Thursday, December 4, 2008

Such is

the life of a woman.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Desperidicio de papel

Counted the clocks
Burned all my sheets
With nothing to sleep under
No clothes and no creams
I’ll be cold as the blood dark sky
The atmosphere's poured
Into my bedroom
Barbeque grill
And a car engine boom
Not new, but fresh
Not new, but young
Familiar sound,
But quite foreign tongue
Who is the ghost that creeps under my skin?
What am I, pray tell?
And why
To be
My friend?
Playing in hurricanes
Running through sandstorms
To reach my own demise
Because the rest, they’re having their good times
But these are the sidelines,
Smelly backcountry
Where the clocks never cease ticking
And the sheets are torn up
Medicine’s in and it’s kicking
And I’m smothered by clothes
It’s so hot, like the sun’s burning down
Then it gets dark?
Hey, where’s the sun?

Monday, October 13, 2008




I could live for the night.

Saturday, October 11, 2008

Children of the moon

Art thou?

Your smell's here, but you're not
These covers cover nothing
I won't sleep under them tonight

C'est un jour que peux changer tout le choses.

Inside, a vast emptiness
Empty road to the heart

No bricks flying here,
but the birds are still dying
Chirp chirp?

Road to Rome, far from the coast
Middle of nowhere,
Ah! Ghosts...
Clean under my cuticles, uncrust stale bread
Garbage can in which you spit, not the place to eat.

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Tell me a story

Julia, how did you stray so far
From the way you were at the start
Before you left home
To be on the road
To find a place
To call
Your own

Puhm puhm puhruhruhm
Puhm puhm puhruhruhm
Puhm puhm puhruhruhm

Cold feet! Cold fingers!
Our genes have fenced off our warmth.
You're fragile, sister,
To all that's around you,
But you're viscious enough to chase me away

Puhm puhm puhruhruhm
Puhm puhm puhruhruhm
Puhm puhm puhruhruhm

You've always been beautiful to me
For years, I watched you evolve
Your slender, long, gentle hands
Caressed my newly roughened skin
And lead me though parks and neighborhoods
Up to these growing pains

Puhm puhm puhruhruhm
Puhm puhm puhruhruhm
Puhm puhm puhruhruhm

There was that one day
When I witnessed your fall
And I wiped your snot from your nose
With my own hands
Then I played you that song
And you told me
"Sister, I'm sorry, I've never had to do this before."


I can't wait 'til we're married
bound not by god, but by our hearts.

Monday, June 16, 2008


outer peace

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

They snatched and grabbed and never let go

My best friend
I was
in eight grade I drew a
picture of her

This is the end of one
but the next is coming in just a few hours
Portland's calling, Julia's waiting
I'll be just as lonely there, but sure as hell less alone

"There's nothing beautiful about punk"
and "I'm so glad you don't chop your hair off like that"

We eat too much
and buy too much
You don't know how to ride a bike
and mine's broken by the front door
Even here, there are broken smiles
Even here, there's drama
Oh mama, how will you like me now, mama?

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

I'll always be alone

Stranded and hooked up
To not one, but a dozen (young/old) men

And.....I'll finish this later because I completely forgot what I was planning to write.

"I've got a girlfriend, but I'm not dead."

I think I'm starting to understand boys.
Well, you know, since I don't even look at girls anymore.

Monday, April 14, 2008

No, really, I'm fine.

I should have made this a while ago because everything I have to say is old.
Like, April 6th old. And this is no poetry.

Way later, words later, thoughts later, blank later:
I am ready to die, but so reluctant to let go.
I am an unfinished story.
I hope so hard that I'm given the chance to complete things.
We are of a neverending existence. We've never been happier than this, and we have never been more hopeless, sad, and falsely fortuned. Yet, this is us in the whole of everything we've ever had. All we have is what we see, what we feel, and that we are, in fact, alive while these things are passing through us.
In a way, I wish I could die at this moment because, to be honest, I'm afraid of the (un)predictability of tomorrow and all of this week.
What will happen when Sunday comes and all of a sudden, fifteen is gone?
Will I ever again be answered?
Through it all, though, I realize that this is the purview of my life and what is entitled to it. So, if the moment were to come, and though I'd be scared without anyone's hand to hold, I would accept the pause in existence that we have called death.

That isn't to say that I want to die. All I mean is that indestructability has found its way in moving in my direction.
I want to see what's next for me and for whatever else is a part of me.
There is so much that I already have that it brings me hope for its evolution.
As people of the twenty first century, we let ourselves believe that we need so much more.
We need what is, or isn't, past the horizon.
But for me, right now, Lake Michigan is the end of the world.
There is nothing past the hills and mountains of Portland.

I have this
and all I can do
is...the only thing I can do.

I can try to salvage what sometimes seems to be slipping
without surrendering,
without fighting,
and instead, by understanding.
I am remarkably sad, and
I am remarkably ________.
If my first attempt does not work, so be it.
I'll be even sadder and much more hurt, but I will take it somehow.
Something tells me that there is really no end.
I am deeply in love
with more
than a human or two.
We can start over, but I'm not making a decision yet because I haven't even met you.
We're friends, but we haven't made each other yet.
I'll be damned if I'm proven wrong and I still believe in double meaning.
The opposite of right is not wrong,
it's left.
There's a way out.
We've got flashlights and five senses, just in case.

Sunday, April 13, 2008

"It's like you wanna pick her up...

...and put her somewhere else."

This is ancient. Like Greece, and shit. Why it matters, now, I'm not sure:

Yes, life is beautiful.
It's hard, but so worth it.

And damn, it feels good to make peace.
Believe me, it still hurts and always will. I read my journal over and over sometimes and feel like everything I felt was a waste; it makes me sad. But then I look at what else is there.
Now I understand the excitement. The splendid aura of contentment. The overwhelming magnitude of belonging, of happening.
He can do more for you than he could for me. And the other way around.
The way it was, it would have never changed. Going around in circles gets people no where.
So, I'm content. I'm okay.
I don't have a reason to lie anymore. None of us do.
Some things make sense. I had the word "just" in between "things" and "make," but I took it out because it's not just. It's a lot. It's so much more.
There's gotta be more.

I think I know you.
I think we've met before.

Happy Birthday, baby.

Baby, baby, baby

This is for the drinkers, the fire starters, the wishful thinkers.
Fuck, anyone with a mind, really.