Sunday, October 13, 2019

there are 2925 message in my gmail

there is a birthday present for a grand
niece bought a month ago sitting on my bed
waiting to be mailed. her address 
was texted to me last week and i have stamps

my bills are due i haven't written in months
and i feel irrelevant. if this aneurism explodes
it would be fitting. however, ahem. i'm not
quite ready to die. relevance is relative, amirite?

it's more the ache in my bones that leads
to silence. the munch scream contained.
how love it itself is pockmarked by friendly fire. 

yehuda amachi, i want to be able to bring
desert sheepherders into my poems
but i live in  florida. we don't have
eons of cultural animosity to cure
yet we have abandon and sunshine
laws, meth and method and inevitably
a gator will show up as the punchline.
how does one seek commonality here?
look in the Okechobee for answers.

once i begin it's easy enough to spout
keep fingers moving 
down the page
quaff a line. easy to  leave
the bills behind,  drawers cluttered,
belongings scatter, a ring
in the ttoilet. hoarding may be
a manifestation of missing impetus.
save it all, you'll never know when you'll need it.

my honey likes to go to salvation
army stores and save old bowls and dishes.
 from what he 
doesn't know. i tend to
 crack and break my crockery
so to have them in my shelves is pure doom. 
  cracktown is on his way home.
i guess it's cheaper than a nite at the bar but 
ima hafta hold back 
on dropping the overflow on the tile. oops.



i don't have many passions since i gave up writing.
i haven't given her up as much as put her
into the closet. told her i'lll get back soon but
other than a few texts here and there
i pretty much ignore her. and i've had some
innaresting thoughts, i've just been speaking them
outloud. return to the oral roots. lol. right.
so i'm pretty sure she stepped out of the closet
and went elsewhere.




















(


ok look one of hte things i need to say
that IS relevant and has the possibility to thornberg
economy. the amazon burns
every year more of it.  it's a war bettween
ranchers and the rainforest. becuase, say the ranchers
how will i send to my kids to university on cocoa beans?
so they grow beef. 

in a green economy, they would be paid to grow trees.
for every seedling x , for every sapling Y, for every mature
adult Z. 

that's it. simple enough. paid for in carbon taxes. beef can 
apparently, be lab grown now. atmosphere cannot.










)



i should pay those bills


Sunday, September 22, 2019

emapthy for what i want

last nite you called said
he said
divorce. i say lawyer up.
it's the same ol story, you do and do
and do and do again
till you have to ask for help which is what
partnership's supposed to be about
and he won't. just won't. you're not
the same girl i married he said you're
just a bitch now. never wonders why
don't put himself in your place won't
back off his horse, which is skyscraper
which is mountain then he lies
to the councilor with can't
live if living
is without you  you think
wow, he really loves me he
wouldn't lie to the shrink he
couldn't sing that song
if he didn't so relax then
one night you aren't fighting 
and he calmly walks in puts
a gun  to your head  to
just let you know
 two fingers point from his
 eyes to your eyes
like he was rambo
you're in his sights the clock
is ticking.




get a lawyer . i mean srsly.
he's either gaslighting you
or going insane. and then everyone
that understands what you're
going thru will be enemy.
he's setting you up
for a drop kick. and honestly
i'd think it was dementia till
you informed me how he financially
abuses you as both your boss
and husband. so . yeah. get yourself
out of there but do it smart.






*



but i love him .
i don't want to divorce i want
him to love me again .
g=hate is just backside
of love so why can't we toss up
and flip it back?
i mean i know he loves me.
doesn't he?
he says i've changed, and i have
but people change
he's changed too i told him
if he can't accept that leave.
so he
says i gotta change.
gives me 3 months.
it hurts so bad



Thursday, September 05, 2019

under pressure

ba ba boom boom

like the coffee in the morning
from espresson, i think i mihgt be
heating up to blow.

it's not that you've only conscripted
my talking points, it's that now
you don't like my style.

i'll be blunt i said
if that toilet isn't done tomorrow
i'm calling someone to finish it.

your comeback is you will leave.
i don't even know how you phrased it
i think it was if you insist on continuing
to speak bluntly, i will just leave.
i'm tired of bluntness

and what got to me most is not how
angry you got , i suspect i was expecting that
it's how ready you are to just leave.
instaed of the usual fuck you i got
this bullshit and i'm telling you
you don't have to have a reason to leave.
please let's not turn this into a cycle
of diminishing returns. i can't sleep
because of you. i don't want to sleep
next to you and i can't sleep away from you.

but i can learn to again.
so yeah i just am weary of being last
in your life. unless you want sex
for that' i'm still number one
for a while at least. once you get some
money under your belt, more will
be available. and why not? i complain
about not getting kitchen help
and you say you don't get enough sex
as if that's my fault, as if the two equate.
you not helping in the kitchen is the same
as me not initiating sex? for real?
i just can't get behind that tude.
one has to eat. i'm sorry i'm in so much pain
all the time, that i'm so weary all the time
that   my libido is dead. there might be other reasons
that i'm losing attraction to you, like
you saying fuck you if you odn't like what i have to say
or you saying you will leave if my bluntness
is not something you want to deal with anymore.
i mean, that's like punching me in the gut
and it takes awhile for the pain to subside.
meanwhile i want to talk to you less and less
about what bothers me. it's all so familiar.
it scares me. and now i've almost become numb.
indifference. that will get me through. the people
who are supposed to care about me act as if i
don't exist? ok fine. numb it out.
forget how to cry.  when you finally do hear me
you turn it into "you're tired of me". as if you've
pushed it so far on purpose, just to see how i'll react
how many ptsd episodes can one weather?








and
it makes me so sad i can't even cry anymore.
numb. space vacuum sad.

Monday, September 02, 2019

dreams of warts

was gonna say ghosts but i changed it he
said, waiting. that's a good band name i laughed.
i have  wit, i have the ability
to be funny. yes, if you don't get daft-

you can't do it on purpose. it seems
constructed, you'll look pompous. true dat
he replied. but i don't try. so they stream
naturally,like skeeters and bats.

yuk, how long you been waiting to use that?
she scoffed. as long as the lines in your face,
he reurnted, shot her down,





****88











oy

















***













titanium

this song made me cry because
it's about inner strength, and about
being bullied. and my nine year old
granddaughter identifies with it so well.
i fear it's her mom, it may be kids at school
but nevertheless, whatever it is, i can't fix it, i
can't protect her from it and she's still
so innocent and then i think well of course
she is her mom has been overbearingly
protective of her and when mom
came out to me how she must have been
sexually assaulted at a very young age
because of memories things she knew
about when she was, she now realizes,
too very young to know. so, i knew
nothing of these attacks at the time
and i asked her if she thought her dad
and she said no no i can't even recall
what it was, who it was and i don't think
i want to delve into that, because honestly
what good ?
i mean seriously this girl has been against
therapy and doctors
since her teens and she's wrong. but i have
stopped arguing with her.
her road , she's driving, and that's her choice
there, little granddaughter, hers
to fuck up as she pleases. oh lol. we all
fuk up our kids and if you don't think so you
prolly got a li'l hitler in your orange tree.
only you won't see it. all the more's the pity
when he guns down a baby because he got fired.
yeah, titanium.







Sunday, September 01, 2019

picture this

here i can't post pics

that's not my thing on this platform. i'm trying to find
a voice again, one that fits glovey
wonder if it's all me ness like the we ness on ello.

i thought about why we don't write anymore jack
and it must be because we're getting old.that and
my newest addiction, at least 5 years old now, the game.

i began playing bc my honey needs attention i mean like
a lot. at least i can listen and not have him invade the game
like he invades my writing. and why not let him in?
he thinks he wants it. until it's embarrassing. and the truth
is always embarrassing.

today you woke up in a rage, ranted about ak47s
and the people at work. said you woke from a dream of it
but you wanted to live that, standing in our living room.
how does one deal with that? i try to not take it personally.

and here i stood at the very window where the screen
was pushed into the night
 \booze couldn't change  the way
we were over, i'm editing inline jack
i have lost my voice, pin it on my body
bury it my bag ,raise it on a pole.so i can
find it again.

*****













here's the rub. i see the same process we went thru
occurring in successive iterations with every human
exposed to the joys of social networking.
we get caught up in an alt reality, where our friends
can't talk to us face to face. no headbutts allowed
but no kissing either, yet they seem more real
than the people in real life. irl. the way we shorten
words so we don't have to type them out then
how the acronym  becomes the word used.
instead of laughing out loud in life we lol irl.
for true. haven't you done it too?


so now what? i can't join in. i can't suspend
  disbelief that the utopia we talk about is possible
that we will move physical bodies into alternate
places, that we will meet up and get along without
this glass between us. thanks first nameless internet lover.
you couldn't take the heat too, when the truth came out.
but truthfully, you were right about my writing then.
and it's not much better now., a bit less bathetic.jack
i thought you had taste but it was just a justification
to read something besides yourself. i was am so earnest.
is that the personality of the boomer?

i hate that i am
 associated with this generation.
no matter i try to protest
 i was born in the wrong time-
a tweener, they never talk
 about us, but obama fits and he
 ain't no boomer.meh
 maybe he is
he was not into  UHC.
and he now lives on martha's vineyard but
j'm  not a boomer, They
 dressed me like this
and this is not my nose, it's a carrot!
  however i understand
my demografic voted heavily
 orange last election
and it saddens me, deeply.
i don't own no boomer house,
 i don't drive no boomer suv,
i don't vote no boomer filosofy.
 save the goddamn whales?
how bout defeat
 the pacific plastic patch? someone
 do a l'il mermaid
cartoon about that.
i'll watch the grand parade safe
 in my hovel, hoping  the next
 hurricane and the one after
 misses us though someone's gotta
 pay. not you, still
  bringing the storms tone deaf
 as always, rose, you
call it straight on a lucky
streak of one
pat yourself on the back,
have another
 drink of those writer's tears
 too often it
brings an obligation
 i'd rather refuse
 so payment takes
 a backseat again.



***


sayonara my blessed white
space the silence between stanzas.
no more. we have to be constant
the next post, pic,  paragraph feed
the collective conscious consisting
of billions. we are stars
exoplanets quazars. constant
as a hubble on plank based diet.
that's what i told you so i can't say it
to anyone else. if i could have
i would have loved you
until tomorrow, then.





***


and jack, jack how are you
in your midcentury modern bed?
i wonder if i've become a meme in your poetry
the golden glow you watched
from the sidewalk, in the dark.
grab the easy rider handlebars
jump on the banana seat
shout l love you as you leave.




it's ok. we were never gonna be
anything but master and student
unwilling. my recollection
isn't the same as it used to be
the photons go white
a toolbar crops up when you need it least
the person you should be writing to
knows this for them but
it's a shame to name them.























***



shame. what a concept. we all act
in ways that we need to.
but you know. if not for shame
we'd all be fucking animals.
i worded that poorly. if not for shame
and consciousness of the impact
of our actions on others
we would go though life
acting out every whim from
thievery to murder. so if god as judge
is a manifestation of self consciousness
and empathy it's from necessity . without it
the human race would perish from greed.
as we are witnessing. the models
were wrong. it's coming sooner.
build an ark if you want to come out
the other side.
i cannot imagine why you would.




Tuesday, June 11, 2019

half a gram

i dunno, i miss writing. but nothing i have to say
seems original or worth saying. i've lost my voice.
i gave it to love.

not complaining.  sex
is such a power thing. all of it.dominant
the desire to inspire desire.
and we need it.

 honestly sunday
i was null. i just surfed reddit and fb all day.
i let her sleep all day bc it's summer
vacation and you said your best
memories of childhood were
of the times you got to sleep in
and had no commitments, nothing
to do. she slept till sundown. but it's ok
bc your house is like that.








*






the world hasn't ended yet my friend
even tho after dinner my fortune was empty.
i kinda feel that way. like i'm stuck here
in this work/eat/sleep place where the dreams
i can dream are truncated by coughing
myself awake.



the world hasn't ended and the work never will
but the rains began on sunday. everytime i say
that word i feel her.

your mom is hoping that this date
will snap you out of it  your recovery
seems to come like waves. i don't care
to  ride your fundamental religiousity surf.
so i wait till you land, either head in the water
or in the sand.


was thinking how everytime i steal a line
i should quote it. the scarlet ""

e.g.
"so you become a poet like that's not some kind of failure"

or something like that.
i guess have failed. i can't travel
europe with a backpack now
not that i ever wanted to i wanted
to stay in jacuzzi loaded air bnbs
i don't wanna camp it out but
i wouldn't mind walking it out.
i haven't even seen all of usa never mind
america. didn't go to mexico or s/a or
even the bahamas but i got out of the country
at least. went to canada. that was
a good time. i did want to travel
and i got poor and scared almost starved
to death, tied my self to an abuser
not his fault i'm still not blaming that man
even though the way he acts he now
is his fault so i guess you could say
when he became an adult. ...or wait
i don't think you could ever say that.
he does not adult.







that's not to be mean. it's a fact.
i don't wanna think about him.
he pisses me off. he IS an abuser
just like the scum who almost killed him.
a snake's baby gonna be a snake.





that means my babies are snakes . no
only half breeds. i'm a salamander
so their snake got shackled









*


it's five minutes till i should be
at work. no such thing as should
i will not be at work in five.

but i wrote this am
and that may be a start.
only smoked one smoke.
i can't admit it was inside
or i owe five dollars to the house.


















Sunday, May 05, 2019

a to b?

it's a circle, that's what they say but more
vortexish i believe. my grandfather was the writer
i think the only thing i inherited from him till i look 
at my son's widow's peak his lack of baldness he 
got some genie genes. i pull the memories out of the bucket
again, spread them over the bed. the years mix together
a stew of lion's club pins, crafted bumblebee pins, starbux pins
here's a worthless AS degree(occupational, as in this girl
studies just enough to be dangerous) and the text to the high
school play grandpa wrote and produced. in high school.
a newspaper clipping from 1975 of my great grandmother by marriage
 called a pioneer in her small town citing her involvement
in girl scouts and the order of the eastern star. i remember running
to her house when we visited the grands, she woudln't walk
the catty corner backyard to eat dinner with us but
we three girls always wanted to visit her. her house,
when she died, was located directly across the street from
the 2 storey with a sunroom where her and bio granddad
raised their blended family- two daughters and a son, her
two daughters and the baby girl to cement the union.  my grandmother
was the middle child of her father's first marriage. her mom
died in the influenza epidemic of 1912. we didn't know this,
she was always gramma mac to us and my grandmother
was the only one of the children to stay in the small town
where they were raised. she had a piano in her front room.
she never played it but sometimes she let one of us
lift the lid and finger the keys. we were her stepgrands
but we didn't know it. i never met her husband, he died before
i was born. i believe it was the two women's special hell
to be so close yet so far apart. my grandmother was not especially 
astute. her stepmom was a former teacher in the Northern states
and Canada, a Teacher's Normal College Graduate , Woman
of the Year in her small town five years before she died.  not
the kind of woman to suffer fools gladly. it explains why
a woman who had no other children nearby never attended her
step daughter's Sunday or Holiday dinners. as a child  i   
thought she was an invalid. we'd run the 2 large lawns to her place
and enter her stuffy house. 
if we were lucky we didn't have to eat the dry banana bread
left over from her children's visits, she'd break out a new one.
unwrap the foil, give us softened butter to spread' i should ask my dad
what happened between her and mom. i could ask my aunt
but i'm not talking to her. these copies of my grandad's
achievments in the club, the copied text of his play, all come from her.
after she died, she sent a copy of gramma's death certificate with
these random pictures. once this stupid woman took all the family
photgraphy books from the late 19th, early 20th century, bound together
in heavy bookboard, with explanations of the people of holds her 
and the history all in place and carefully pried all the phots out of it.
because she thought she could sell the books for more without them in it.
there is a copy of of the marriage announcement in 1937. my mother, 
born in 1939 holds her first daughter beside my sister with her only. 
a letter from a girl i knew in college demanding an answer slides onto the floor.
i don't know what to tell her. my grandpa's speech in underneath. i don't know what it was for but the woman who attended to gramma's estate thought i should have along with : a couch
china closet, dresser, bok case, metal desk, dishes, tv, pots and pans, while she has questions on
lamps, tv stand, microwave, little oven, dryer, tv tables,which will be taken care of at the time of death by the granddaughters, one of whom borrowed 4k and only paid back 1500 so that's coming out of the cash settlement which was how much again auntie? can we see the statements? no, not this photocopied mess that you sent when i refused to talk to you after you asked for the dressers back a year after she died when i was going through a divorce. "when can i come get them?" she asked. pretty much never, bitch. 
i suppose she'd love to share how much she knows about this woman, her and my mother's only grand. but i really don't care. she died a scant year before my sister and three years before my mom. why did she get to live so long? again, i think it was punishment. a fete whom no one feted. and here is a column from erma bombeck, good worked overtime to create mothers. and here are my wedding pictures from 30 years ago, with grandmother(who also was awarded woman of the year in the same small town as her mother, whom, she says, taught her to give back)and grandfather standing in their front yard under the bower of roses we rented for the apparently shotgun wedding, according to the man who asked for my hand for 5 years . he tore these pictures from the albums i left when i left him. i dunno. the wedding happened. my family was there. his was not. he had none worth asking and i didn't know why.12 crazier years later i found out how badly he was abused. i can't blame him, i can't hate who he was then. i thought i loved him when we married. we had two children. here is my son as a baby, here is our daughter playing ball, here are my parents in front of the washington monument the winter they had to leave my sister in intensive care to go get the first experimental treatments on mom's stage four melanoma, here is the poster my son made to protect our water, here's the first christmas on our own, me hugging my son and daughter, we're all smiling. the roommate who left four months later took the picture. i was left holding the rent. later a boyfriend burnt my apartment kitchen to cinders. my grandmother's buffet and the 100 year old rocking chair she gave me , both victims of a grease fire. i don't know what to do with the wedding pics. the old boyfriend popped up on friends' facebook today because i went looking. here's a pic of my baby girl crawling in our first house and here is a third cousin with a friend of my daughter's, a member of our girl scout troop, who overdosed when she was only 18, home for her granddad's funeral in her first year of college. here is my mom on the lawn of FSU in her first year, before she went back home and married daddy. here is my older sister in gramma mac's sunroom 8 months later. here is the letter from her bitch sister telling me she will be taking the furniture i moved from their dead mother's home, the home she insisted i come to while she and her husband took time off from their two weeks of caretaking her terminal mother. here i am, twenty years later taking that letter and wadding it up, picking up a lighter to set the grandmother blanket she sent me this easter on fire, picking up my phone to snap a pic an post it on facebook so the bitch can see how she treated me while i was GOING THRU a DIVORCE. here is my beautiful fifteen year old mom with her homely 8 year old sister, here are me and my college friend on a canoe on the hillsboro river, yes, she's flashing you, here is my former sister in law, who only escaped her abusive husband when he, the baby of six, died second. she taught me how to make banana bread. not my great grandmother. here is the first company dinner as a single. i brought my best friends.my son at six months and again at a year. here are me and older sister, 2 and 3 sharing a present in the front yard of the yellow house where i decided one halloween that i did not like tea.
a copy of player piano with disentegrating spine. the pages need to be reset. time exists all at once in this box . i wonder if the letters from my pedophile are still in that bag?