cars are host parasites

until we cannot live with out
the silver of her flank
the soft purr of the engine
the give of the pedal beneath our foot--
wind over the seatbacks.

and we will do anything gladly
to have that freedom back

daffodil
rows of yellow heads
factory farmed
three for a dollar
are you a number
just like me?

i know these clothes are coming off

a slow soft chirp from outside the window,
the squeal of tires somewhere on the pavement
someone else is awake:
we are not the only two.
behind the blinds the world would be fuzzy
if i opened my eyes long enough to look.
I wonder what I am supposed to be thinking,
but all i want is a green sea of solace.
i got what i wanted
(what i planned, in agitation running from wall to wall
while i put on my red dress and smoothed my legs
and touched my breath)
All that was for this - all that waiting
so why
do i feel so sad and slow,
The happiness giving way so swiftly, to a soft despair
and i wish to be elsewhere.
Perhaps a new pair of shoes, a glitter, a silken fabric
Perhaps these will fix me, save me, fill me
make me a new, a better person.
Then I'd be armed
With a coach purse, a skirt and a bra and some perfume
I'll be ready
for all the times you're not really there
(somewhere else, if at all)
After.
We lie on the bed in silence and i
want to shake myself awake
and bow down to consumerism,
that baudy green goddess, whose lips have tasted all my fantasies,
whose breasts have shaped my dreams.
Buyer's remorse, retail therapy, impulsive buying--
that's what i want now
to drive along the strip of lights forever,
without pausing to sign a slip as the imaginary earnings dwindle.
what's it all there for
what's all my time been making--
but wristwatches and high-heeled shoes, lamps and mirrors and shows on Itunes.
After all,
isn't that what girls are supposed to do?
Not lie in the dark and wonder
if i dreamed this world or it dreamed me.

parking lot blues

the world is top heavy
over and over
breakfast and sausage lines on the white tabletop
the sticky smell of pancakes
rubber burns in the parking lot
a thickly turning light is green above the wavering of wires
the switch of the wheel beneath my feet
and the world is heavy
careening
down this early morning
this late afternoon
adrift in alcoholic haze
the way I answered an email written last year
as though it was yesterday
and the future still looms but it's
heavily
here

Robin read breast

Today the cold air
buoys me up
a robin chips

the terms of being human

I have come to realize that part of being human is every once in a while we do something completely stupid, risky and selfish. Then, after a few weeks of fear and guilt have worn off, we do it again. We continue to repeat this act, waiting for the consequences to finally crush us.

they're not what's important--did you forget?

suddenly, I remember.
I remember-- a fresh white parting of lips
Fresh a breath in lungs
smooth cobwebs disapear.
A relief lighthouse
on this coast
the storms have passed.
I speak aloud,
i scream and laugh as mad
I remember:
"They're not important!"
This silly statement grasps me
for my worst fear had come
and now quickly gone:
I forgot what was important.
My life, my breath, the cold tone of truth
i know there's no one there for me
and yet, alone
is the better misery -
knowing this, i could rise
& touch those shaded tops
where the firs quiver
and console my foolishness
in ever forgetting.