rum on the storm draim-

in  a bottle, plastic.
last night's pre quelled ice melter
leftover and running .

i watched a video translation
 you did a year ago.when i thought
words more powerful than flesh.
delusions i held  despite recursion's
absence.

the windows are open
and someone's moaning, maybe cursing
loudly en espanol.
but wordless.

there are a hundred and twenty crop circles
making the rounds, one for each prime number
under 6 . mathematicked into the corn
  wheat and the natural pace of nirubu.
if you can read this now
it was all hoax.

the mayans just wanted their temples returned
cuz quezetacla's ascent
 in chich in itza is a pretty awesome
solar powered video.




(())


i think lili blew the candle out







she is amazon   crosses
arms angrily over her chest
juts her chin out, imperiously
berates  mom and grandmom
in an indecipherable rant.
her blonde parrot head, mouths
 repeated tropes
 isotopes for the cancer of  the soul
we bring her. and it doesn't stop
i want to take her out of the mayhem
but i am the hot front meeting cold
and then we all expolde

your fingers a kaliadescope

north hemi glacier winds
a quarter turn off axis, azalea spiked.

mornings you could wake me
 with orange blossom promises

if there were guns  in the house
that would really fuck with my head.

soft silk skirt, shortish. heels. purple thong.
 ready for the way you move in the dark.

short story on a bullet head, bang.
confetti stuffing, slidesshow  hollows, stolen lines.

music saving life  from mistakes, please
pay the radio bill, crank the tunes up.

your fingers a kaliadescope across my back
spring arrives, bits of shell and bright beach glass

tripping over sorries

somewhere she is found a haven
for   madness. on flintstone feet
all our pretty girls sweep disney st.
in cinderella slippers, waving


gothic tunes and bloody tampons
sitting on their thrones disgorging
gifts from god. pray no each month on
bended waist and chocolate orgies

hoarding water, flushed away in
private boudoirs, crimson taled, saved
again,o lord, by just teeth's skin.
rejoice, renounce the ring engraved!







*



when i look into your eyes i
want a time machine's erasure
stumble on regret's sweet pyre
question what i'd give for measure.

lives of ruin and pain,what gained?
  we would have done better given
proximity, knowledge, one refrain
of a love we could have lived in.

twas not to be, we get the dregs
we made from mistakes and bone head
decisions, oh my bad, another keg
my friend, tequila and one more dread

the last, the parting glance, hurrah
the past, the art of dance, sirrah.
























*(


can you tell i got bored?

still, the way you hide
your eyes when i look closely
i want to feel you here
  where we are now
come back to this future
let's find a way out.





























*(&

















sorry, i thoguht i was talking to my ex.
he lives in the body of the child we crushed
and taught a thousand lies mostly about love.

sorry you thought you were talking to your ex
she lives in the mind of the child you mangled
full of blame, paranoia and anger

nuff to go round id say.
sorry bout the confusion.
lets try again another day.

popcorn vs ride cakes

tonite was a split decision
with kale soup and three grain bread.
if you buy the tequila, ill pay you back
instead of all that lonesome humor
gone to waste, paper in a fire.
 . i will admit
to the munchies. that much is unquestionable
but this burning mouth cries lemonade
popcorn, something a little less foreign
while waiting for the night to begin where we are.
curled deep in a sleep that rightful worlds
extend past ladies nite grinds into love me do's
that surpass chart top  success.

did i mention the ants don't like the artisan
chips?  i'd personally like some guacamole
or salsa. they're a bit dry. the mom bakes
cookies in the toxic kitchen. i've asked
for some help cleaning in the morning
but no one knows what the weather will be like then..
i figure the baby could use a break
from 15 hour sleep cycles. lord knows
where daddy's been now he's got his truck
and his license back but he needs to get his ass
over here and pick up his daughter
so she doesn;t sunt like a sunless flower.
meanwhile i'll just eat these chocolate chippers
and thank god for normal pursuits
even if god is the munchies that lurk in the weeds.

canary in a coal mine

made shrimp pasta tonite burnt
the butter and lili's fingers
and her mother
did not place one word of blame
not one spiteful bitch
even as her daughter screamed
in that surprised at such pain in the world yelp
half intake half howl a burn conjures.
not fair! not fair! the flesh
protests and raises mounds of sacrifice
in cells as white as ghosts

  child and mom battle over ice water
in a bowl in the bed, i convince   mom
to let the poet calm her child.
it's the least i could do.oh baby you burnt
your finger, it hurts doesnt it? yes, wanna bowl
in the bed. need it. neeeeed it. yeh, what did you learn
from the burn? don't touch the pots on the stove.
that's the lesson. ok? it's bedtime
moma is not gonna let you have the ice
no matter how much you scream.
it's not gonna happen.but she gave you
a popsicle.. rub her back, sing can't always
get what you want.
the rolling stones totally help. she remembers
that song, the day crazy, homeless abbey, she and i
got in the car to get tacos and fries
driving down the road, singing
at the top of our lungs
 but if you try sometimes
you get what you need.
oh baby.

 i retreve  raggedy andy
of the torn shirt
and broken foot from the mayhem
of the floor.  he has a burn too.
he wants to hold the popsicle, let's find it..
can you tell raggedy how you got your burn?
don't touch the pot,raggedy, don't touch it.

 sometimes popsicles
sometimes poetry

why i go on lava

still?
you have a bf now.

i do. i dont
know how to spend my freee
non dating time now
that i have some more cuz the man's
being a dad, is that not sick? can't
find something else to do when he's not around?
go on LAVA?
tg he's not a jealous man.
but he should be, apparently i
am not a stand by your man woman
i dont want to have to take care of your mess
i have enough of my own.
that i can't clean up.
im also mentally unstable i would not
bake cookies for christmas and send timely
thank you notes i am waltzing with self
loathing and the windows are open
bc the ac broke on the end of the world
and i had to go to orlando to cook.
it's not an emergency it's january and the temps
are in the eighties. let my daughter learn how
to weather the coming of the warmth.


so why lava?
it's men at their basest.

ahhhh, so you don't want a new bf?
no i want my bf to be able to be with me.
i want to do things with him. i find i'm in the same
situation i was when i was with my ex husband
staying home, waiting for him to come home as well.
i can't do this again.

so it's not sex?
duh. so not.

but  lava allows you to...
flirt, feel attractive, hit men in the plexus or wherever they're most vulnerable
the men are on there for fantasy
as am i. i get off thwarting their desire
but i really don't.
 behind each chat i can
 feel them jerking off
with ten windows open
 hoping for a voyeur
a fellow traveler .

and you don't join them?
i reply. not in their manner but some
will turn any reposte into another jerk.
it's ok though. i always tell
them to imagine
it's so much better that way.
i am your multiplexed dream fuck.




*(&())(&)(&)()*()*(


ampersand.


sowhat about the lettuce
the burnt finger on the dike
the aloe, disappearing.

i don't know why i can't become
what you want without all this work.
to complain of my circumstances
is all i do. wah! so i do not write.

these certainly arent poems
that i live through right now
right now i'd have you in my arms
taking the pain away one more time.
i'm not the way i should be, trash
on the floor, signage on the door
go away. dream state in five minutes.

i wanted to write again because it used to make me feel good.
  i was doing something i was meant to do.
why wasn't i meant to raise a healthy daughter?
now when i write my back takes over
the ache in my neck is all consuming
but i detach in a way. close my mind with tequila
and weed. speaking of which
lets load a bowl, spark a joint.


















*(&


i could go to tarot
haven't done that in a while.
how long, or lord how long
we talk about positive thinking
bringing good into our lives
the power of plus.
last nite i read an essay by
a behavioural scientist who is convinced
we have no free will.
so if i can't think positive there must be
a genetic/societal reason
and it's not my fault dammit
the gods the gods the gods






oy vey. my aching back.




















(*




so yeah, the universe as mind
is finally gaining ground. do you think
this is close to the time we wake up?
after we map our code, trace
our neurons, axons and gluons
into the outermost regions of the big bang
see the eye as it died into us
will we simply, as the zen masters say
wake up ?



what then homey? how long before you're
exploding into the streets of calcutta how long
before you're bacterium on the banana peel
and really, who cares?
when you get bored you go back jack do it again.
and you get bored when you already lived it all.









(*)




i'd like to surf the verge
you put together on the night train
between budapest and tarzeelan. but
that's what movies are for
watch the stars as they fade into
the morning, losing face and voice
to the overwhelming force of the sun.
try as we might we cant get the rest
of the satellites on the grid.





*(&


the real reason, doctor
that i'm stuck in my room
is the overwhelming need
to clean the filth that is in my house
when i emerge from it.

and the concomitant bitchiness
that naturally arises from these actions.
so to keep the peace i sequester the ogre
in the confines of her half of the house.
write the night away.
accomplish nothing.

at least tonight i quit the damn thing
quite early. quite bored. i want
what i want, but mostly i want to be with you
not some fleshtoned zombie from the internet.
hope i'm done widdat for a bit. awwww shit.

unfinished

pieces  of glitter litter the floor,
celebration seaweed,  skittery leaves
over a weekend car park, small
flocks of birds, returning to  changed nests.


i wanted to be in all of you, at once and distinct
i wanted to heal through radiation, see-right-through-yous.
what i failed to really grasp was how frail is
all that matters.

i hear a cry in the night.
 yours, mine, hers
laughter down the street
just as well.

all my diamond sutras, shining.
why don't i smile?



so i do.
but i do.





























*






the child is three.
patterns begin, begin to be
broken. this thing in my chest
hollars with

water or altar

chat fight in the drama trailer, crews at eleven.
i can't bear to transcribe it , it's all such a sick deja new
he asks me don't i think my writing has become
more concerned with death or has it always been that way.
hey man,i dunno,  that's what i got you for, triangulation!

but i don't tell him. this title was meant for a better poem.
 like leona's smile, meant for a better home.

i just can't drown or burn all the bad choices i made back then
and nothing  i can ever sacrifice will be enough for the maw that is her mama's soul
thanks to you and i. so yeah, i'm tired of trying.
self help books are fine n all if the ppl you're in group with
actually come to the sessions and read the assignments.

unfortunately one of the main players
wont get with the program, wont admit the need
for a program on her part, thinks her choices are finefinefine.
well then do it without me baby. here's a torch, light the fire.
here''s the ocean, sink or swim, here's a knife, just cut the cord already willya
two babies in da house is one too many
this mama gonna blow.

gettinoverit

not quite sure how you did it, but i threw myself
into another hot mess real quick. i guess going back
to your cold one is comparable,so i'll just go widdat.

   so many photons knocking
 so many holes into a prefrontal canvas.
i had a fever this week, but the pictures

 are still burnt in differing shades ,mostly blue.
i should understand by now that means heartache
but that's the shell i want to collect.

your voice on this machine is brown
like you never gave up daydream warmth
for  machine gunned sex but i'm

probably delusional.  anyway, it added water
to my pool for thirsty gods.  after three days
the fire burns lower, i waken earlier to stoke it

but there's no bacon . i think the most
i can hope for is cold pizza. thats good
i am weary of burning my tongue.