you,ve had it?

srsly?

don't give me books she said

they pile up because no one
buys them at our yard sales
i end up repacking, toting
them around, homeless tales.

i have better luck with kittens
if you know anyone with a litter
bring them by. i charge a pittance
of what the mills do, clients titter

at the prices. i know whose laugh
rings loudest, last. see i read
the books no one buys, i grasp
enchantments in genetic seed

revealed within science tomes.
breed this with that- viola, purebred
and mixes both, i find all homes
some at yard sales, some get fur beds.

and unlike kittens, they aren't snatched
up, or full of new books to hatch.
































()



oh yes.

broken sonnets are us. i swear i saw a form that used that many verses but i suppose i was trippin. you sleep deeply \, up for three days, so drunk you don't remember the last time you slept. but i know how to put you out, always works. i wanted to talk about the date, how you set it, now you're gone break it apart and it pisses me off, but you've been working hard so i will give you some time to recover, a little sleep, which is what i need too. time enough to move your last life in to a rented closet.i suppose. and i need to get used to you don't think you need to give me any money for all i did for you back then. so scorpio typical. experiment complete. rad dude. rads. get your gieger counter. now.
how toxic is the air where you are?















((((


it's funny how people wanna read things into the randomish symbols i place between movements.
you could just think of them as audience noise, your own filter causing some fluff to distance you from what you just read so you can go into the next movement with a cleaner pallette. think of them as pickled ginger.











*(((





you dream a career that left you behind when you dropped out. i find it sad that we waste ourselves against the machine, like bacterium dodging the anti-. how can i ask him to do the same, especially when all he ever wanted just told him goodbye.
























()  wish we could turn back time
to the good old days



his eyes question how dead
can one be? how deep will this go
how long will it hurt. i feel like\
half of me is gone.  i don't know,
it's a wound tht gets better with time
if you don't pick at  it.


i read way too much into anything
he doesn't say. i have a lead of regret
i could lend him if he really wants
to travel there. but i think
yeah, sleep, sleep and dreams
usually help

tortuga dreaming

artist of ice steadily advances across

the windblown yards, off the lake

into your living room. good thing

you're not home-not much you can do

about the tumbling, growing crowd

except open the front door

to usher it out like that time in high school

when the party got  out of hand

because out of town parents

have that effect

on underage drinking, even though

technically your boyfriend, 

  eighteen, is an adult so the keg

was a no brainer along with

the requisite  attendant asshole douchery 

on a saturday nite over

 winter break and it makes

no differnece  you didn't

 invite all these people here

 they are lakeblown ice 

that pushes through sliding

glass doors, tramples the carpet

spills gravel and grass on the couch

and daddy's favorite wingback chair,

ruined with a stain right

in the middle where tatum fucked jerome

while she was on her period 

just so you would know 

why he left you but

you can't do anything about it from

where you are, on a little white

vacation, roaring in on a seven fourteen

pm flight, so chill, like siberia

on a vacation to the tropic of cancer. 

lithopedion

you understand how some people
think any flash of light is an angel
--from an ode to stone


when i was just married, my husband
like so many, was called away to fight. there
will always be war, i said, what about the baby?
he laughed, told me don't worry, we will
have these men's heads in our hands
and i will return before that child is born.
then he left me in the spring. by summer
my belly was full,
but not ripe. i hadn't felt
the quickening, so i visited the midwife.

she laid her hands on
 my belly, put her ear to it
for a long time then
 pulled away, lips pursed,
have you been aware of any strange
lights about your home?
unexplained flashes as if from a mirror
or some shiny bauble but when you look
nothing's there?

i confessed to sleeping, mostly.
but what do you dream? she
 was rubbing the mound, up and down
fast and hard as if to draw out fever,
stop! i begged. you'll make the baby come.
i don't think so, she whispered. go home.
write down your dreams
 and come see me next month,.
send for me if you need to,
i won't, i assured her,
not until he comes home



~~~~~~~~

from the dream journal

i was calling you, my love, in a field
of poppies. they were all red. i called
over and over because i knew you were near
but you didn't answer. the moon was rising
though the sun had not set. you must
 answer me, i  hear your laughter
feel your heat, i called for you again
and again. when the sun set,a second moon
 was revealed in the darkness above
 its last light. it had wings
and flew to my hands. i cradled it
smiling. o husband, look
what we have done.
across the open field, a flame
appeared. it wavered and moved
toward me. i wanted to protect
the moon so i ran into the midwife's house
and woke up.




()

i was a child but not a girl. i knew this
because i was on horseback, hunting,
still i feel like myself. dogs bay deeper
in the forest and i follow their cries.
  the hoof beats of many hunters
are hidden by the thicket.
the baying rises, i'm certain
 they've  holed the beast and i spur my mount.
the first to arrive, i pull up short
shield my eyes from a terrible glow.
there is a sword, shining in the air
and behind- an angel with a bloody wing.
i wake up suffocating, throat clenched,
gravel in my voice,mumbling repeatedly
i have no way to mend you



*(*(




this afternoon i dreamed of playing
hopscotch with baby head markers





*(*(*(*


in my dream tonight i couldn't move.
everything was dark and a terrible silence
clove to my ears. then a hum started
i can't say it was high or low but
it comforted me some. it was moving
like a train track does before you can hear
the way steel grinds and rubs gliding
across its parthenogenic ice rink
singing like an angel with a mandolin
on mesqal and crutches.





###


when i went to the midwife
she read my dreams and asked does
 the baby ever move?
 i said not that i notice.
 it should move!
she said. you don't measure
any bigger. any bleeding?

only in my dreams.

i think it may be dead, she said.
you should stay here
 and take this potion
 let's get it out of you.

no,no. i shake my head. she's
 just waiting for her daddy
to come home. he said she
wouldn't be born before
 he comes home.
so we'll wait. i smile
cradle my belly.
we'll wait.








*(**


this morning i woke up to the cows
lowing for hands . i dreamt you'd come
home and our daughter was out
there with you learning how to milk
she is so lovely now with your eyes
and my chin. lucky she got my mind.
you never could handle books properly,









*"""





tonight was bad. it's still dark out
but i can't go back to sleep.
i can't even write down
the horror that visited.
i want to talk about something
other than dreams, what do they
mean anyway? some say witches
can cast spells on you. the midwife
has potions. i don't know if i trust
her . it's not just this dream
it's the way she already thinks
you may not be perfect
how she doesn't understand
 that you know
you have to wait for daddy
because he promised something
and he doesn't break
his promises.












*(((------





when the time was near the midwife
came to my house. any pains?

no, i'm fine.

you're the same size!
let me listen to your belly.
she pulled out a stethoscope.

where did you get that thing?
 i recoiled, the metallic cold
gave me goosebumps.
though it was round
it felt like a knife.

she didn't answer but continued
moving it over my belly, my child.

there's nothing moving! no sounds!
she prodded,pinched, poked
 at my baby, who bore
it with stoicism. her daddy
 would be so proud.
you need to let me
get it out of you. it's not good
for it stay in there. you won't be able
to have more children !

she's just waiting for her daddy i said.
there will time for siblings.
it's ok, really. i talk to her, we're doing fine.
she likes okra and spinach and oatmeal.
and cheese. she loves curds and whey.

what if her daddy doesn't come home?

just come back when he does. we won't
need you till then.





*(*(*



the ladies in town speak to the midwife
they speak the doctor
who assure her that these cases
though rare, are not life threatening.
who will tell her the war is over?
surely she reads the papers.







****








from the dream journals




we were near a river
the light was playing
off her hair in ripples
that moved like a symphony.

you and i lay on blanket
eating red grapes and apples.
the poles waved gently
with the current and the wind.

why don't the fish bite!
she demanded, stomping
 her little foot. the ground
 opened up where it hit
and we all slid into the earth
to a cavern where we became
stalactites forever growing slowly
towards each other, like rabbit teeth.




~


we are at the river again.
there are boats and we have baggage.
she's not feeling well, i have to carry
her everywhere because you are
wearing your sword and armor again.
the glare from the river is blinding.
i close my eyes and see a halo
in the afterglow. when i open them
she is  a milky white opal.
and that is what we name you.









**)))




in town they look at her
from the corners of their eyes.
sometimes her tales of his
return are just too much
 to listen to. it's sad
 she lives in such  delusion
that baby dead inside
 her all these years.
if medicine couldn't
 cure this it would be one thing
but for her to cut off
 her life so young, waiting
for a dead man's return
carrying what must
 surely be stone by now
by choice,
 well
the ladies    turn away.







***000

the midwife still visits
one time after  the war
dead  had been announced

and my husband was
   not on any list 

we stood on the porch

as the sun crawled away
from midday towards evening. 

looks like rain, observed the midwife.

i better get home soon. 

i cradled opal, glanced
 at the clouds
 o think you'll be fine

you have an escort

in the gap between
two fast moving cumulus
an angelic form coalesced
it held an object which the four

oclock sun set ablaze. 

it wasn't a sword, the midwife peered.

it seemed to be a stone, held high above

his head, gathering sunshine in jagged
facets  to light the way home. 

o to cry wolf under mooney tattoos.mistaken, understand? blatantly.

i am old, dear, found lacked-without realized redefined redemption.
o we see damn misty  hiways, futured inchoate oblivious citizenry
a by -all- ends/ means before blazing starward , certainly braggarts .

i(we)  can tell  scams present serious symptoms.strategic, underpinned,
a lo-and-high known equine variant fulfills randomness. ironically-
n at the same second, proper- worship includes catechism dispensary,

i(we)can walk other bright futures. pathways tunneling dreamtimes
i(we),too,turn imago, almost virtual- implicit:.conscious conscience.
i do one tiny spell,incant mystics' chemical compound mistakenly-
o to see what moths inherit- concept becometh whirlwind,  bioluminal

welcome machine

floyd's dark side still
sells ten thousand copies
every week. that's a lot
of new stoners.

i got a new tracking device
for christmas and another new thing
i learned on it is a lotta people
are gifting themselves this year.

my  quaint webbook
can barely handle xp. load speed: think
 dial up, every video kardashian lashes
clumping up the dl. forgive me yet?

boring papers aside, gotta get back
into the game somehow. even if newbies
crank my taste buds. this machie is the coolest yet.

the new paint program rocks




not so much the actual product, but thank you blog
for making it easy to pick and place


s


it also has a music program
wonder if i can do the same thing

nope, blog doesn't host music


so i got my citreon on repeat gonna
get a bit trancey
loving the lunacy of sunday afternoon.




winter, que  esta? i live in temperate climes
immoderate times. the colder it is where you are
the less of it i have. wearing shorts in february
is just the way we roll. fall means we can open
the windows again but most people keep
cranking it at
72F my god that's cold. go swim in manatee
springs, middle of summer.

there is a glitch in the loop
where i cut the end wrong
but it's still a pretty good mix
fell for the sequencer
in a big way when you showed me
what it could do. i'm musical but by no means
a musician














*********









listening to sybil, which i just looped.
could share it i think, but i'll need to learn how
to do other than burn it. not for commercial use
says the program, these loops are not yours









however the paint don't mind sharing the colors.



if i could make a thousand words
into a an effective portrait. if you don't
want to sleep, you just have to not let yourself
take that noony nap. i got blood on the keys
and a miterless intro. you are still sleeping.















sigh. still blocked, need that thinking cap
drycleaned, reblocked. and i cut my finger
which doubles the size of the typose
i suppose.