salad

so natural and alive
that i crave it constantly
the colors, the feel
sliding around my mouth and
down my throat,
mmm
slippery leaves and sweet oils
the firmness of the carrots
the juices from the tomatoes
rolling over my tongue
teasing my senses

salad
yum.

slaying the day

i'm new already.
whatever mountains stood in front of me
i have moved
and now i'm a fucking wonder woman
so watch out, man.

hand prints

i touched her ashes yesterday.
the thought of it was unnerving until
she was in my hand
and i was letting her fly into the wind
under her tree.

we all handled a little bit of her,
spreading her out
then returned to our loved ones
putting an ashen palm
on another's shoulder or back,
leaving grey death prints
in the shape of
our hands.

i didn't really mind
carrying a little of her
on my back.

i need to get out of this rut, man.

why is all my time so boring?
i'm wasting all this life on
people i don't want to see
and places i don't want to be.
why??

whywhywhywhywhy????

i want my family and my friends.
i want the woods and the mountains and the beach.
i want fresh air and nature,
to run around free
and barefoot
forever.
i want the opportunity to
be ME
continuously.

maybe it's not just
wants.
i NEED these things
or my crazy spirit
could die.

and, let me tell you
that would suck.

rising up

i'm picturing myself
the way i should be
and tell myself i will be.

i'm making promises to myself
that i want to keep
and it's so easy to see it all
clearly, moving to the
drumbeat of empowerment
and almost-spring rain
cooling the raging fires
of self-hatred.

i have that in me,
to be a phoenix.
no matter what you think.

missing the old life

it's really intimidating
trying to compete with someone's past.
i love him and i hope he knows it
because i remind him
constantly.
i can't let go of some things, though
and i wonder if that could be
upsetting?
i dwell on my past because
my present isn't quite as exciting.
that's not what i meant.
it's different than what i was expecting.
not boring by any means.
just not the perpetual party
i remember living in.
there's not the spontaneity
the buzz or the blurred nights
spent in blind adoring bliss.
life was hard then
but there was always friends
waiting to take my hardships away
temporarily.
how did i ever deserve that?
it's hard to re-make those kinds of friends.
i haven't even tried.
i can only reminisce.
why am i crying.

old poem

Easy to Leave

i came home
after work
around 1am
carrying my
three year old
son
in one arm.

a new
coffee maker
in the other

and found
a large black
square hole
in the entertainment center

which was where
his TV had rested

which told me
that he
was
gone.

stalled

i let it all go out loud,
out where all my thoughts are judged,
or do i really believe
that anyone would care or take the time
to wonder about me or dissect my thoughts
anymore?

not really.

i shut up-a the mouth of the
dwelling angsty girl
although that's who i am
really.
now it just doesn't seem appropriate for
someone my age.
it only seems sad.

so now what.
the only times i can be alive
are those 1 a.m.'s alone
when i've had too many drinks and
no one spying over my shoulder
so i'm not (really) censored

?

i hate that i can't be honest
when people are watching anymore.

i hate that i now prefer drinking alone.

still hope

i'm not
everything
i said i wouldn't be

but damn close

i'm a mom
that
sometimes
lets a tv
or playstation
do all the work

i work too hard
at a worthless job
for too little
and am operating
so far below my
potential
that it's embarrassing

i've taken all the
energy
that i used to have
for my own dream
and used it toward
someone else's
(a man)

i drink to
feel
anything
and on occasion
nothing

it's not everything
i said i wouldn't
be or
do

i mean,
i haven't become
a republican,
a christian,
or a clown

so i suppose
there's still
hope

liquor

liquor brings out the past in you
or me
i'm really talking about me
shows the important milestones
the monumental songs and events
loves and pinings
the truth however
hard
it is.
the undercurrent
of the soul.
the lost love
of your life.
the soundtrack
of your life.
the hidden thoughts,
the buried treasures,
the forbidden longings,
everything.
you.
me.
everything in between.
liquor is
love.

soco is the best medicine

the ache,
pain blooming
from my mouth
my ear
in bleeding
red
scream.

bottle of
mercy
bottle of
death
too easy
too fast

wash it down
with a coke
in a glass
that's never
empty
even as i
sleep
even as i
work

gets rid of
the hurt
and even more
erases the
guilt.

hooker

when i was 9
i was told the meaning
of the word
hooker

halloween was coming up
and i had heard
that these creatures
dressed like
madonna

i explained to mom
that i wanted my costume to be
heavy makeup
a black mini
and a bra

a hooker.

she
laughed.

a hooker
she said
is a woman who
sells her body
for money.
is that what
you want to be??

sells her body...

sells her body??

organ donation
came to mind
and,
confused
i settled on
being a
witch.

southern comfort

the comfort
rolls down
the throat
warm
and sweet
and loving
licking my insides
until i'm dancing
with the bottle
past midnight
past 2

night air
filling pockets
of my pores
sockets
of my eyes

wish i could hold onto
everyone i've ever known
just grab them up
and shove them down into
my pockets
and tell them

it's alright, babies
none of that matters
now
so turn off that
outside nonsense
and dance with me
until we sleep.

and when we sleep
just before
dawn
the dreams writhe
in blues and jazz
in deep red shades
of
mmmmmmm

and when i wake
i have one
massive
fucking
headache.

times

Times they were stunted and malnourished
As the ideas that fed them (and fed on them)
From limbless trees labeled “knowledge,”
And kegs of hope impossibly shallow.
From the diluted collective consciousness
To the atrophied souls of youth,
It was the land of the lost
(only less entertaining and
Minus the dinosaurs).

All of our great novels lay unfinished
As did the lives that supplied them.
But there were just too many words
About crossroads and destiny
That it clogged the arteries of imagination
And cramped the styles of those
Less self-absorbed than us.

We conspired to revive a lost generation,
Presumed to speak the thoughts of many
But we could hardly organize our own.
We were prepared to change the world
With our pens
But sadly, no one was listening.

looking for a fox

i'm adding
numbers
totalling payments
for the
day

a hispanic man
a guest
approaches
inturrupts
throws off my
train.

"I am een 207
I am looking
for fox."

"A fox?"

"Yes."

I feel
certain
it is I
who is the
idiot.

"Someone seent me
a fox."

I stare
not comrehending this
and he is
visibly
growing
impatient.

until I see
a FAX
for 207
laying
on the
desk.

i know where i'm sleeping tonight

"I know where
I'M sleeping tonight!"

he passes by
pushing a
hotel
luggage cart.

stupidly
I ask him
to repeat it.

"I SAID,
I know where
I'M sleeping tonight!"

and at that
I look back
down
to my book
because

i work here

and that sort of
dull comment
should not be
rewarded
with
eye contact.

I know,
too.
Moron.

I gave you
the keys
to the
room.

our interaction
is over, so
move
along.

a bad idea

a bad idea
is

letting your boss
know
what your stage name
would be

on the
off chance
you become a
magician.

tactless

there are two
forms of
tactless.

the first
lands in your face
shouting
barking
touting
while you try to
read
live
die
whatever.

the second
(which I am fond of)
comes in the
form of
ignoring
those who are
afflicted
with the
first sort.

potpourri

I'm sitting there
stewing over
the redundant duties
and self proclaimed
stupid questions

Something smells
a little like
Christmas potpourri

it makes me
sick
in
July

forever 27

i've made it to that
disturbing age
the self-destructive age
(or the end of angst)
Ask Jimi or Janis
Ask Morrison and Cobain.
(oh wait -- oh can't)
i take my increase in drinking
as a dark omen
and quit smoking out of fear,
as if there's a biological time bomb
causing one to over-indulge in
the destructive habits we keep
to avoid facing that we're
very nearly 30
and haven't grown up yet, that we're
very nearly 30
and now there's no excuse
for this behavior
anymore.

mine wouldn't sell

sometimes i wonder
when i see you trying so hard
pushing and promoting
trying to squeeze dollars
from your words,
is it so wrong
i give mine out for free
or possibly
my thoughts aren't
worth the effort.
these words here
on this page
i guess i see them as
a gift, that i shove
down their throats.
oooh.
maybe someone
would pay extra for that.
the shoving, i mean.
some people are into that sort of thing.
(making evil plans)

mailing it

he's sleeping
finally, and i grab
the half size envelope
and keys,
open the rarely used
front door,
emerging through
a curtain of moths.
it's unnecessary,
the letter,
although the postage
is hardly wasted.
sometimes letters
just need to be mailed
if only for that purpose.
my cigarette won't light
until i'm there at the
mailbox cluster
there at the end of the street,
it's hardly smoked
by the time i disappear
back through the moths
at the door, home.
it was nothing i couldn't have said,
you know,
in person.
but sometimes words
are sweeter that way.

things i've learned

ferrets are illegal
in 2 states.

leaving contact lenses in
for, say...
3 months at a time
can cause scarring
of the eyeball.

expect nothing
from anyone.
no one likes to
live up to another's
expectations.

cutting an earthworm
in half
will not make two worms.
it just makes a shorter worm.

do not go on and on
about your personal life
to complete strangers.
your life is only
that interesting
to YOU.
unless they ask,
they don't care.

sometimes
you have to be
an asshole
to get your point across.
especially with the phone company.

no matter who says otherwise,
lighting a match
WILL
get rid of that smell.

never lie.
it will catch up to you
at the most
inopportune time
and you will be worse off
than you would've been
had you just
told the truth
in the first place.

do
not
put a bra
in the dryer.
it warps.

trampoline day

i awoke from the most
uncomfortable dream
relieved, i'm at home.
i am me.
nothing so awkward
and unnatural
is going to happen today.

i ate and showered and sat.
the sitting might have
been a mistake, the stopping.
every distraction
became unbearable, and i
noticed that when i become
agitated
sometimes i growl, audibly
like a cross between
a kitten and chewbacca.

it took strawberries and
honeydew to settle me down
mixed together, all juicy and
colorful, what better food
is there, so complimentary
and healthy, like an edible
work of art.

the dr. phil.
i don't EVEN want to remember
that part of my day.
why did i watch??
mustache is evil!!

phone call from mom
happy jibber jabber
hummingbird moths
staples commercial
lifted my spirits
when she told me the
story of "anal achievement"
and her teenage
postal experiments.

it's like i'm on a trampoline
all day, up down up down
up down up down up down
up down up down up down
up down up down up...

ok,
you get the picture.

where's my apron and heels

"hah, suzy,"
she delighted over
the countdown to
crock pot beef stew
and the offhand comment
that i would like a
vacuum cleaner.
"what's happening in
Days of Our Lives?"
and she giggles when i
actually tell her.
"you watched it too,"
i say, (though she stopped
years ago),
"and that was okay,
'cause you're mom."
after which she points out
that i, too, am a mom
and i sputter and
stutter and
shut up because
she's right.

sunday school

what i remember
from the whole deal
was sitting behind a curtain
lining a table with
the other ten-year-olds
and i the only shy fidget
of the bunch
not willing to believe
what i was told
but more than happy
to recite matthew
mark luke john
yada yada yada
for a chance at that
pizza party
and really, what better
representation of heaven is there
than a large pepperoni?

good times, the best

the three of us huddled on the curb
by the antique shop, laden with
headphones and second hand love,
waiting for her mom's station wagon.

watching him finally leave
from my open upstairs window
the damp after-rain wind
drying the sweat to my skin.

out of my mind and high, sloppily
made up and long wild hair, grabbing
onto every human that appeared familiar
and squeezing out a thank you for being alive

pulling out of their driveway, late and
sleepy, full of mom's cooking, turning up
K's Choice with all the time in the world
to take it easy and drive home.

ode to my bath mat

why does my bath mat
pretend that it's a surf board
when i stand on it?

stick to the damn tub!
are you too good for the tub???
do your fucking job!

i stomp and i stomp
pray that the suction cups stick
but they never do

go to hell, bath mat,
making me fall on my ass
and bonk my elbow

one of these days, man
next time i fly out my tub
i'm suing walmart

meow

i have this off fascination
with the meow mix commercial
so that i jump and squeal
when i see it
i want a kitty
fuzzy friend to cuddle
nuzzle with my nose
and play catch the flashlight beam
(although the chasing
wears me out)
and get fur shed all over
my dark clothes
and feed terrible smelling
tuna-like food from a can
and clean up accidents
and friskies puke
from the rug
ok, nevermind.

poor mr. snowman

the snowman still stands
leaning harshly, waiting on
tomorrow's forecast

and for small hands to
give him another shot at
living till christmas

but it's sad to say
he'll be waiting forever
in an empty yard

out christmas will be
spent far away for this place
making new snow friends

leaving poor snowman
to tumble and melt in a
puddle of snow tears