images

a silver dime bounces off of the river rocks
piled along the hill, climb finished and change
is skipping down, landslide and minnows
curled into a round, finding a place to nest
inbetween the cracks, black holes for rattlesnake
skylights, touching crowns of dusty red moss that
has dried in wreaths, rubbing fringe from hands
seeing everything in geometry
triangle trees, round rocks, square sky,
river hitting back
burning smoke white clouds into the blue
sky on fire, angels smoking behind the screen
pushing out the butts, brown ash falling
holding a tray above our heads
catching nicotine, sparks, remnants of a dream
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records on the floor, spinning like washers
gears shifting, pressing buttons to counterclockwise
cds on mom's minature 45 player
needle of a skyscraper, new york apple on a stick
bobbing up and down, surger for candy apple dress
streaking caramel across the floor
music sticky and rocking from the machine
flipping through the book with moist fingers
sing your song into the apple mic
dance to the 45s, spin across the room
into a thousand pirouttes, turning, turning, turning
the dancer and the record player spin
cd gold stopping to take a breath
trading places with another
rubbing the surface, rubbing the face of a genie
of a genius
clutching down, shifting right, taking it to the right
turning it around, following the line
full circle, arrows are finicky metronomes
laughing at you, shivering and giddy
drop
steady
forward
playing with the stereo, pulling up alongside you
looking over to see what i see
when i can't even see you
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it has been one month or more
since i took a hit
so why is it, my pit smells like this?
(i know, it's terrible)
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what if my hand was over yours
when you had to push harder
pushing down
if i were next to you to
when you were pulling up
one more rung
stretching forward, on your belly
for that line
holding for a break in traffic
stop, it says stop
holding out my hand when you
have no peripheral vision
stakes
setting up the stakes
to take one down
all is quiet on the western front
i don't know what it is about
so much to learn
explain to me, what i am seeing
where this taking me
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arm linked by arm at the elbow
wrestling for jacob's angel
testing achilles heel
trojan game of war and peace
with helena and kapinsky looking on
pulling strings, pulling on the strings of heaven
felling the moon, drawing on the stars
luminate the sidewalk with the trashcan
tree planted in a cut of concrete
bless these children in the shade
tossing their jacks while dice are rolling
save me from this yellow tape--they are singing
red tape binds me, touch the hem of my
plastic garment, i pray i will be a miracle
in my ties, in my binds, in these fetters and chains
touch me and take from me my very life

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pressing foam cut-outs, filled with paint,
into the construction paper
blue paper, white stars, bit on nose

i was a chipmunk in church
a real, live, costumed chipmunk for my debut
"i'm just a little chipmunk, and He's...
He's a GREAT, BIG, GOD/
i live in the trees, and He lives up above."
first stage glitch was pulling on the mic
which shot right up--socked myself on the nose
tried to sing anyway, to the church people
with my nose red and hurting
chipmunk nose paint on the mic
imitating all the animal sounds with dignity
pretending, according to script, not to
know how to say "hippapotameee? hip, hip, a pot amee?"
Sharif, my nemesis, in the corner,
laughing at me, and i was spurred on by his
laughter, to lift my head high
and sing, like a magnificent chipmunk of the
world, proud chest, fists clutched to the mic
like a nut
it was the beginning of things to come
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love "forever young" and "girls just wanna" and enjoying my music so much tonight. just took some advil for pain and a tiny bit of rum. less than a drink. But 800 mg. advil instead of percocet bc i don't want to waste my last 2 until i see doctor bc i need them! need to see doctor soon! oooh, i like this and it's unusual..."this is the day" by the the. need to hear these lyrics. so like this song.
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someone gave me an armful of roses
without any thorns, an enormous basket
of rose heads, chopped from the stalk
from the stem, not bothering to trim the thorns
just, "off with their heads!"
my skirt full of blossoms, red and pink
and fragrant old-fashioned blooms
so soft all the petals, clutched them to
my chest, wondering where to put them?
not so romantic as to throw them in the bath
threw them, into the water outside
floating like lilies, all the while
thinking next time, i should throw them onto
my bed, and roll around in them
if they won't stain and who cares if they do
breathing them in, every perfume from every petal
silken as my baby's skin, silken as oil beads
in the bath, watching them sail into the water
like a goodbye kiss, all of my lipstick colors
sailing into the next world
maritime rose of sharon, where are your thorns?
someone cut and bled for you, picking these
holding them as they trimmed
sucked on a thumb, this boy became a man
ate a red rose, nuzzled the hips and
bleeds her colors...

like kate bush so much, very romantic and i can see the wuthering heights scenario, or something pride and prejudice and israeli, running to the top for the burning bush. speaking into the fire, pulling out the diamonds, and finding the roses never burn but glow. running up the hill barefoot, in a thin dress or even nightdress at midnight, up to the top. also liked the modern talking rings on fingers song. one for my family to hear. lol.
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jasper and unzipping the sweatshirt
looking through the microscope
for one without a flaw, or an interesting flaw
at least. cut, just style,
color, personal preference
but clarity, beyond the fortune tellers
and the papas and priests and prophets
perhaps, even for an atheist, there is a message
a prophet, even a woman, who knows
you will not die
if you cut back on the whiskey honey
says the hooker who hasn't gone pro
she just has that sexy voice and knows what to say
the warm hearted whore will tell it to your face
or anyplace else, what you need and where you should be
skip the sex, go to the hooker for advice
more confidential than the couselors
and some know a thing or two about
spirituality. save yourself for the
women at home and start paying the hookers
for their lifeline. taxi drivers dispense
but you never know what you're gonna get, gump
ask the hooker, at a bar, or on the street
what she thinks and tell her you'll only
pay for honesty.
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goodnight