lamellae

i was thinking  this week of how you
 were stronger than we gave you
credit for, how you disappear then return
 with a new twist in your story
how that story ends back where you began-
 struggling to breathe.


()

your mother took me fishing as a child.
i was not a good companion, talked too much
as children will.once she told me how
you fell out a second story window
when you were two.  mostly though
she didn't talk while fishing. if we hooked something
at the end of the cane poles, she wouldn't let me
take it off. you gotta watch out for the gills
she'd say, handling the small bream gingerly.
 she removed the hook with a pair of pliers.



()

 i got  a call at college saying if you want
to see her, you better come soon.
when i got there they told me she caught
pneumonia last week. she's dead.
she was swimming in her own fluids
and just stopped surfacing.






(*)







you always showed up   thanksgiving
at one of your fellow orphan's house.
we'd talk, exchange numbers then promptly
lose them i asked you about falling out the window
FALLING? hell no, you said staring pointedly
at your brother.  i was pushed. you were not pushed
says my dad. bullshit i was there!
i was PUSHED.as teens
my sisters and i visited your ranch. we
 raided the fields for mushrooms
because my older sister said they could make you fly.
when you found us in the back yard,
daring each other to take the first bite,
you took a sip of your highball
and said girls, you gotta watch out for the gills.
if they ain't purple, you best not eat them.







()()




the lobby of the new hospital
out on 27 is a soaring vault with lemallae of glass,
sunlight breaks apart in prisms, dapples
the italian marble floors. my flip flops flap
noisily during the long walk to information.
you are in room 455, progressive care.
in my hands, a vase which holds
 a floating lily and a purple tetra.
i set it beside your prone body, chest
struggling, oxygen mask on your face.
we share the same lungs. remember, i whisper,
you have to watch the gills.

pull the trigger, you're born

k so, my daughter has a child now, and what i'd tell her
if she'd listen is "forgive yourself". she knew parental love
at a  younger age than i. whatever nuture you knew as a child
  will be the one buzzing around your window
with stingers and desire .  momma and daddy can't give enough -
 disappointment is a renewable blade
in the life of prince and princessa. that's
just how it is. so forgive your self and this want
that you brought here. you did your best.
unless you're an addict that neglects your kid.
you gotta stop that, get your shit together. today.
or give em up. don't kill them. that's just wrong.
you don't have the right.

or do you? i mean if we say you brought this need into world
now deal with it because we don't want to feedhouseclothe it
then don't you have the right to kill it,as long as you take yourself along?
you can't leave yourself behind you know, self preservation or not
i mean come on, once is a mistake but twice would be a crime.
gangsta has its own rules i guess.


that's what i mean about the wasp outside your window.
you can close it off, you can keep it at bay but it's there
to sting if you open up. you can live with its
buzz and bite, can't you? slap the dog or the kid they gotta learn
who's king round this place. queen. whatever.
it's nature. that's nurture babee.

so yeah, i don't go there, really. a petty thief is what i am.
i steal things you won't
 miss, or if you do
 you can't prove it
waa me..
i house, feed and occasionally bathe
my brats, and i love them
don't you lay a hand on them, unless
 you're babysitting then
you can be my pinch hitter, give them
 the proper pop.  i clean up construction sites
at night. i could be  a dancer but i gotta
stay away from the drugs.
 for my boys. you know,  anyone
 can take a block of cheese  from the store
 or an air tool to pawn.  i pay the sitter 20 a day,
 30 for nights. there's a character,
my sitter.
 i had to stay with her for two weeks after
 my babies' daddy threatened to kill them if
we came back from the pizza place. he was crazy mad,
hunter was whining since we got home
and i just pulled the hot pizza from
the oven and put it on the table when he flipped
the whole thing  over . "just shut
 the fuckin kid up!
 shut the fuck up!"
 he screamed
in hunter's face  which of course made hunter cry even louder and i said well i guess i gotta go get moreand that's when he said it.so i  grabbed the boys,  my purse and phone and left. i ain't going back, i told them while we ate little ceasar's in the parking lot. we can get your stuff later, but right now  we gotta find a place to stay.
so i called her.
my sitter,told her what happened.
 we ellll she said
you can stay here tonight. we slept on her floor for a month
bought food for the entire  house, numbererd:
her, her four year old daughter,  her baby daddy,
 her  seventeen year old  stepson and his girlfriend,
and the guy they met
 while fishing down at rocky creek
who was sleeping on the couch.
she has  a single wide trailer
 with two bedrooms. her daughter sleeps
 behind a makeshift wall that cuts off half
the living room. there was a single
 mattress  on the floor
for me and the boys. hunter was in love
with her  snotty nosed,tangled hair, mulberry stained
daughter, she always smiles. i think she is an idiot
i worked  everydamn day that month
 to get out of there.  when she asked
 for more money,
 i broke down
and asked my mother to let us stay
 with her for a while. i couldn't believe
she said yes. i spent eleven years in foster  homes
because that bitch was so strung out
 she couldn't even get us
 ramen noodle soup or get us
off to school. she was quick
with a fist though. once my younger brother
 woke me up with a smack in the face.
i sat up with my hand raised but he said mom's dead. in a really flat voice. i believed him.  you wish i said.and  no, she wasn't dead. just passed out colder than he'd ever seen her.i knew enough at eight to dial 911. lucky for us, i guess, she'd paid the phone bill. otherwise we might have had to stay in there till she woke up or escape out the window  on bed sheets tied together, i don't know. the door was deadbolted triple locked and and chained.  i didn't know where she kept the key. this woman
is still alive
 because jail was  her
cold turkey. after the state finally
took  us, she got into hooking
ended up killin her pimp. she was always
quick with the fist. 15 years
 second degree murder. she only drinks, now.
but i don't trust her. she's still wiry
 and she drinks like a 12 pack a day
after she gets home from her rehab
 sponsored job at the shrimp factory
.she says it's better
 than the prison laundry.she likes
the temperature change. she watches tv
 in her bedroom with the door closed, but
 i still feel like the kids are too loud.
 hunter whines
everytime i go out of the room, even
 to the kitchen three feet away. james
 is a little brute that plows through everything
but he hugs his brother,  to get him to stop.
 when that doesn't work
gives him a pop. i
 haven't worked in three days.
 my truck blew up.mom gives me a look
 when i tell her. she thinks
 i should dance.you got the body,
 she says. even after two kids. raises
 my shirt above my belly, tickles the flat spot.
 it shocks me
 i'm always expecting the fist.

caught in a meme rev 3

-love  as a three act play

 i could tell you
about my craigslist forays--
there's a  woman's looking
for a guy your age
to take care of, preferably
homeless with an addiction
she could feed,she loves
to cook--
but i clamp down
the urge to supply you
with different or a need
to question ownership of the mix
i smoke. you're off

to some well traveled city,in a mid rise suite
pasting together words in a way i envy
without malice and yes, there should be
a word for that, but
admire doesn't carry the requisite pain.
i skim your phrases, look for recollection
or remorse or something left
in all the letters between us.

i tend to flex my muscles at the wrong time,
arrive at the table after the candles
are extinguished, apologize
for the future.  again.

so when you arrive,late,i won't whine.
 i will interrogate
and rail a bit, piqued
by thorns of our shared sin.
but no whining.
when commfort food's on the table
even cold, i'll eat.


 ********(__)*******


late last season, we wondered if
we'd make it past those dim short days
into the wild winds of spring.you held
me-  apocryphal in declaration,
bristling with intention.

tornadoes pepper the midwest now
roads infused with glacier
 and flowers bloomed too early, drown.

still i see beginnings, i see
opportunity in mud and slick and  straw.
you see sky grayed over,wan sun
on lit tips of clouds you can barely
see but they sing of iced summer
with a lemon twist sipped
by a red-head whose emerald eyes make
impossibilities of your stuff of dreams.

how once you had that
you could never go back.
how once back
you thought deserve
was the same as to have.



!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!(__)oooooooooooooo



no wonder you couldn't sleep
on my bed's bare rubble,
stacks of cracks filled with slack lack
and mandible mornings,
disappointment dossiers on the dais.
let's compare notes.
fake the statistics till they tell us
what we want in three studies or less; let
elegance and simplicity trump  the complications
of a mandlebrot with broken syntax.

 the band's on its way. pinks
 peek from hazy blue eyes
closing on the coming dark.
 an orange cat's curled up in the sink,
been there all day,paws over his eyes.
ashes on the floor remind me i'm a writer.
you come in to talk,but i'm looking for
 the voice of my great-grandmother
to hop into this keyboard and hold my hand.

lost format

-love as a three act play if i could tell you about my craigslist forays-- there's a woman's looking for a guy your age to take care of, preferably homeless with an addiction she could feed,she loves to cook-- but i clamp down the urge to supply you with different or a need to question ownership of the mix i smoke. you're off to some well traveled city,in a mid rise suite pasting together words in a way i envy without malice and yes, there should be a word for that, but admire doesn't carry the requisite pain. i devour your succulent phrases seeking recognition or remorse.flex my muscles at the wrong time, arrive at the table after the candles are extinguished, apologize for the future, again. so when you arrive,late,i won't whine. i will interrogate and rail a bit, piqued with the thorns of our shared sin. but no whining. comfort food's on the table . it's cold .let's eat. ********(__)******* late last season, we wondered if we'd make it past those dim short days into the wild winds of spring. you were apocryphal declarations, bristling with intention. tornadoes pepper the midwest now. roads, infused with glacier and flowers,bloomed too early, drown. still i see beginnings i see opportunity in mud and slick and straw. what you see is sky grayed over, wan sun lighting tips of clouds barely made out but they sing: of iced summer with a lemon twist sipped by a red-headed woman whose emerald eyes make impossibilities of your stuff of dreams. how once you had that you could never go back, how once back you thought deserve was the same as to have. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!(__)oooooooooooooo no wonder you couldn't sleep on the bare rubble of my bed. stacks of cracks filled with slack lack and mandible mornings, disappointment dossiers on the dais. let's compare notes. fake the statistics till they tell us what we want in three studies or less. elegance and simplicity trump the complications of a mandlebrot with broken syntax. the band is on its way. pinks peek from hazy blue eyes,closing on the coming dark. there's an orange cat curled up in the sink. he's been there all day, paws over his eyes. ashes on the floor remind me i'm a writer. you come in to talk,but i'm looking for the voice of my great-grandmother to hop into this keyboard and hold my hand

honestly, i am written out. not because i have nothing to say, there's plenty. just no words. i am desert silent and i can't say why. horrors haven't stopped. everyday a new massacre. i'm beyond fatigued. every place seems like vegas. what i can't shake are the things people desire. even when i understand the craving the adrenaline rush there's always the instant crash that leaves me shaking with anger at my stupidity seen reflected in everyone's eyes. even yours you would have loved it there. sin city in the bowl of the desert. one should always fly in, fly out. to drive is to see a backbone better left unexposed anorectic, dry, pumped up with unsustainable doses of man made drugs like water, grass, trees. the desert will eat these for breakfast then come to you for mid morning snack. a perfect place to house desire. everything suseptible to spontaneous combustion.

the canyon

aidrove through the high chapparal yesterday
it's true, purple sage and aspens vast vistas, like cowboys
would appear driving cattle or mending
iconic stack wood fences.

in the distance, wind farms and mountains
mostly sage, mesquite, juniper.
here's something pictures don't capture:
you don't sweat. wind constantly licks water
from your skin. it all leads up to clouds
that won't cry, moving softly over the canyon sky.

you think you're hot you think
the rain would fall, moisture
seeks the lowest point.
the desert tells you you're wrong.
but this is not desert. this is desert's
cousin, where green litters red rocksides
and clouds melt and build
in askin somewhere above
this cavity of earth.

stand on the rim, look down
into that vast deepness, the juniper
clinging to the side whispers like the ocean.
and far below a stripe of blue
representing water, reflecting sky



* if you were waiting for an accident this is the place to find one. vertigo hides behind every hand rail. you feel the jumble of bones incipient.


these vistas belong to the world
hollywood brought them to us
now we flock from all corners to gape at something we could not create
to such scale. see it for yourself



clouds just planted a kiss on my hand
wind swirls like a dizzy mazurka
a few more drops, she's on spillage roll.
whining high as she slips through the flagstaff.
it's not so much rain as clouds, bleeding
out, torn by the winds they create

come sunset they will get all sacred
invoke native gods
much weaker than guns.,br/> water tease.




*****

at the rim, three women stand side by side
backs against the guardrail, hands held high
in the classic selfie pose. there is a man
facing them with his own camera
taking pictures of them taking pictures
of themselves. the canyons yawn
behind them.



*****


the bus runs every ten minutes. they get crowded quickly. a french family boards, smelling of europe. they speak in broken english to their american host, who explains slowly how much cheaper primitive camping is even though it will be dark because of the high fire hazard. wind blows pinion pines into ocean sound, but fire roars. a japanese american family with five children have to stand in the aisle. they squeeze together , giggling as they roll against each other at each start and stop. a toddler begins to cry, wants to sit in mommy's lap, not daddy's. do something, shut that kid up a woman in a tie dye t shirt mutters. indeed, we're all hot and tired by now overwhelmed with a sense of longing for the inside of the canyon. vast stretchest no human could inhabit. passing through. in the crowds on the top, in the packed busses those vistas represent heaven, unattainable. we can only stand at the edge and yearn.

i think i might be the goddess of rain

i'm in arizona, it's monsoon season they say
and i've got cloudsin the desert. headed my way.
one thing this trip has taught me is never go outside
without your shoes. if you get locked out or something
you cannot move without shoes.

i can feel death laughing at that.

so this place is cool. there's a man made creek
behind every unit that doesn't have a rock view.
 i let my hat stay in the car, so i can't be out long
but i wanted to watch
a storm form the distance. it dissapates
the unrelenting sun. i thought it was
bad in fla but this is a different scale altogether
it's not the heat, it's the lack of humidity.
water moves quickly here but theres
not that much of it.
wa

practice

lol, wonder where it goes?
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