I love this I love this
I love this
I can barely stand being me
so many beautiful things
crouched in my living room
in my boxes in my closet
my dresser is a treasure chest
I should be kissing the earth
so lucky am I to be here
to be blessed with this cool breeze
my favorite window
my favorite couch
cooled eternal by my bargain fan
I am so lucky to know George Winston
to have nice housemates
who offer me ripe tomatoes
and warm wheat tortillas
to have this light filled home
to have a good memory
goodness is all around me
I am so lucky
8-25-99
Cecily
Don’t be fooled
by her rebel hair.
She smiles constantly-
gives a lot of gentle grins.
I see her motherly wings
around her black leather children,
her body too young for her soul.
She loves new wave
and plays in a punk rock band
on the weekends.
But she is no tragic child.
In her carboat she easily
gives the right of way
with her two syllable laugh
and silver pierced tongue.
She “don’t drink-don’t smoke”
but orders Shirley Temples
with a sugar cherry on top.
And I felt a certain security
sitting in her backseat
driving on the 405,
even if that is as close
as we ever were.
She keeps a lot of quarters
for the juke box
and for playing pool.
She looks like an angel
in her Catholic skirt
and leopard print Creepers.
I know how much she loves
chocolate and coffee,
calls her boyfriend “Boo,”
and likes watching cartoons and porn.
I am not one of her children,
spiked hair and tattoos.
But I do belong
when I show up at her house
for a barbecue or
waiting while she dresses
and puts on make up she doesn’t need.
It’s because of her I am no longer
the world’s worst pool player.
8-25-99
by her rebel hair.
She smiles constantly-
gives a lot of gentle grins.
I see her motherly wings
around her black leather children,
her body too young for her soul.
She loves new wave
and plays in a punk rock band
on the weekends.
But she is no tragic child.
In her carboat she easily
gives the right of way
with her two syllable laugh
and silver pierced tongue.
She “don’t drink-don’t smoke”
but orders Shirley Temples
with a sugar cherry on top.
And I felt a certain security
sitting in her backseat
driving on the 405,
even if that is as close
as we ever were.
She keeps a lot of quarters
for the juke box
and for playing pool.
She looks like an angel
in her Catholic skirt
and leopard print Creepers.
I know how much she loves
chocolate and coffee,
calls her boyfriend “Boo,”
and likes watching cartoons and porn.
I am not one of her children,
spiked hair and tattoos.
But I do belong
when I show up at her house
for a barbecue or
waiting while she dresses
and puts on make up she doesn’t need.
It’s because of her I am no longer
the world’s worst pool player.
8-25-99
Father of My Smiling Nephew
My brother is rad.
He plays online chess
and gives silent grunts
when he sees your point.
He carries his three year old
on his tall shoulders;
tufts of blonde hair are handles
for his smiling boy.
He gets excited when he fixes things;
he suddenly knows how to talk fast.
I know what he means.
He likes to be a devil’s advocate,
but he does listen well.
8-25-99
He plays online chess
and gives silent grunts
when he sees your point.
He carries his three year old
on his tall shoulders;
tufts of blonde hair are handles
for his smiling boy.
He gets excited when he fixes things;
he suddenly knows how to talk fast.
I know what he means.
He likes to be a devil’s advocate,
but he does listen well.
8-25-99
Lunchtime
He flies past the front door screen with his summer shorts
and sunglasses with the
string around his head.
Makes me forget my memory,
inspired burst of imagery.
He talks to his wife
while twisting off a cap
to the mayonnaise.
She listens past her school books
above the keys she is tapping.
She rises and cuts red onions
for a lunchtime wrap.
I will make one for myself
when they are gone.
8-25-99
and sunglasses with the
string around his head.
Makes me forget my memory,
inspired burst of imagery.
He talks to his wife
while twisting off a cap
to the mayonnaise.
She listens past her school books
above the keys she is tapping.
She rises and cuts red onions
for a lunchtime wrap.
I will make one for myself
when they are gone.
8-25-99
Photograph #1
I am barely eleven,
leaning against the brown van,
parked across from
our alley house.
Eli and I are eating ice cream,
I think, from a truck,
each holding dwarf dogs
confused always as puppies.
I am wearing my sister’s dress,
homemade, with large pockets.
I can barely hold both
the dog and the ice cream.
Eli is laughing.
I think, I am too.
8-25-99
leaning against the brown van,
parked across from
our alley house.
Eli and I are eating ice cream,
I think, from a truck,
each holding dwarf dogs
confused always as puppies.
I am wearing my sister’s dress,
homemade, with large pockets.
I can barely hold both
the dog and the ice cream.
Eli is laughing.
I think, I am too.
8-25-99
The Last And Final Poem To N.L.
I loved you
I admit it two years
Since we last spoke
Your potato chip voice
And bony hands
The way you grouped your fingers
At your mouth
And your big off-center teeth
I loved the way you got into your car
Like a grown up with limbs too long
The way you walked into the grocery store
As awkward as a Muppet’s legs
You and your rail thin body
And old man’s clothes
I loved your shoes
The blue One Stars
And green Vans
I loved the way you couldn’t look me in the eye
The way you never took your hat off in three years
And wore glassed on your tiny head
We were children in our grown up bodies
So we went to parks at midnight
And climbed fences in schoolyards
I loved that you still skated at twenty-two
That you liked stickers and sugary Kool-Aid
I loved that you cut my hair
And painted pictures
I only saw once
That you watched G-Force
And lent me taped episodes
Even more, I loved your music
The ones you loved
You gave me Dinosaur Jr.
And the Wedding Present
You read James Joyce and
Introduced me to Holden Caulfield
(Your secret alias)
Your random letters
And indirect thoughts
I overlooked your snobbery
Your cruel remarks
I hoped to be as good as I saw you
Exclusive and without remorse
I loved the way you resisted me
I loved that you spoke to me for hours
On the telephone
I loved you then
For leaving me without apology
For digging this pit in my heart
For watching with me
The train pass deafening loud
And fingers clenched on the chain fence
You said it made you feel empty
I loved you for those words
For hating my poetry
And ridiculing my insecurities
I loved you
I know you did not understand
You thought me unimaginative
I thought you good and hateful and real
I loved you for the tiny things
Like smelly car fresheners
And emails about diluting ice
But you gave the most unkind cut
Words of detest and spite
You, who loved cartoons and butter tortillas
You did not love me
You repulsed at my weakness
Without remorse or hesitation
You broke clean of me
And I was left with your letters
And musical taste
Left with the emptiness of passing trains
Bootleg copies of foreign films
A heart gouged and affected
Left with these descriptive words
And useless opinions
This is to be your last poem
The last time I love you this way
The last of you haunting me
The last conclusion in these memories
But you knew then what my honesty was
A moment’s passing thought
You thought my sentiment cheap
I know now, you were so wrong
8-25-99
Originally published in The Long Beach Union (CSULB)
I admit it two years
Since we last spoke
Your potato chip voice
And bony hands
The way you grouped your fingers
At your mouth
And your big off-center teeth
I loved the way you got into your car
Like a grown up with limbs too long
The way you walked into the grocery store
As awkward as a Muppet’s legs
You and your rail thin body
And old man’s clothes
I loved your shoes
The blue One Stars
And green Vans
I loved the way you couldn’t look me in the eye
The way you never took your hat off in three years
And wore glassed on your tiny head
We were children in our grown up bodies
So we went to parks at midnight
And climbed fences in schoolyards
I loved that you still skated at twenty-two
That you liked stickers and sugary Kool-Aid
I loved that you cut my hair
And painted pictures
I only saw once
That you watched G-Force
And lent me taped episodes
Even more, I loved your music
The ones you loved
You gave me Dinosaur Jr.
And the Wedding Present
You read James Joyce and
Introduced me to Holden Caulfield
(Your secret alias)
Your random letters
And indirect thoughts
I overlooked your snobbery
Your cruel remarks
I hoped to be as good as I saw you
Exclusive and without remorse
I loved the way you resisted me
I loved that you spoke to me for hours
On the telephone
I loved you then
For leaving me without apology
For digging this pit in my heart
For watching with me
The train pass deafening loud
And fingers clenched on the chain fence
You said it made you feel empty
I loved you for those words
For hating my poetry
And ridiculing my insecurities
I loved you
I know you did not understand
You thought me unimaginative
I thought you good and hateful and real
I loved you for the tiny things
Like smelly car fresheners
And emails about diluting ice
But you gave the most unkind cut
Words of detest and spite
You, who loved cartoons and butter tortillas
You did not love me
You repulsed at my weakness
Without remorse or hesitation
You broke clean of me
And I was left with your letters
And musical taste
Left with the emptiness of passing trains
Bootleg copies of foreign films
A heart gouged and affected
Left with these descriptive words
And useless opinions
This is to be your last poem
The last time I love you this way
The last of you haunting me
The last conclusion in these memories
But you knew then what my honesty was
A moment’s passing thought
You thought my sentiment cheap
I know now, you were so wrong
8-25-99
Originally published in The Long Beach Union (CSULB)
Some Other Day
Today, like some other days
I am weighted
my body with mind
holding secret resistance meetings
resist the day
maybe I need more sun
some Ginseng or St. John's Root
go for a jog
I am inside myself
today being some unwilling day
some day to fight against
I keep logging on
eye on the box
not expecting but some strange hope
being let down is so predictable
I blame the heat
August is so unforgiving
but it's been an easy year
so far, I think
my body aches
my mind crowded with sleep
I don't want to be motivated
physically ruled
my heart & head sit in the back seat
Is this mere hunger
Damn diet leaving me empty
I have no distractions
No lust or betrayal current
I am with my worst enemy
my solitary self
without preoccupation
it's freedom causing lull
I should put on my walking shoes
I kid myself seeing
the vacuum blocks my way
I am defeated
weak with nothingness
weak today
this humorous exaggeration
I take things too seriously
8-23-99
I am weighted
my body with mind
holding secret resistance meetings
resist the day
maybe I need more sun
some Ginseng or St. John's Root
go for a jog
I am inside myself
today being some unwilling day
some day to fight against
I keep logging on
eye on the box
not expecting but some strange hope
being let down is so predictable
I blame the heat
August is so unforgiving
but it's been an easy year
so far, I think
my body aches
my mind crowded with sleep
I don't want to be motivated
physically ruled
my heart & head sit in the back seat
Is this mere hunger
Damn diet leaving me empty
I have no distractions
No lust or betrayal current
I am with my worst enemy
my solitary self
without preoccupation
it's freedom causing lull
I should put on my walking shoes
I kid myself seeing
the vacuum blocks my way
I am defeated
weak with nothingness
weak today
this humorous exaggeration
I take things too seriously
8-23-99
Arrive
Suddenly, the receiver down,
I can do this-
be a twenty-five year old woman.
The house alone,
open the windows wide,
inhale,
exhale.
8-12-99
I can do this-
be a twenty-five year old woman.
The house alone,
open the windows wide,
inhale,
exhale.
8-12-99
August 12th
Forty-five minutes into August 12th
I am twenty-five
On the freeway heading south
I sang with Peter
About the light and the heat
The love I have yet to see
I am thirsty
Much too hot near one a.m.
I’m already depressed
I choose to be alone
To spend the day
Watching Blockbuster movies
I will wear a nice dress
And uncomfortable shoes
That make me look my age
I will sleep late
Indulging in morning fantasies
The dark boy from “The Low Life”
I can close my eyes
On his brown body
I prefer to call him Lucas
Rory is so unpoetic
No one will disrupt my dreams
My sheets are in the dryer
I am waiting in the meanwhile
Five a.m. only four more hours
Time of delivery
My mother in some hospital bed
Heaving my small body
Past her stout legs
Was that my entrance before dawn
No wonder I hate mornings
Whites sitting unfolded
Black fuzz on sock toes
Birthday- who would have thought
I am still here
Floral couch and mauve blanket
Surrounded by home things
House plants and CD racks
Framed photos and green pillows
(I picked the darker ones)
I will wait for phone calls
Feign surprise feign happiness
I choose to be alone
To take a longer shower
Extra shampoo rinse in cool water
My body shows the years
My face denies
“I’d guess fourteen, but maybe more”
I am not offended
Why waste time on the trivial
How would melted wax
Feel between my toes
I gave out books to reach others
I really wanted to be reached
They have yet to come back to me
My words like full grown children
Living on their own
Very well then, I suppose
My short dirty fingernails
My feet bulging blue veins
I use to love my mother’s
Her hands like pipelines
I could push across her bones
Press hard change the color
Of her finger tips
Were they born with me
From clenched fists
Pushing out in August heat
She had three children
By twenty-five years old
I am still single
Barely known
I have little use for these
Markers of time
Twenty-five years on earth
One quarter of a century
I am here despite the calendar
Despite the position of the sun
I am a Leo
Like one out of twelve people
Like one of 366 people born today
I should be a lioness
Aggressive and vain
But I am fashion ignorant
And only speak to strangers
When I need information
My mother smiles a lot
She is old friends with bank tellers
She is not afraid of the unknown
I could learn from her
She was still breathing, heaving labor
Near two a.m. 1974
Nixon had just resigned four days prior
Disco was all the rage
But my mother did not dance
She wore homemade dresses
And drove a Valiant without seatbelts
I am paler than her now
The sun takes too much work
I pull my skirt up when I drive my 626
I’ve always hated too much air conditioning
The dryer buzzed
I can fix my bed
I’ll be asleep at five
With my dark boy fantasies
In my shorts from Express
And my old band T-shirt
I choose to be alone
Think about my body
Diet on chocolate sugar cookies
I am a lioness strong and proud
Less nostalgic
Less affected
Twenty-five
I am by the window
At two a.m.
Listening to distant cars
I sang with Peter
About the light and the heat
The love I have yet to see
8-12-99
I am twenty-five
On the freeway heading south
I sang with Peter
About the light and the heat
The love I have yet to see
I am thirsty
Much too hot near one a.m.
I’m already depressed
I choose to be alone
To spend the day
Watching Blockbuster movies
I will wear a nice dress
And uncomfortable shoes
That make me look my age
I will sleep late
Indulging in morning fantasies
The dark boy from “The Low Life”
I can close my eyes
On his brown body
I prefer to call him Lucas
Rory is so unpoetic
No one will disrupt my dreams
My sheets are in the dryer
I am waiting in the meanwhile
Five a.m. only four more hours
Time of delivery
My mother in some hospital bed
Heaving my small body
Past her stout legs
Was that my entrance before dawn
No wonder I hate mornings
Whites sitting unfolded
Black fuzz on sock toes
Birthday- who would have thought
I am still here
Floral couch and mauve blanket
Surrounded by home things
House plants and CD racks
Framed photos and green pillows
(I picked the darker ones)
I will wait for phone calls
Feign surprise feign happiness
I choose to be alone
To take a longer shower
Extra shampoo rinse in cool water
My body shows the years
My face denies
“I’d guess fourteen, but maybe more”
I am not offended
Why waste time on the trivial
How would melted wax
Feel between my toes
I gave out books to reach others
I really wanted to be reached
They have yet to come back to me
My words like full grown children
Living on their own
Very well then, I suppose
My short dirty fingernails
My feet bulging blue veins
I use to love my mother’s
Her hands like pipelines
I could push across her bones
Press hard change the color
Of her finger tips
Were they born with me
From clenched fists
Pushing out in August heat
She had three children
By twenty-five years old
I am still single
Barely known
I have little use for these
Markers of time
Twenty-five years on earth
One quarter of a century
I am here despite the calendar
Despite the position of the sun
I am a Leo
Like one out of twelve people
Like one of 366 people born today
I should be a lioness
Aggressive and vain
But I am fashion ignorant
And only speak to strangers
When I need information
My mother smiles a lot
She is old friends with bank tellers
She is not afraid of the unknown
I could learn from her
She was still breathing, heaving labor
Near two a.m. 1974
Nixon had just resigned four days prior
Disco was all the rage
But my mother did not dance
She wore homemade dresses
And drove a Valiant without seatbelts
I am paler than her now
The sun takes too much work
I pull my skirt up when I drive my 626
I’ve always hated too much air conditioning
The dryer buzzed
I can fix my bed
I’ll be asleep at five
With my dark boy fantasies
In my shorts from Express
And my old band T-shirt
I choose to be alone
Think about my body
Diet on chocolate sugar cookies
I am a lioness strong and proud
Less nostalgic
Less affected
Twenty-five
I am by the window
At two a.m.
Listening to distant cars
I sang with Peter
About the light and the heat
The love I have yet to see
8-12-99
Innocence
How do you make innocence stay
How can you capture
How can you hold something so frail
Can you seal it up
In glass and steal
Can you take its picture
Frame it fast before it fadesHow do you keep this smile
Pure and sweet
Cold winter’s breath
How do you make it new
Make the light shine
The whole flower bloom
The ocean’s voice reminds
I am smaller still
Than the day before
Every moment I give in
Every compromise
And tiny white lie
How can you make innocence stay
Fleeting as the morning shadowsI cannot stay forever
In the precious silence
Where dark and light are equally love
Where there is no fear
And there is no hateHow can I capture
Make it real and now
My child soul saved
Maybe much has been taken
And more I have willingly given out
But if I can choose
If I can see the chance
To keep what is left
I’ll make the choice
To know a little less
To laugh sincere
To cry to feel to hurt
To walk arms open and eyes closed
Held by the wind
Warmed by the sun
My heart will beat strong
My feet will stand tall
Closer to whole
And stronger to love
How, I ask once again,
How do you make innocence stay
Thoughtless And…
I feel angry today
because I just shaved my legs
because it changes nothing
your words are still swarming
my head aching
you said “don’t get all sad”
and I laugh
you put yourself on a petalstool
I wasn’t around
I was alone thinking
about anything but you
I almost forgot
until you showed up
friendly smiling loud
hearty handshake
you had to ask
I had to walk away
ended up in the front seat
waste of time
your voice resounding
in between the windows
it wasn’t turning me on
you drove me home
you never understand
how me and irony are
you were hoping
I could tell I’d let you down
and then you flooded me
with your version of honesty
I knew then I’d lost you
(I thought you’d get it
I thought you knew somehow)
the more you spoke the less I cared
so I made you what you wanted
I made you meaningless
a body and a face
my tongue in your mouth
maybe I could just consume you
like an ice cream cone
swallow you whole
it meant nothing
me and you pursuing
hands and legs
my knees turned you on
I had never noticed
that you have nice lips
we were in motion without a thought
but that’s where you went wrong
it’s too late for you now
thoughtless and objectified
it works, but not for me
I am not angry
at you wanting me
just that it’s the only thing
you want from me
my head is still swarming
I’ll go on, I swear
another day
wading in the shallows
when I so want to swim in deep warm waters
deafening and dark drowning in beauty
it’s too late for you now
6-11-99
Timing
My room is a mess
Clothes are strewn
Papers are piling
Is this what you wanted
Me a mess and turned about
But you were wrong
I sometimes like a clean space
I work better think clearer
Oh, I see you now…less
Not as strong or sincere
I was fighting too hard
To make you the one for me
Hundreds of phone calls
Hoping I’d catch you sober
I hate being alone & it seemed
So perfectly logical
The idea
You-a dream becoming
Then, your voice is off mark a bit
And the moment has passed
Is it forever gone?
4-20-99
Clothes are strewn
Papers are piling
Is this what you wanted
Me a mess and turned about
But you were wrong
I sometimes like a clean space
I work better think clearer
Oh, I see you now…less
Not as strong or sincere
I was fighting too hard
To make you the one for me
Hundreds of phone calls
Hoping I’d catch you sober
I hate being alone & it seemed
So perfectly logical
The idea
You-a dream becoming
Then, your voice is off mark a bit
And the moment has passed
Is it forever gone?
4-20-99
Obligation
so, it’s come to this
what I somehow knew was true
then why am I surprised
why do I feel like lashing out
you said not to hold back
it’s bad to keep it in
now you want my release
as if it benefited you
you need time-nothing’s changed
but I feel like it’s over now
I don’t see us moving on
your voice is getting annoying
the way you can’t be serious
I bring you way down
poor baby
I’m in shock
want to suck it in and blow it out
consume the nearest object
but is it really that wrong
I thought you were more
I’ve been so off before
I still hear his voice
“I don’t want things to change”
we moved on for sixteen months
of the same I tried
so much for him back then
am I here again
why do I know the drill?
why is this rerun replayed?
what the hell was I thinking?
why do I feel so wrong?
you say “take a few days-
think it over”-you don’t know why
and that should tell me everything
I should know by now
you won’t get evened out
I’m writing you off
but I am not satisfied
I wanted you to be more
to be real with me
as I imagined you to be
you asked me to comfort
the guilt you feel
why should I?
you go on-I may be around
or gone, I can’t wait here
it’s all been used up
there is so much I held back
all along, I can’t go back
one step too far
I no longer trust you
or your delicate ways
I would like to talk to you
sexy and full of promises
but there are none between us
none left to arouse my hope
my body-still aches in places
I can no longer give to you
so be alone-obligation free
safe in you tiny little world
too small for me
4-14-99
what I somehow knew was true
then why am I surprised
why do I feel like lashing out
you said not to hold back
it’s bad to keep it in
now you want my release
as if it benefited you
you need time-nothing’s changed
but I feel like it’s over now
I don’t see us moving on
your voice is getting annoying
the way you can’t be serious
I bring you way down
poor baby
I’m in shock
want to suck it in and blow it out
consume the nearest object
but is it really that wrong
I thought you were more
I’ve been so off before
I still hear his voice
“I don’t want things to change”
we moved on for sixteen months
of the same I tried
so much for him back then
am I here again
why do I know the drill?
why is this rerun replayed?
what the hell was I thinking?
why do I feel so wrong?
you say “take a few days-
think it over”-you don’t know why
and that should tell me everything
I should know by now
you won’t get evened out
I’m writing you off
but I am not satisfied
I wanted you to be more
to be real with me
as I imagined you to be
you asked me to comfort
the guilt you feel
why should I?
you go on-I may be around
or gone, I can’t wait here
it’s all been used up
there is so much I held back
all along, I can’t go back
one step too far
I no longer trust you
or your delicate ways
I would like to talk to you
sexy and full of promises
but there are none between us
none left to arouse my hope
my body-still aches in places
I can no longer give to you
so be alone-obligation free
safe in you tiny little world
too small for me
4-14-99
Same Page
I am reading a book the wrong book
the wrong stories on the wrong pages
it’s all I can do- avoiding the right thing
saying the right words the right lines
my mind- live action animation
an image of the real motion
constant constant throbbing
ocean liner crossing my tug boat
there is more hesitation- doubt than
I previously made assumptions over
hidden in- behind your professional phone voice
I am breathing- inhale slow (I get all
tense in this state- anticipation)
you missed me- I swear, I had your number
an image of a real boy
but there I go sticking my head out
in the wrong place reading the wrong lines
your story is the right page
3-30-99
the wrong stories on the wrong pages
it’s all I can do- avoiding the right thing
saying the right words the right lines
my mind- live action animation
an image of the real motion
constant constant throbbing
ocean liner crossing my tug boat
there is more hesitation- doubt than
I previously made assumptions over
hidden in- behind your professional phone voice
I am breathing- inhale slow (I get all
tense in this state- anticipation)
you missed me- I swear, I had your number
an image of a real boy
but there I go sticking my head out
in the wrong place reading the wrong lines
your story is the right page
3-30-99
Laundry
My will to resist you- I am a wall of gray lint
like the sort pulled begrudgingly off the dryer trap
my insides tumbling as I fall deep into this lull
where your voice both cuts and removes
these preexisting scars on my heart
missing a button can you fix?
a boy with a needle and thread
cannot see my body trapped inside the low cycle
down and down your apartment was a mess
like my mind I have porn on the bottom shelf
was that her toothbrush still?
I prefer to wait outside- it’s one of the things
I’m good at. I thought you would like to know.
3-18-99
like the sort pulled begrudgingly off the dryer trap
my insides tumbling as I fall deep into this lull
where your voice both cuts and removes
these preexisting scars on my heart
missing a button can you fix?
a boy with a needle and thread
cannot see my body trapped inside the low cycle
down and down your apartment was a mess
like my mind I have porn on the bottom shelf
was that her toothbrush still?
I prefer to wait outside- it’s one of the things
I’m good at. I thought you would like to know.
3-18-99
Attributes Unlike A Lady
I am here again same girl like 1989-
1995 four more years makes no child a woman
on the other side of the line
were you right after all
am I fit to be sent down the river
I already know how to swim
So you can stop grinning up a storm
it’s not like a lady to lay sprawled
out heart stopping at the telephone ring
9:58 on St. Patrick’s Day
I’m Irish without a kiss
I am famished by this game
I swore I would not play
you said it doesn’t get better than this
are your on your way to explain
apologize I am not going to be home
3-17-99
1995 four more years makes no child a woman
on the other side of the line
were you right after all
am I fit to be sent down the river
I already know how to swim
So you can stop grinning up a storm
it’s not like a lady to lay sprawled
out heart stopping at the telephone ring
9:58 on St. Patrick’s Day
I’m Irish without a kiss
I am famished by this game
I swore I would not play
you said it doesn’t get better than this
are your on your way to explain
apologize I am not going to be home
3-17-99
But do I feel this way?
But do I feel this way?
These passions rubbing up against my sleeve.
I am not a princess (the name deceives).
I am not a damsel in distress awaiting a dream
with my golden locks tumbling down the tower wall.
I am a woman-child sitting in my pj's,
face freshly washed and ready for bed.
But do I feel this way?
These hopes clinging to a ray of possibilities.
My savior opens up his abyss for my elite eyes
to feast upon the untold riches of his heart.
I am not as good at math as I presumed
and my fingernails are short and unkempt.
I love my cat-I love to be alone. I have heartburn.
But do I feel this way?
But do I sit idly for my real world to begin?
The one with a two car garage
and little league in summer afternoons.
You are just a guy with bad taste in shoes,
good taste in music, and not enough sense
to call me on the telephone.
You are just a guy.
3-1-99
These passions rubbing up against my sleeve.
I am not a princess (the name deceives).
I am not a damsel in distress awaiting a dream
with my golden locks tumbling down the tower wall.
I am a woman-child sitting in my pj's,
face freshly washed and ready for bed.
But do I feel this way?
These hopes clinging to a ray of possibilities.
My savior opens up his abyss for my elite eyes
to feast upon the untold riches of his heart.
I am not as good at math as I presumed
and my fingernails are short and unkempt.
I love my cat-I love to be alone. I have heartburn.
But do I feel this way?
But do I sit idly for my real world to begin?
The one with a two car garage
and little league in summer afternoons.
You are just a guy with bad taste in shoes,
good taste in music, and not enough sense
to call me on the telephone.
You are just a guy.
3-1-99
What Makes Me
Was I so wrong to push
this door presumed closed
I heard a rumor-
I saw a light thru the crack
I was cold outside
felt the heat leaking through
Was I wrong to turn the knob
I heard your voice
The sounds of comfort
on the other side
Forget this analogy- I am not wrong
My throat is tight
holding fast this pressure
of the minutes dragging
Metaphors don’t comfort the way
your words on my screen
fill my head with electricity
This is some strange dream
you falling at my door
(and I am on the outside?)
Was she just another excuse
to deny me of my rights?
My right to be inside your head
my right to be inside your heart
We talk so much about fears
but not enough about desires
So, do you desire me?
Agony makes me a poet
Anticipation makes me a fool
The fucking computer makes me say
out loud to you what
whispers you passed by
when I stood aside for you and
your comfortable girl
Music makes me long for more
you…you make me wait
2-17-99
this door presumed closed
I heard a rumor-
I saw a light thru the crack
I was cold outside
felt the heat leaking through
Was I wrong to turn the knob
I heard your voice
The sounds of comfort
on the other side
Forget this analogy- I am not wrong
My throat is tight
holding fast this pressure
of the minutes dragging
Metaphors don’t comfort the way
your words on my screen
fill my head with electricity
This is some strange dream
you falling at my door
(and I am on the outside?)
Was she just another excuse
to deny me of my rights?
My right to be inside your head
my right to be inside your heart
We talk so much about fears
but not enough about desires
So, do you desire me?
Agony makes me a poet
Anticipation makes me a fool
The fucking computer makes me say
out loud to you what
whispers you passed by
when I stood aside for you and
your comfortable girl
Music makes me long for more
you…you make me wait
2-17-99
Gray
This is the kind of day I love
The rain is touching everything
It makes me feel quiet
Though my music is loud
And I want it louder
I could be alone all day like this
Being in love with silence
Alone with my thoughts wandering
Wondering about this strange world
Everything being so outside
My foggy window sill- gray
Under the heavy pensive sky
1-99
The rain is touching everything
It makes me feel quiet
Though my music is loud
And I want it louder
I could be alone all day like this
Being in love with silence
Alone with my thoughts wandering
Wondering about this strange world
Everything being so outside
My foggy window sill- gray
Under the heavy pensive sky
1-99
The Italian
her voice is sweet (sick)
and from the other room
I hear nothing but motion
I thought this would be a new situation
she giggles on the cell phone
which voice does she perform this scene for
I guess it makes no difference
if I am sitting alone
on the couch watching her
suckface with an Italian
(he cooked us dinner)
I take my cue to exit
God- I feel sick to hear her smiling, flaunting
sexual prowless-things I lack in great proportions
but you try going to be the foreigner
in Northern Cali- or central Portugal
see if you feel a bit ill when you are
an unsuspecting intruder in her
world of many sensualities to be expressed
in this moment while you
are digesting your pasta and waiting
on the couch alone
go to your room girl, I have company
I must show my gratitude
you see this is the way it goes in my world
I painted my nails here
But I hate the color
I can feel them pushing out from the tips
God- I can hear the taptaptap of the quick motion
And I wait while she catches up
and pretend this is what I came here for.
1-4-99
and from the other room
I hear nothing but motion
I thought this would be a new situation
she giggles on the cell phone
which voice does she perform this scene for
I guess it makes no difference
if I am sitting alone
on the couch watching her
suckface with an Italian
(he cooked us dinner)
I take my cue to exit
God- I feel sick to hear her smiling, flaunting
sexual prowless-things I lack in great proportions
but you try going to be the foreigner
in Northern Cali- or central Portugal
see if you feel a bit ill when you are
an unsuspecting intruder in her
world of many sensualities to be expressed
in this moment while you
are digesting your pasta and waiting
on the couch alone
go to your room girl, I have company
I must show my gratitude
you see this is the way it goes in my world
I painted my nails here
But I hate the color
I can feel them pushing out from the tips
God- I can hear the taptaptap of the quick motion
And I wait while she catches up
and pretend this is what I came here for.
1-4-99
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