images

you have a clara ring! i said and her eyes were like those of the spiderwoman,
but she looked german not irish, fought for me with a toss of her head
sciatica god of thor, thunder of god and lightening through the ivory
white coat wrapper around a bottle of pain pills,
pumping iron with the other weighty minerals
clara, clara, luce, light, lane, lois lane says to you
crown and heart and still you will not share this secret that can save me
crumple up the piece of paper in your hands
another wastebasket, another child in the dishwasher
saving fidel and hugo and osama and throwing the toothpaste into the river
someone else told me to swim there, where the water isn't shallow
moving, take the rapids and get the hell out of here,
be a movie star, be a singer, be a welfare queen, be anything but this circus flea
they killed my babies, all three, and i don't want anyone touching me
i want to see the shoes of the children at the holocaust museum
which i cried over 10 years ago before i had any of my own
before i knew cruelty and jealousy
all i remember are shoes, piles and piles and faces--i was in D.C. for the
first time, and i went to see the FBI building, the smithsonians, a cafe on
the roof overlooking the white house, and got a special tour from fritz,
one of my grandmother's old buddies from the secret service who guarded
the front door of the white house.
saw the back kitchen, the dishes in the dining room, and stood behind the speakers
podium, knowing helen was transposing and writing in a corner
the one and only helen
i understand one thing: silence
it was quiet and hardly anyone was there; it was small and new, i was
20, it was after mike died
in the car accident, who carried a book about nazi germany
was catholic, was born of a canadian mother he wished to find
he wanted to go to canada after nashville, to find his biological parents
and he died on the way to nevada.
who are they? do they live in canada still? his mother and father?
did i pass by them when i was there
who have i crossed paths with and why did the photo of the girl
from the museum not bother me, but the one of the young man make me cry?
i see michelle with children's shoes standing on end
on a headband like mouseketeer ears
my baby's shoes, she wears them like an accessory
got a raise after the case
followed directions
this one knew how to follow directions
without whisking a file away, without making a recording
without standing up, without writing on a scrap of paper to document
some play music that is never heard again
a whale spout of water yellowstone of the deep
smoke signal, rings in the livingroom of the potheads
this is the hoop to jump through
ooops, you missed. you were too late
your latte cooled while you waited for me to give you the
soul off of my back
tag of the cashmere scarf, the black scarf she left on your floor
which i tied around my waist for a skirt
to defy you
bloated with hard candy hearts from valentine's day
used the elmers glue to paste a heart into the hands
crowing silver geese, blue and black hats bent over
to commemorate a death
tried to beat your way of life into me
coaxing rain to hit, giving me $40, always 40 to remind me
of what? 40 days of rain?
i will give you back what you threw away
rotting
value of a starbucks card, a lawyer paid you to buy me coffee
to tell me what you knew about me
to cheat me into believing it was a sign
when you were the one claiming to be religious
smashed a pumpkin with bloody hands
whipping your jesus and hail marys out like a stack of dimes
throwing out your chest
searching me and lying to tell michelle
how pretty she looks with shoes on her head
bastard pearls in her hands
dig 6 ft under for the box
clara, clara, luce, light, claire of assisi
diving into the dirt
mud and hemoglobin mix into a black paste
smear your sign
on the hubcaps of your mercedes
drag your bottles behind on a string
match made in heaven, baby bottles not coke cans
you have been dragging them around for years
remembering the steering wheel and how it felt
in the dark, in the cold,
laughing about hot air balloons and satellites
stars shooting
stand outs only when they're dying
never knew who was hiding behind the planetarium
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just wanted to ramble out a poem. i want to find a dictionary and try just mixing up some words into something. maybe I'll do this--i'll look up some words online and just choose the first things i get and then make a poem. no, no spontenaity in that. have to learn words first and then let it flow from subconcious. can't manufacture crap. so, new image, with my limited skills
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yellow breasted bird
canary in my cage
kept, wanted to be a kept woman
never wanted to fly away,
just sang at breakfast and at dinner

parrot with green and red eyes
biting my fingers afraid unless
the scoop was right beneath the chest
one finger one stroke
escaped into the winter
far from home
waited until the wings grew back
clipped, clipped at the wing

kaleidescope, billiard ball, spinning
on the tables gambling
split the tree or the steel ax
the head fell off when you summoned your strength
one rope to the other
swinging through the trees
holding onto the rings
twirling like the gymnast you were
vaulting but this time with a key
a whole keychain of rings
keys instead of wedding rings
holding yourself upside down
feet up, arms supporting your weight
hands on the rings, sweating

where is the angel dust
flip into a ball
losing your grip
falling off but pretending to make
a perfect dismount
bravo
applause and encore

no gymnast cries while they are
holding onto the rings.

they cry before and pray
and they cry afterwards and drink

the mat was cool to the touch, it was blue
and narrow and long, it was your red carpet
it was your life and it changed color like a mood ring
like an opal under various lights
never having the sparkle of a diamond
opaque as the tights you wore
beneath your slacks
fooling everyone into thinking you didn't
know how to dance and didn't dance

you were a tumbler, i guess, not a dancer
thumbelina and peter pan
arms out hands tight
i will cross you, you crossed your arm over mine
turned my back on you
and you yanked me back
telling me, shrugging, you forgot
someone showed you how to lead

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why do i see you crushing things with your hand
your right hand, squeezing and squeezing
is it a mango or a pomegranate or a hot potato
did you take the dare, to hold what is hot
oh, it's a ball. you have a gun and an achilles heel
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crystal spaghetti, twirled on a plastic fork
breaks the tines, why did you think it would work
marrying the ketchup is the dream of every pastor
type casting is so much easier than throwing someone in blind
that one, not that one. you will never choose for yourself
you will get a line-up and you will be forced to choose
from the football team
the one with the shoulder pads or the one with the big butt
her teeth are good, we've seen them in the shower.
she has a beautiful body--didn't hear the doorbell, but
at least she's not with a walking cane
i saw her eating both the american way and the european way
she wears her hair up and down
she has pulled the spaghetti from the plate and wrapped it around her neck
tied it in a knot at the nape
the fork has lost tines, there is nothing to choose from
no right or left stab in the dark, into the dinner plate, into her neck
you were trying to lift crystal with plastic silverware
live with the chopsticks. Use it for a knife. Save it in the drawer,
no, hide it beneath your pillow at night and let her find it
spaghetti all over the sheets, her hair, her jewelry, her ties
crystal city, heavy lifting
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sandblasting passing out blue bird plane
japanese airlines and hello kitty
kitty kitty kitty
here kitty kitty
how far down the rungs in the tunnel
foothold and coughing, you are hunted
oh but you want to be hunted
thinking they are all after your body
there was a pinata of bush and you looked away
when the crowds were cheering
what happens when a new man is behind the desk?
one day everyone is gnawing on ribs, the next day
they're serving up chili bowls
uncorking bottles of champagne
how many times did you peel an orange thinking of me
looking at the scales on your hands
washing them before anyone guessed you might be a snake
hiding notes in the cracks
messenger. left drops everywhere, and i was the big one
got to my computer and got what you wanted
pretended nothing
pointing to the sky, stealing scarves, shirts, records
confessions to a priest were as secure
as hansen's belief he would never be caught
prostituting for two different clients
never thought about how many priests are spies
how many clergy "tell"
what did you confess exactly?
what was the guilt over really?
you ask yourself, why would hansen confess to espionage
if God loves all the little children
red and yellow black and white they are precious in his sight
regardless of country
broke every single vow
but kept confession
as a converted lutheran?
faith without works is dead
works without faith would have been more secure
talkers...everyone is a talker, including you
you are going to burst like a bag of jelly beans torn at the corner
slicing through to the bottom
you talk in your sleep
it is possible for anyone to talk in their sleep
you will not know someone is listening in
and you will say something out loud
that the angels told you to confess to police
a long, long, time ago
now they watch you and wait for you
and you don't even realize
what you have been saying at night
start tape recording yourself
you need a buzzer like the kind for kids when they're
about to wet the bed
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dynasty and taylor fucking dayne
kitchen stool and tv dinner on a marble countertop
tv high near the cupboard
rats falling, spilling, screaming out of the cupboard
falling in front of CNN
curtains are drawn and some people were driving by
watching you put on your make-up
let them see you dancing in your bathrobe
at the commercial
rats are falling, spilling, crashing and climbing for another passage
another hiding place
shit. why is this happening and why don't you care
why don't I care? why am i seeing this and thinking it's normal?
the rats are brown and black and falling in a storm
granny says she found a new friend, a pet rat, who was a little tawny
golden haired rat she said, with fur on its little tail,
she lost her bird, her cat, her favorite grand-daughter (me) and she
has been losing her memory. So she found a friend in the cellar which
she fed, a cute little rat running around in between the safes and vaults
"he was soooo cuuuutte!" she said, but she said he's disappeared.
she suspects loren or grandpa did away with her friend.
i was telling granny what i was up to. watching "north by northwest" for
the 5th time in my life, wondering if cary grant was the first james bond
after seeing him the very next day in an ingrid bergman black and white
where she is being poisoned by doctors and phone cut off and he is trying to
find her and she was unable to tell him what happened.
since when have cary grant films of intrigue been something i could RELATE to?
but i am cary grant, and the others are kim novak. I say,
"you put your whole body into it."
granny couldn't remember what novak or bergman really looked like.
granny has always liked marilyn monroe and thought she was naturally beautiful.
she thought monroe was the real deal, and granny should know. if any of you
knew, just knew, how incredibly beautiful she once was. she was stopped in the
streets all the time, asked if she was a movie star. she wore fresh flowers
in her hair and secretly wrote zany and witty poetry. granny is smarter, or was
smarter, than me. than most of us, and she was funnier and wittier than all of
her kids put together. i listened to her, as she couldn't remember when she
hurt her back again. i overheard grandpa say they had just gone to the clinic
yesterday. she couldn't remember. she couldn't remember where she had X-rays.
she couldn't remember a lot of things. but she giggled when she talked, in a
quiet voice, about her pet rat she hasn't been able to find. she said,
as everyone was walking around for inauguration: "I named him 'Rat Fink'".
granny giggled again when i laughed out loud. Rat Fink. i had been watching
you me & dupree and cracking up over the squeaking bike wheel after dupree
rams his bike into a car trying to break into his new job. i was then watching
cary grant movies, thinking how odd it is that life imitates art.
rats are falling, crawling, scrambling out of the kitchen cupboard
ignoring CNN, and they no longer care what I'm saying to granny
they are falling out with eachother.

the rats are having a falling out.

it is over me.

someone has stood up for me. someone is going to be in very serious danger and they know it, and the others are angry and arguing and trying to figure out what to do. i do believe people can change. for better OR for worse. somebody decided to change for the better.

A cup of tea. One cup of tea has made all the difference
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i'm getting reeady to go, but really in a mood to write images and just go to bed. am i an introvert or extrovert? sometimes i wonder. i must be right in the very middle or something. i am going to try to write one more image and then get my things together. thank you to whoever you are.
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jumping up and down on the trampoline
i am jumping up and down
every time i jump, i see mint spread out for my feet
to keep them cool.
vineyard of nutmeg and orchids dripping with honey
i was, do you remember, an orchid thief that halloween
i am jumping up and down and my sunglasses are sliding down my nose
a ring around the rosies, the metal clasps for the net,
my son is praying for me and cries for me and looks around for me
whenever he is at granny and grandpa's or the library or anyplace i used to take him.
he looks around and they think it's just interest in general,
but he is smart and he is looking for mama.
he hears people saying things about me and he remembers
i remember things from my very young childhood.
other things are impressions
violets and roses on the bedspread
bliss in the cat on the grass
feeling the green on my chubby legs
crawling off of the blanket wanting to walk
a cut-out of gingerbread men, of angels, strung out...
unfolded, someone unfolded the paper and pinned it from one end to the other
why do they all look so much alike? someone else drew in some facial features
poppies are bursting into red volcanoes
poppies! daisies! roses! lily of the valley!
my backpack, navy blue with a leather bottom is on my shoulders
i had people watching me then and watching me now
tonight i smell like coco chanel
tonight i am shaking hands with angels and benefactors
i don't know who is who
but someone is backing me up
someone is at my back, on my back, behind me, backing me
i have arms around me
i need all my space. every inch of it, but when i am ready
i will know where to find the arms i need and for now, God knew
i needed friends who believed in me.

i'll have to write about dabney later, i still can't bring myself to it yet. so i'll do it, but later, and soon, and i've other things to take care of too, regarding my son.

Ending with Taylor Dayne's "Can't Get Enough Of Your Love Baby".