i wonder what your
spoken word tastes like,
though i’d imagine you
avoid the bright lights.
in the back of a dark 
auditorium, audience of
one, slow clapping will
accompany eyes rolling.
(and the crowd wants
more, feed the beast) 

Observations

The pulsing and blasting of music and bass are all engulfing, all surrounding. When night falls the music roars, the people laugh and scream, and their minds become lost in the night. Forever unquenched and forever yearning, they dance though the darkness and become lost in the sounds. Raving wildly, like beasts at some feeding ground. Always hungry and wanting more.


Only when the sun rises and the empty beer cans glitter in the street, and the vomit splayed on the hard concrete is crusted solid, and the dancers slowly awake from their night of seemingly magical and wild transformation, only then do they find themselves lying on the floor. This place once full of warm bodies and cold drinks, now replaced with the stale smell of alcohol. And as they sit on the floor and the music continues to play it echoes in the emptiness of their lives.

the news is scary

It’s honest, it’s real, and it’s heavy, dear.
The silence of shyness, the crippling fear
of the rape and the racism, torture and theft,
the starving so pure that there’s no hunger left;
the wide world of worry, each one by themselves
a true murder’s worth in the mind that it swells
and we’re walking around, and we’re reading our words
like we’re meant to be silent, live tragic, absurd.

But here I am writing, and you’re sitting down

And truth isn’t sadness but every beat
of your heart when you’re not sitting there in that seat:
the sex and the symmetry, the birth and the breeze,
the whispers of love that can weaken the knees,
The singing, the poetry, imagined, informed;
Fairy tales are all rescues- with the hearts therein warmed.
Yes billions pretending they’ve learned how to feel
when the mystery’s love, it is heavy and real.

wine wednesday

Upright, I let feet meet floor,
and the resulting reunion 
is vertigo made of paleness 
shades away from the pinot noir
that dislodges my center
with burgundy floods.

clutch

How strange to be on the other end. I didn't write this but I'm going to publish it for a friend who gave it to me:

"Sonnet K
The humming stillness of a sound,
Opulent, crisp reflections of the soul,
A single breath which circles round,
What solemn fate thou hast to make things whole?
What thoughts linger in thee is always quite a curiosity.
The world or the time, me think'st it all quite divine.
A sense of wonder and delight, inciting insightful reciprocity.
Thine brilliance knows only to shine.
Shakespeare, Dante, Emerson, Faulkner,
Not one may hold a light to thine unwritten poetry.
Rhythm in all words made, thou mak'st the perfect rhymer,
There can be no imitation of thee in all forms of mimicry.
For what sacred art there may be,
It is all retained in thee."


Thank you for making my day, seriously.

wearing your backpack makes you fall scorpion style on your face

So it’s one of those nights.
The ones where I freak myself out.
Sitting here with my dim lights,
Almost shaking with desires and doubt.
My brain is going on and on and on,
Thoughts about people, long gone.
The more I want to sleep, the less I can.
I am not a big “woe is me” fan.
Really, regret is pretty useless.
And I’d say worry is, too.
I assure you, I didn’t choose this.
But here we are again, right on queue.

jennnnn I miss you

The year was already tired
from moving in all directions,
wanting to rest on the porch with tea
before finishing the week. 
Thinking boiled over and scalded our hands;
determination, polka-dotted underwear,
obscene if not for it’s cute ridiculousness;
conversations dispensed in a Coke machine,
tickling our noses if we drank it too fast. 
Everyone ached on both sides:
the infinite awful and the undrowning hope. 
What fear!? we asked, all kinds of burdens
springing unintended from our nostrils.
Fear is us, what fear have we?