A Hatbox

A hatbox can be perfect

A study in design, form

and, lastly, function

Just a 3/4 thought

Just 3/4 in to a bottle of wine

I'm fine

I'm fine

And I'll know more about it

in the morning

Just 3/4 in to a life of time

I'm fine

I'm fine

And I'll know more about it

in the mourning

I'd Say You Make A Perfect Angel In the Snow

Tell all my mourners
To mourn in red —
Cause there ain't no sense
In my bein' dead.

-Langston Hughes



One died too young.
One died too suddenly.
One seemed to linger on longer than necessary.
One wanted to linger, but lost their grip.
One wanted to die.
One didn't know whether they wanted to live or die, but decided.
One deserved what was coming to them.
One didn't.
One died when I was too young.
One floated away softly, peacefully.
One crashed through the barrier.
One smiled, and held my hand, and sighed, and died.
I carry them all.

Dirge in Word

a cap of black and purple curls
atop a peak of sorrow
lives within eyelash unfurled
glazed with cheer on borrow
forget me now to my false regret
heed not the salty rain
for no more was yours that you beget
through haze of childhood pain

Haiku Friday!

Friday, you rock me
hard between the ears and eyes
with the need to drink

I can save money
on PBR and cheese fries
at Rosetta's Kitchen

Thank god for late-night
and springtime in the mountains
and good college buds

A Year-Old Poem

listen to this newscast
it brings the shit of the world.
take this into yourself, all the negative
all the fear.
do you feel it? that's it.
breath it in.
LIVE in it.
Here, look at these poor people
they just experienced a wordless
tragedy.
now look at your soft world
and feel guilty
do you feel that? this sin.
the sins of the world.
take this, atlas, but
steady.
wait. you can't function
with this guilt on the surface for
all to see—
here, cover it up.
wait. here's some
nice furniture, a cute pair
of chopsticks.
how about an ishit?
It has the newest, best insert
consume now, you mindless beast
forget yourself and your connection
to the entire universe.
this existance.
we will force feed you this poison,
this waste of life, and
sell you the drugs to ignore it,
you filthy dung heap
your soul is the ultimate profit
Fuck fourth quarter lines
and consumer confidence
we'd rather have your soul

2.17.07

Ice Cream Date

A little girl, anxious and distracted
waiting waiting waiting
sunny front porch, warm bricks
and a southern sun, thinking of sleep

for Christmas, mommy gave me a red dress
(maybe she made it from curtains, or her old dress,
or material from the thrift store
beautiful with ruffles, and bows, and things the girl loves)
my only dress, because it is special, she says
because I am special, she says

Don't worry, mommy, I won't get it dirty
Daddy is coming! Daddy called.
look at the sky! the clouds look pink
What does pink taste like?
maybe sprinkles

Don't worry, mommy, I'm not cold.
Daddy will be here any minute
he called me special, to take me for ice cream
ice cream!
He means it this time, mommy, I promise.
(I hope he didn't promise her this time)
He promised.
Oh! Look at the clouds now mommy.
red, like my special dress.

Maybe I will wait inside, at the window
it is starting to get dark
don't tell mommy, but I'm afraid of the dark
not like red, I love red
I can still see from the window

Ice cream is special, but I
don't eat it very much.
Mommy says desserts are for the weekend
(but Kool-aid popsicles are cheap, I hope the kids
like those, we can make them)
but not every weekend

Mommy, look at the stars!
I see a red one. And a blue one.
But not one that looks like Daddy.

Did Daddy forget again, mommy?
I love ice cream. And my red dress.
my special red dress, for special occassions

How long has it been now mommy?
I hope the ice cream store doesn't close.
It is really dark now.
I love you mommy.

Mono

Four heads, like an old lover
black threads and a
long, strong song
first one wave and then another
beating my drums
before I sober
peer, and hang hidden where the curtain
closes
wait to adjust
wait to praise
wait to feel the ground

Old Friends

the crush of love
a panicked pang and plucky heartstring
then 20 years and silent
smoldering life, this is my gift
to you
a mended heart
still soft