of control

Visiting

metres are spaces between
The love of your life
And an idle meandering

This fourth dimension
Transforms tabula rasa into
Relevance, beauty, nabokov's postlust

The empty expanse that is
Sedentiary living, movement
Steps beyond boundaries
And reminds you of liveliness (change)
Overwrought momentary rememberances
Lead to casualties

Upon Awakening

Walking away from the pier
I confront myself
and pass through

clear waters, muddy streets
mountainous memories
that I am unable to escape
caught in the shadow
of a living breathing behemoth

waves upon waves
thoughts are dancing spiders
trapped in silken luxury
of their own making

boiling water for tea
I rest my chin upon my chest
and wonder at the vastness
of the ocean

and, I am lost.