kinda ghetto

my new ebff informs me
my self image is catastrophic
like falling off a tower, fantastic
i reply, i'll survive this?

tells me to let go of the self interest sword.
i turn to the cat all "is this true?"
she  likes the jazz trance sound track
and my hand on her belly.just purrs.

i think my subconscious said it best
dreams deceive as well as inspire.

we've been efriends for a while
but the bff is new. anyway my
friend tells me i gotta temper
myself but i gotta strike now
to make the magic work.


i say i could do it
but my heart is a fist.

only two beliefs removed from reality

So this manuscript thing is still feeling kinda
stupid. my best poems have always been spoken
with no one around. the things that finally go
on paper are bad copies of better times.
here goes pandora again with a strain
from my past. music can cure you kill you.


When I began writing I liked
 the concept of smaller poems. then
i began reality writing with encouragement.
i want to move past that if i'm really going to submit.
I still feel that poets must condense, distill
 the experience of   a synaptic
record, a 5 second
byte  of mutlimensions
using words alone   to  encompass
 the three dee world.

eden and djuana are very good at that.
haven't heard from eden in while.
but i don't go looking. i work best
under a spell or short sharp jab.

So, all writers have different process,
different tastes in what they like to read
which influences their own voice.
Which is fine, as long as we stay away
from parroting. When the board was in full swing
you could see the osmosis take off. Moods
wrote words, words pinged memories, memories
juxtaposed with dinner, gold dust sprinkling
our plates. oh it was a heady time for experiment
we cut and ate from multiple plates
a virtual burning man debate

 poets don't have partays
anyways,we have soirees
but the party must end
in order to begin again.

the partay now is taking that picture that cost me
a thousand words, posting it on your page
because we come here to share
in the beauty. we use memes
new mediums for the timez, cut our rhymz
with gold grillz designed
for the apocalypse, '84ing tweeter text,
 flash mob  the next   anonofest.
but the nsa  the kgb  the google bug  a chinese bee
is hiding in my bonnet, little drones of culpability
for the things we say and do and tag\
the things we share, all our brags  lined with schwag.
if consumer's what they what, consumer's what they get
as long as they give me a chance to win that gold corvette.











*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*








so the poem. how to write that? in form?
no form? form an different form break the form
from forum unknown?












*(*(*




i am not catholic
but the form appeals to me
saints , demons, confession, penance, absolution.

sometimes i read comments
on tragic news stories
 and despair of transcendence

time and light unfolding

in looking over my opus, i realize
this is not my beautiful life.
why do i not write about mists
and visits, the comedies of grandkids,
lovely flowers, the beauteous folds
of a sunset?
is my life actually as bleak as i
write it? is my outlook so cynical
the single wonder left is
 i still live?

individual memories tend toward
pain. mine i mean. but my overall
feeling at this stage of life is how much
i've been blessed/cursed. so Job of me.
  reading over old writing because i thought
well they've been in my house, crowing
a superior caw, on paper. t

they must be worthy of re examination.

all i can say is got to 13 and despaired of finding any less cringeworthy in the rest of the mess. yes,
i read it all, much of it double and triple times bc that's how i printed them. to read at open mic. and
triple cringe, people, i have indeed read them at open mics. no wonder i'm given wide berth.
 hugs and love yous can't breach  the writer's chasm. i think it may be my own fear of stealing their lives, write them as if they are my own so i distance. i have been her kind.

because i wrote
so much of my daughter.
 i love her very much
 but she has decoded   genetics
from mommy's games, that's
only mine for blame. i have to be ok
with that. i was not, apparently,
a good mom. whatever she
gives me now must be enough.
the writing  was only therapy.
she says i was abusive and negligent.
not in so many words. just the way
we can't understand each other
at all. to not write that out
on a message board must show
some learned restraint?


lol o blogger you are so funneeeee.

she lives by fb. i love her. hold my tongue.


Time line. falling off the edge of a page, do you
really go back and look at the fb presence
of your ft friends, just to see what they been up to?
what will you speak of if ever again you meet? what news
odyseus, from the odessy? it's all captured
like writers have been trying to do for eons.
this is the new collective memory.

(just remembered a trick for authoritative voicing:. when a question poses
itself, turn it into a statement .)



















*(*(*













there is a man here, again,
a new one shares my bed.
i wish we had met 30 years ago
before either had lives. he loves me
as i have always wanted
my lovers to love. do i
say that every time?


he seems utterly enchanted.
what spells weave subconsciously?


we were speaking of the sub, found
another disagreement. the autodidact
  wanted the expert so they both
 googled. by default.
she wants the next start up searcher
he likes semi- verifiable information.
they agree. cited resources are truer
than anecdote mathmaticly. sometimes
she is he and he is i.







*




clouds can be considered fungible
because of robust fuzzizity
 accounted for in the specs.
i think we could say the same for animals.
we are all   paper cardboard cutouts
a bit more substantial than internet avatars
until  bu bu waaaAAAHHhhha
the matrix. i referenced that so much
nostalgia can't begin to describe it.
the clouds outside are girding for a storm
and i need direct contact with real life photons.












*


my love is a hoarder his love
for recycling taken a twist
since the bank repo. of course
i knew there'd have to be
a twist or the bottle wouldn't open.

inside is pain free medication
dosage uncertain. outside is
a bit stressed and crowded
a li'l bouncing off the backboards.
a bit o crazy scientist, a match
for a crazy poet. like jigsawed.


we will be the ones who
did nothing, lived and died
 neutrinos caught in a crossfire.
that's ok with me, specially
after looking at that crap i wrote
the last ten years. but for him
it's hard. everything came
too easy: sun, rain, corn fed dreams
multiplied by the midwest middle class
why can't you get a job, o my phD son
asks daddy and the son is perplexed
bewildered, baffled by a tornado
he didn't see coming. and damn
how easy is that? caught in my own
whirlwind i can tell you, line of sight
is rather limited....life just gets away
and suddenly you're
i can't decide whether to say old
or 50. it amounts to the same thing.
the body betrays for real here.
you understand death as immanent
i guess that's why generals have no probs
sending young men off to war.















*(((












my life has been filled with beauty.
i think the pain has been equalled
in volume if not mass. beauty like clouds
sailing swift as a sunfish
on the blue jersey shore or
the way you look at me, tonight.

saturn makes diamonds

or some kinda jewel.

so right, i leave my lights on
battery dead again. the sky
has serious lightning in the east
and setting suns in the west. people
i've worked with for 26 years
don't even turn their heads
as they try to beat
the storm. i sit in my broke ass car
waiting for them to ask or say
bye or something but no one
looks my way, most especially not
my ex friend whose ignore ance
still tears me up these eighteen months later
good thing we weren't lovers.





^*^*^*^*^*












i came to terms with poverty
by valuing try. end run around
the out of bounds, thumbs up for
participation. . there is do
and there is do well. neither sits
on its ass.













*(



the raggedys get a makeover




i found a sock of yours
in the sock basket. single,
abandoned, outgrown.

andy: armless, gutted, candy heartless
piebald, stuffing spilt, you push it back
inside, asking who did this?
when is andy going to the doctor?.
his foot is chewed but he still has that mona lisa smile.
his twin fared better. only her skirt missing, one foot
empty, collar torn off. both are stained.

it's a hello kitty sock. i cut the top kitty
off and pull it over andy's evisceration.
the elastic holds nicely. the green stripe
matches the toe,  cut into a hat that hides
andy's bald patch. there are , as yet, no arms.
the feet are still missing. he says they itch
and he can't scratch them. but he likes
the new stomach. please don't hide,
he begs,a piece of candy inside.


annie has a new pink hairbow
it matches her hair but shiney.
the middle of the sock is her new skirt.
she's glad andy and her are twins again.
her missing foot itches too
but at least she has the skin and hands
  she leans over and scratches andy's stumps.
















(*____





it's ok now, you can go.
i think we had a good time
back then but the ghosts
are getting weary and thinner.
it's time to make the next
best times of our lives.
they'll  only be pale if you keep them
in the past's shadows.


here now. be


















:)


yoda speaks and the crowd
wants to hang him from the cynic tree.
with a bed sheet. let him dangle.
and jerk. till his bug eyes go dead.

don't you feel that way?
murder all around you? even your reddit group
full of american psychoze?


crows line up along unused phone lines
crossing estrella and clark with a quiet
menace. it's like, ok sybil. just because
you stopped listening , the portents still speak.
the long thickish black
 flock crossing the sky at dusk
remote water caligraphy brshed
over  crepuscular neon ships
and canyons looming
 with lighting lasso to  capture the last
wild horses released by  prism
into the spectrum of genocide and grackles.



and please
let's not perpetuate the yahoo sideline circus
that is reality show journalism. thank the singular multiplicity
we were
we were singluarly togethering

multisingular.

thank multisingular oh that is clunky isn't it?
singmult

singulti


oh kay, my new name for god in all its forms is singulti.





can we get an amen on that? life uni and dougy a.  singulti.!
all praise singulti. bashalam a ah led hey ya , ahhhh man
it's still religion. what if, say you were a free radical
travelling between the cell walls, just kinda bouncing in and out
giving the RNAs something to think about, i don't think
an organization kinda thing would work for you
so you'd just keep pinging down the bloodstream
till you were out of site, singulti.

























*(&


i was thinking, and it bothered me
that i can't really love you
and have you at the same time because you
have to be who and where your life is making you
into and innocence is for the bardo.


why did you destroy those dolls? not once.
several times. now you want to play with them
want me to fix them up but they won't be the same
and i do not want to haunt them when i'm gone.
woah were did that come from. the freaky tales
of key west  dolls --chucky's reality base.
the raggedys are the only dolls in the house.
  you dn't play with dolls very often
at your house/ prolly gramma's house
is more sedate.








(*)*







so ima go to the hospital and instead of getting sewn up
i'm getting cut out. the place where you came
uninvited yet somehow welcome. woman's
blessing and bane, this organ we hold inside
waxing, waning, needing,bleeding
i remember catching you as you fell , my soft fields
cradle you. rest now my li'l one.. go dark
go deep into saturn's furnace and forge a self.
that's how we all begin.  in mom's  crucible of skin
blood fueled,  V8 hormones, geronimo eyegleam./


















()()()()()(


been saying for years
let it stop. barren by choice
but not childless, i bled for nothing.

let it stop. but i didn't think
it would have to be, like, ripped from me
because it misbehaved again. oh well,
i guess the sometimes we have to cut out the darkness
so it doesn't bleed us dry.
i think i'ma miss it but it's better this way.
i hear i'll have more energy. i could use a vacation from tired.
go out into the sunlite, watch the doplets puddle into diamonds
inside the elephant ears. get lost in the reflection.