r.e.m.Dreams be soft,like petals, but they have thepersistence of iron, the grip of death,and they rattle your head untilyou cannot look away.To look away is to die.To look away is to dieand I am not drowsy.These truths are restless.They will not sleep;I cannot sleep.
The Windows Are GoldI want to be.I want to be.I will be.I want to speakin the wisdom of Thoreau,the resounding yawp of Whitman.But I am just a young girlwith arms that shake like twigsin the changing west wind.To me, it whispers: go forth! Discover.Be.It speaks to me in roadmapswith no double yellow lines,no sign yielded to the birthrightof another, but in coexistenceand achievement through sheerdreams.
A History of My Mouth (The Short Version)--/--/--My first kiss was in preschool, and I have never held so many cherished things inside my mouth. There was honey, and laughter, and the innocent nonjudgmental ways of children exploring something foreign.I almost got expelled, but I just sat there like the cat who got the cream; my tongue still remembers sunlight.--/--/--I made my mother’s life a living hell after a nobody-therapist took my side. I started cussing when I realized how much it bothered her. She could scream like the devil was in me. I’d exaggerate all the consonants with a shit-eating grin. “I’ll quit when you do.”My mother announced her quitting the family as I stared up from birthday candles. I watched her form the vowels of “it’s your fault” and didn’t read the consonants. Instead, I watched her track my vowels:“fuck you.”She never left. I never apologized, but my pride was quick to point out that neither
One Way Or Round Trip, Missus?1.There’s a train pushing through the room.There’s a train, but no one looks or flincheswhen I lay down across the track.(I could get used to this)2.The train just takes me on a scenic tour.I pout the whole way.3.I’m nothing if not stubborn.I smile slyly for the god of smoke.Fluorescent halos,He tells me to breathe in.The sun settles in my stomach.My skin glows.My eyes hurt to open.“Don’t touch her!” He bellowsand I try and call him Zeus.I try and smile and askthat someone touch meand keep touching meand never stop –I force my eyes open.Zeus is swimming in riversthat streak my face, instead of the sky,and I’m gagging into the offered trashcan.The voice soothes me like it understands.4.There’s a train pushing through the room.There’s a train, but no one looks and I flinchwhen I lay down across the track.5.The train just takes me on a scenic tour.I listen the whole way.
A lesson from EdisonHeal he from fathers.Remember poetry never dirtied this.Remember this ocean dayis lessening, melting.Let my life be brilliant.
OW - bankI am a safe with a welcome signthat flashes neon every timeit catches sight of ski masks.It’s infuriating. It’s depreciating…and yet it flashes its Morse code,emphasis in shiversand the spasms of my throat,like a void that swallowsand swallowsand swallows.Closed.Lights flicker behind my eyes.You will never see meas advertised, silly boyof cloud-spun days.You will never own mecompletely;Open.