i miss you
my teeth ache
my bones are confused
they'd grown so close
my flesh cries like children
i speak to them in hush
it's not fair they say
bring him back!
beg him stay!
it's not up to me. i try to explain
but mind can't make heart understand
it does not whimper
its one lashed eye keeps blinking
it insists simply with quiet disbelief
LOVE IS NOT WITHOUT YOU
II
I go back today
back to where I must move from
my toothbrush no longer welcome
my clothing canker sores
my altar a wound
whose bleeding can only stop
when there's nothing left
to remind him of me
(I don't wanna go)
Hommage To Home
For the sweat of my father
and the tough nails that broke his heart
for the sun on our backs and
the water on our brows
the heat on our minds
for the silent miles of dirt roads
Our eyes busy reading the
signs (on the days we took the car)
for bad meals turned good
by hunger, everything beatiful
in the red hot heat of our coal stove
for an honest sleep in
an old bed in an old house
built of hand and log
(had nothing been said all day?)
Me
I
I have blonde hair
I pluck my eyebrows
I have my father's nose
my mother's hands
I have crooked teeth
and green eyes
I play guitar
I used to get sick alot
I like the color of wine
I've cheated on boyfriends
I've owned fake ID
But my hair is still blonde
and my teeth are still crooked
and I probably won't always like
the color of wine
II
I have firm breasts
I have lips that always smile
I have veins that bleed
I laugh when I'm nervous
I feel the pain of others
but cry for no reason
I like open flame
I've been selfish since a child
I'm from Alaska
but hate the cold
I've cheated on diets
I've faked applications
But I still bleed
and my lips still smile
and my breasts won't
always be firm
III
I have strong shoulders
I have olive skin
I have a Swiss face I
borrowed from my grandmother
I have long nails on my right hand
which break regularly
My little toe is strange
I write
I used to make wreaths from dandelions
I brush my hair before bed
I cheated on tests
I faked flirtatious French accents
But I still have gold skin
and my nails still break
and I probably won't always have
strong shoulders
and I may not always write
But maybe I'll start
making wreaths
from dandelions again
Faith Poem
(a poem about Faith)
I don't know how to do anything
I am trying to move mountains with words
But I am an ant
I scribble
I drool
I move like a worm
whose world
(words)
encompassed a mile
How do I rise above?
Where will this worm
find wings?
I look in the mirror
and I see filth
Who is that?
Where did The Angel go?
Why is there dirt
staring back at me?
Why is the soil of
incompetence beneath my nails
Why does doubt paint
blue rings
beneath my eyes and
stain my skin
Why does my spine assume failure
Why do my lips
flirt with they sky;
why do I try to lasso
Beauty with such a
pitiful rope?
Where is the hair of Rapunzel
or Samson?
Where is my sling
Where is my stone,
My gun?
Where is the weapon with which
I may fight this apathy
that feels like sleep
in my limbs
that loosens my brother's smile
That kills my neighbor's daughter
This pen is scrawny and hardly
seems able to ink out
or erase this plague that
infests my
Generation
This Giant, This Ogre
This Beast, This Death
that assumes a million faces,
that borrows my own.
Leaving Las Vegas
Bill, Butch and Bart
Swapping penis size
in the front seat
while Thelma, Theisel and
Lou Lou up there
bouffant hairdos
and secretly go
where Blue eyeshadow
has never gone before
Criticism
The savages are upon me
and I feel my flesh
Burn
beneath the teeth
of their indifference
Untitled
I saw a woman
whose teeth were
straight like
White picket fensces
Until she looked
at her husband-
They they looked like
Shattered windows
Upon Moving Into My Van
Joy, Pure Joy, I am
What I always wanted
to grow up and be
Things are becoming
more of a dream with
each waking day-
The heavy brows of Daily Life
are becoming encrusted
with glitter and the shaking finger
of consequence is
beginning to giggle
Grumpy old men
have wings
Burns sport Halos
and everyday dullness
has begun to breathe
as I remember the
incredible lightness
of living
Untitled
There is a pretty girl
on the
Face
of the magazine
And
all I see
is my dirty
hands
turning the page
Little breasts attached to
skinny ribs and hungry bellies
determined legs
persuasive swing
careful hands
she stands
a greater threat to herself
than the cigarette
she consumes
Las Vegas
Women who suck
their cigarettes
as though they were
giving their
hatred head
The Bony Ribs of Adam
I left the bony ribs of Adam
for the fruit of my own personal desire
Its scent still heavy upon my flesh
my absence still thorn to his side
But now how my belly hollows and arches
craving seed
craving kisses
but outside the road hisses
and I find myself packing girlishness in an old leather bag
love stepping lightly away from the door
Wild Horse
I'd like to call you my wild horse
and feed you silver sage
I'd like to pain my poems with desert tongued clay across your back
and ride you savagely as the sweet and southern wind through a green and wild
Kentucky
I'd like to make you my secret sun blazing dark and red in the orchards
and I would steal away to watch the way your silver belly bends and bows beneath
me
I'd make you my wings in the foothills of Montana my lover in the oceans of the
world
I'd make you my many calico children and scatter you across the green memories
of home
I'd be your hungry Valley and sow you golden fields of wheat in my womb
Bukowsky's Widow
My prince has slipped!
and his face has turned to shadow his tongue no longer strong but gray (how sad!)
it used to be so full of spit and roses
My prince the stars have fallen from your crown
And I can not fathom their fading- some things should be forever!
You've taken you coal and your seaward gaze-
You've taken your will and your weakness and left me with nothing but words to
keep me warm
But I don't want them!
Take them back!
I want Paris
I want you drunk on wine
I want to walk with you and hold you up and giggle and kiss
God how I miss your smile and thick skin At night (Do you remember?)
How I'd worry and you'd press me tight against you.
Extinguishing the red flame of my head against your shoulder
Smooth as chalk dust you'd laugh in the face of death and uncertainty
Do you remember?
You'd say time knew nothing well now you're gone and time is all I have left
You Tell Me
It cannot be so you say simple hands cannot change the fate of humanity.
I say Humanity is a boundless,
absorbing heart transcending death & generations
and centuries absorbing bullets and stitches
and tear gas enduring humiliation
and illegal abortion and thankless jobs
I say to you the heart of Humanity has not and will not be broken
And let us raise ourselves like lanterns with the millions of others-
with the mad and the forgotten and the strong of heart to shine
Paramount, NY, 9:34 A.M.
In the morning tiny bells go off that light a darkened path
Reluctant as pinpricks dawn pierces sleep with nimble fingers
I am unwoven the rich yoke of slumber unraveled thread by thread until I am naked
and glistening standing before the newness of another day
a tiny form birthed of white linen and restless dreams
It Has Been Long
It has been long and Bony since your willing ways
since those thirstful days of summer nights and Burning Beds
Too Many Nights
It's been too many nights of being with
to now be suddenly without
I Look At Young Girls Now
I look at young girls now in their tight crushed velour skin tight sky blue hip
huggers
with the baby doll tank tops and I think I've been there.
God, have I been there.
Sixteen years old and wrestling with an overwhelming newfound sexuality,
Parading it in all its raw and awkward charm.
I had a pair of vintage burgundy velvet short- shorts that laced up the sides
from the 1920s
and I wore them with a tight leotard and a plastic faux pearl choker
showing off all my lanky leggy blossoming youth on the verge of womanhood for
all the free world to see with no idea how to keep a secret,
especially my own.
Seattle
Tonight on the street I saw a woman whose had living had turned her into a weak
man;
robbed of all softness.
No magic.
No awe.
She had bruised breasts and was arguing with a drunk boyfriend in the middle of
the road.
He held her collar while her sour face reddened and hollered
and spit until finally he threw her down like a beetle on its back- her thick
skin cursing.
I wanted to stare but just kept walking like all the other passers by.
The clear bottle of vodka in her hand lighting up like a watery lantern.
I Miss Your Touch
I miss your touch
all taciturn
like the slow migration of birds
nesting momentarily
upon my breast
then lifting
silver and quick --
sabotaging the landscape
with their absence
my skin silent without
their song
a thirsty pool of patient flesh
Insecurity
you don't call I check again I become uneasy -- is this a frame?
Suddenly I'm not so sure
I check my sources each conversation becomes a crumb
how easily I'm led
how stupid I've been to believe you could be loving me
you who can not be seduced by anything other than the temperance of need
each one facilitating the next
and suddenly I see my place
the phone rings you say hello
but I don't believe you
I Say To You Idols
I say to you idols of carefully studied disillusionment And you worshipers
why find beauty in only fallen things
that the greatest Grace we can aspire to is the strength to see the wounded walk
with the
forgotten
and pull ourselves from the screaming blood of our losses to fight on undaunted
all the more
