Don't you dare to call me, crying on the phone
It's pathetic.
I'm not here to help you --
I couldn't even begin ;
you know how to hurt so well.
Don't say, I Love You:
Time after time those words made me laugh,
I told you it wasn't true--
and if you say you'll kill yourself
that's your fucking problem too.
I didn't plan to be so cruel,
a cold-hearted bitch on the other side
Yet I relish the only answer I can give you.
Hugs and kisses won't stop your pain, so
I say loud and clear: Be a man, for once
just stand up
to your self
And leave me alone.

sensory overload
of the future
this is why
I lapse to words
to make sense of meaning
the tape deck
warped from the heat
left to long in summer with windows up
and I am still sitting here
dreams paused.

When they talk
I don't understand
(or answer)
It comes to me:
I need a specialty.
But where do they find the time?
I'm all caught up
in reality.

I want to draw what i see

I want to draw what I see
not what I think I see
One small part articulated so that now
your eyes can grasp the enormity of its smallness
and contain its beauty
I want to capture not what I feel
but what you will feel
Collective undertones of burnt sienna,
rising from our burnt earth, burnt past
I want to see
Color, Shape, Line
the path a sparrow takes across
the runway of the sky -
the soft, beaded swell of lake against
vast ochre
I want Form, Value, Movement
the way you Run, & Breathe,
the sharp clutching of our diaphragm
the heavy gray of our lungs.
I want to be What Is,
and draw what is now & forever -
not.
Meaning making
or making meaning? What Is
the answer to art
Might any of it be Real?

apprehensive and alone

I have the sense that everything could fall apart
as easily as with the touch of a finger on a newly opened leaf--
Dear future President,
we are trusting in you, that you are braver than you appear
braver than we
and we are too afraid to hope
you might bring change.

Unlike those-
I know the vocabulary of success
and so have never worked;
(do you think it's unfair to say?)
don't defend my unchallenged world

Here I AM (so happy)
circumstances have changed for the better
but i am not for the better
i am for the pain

I am for every tear drop of silence
in this cold cold corner
I am for every sharp intake of wounded breath
across these lungs
I am for every knuckle clasped to my lips;
for justice.

This is so much
better
(than before)
but (I feel) I feel the same

& I know i will not decide
(to use this happy power)
unless the world stops turning & i perish:
impersonality is not worth fighting for

Contrition--
every selfish heartbeat
and every happy ending.

make them care

Guilt. I love it.
Cynicism. I crave it.
Make me feel worthless.
Make me want to learn.

Make me cry aloud for the sheer wonder
that I still can
I can shed tears--

make me because for a few minutes,
I will still feel human.

And I will still feel the unknown
hope that something can change
that by sensing the core of our
injustice, our wrongness, our disease
I will know that something can
be right.

_______________________________
Note to higher education:
even in honors classes, they (we) don't start our papers until the night before (if you're lucky.) WE freely admit that WE didn't read the pages assigned (there were too many, the language was too dense, too much other work to do, project runway was on). And we don't care: it's become the game of how little we can get away with doing. (I'll win). WE sit silent when the prof asks a question. All we care about is lunch, and music, who-said-what-about-your-outfit and WTF did Britney do to her hair??? and where the next soul-containing shot is going to come from--Monday, as I walk across the quad I hear the essential question: We drinking tonight? (No. It really doesn't get boring. Still waiting--and glad it doesn't).

Until now.
This is what college is supposed to be.

And it's pathetic that it takes 3 honors classes and junior year before I encounter two days of this one class. That one simple question not let slide is all it takes to make me believe I'm truly thinking --- that my brain, my heart, my mind isn't lying dormant.

But once through those doors, like he says, we won't look back. "Anyone think about what we were reading? Anyone? No...good. You didn't break the code."

does a tree missing a limb
feel like a man without a leg
and fight the phantom pains
as his body refuses to accept the loss?

Emotionally Unavailable

Damn you for making me care.
(I pretend this is for the best)
Did I push you away? (No.)
Anyone else, certainly, yes.

It's like that girly song said
However cheesy, or typical:
"Can't get you out of my head."
Damn me for being irrational

I'm suspicious of anyone who's "too nice"
and this is why
I never believed someone could trick me twice
and this is why

Left alone I take it to the extreme
It seemed we were lovers --
But really I created this dream;
It seemed like --
I loved you (for a day)

If you call me again? I'm sure you will soon--
If you answered me, I'd have nothing to say
If you made the slightest mention that you might
possibly,
quietly,
desperately,
LOVE ME BACK
(Then would I push you away? Certainly yes.)

we never get the chance to do anything with our lives

Bewitched by Birthdays

i always think the weeks before my birthday will be the best of my life
filled with new possibilities and responsibilities
but instead i feel useless, tired, unsure, at a loss

(We never get the chance to do anything with our lives) Already we're trapped, traded, boxed in
already stereotyped and acculturated, transculturated, educated,

It's always like this

What do I do? What Have I done? So where are the proof of my useful struggle my use of oxygen on this planet how, how, how, can i dispel that calling calling voice saying
Something is wrong. Something is not right.
not yet 21 and already feeling the anticipation of a middle life crisis

(I'd like that wouldn't I, it's bitter chill would quench my thirst for emotional pain)
Maybe I'll buy a car - or do only men do that?

And here,
I love the imagination
more than the reality

terrified to be all caught up
involved in this civilization
dependent on you
on you
on you
and everyone

today the greenery seems to have closed in over the path, as though leaning down to make the leaves' descent less painful. Here the gravel below my tires is spackled with fallen yellow ginko leaves, fanshaped splashes of light - further on there are different leaves, like a school of tiny yellow minnows

current decisions made on subjective preference can lead you astray

today my horoscope says
You just aren't sure
you have temporarily lost your ability to analyze -
today my horoscope says
You can't tell the facts from the fiction
(as I stare blindly at the horizon)
and trying to believe might set you up
for disillusionment.
Today my horoscope says,
current decisions made on subjective preference can lead you astray
Today
Today
Today
I'm waiting for tomorrow to dispel my subjective preferences
when the fates resolve to show me disillusionment
to let my horoscope say I can believe - what I want to be:
the fiction between us
and analyze the truth of leading (you, me, us)
astray.
I'm not sure.

What's subjective in this
the mess (hesitation, pause, uncertainty)
the tangled tired heat
analyzing wasted days
or the way the breeze feels like the breath of fiction
across the inside of my (disillusioned) elbows
as i push my preferences - the blueness of the horizon
like boats astray across the lake.

Fact of fiction:
what's subjective in this
the way i prefer to wait (for disillusionment)
while you busy yourself
with life
(gone astray)


or is it the unsure way
I am (fast) forward, not belonging
in 1980 or 2008, not ready to analyze the fiction
of the solid truth on the horizon, the permanence of faith
it doesn't matter what day - I'm set up to believe
current decisions made on subjective preference can lead me astray

who are you

The sound of rain is reassuring
a rush
you never have to catch up
too quickly
it slips through your fingers
the sound of rain
reassuring, like grief
telling you--
I am still alive


Who am i? Bold.
Too bold, too bold
and who are you
now
that I am too bold?

walking by the science building today
at my feet in the sidewalk
a creamy egg nestled in a groove of concrete
upright, balanced
the yolk-heavy bottom a welcome cave
for blackberry-colored ants
sometimes i feel
like that egg
dropped from such great height

What i really want to say is:
I wish you'd just grow up and snap out of your bigoted fantasies and be a real human being. Perhaps you never learned how; your parents seem to have really failed when they raised you. But you need to stop feeling so goddamn sorry for yourself and stop ruining your life and the lives of everyone else around you. You don't have to make up things to be unhappy about, because there are already enough to make you miserable. Instead you have to face what is really wrong and do something about it. Maybe it's shallow and hedonistic to want to enjoy life, but in the end, what else is there?

Did you just find something in some movie and book somewhere and decide to make your life into a carbon copy? Just like when you say you care about me - you're using someone else's words, someone else's feelings, not your own. And I can tell that it's fake. You are so fake.
You've made up this story with no scientific background ( although you base it on fact, but won't quote your sources...and you won't listen to anyone else's feelings or thoughts or knowledge on the matter you just RANT and RANT and RANT and are as offensive as possible - that's the whole point.) Are you afraid if you aren't offensive people might actually like you and you might have to open up and show your real self?
Because other people are scared too. Other people are alone. You aren't the only one.
What makes you think that you are so much better than everyone else? Why do you have to separate yourself from "the masses"? Maybe if you just worked a day in your life... but that's not true because I don't want anyone to have that grueling fate. But you have to learn the difference between being trapped and being responsible.

Is Happiness Genetic?

We want what we want/
What is it?
One's not enough
neither is two
but three's too many -
and i'm without you
If only I could struggle
and thrive
if i knew
what it was -
where it is -
who are you?

We want what we want when we want it. But it won't make us happy/
Happiness/ that Genetic code
preprogrammed
already before our wrinkles form
from laughing in the sun -
turn to Momma & she says,
you got the good DNA
Son.
No frown wrinkles on this blank slate
but when you ask for happiness
it's already too late
you've already got the egg and sperm
to mate
and the future's all planned
they say.
it's not just the 60% chance that your eyes
will be brown like Daddy's
and your hair is blonde -
it's not just how tall or
what food you'll grow up liking
it's what when and where, baby
All planned - it's not your choice
what you want.
So if it is -
what next?

i don't really know why i take this pill
people outside my window play beer
pong in the heavy summer afternoon
it is such a tradgedy, such a burden
to be born rich.
"BORN RICH - THE TRUE LIFE DOCUMENTARY, INSIDE THE LIVES
OF THE CHILDREN OF MILLIONAIRES."
Dream, when the day is through
says that old song....
how do these marigolds grow,
i thought i knew the words all along.

Yesterday i pulled some flowers
out of the dumpster, fake
lilies and white roses
the bouquet sits
on my dresser.


-- ---- --- - --

Twenty-minute hate. A screenplay by, E.T. BEGOODE.

TEACHER ENTERS. She is a youngish woman, shoulderlength brown hair. Knee high gray skirt. She points to the blackboard.
"Now, children, we are going to review what we have learned in this unit on American patriotism."

Children begin reciting as she points to the board.
"Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas..."

Board reads:

I hate slow people
I hate smokers
I hate democrats
I hate college professors
I hate ladies with big hair
I hate southerners
I hate hippies
I hade pro-choicers.
I hate canadians.
I hate Wal-Mart.
I hate Mexicans.
I hate coca-cola.
I hate organic farms.
I hate clock watchers.
I hate society.
I hate soccer moms.
I hate foreign cars.
i hate wrestling.
I hate welfare mothers.
I hate starbucks
I hate poodles
I hate banana peppers
I hate waiting
I hate recycling
I hate subways
I hate gas-guzzlers
i hate Britney
I hate carbs...

to be continued...

are babies born with eyelashes?

what about those creases
those muscles made for frowning
do they grimace in the womb?
or wait until the touch of air
to try out their new faces?

it's a gray day, a sleepy day
and i am content to lie on my bed
in the soft cool of still-new sheets
and watch the cars pass by outside the window.
From upstairs the footsteps of a neighbor crease the ceiling
echos from the hallow staircase.

yesterday i ate the ice pops
my feet beating a track across the dusty linoelum
to the freezer.
one by one, i cut them open and let the ice run down my throat
the sharp plastic rigid against my tongue
as menacing as a razor blade.
Don't forget to keep the reciepts
i think, my eyelashes crushed against the mattress
don't forget to reset your password,
look up the bus schedule, cook some pasta.

maybe the bed will become a work table,
with watercolor thumbprints on the sheet
cadmium and aquarmarine--
outline a marigold and a bottle of wine.

or i'll retire to the egg-crate print of the couch
watching the ghostly figures
repeat as they blare "Moment of Truth"
and my head opened to the possibility
that my neck is no longer made for support.

the time is tired, perfect, now that the sun is gone
ransomed by gray vapors --
held somewhere in the atmosphere
and my feet look forward to the respite

accusations
(a new theme)
1. wide eyes
2. furrowed brows
3. grim mouth
4. hint of tears
5. pale or blush
6. fists
7. colors: red, dark,

Angry Girl Club

"So I was wondering...
I mean, I do want to see you again...I had a good time."
It's not you I don't like. It's your pathetic platitudes, words full of excuses for your kind.

It's always the rain

It's always the rain

It's always the rain, like that - soft on the roof
A silvery fog around you
dripping from the fresh new green
leaves under our feet drench us to the knees
and it's always the rain.

It's always the rain, heavy on my head
running down my eyelids
to the corners of my voice
a thick film across my shoulders
we always meet in the rain.

I always long for happy sunshine
but this melancholy is apt, it suits you
it makes me wonderfully sad
to shatter puddles with my toe
and wonder -
when will it rain again?

little duckling

today i saw you, beak wide open
webbed feet flayed across the asphalt
splayed in escape
like your perilous cries
"Murder! Murder!"
you echo choruses before and after
as your too-soft baby wings fan the air.

May 19, 2008
Angry at dreams, I wake
promising to trust no longer
those betraying visions.
Even in sleep I question (what are your motives?)
and even in sleep my mouth is full
full of dust so thick i cannot speak
cannot dare to let it spill
over my lips in question: (What are you doing?)
How can you lie beside me -
and love another? (You cannot, cannot)
but you were just a vision
from my stupor -
my selfish, jealous subconscious
that grasps at straws,
those thin straws of dream caresses

~Variations on a theme~


I won't promise not to hurt you,
because i know i do
and i won't promise not to love you
unless you tell me to

and if i had a different heart
I'd tell you not to cry,
I'd promise it all from the start;
But things are what they are, so for now
I promise not to lie.

I won't promise not to hurt you,
because i know i do
and i won't promise not to love you
unless you tell me to

And if i should break these promises,
I'll promise you some more:
that you can still hold me
til i know what i'm searching for

i never promise you impossibilities
i won't say, "i'll never hurt you"
but you do
and the bruises from your words
turn brown, like muddy pondwater
seeping in my soft flesh.

our separation broke you down

last night i dreamed you appeared, trembling -
frightened by our touching.
rationality gone, wandering, calling,
(where was your composure, your planning -
didn't you fear i'd see beneath that shell at last,
at last see you're really crawling?)
and I stopped
held you,
told you (what you wanted to hear)
the only words that would save us both.
"I am afraid."

I woke comforted,
yet knowing,
It isn't reality.

I laugh, because in dreams, I'm the one who must be trusted.
truth is, in dreams,
you're vulnerable
and I'm afraid.

truth is,
I'm afraid.
But you know that - you don't need to ask.
And I'll still hold you.
Trust or no -
what of that?

Comme une fleur
sans le soleil,
je suis perdu.
Comme les nuages,
je n'ai pas une bouche.
Juste comme moi,
je ne peux pas parler.

cold oceans of you

exist/to appropriate/ being/believe/breathe.
dream.
lie/alight/aligned
across/cold/oceans:
you.

something to believe in

here's something to believe in.
like a dreaded spot, showing dark in the film--
pinned up for everybody to see, to see and
point and stare.
I was always different they say but here's the tragedy:
i'm the same again. and again! How can this be?
Selfish, selfish, selfish.
I tried to hard and yet the future's
past again and selfish selfish selfish i sit with chocolates and crumpled paper napkins, like the wake of some great hurricane.
I used to have eyes like paper prophets, sucking the fear out from those unwashed faces: my world was wonderful sometimes but yours just gives me stomach-aches.
and now it's all money money grab grub food food fix me fix me!
why did you bring me here? I screech, i really didn't want to be here.
I thought, I thought i was ready and different i escaped my earthly womb but i was wrong -
I don't want to die. I don't want to die. Miserable mantra of self-loathing, they laugh you poor white girl you've had such hardships.
She always has trouble with those crazies, he said, laughing.
Well i do too, those attacking crazies in my head like whirligigs
insects upon the water: again and again and again they tell me:
fail, fail, fail. You didn't get a choice.
they're all like me: same, same yet feeling different and all they need, all they require is something - anything
to believe in.