Is it possible to be "home" now?
I feel like I have been
eaten alive
upon my return,
and it has been less that 24 hours.
Indiana:
"Tap tap" two orange handled shovels hit thier square heads against the dirt and roots at the bottom of the tree.
Two men holding them,
raising them,
dropping them -
weeding.
Julie behind me,
her fierce head covered
in a baseball cap.
Coffee, Sharpie, new journal,
humid breeze, cement square,
Pall Mall's.
Bleeding. Heavy.
Warped Tour, Part III:
What the fuck?!!
Can I really sweat this much?
Ms.Young feels like
something from home
in this humid zone
and I wonder if I sound
stupid
saying so.
. . .
The sunsets have been
so spectacular
that I could not erase them
even if I tried.
The connection is soft and sweet
but deeply sexual
and full of heat.
What is it that offers her allowance
to run away with me
evertime I show up on her
blacktop/dirt stoop of transience?
I want to flip her
hold her down:
pull her out
of what she holds so close:
watch her scream
as it rips away
and flies
into the summer's heat.
I want to reach so far into her
that she cannot breathe -
so that when air returns
it is fresh
and new
and exciting:
and never quite the same.
Another sunset passing -
this time in a field of lightning bugs.
The moon rose dusted
by speckled clouds
that made faces at us in the
yellow glow of nite.
She catches lightning bugs,
or tries to at least,
we talk of today
and of our many yesterday's
she kisses me
Her eyes brought the drunk to my blood,
the heat brought the high to my head.
Two Boca Burgers later
we're saying another good-bye.
Thursday, December 7, 2006
The Next Day (July 28, 2006)
Portland, OR.
It’s the only place I could get to remotely close to home.
Bobbie’s house – Mmmm – Fabric, sewing machine, French press coffee, glue sticks and crayons. Magazine pages ripped and cut all over the art table, the floor… the house. I didn’t even call Bobbie – well, I tried to – just came to her doorstep unloaded myself, grabbed some shoes, Bobbie and a neighbor and headed out the door. Some boys paid for us ladies to get into the bar – butch buys whiskey and Pabst.
Portland has no repressive heat in the morning. Feels strange to
smoke : write : drink coffee
in the cool shade with no burning sweating skin.
Home.
Almost.
What will I do today
while I wait for my goddess in shining amour (?)
to pick me up in Portland?
So many options for a single grrl on a Sunday!
Saturday Market, even though it’s Sunday.
Bobbie’s phone in my pocket – Ang’s voice in my ear.
March Fourth Marching Band
:::: seriously CHECK them OUT (marchfourthmarchingband.com) ::::
creeping into the crowds after jumping from a fire truck.
I love intelligence wit humor and talent.
I love the NW in this moment.
Hanging out on the blacktop again:
75 degree dry heat laps my golden shoulders
like a dog that’s been left home alone for too long.
I can breathe again.
Staci next to me in an apron with a persona to match.
I love the magic that my will can create.
I can see the heat planting gaseous waves that swirl upon the page.
I am warm : I am intrigued : I am satisfied :
I am in love with yet another unfathomably beautiful moment!
Pink mini skirts, stilts and leopard print flit across the front of the stage before me.
They are teasing their audience with appearance alone.
Staci is passing out African food samples to the passersby
and I am smiling at the glittery cowgrrl in a Zorro mask across the way.
There are two boys in stilts now
and I spy a tube lingering with a Mohawk.
My spelling gets worse the harder I try.
I miss my cello.
I miss my bed.
I am moving again.
Now, in Olympia will I redefine mercy as I curl up on someone else’s mind?
Will I rediscover community and benevolence?
Will I be reminded of humility and reconstruct the idea of humble?
My legs will itch to keep moving, I know this…
but I will have to sooth them soon at the draw of summer.
But, today….
Today I am free.
Today, I am conceived by the Universe.
I am blessed and falling in love
with myself
intensely and immensely.
I think I will propose to myself again
tonite with a bottle of champagne in the tub with a cigarette…
No one else loves me better!
“Charlotte Bronte” the stone bench outside the library reads. Two bikes stacked next to me, blisters on my feet, just the one broken toe. Two steps later Bobbie’s face smiles from down the street.
I miss Julie right now in this moment.
I’m sad that Julie is missing this moment.
Crowd disperses as daydreams erupt.
Circus jazz stars mingle with those in awe.
Sun splits in slits through the breaks above
and I am satisfied
in my belly with the fruits of summer.
Evening rings a tone in my ear,
my turn to flip the knife in Staci’s kitchen.
Facial hair dominates the conversation.
Am I satiated?
Contented?
Belly full with romped desires
swimming : breeding : growing : sometimes dying :
splashing around in my own words,
memories from the past few weeks
come to dance close in my waves of never-ending thought.
Was that a pass she just made to me?
Memory: Bobbie, “I only make out with people I’ll sleep with.”
It’s the only place I could get to remotely close to home.
Bobbie’s house – Mmmm – Fabric, sewing machine, French press coffee, glue sticks and crayons. Magazine pages ripped and cut all over the art table, the floor… the house. I didn’t even call Bobbie – well, I tried to – just came to her doorstep unloaded myself, grabbed some shoes, Bobbie and a neighbor and headed out the door. Some boys paid for us ladies to get into the bar – butch buys whiskey and Pabst.
Portland has no repressive heat in the morning. Feels strange to
smoke : write : drink coffee
in the cool shade with no burning sweating skin.
Home.
Almost.
What will I do today
while I wait for my goddess in shining amour (?)
to pick me up in Portland?
So many options for a single grrl on a Sunday!
Saturday Market, even though it’s Sunday.
Bobbie’s phone in my pocket – Ang’s voice in my ear.
March Fourth Marching Band
:::: seriously CHECK them OUT (marchfourthmarchingband.com) ::::
creeping into the crowds after jumping from a fire truck.
I love intelligence wit humor and talent.
I love the NW in this moment.
Hanging out on the blacktop again:
75 degree dry heat laps my golden shoulders
like a dog that’s been left home alone for too long.
I can breathe again.
Staci next to me in an apron with a persona to match.
I love the magic that my will can create.
I can see the heat planting gaseous waves that swirl upon the page.
I am warm : I am intrigued : I am satisfied :
I am in love with yet another unfathomably beautiful moment!
Pink mini skirts, stilts and leopard print flit across the front of the stage before me.
They are teasing their audience with appearance alone.
Staci is passing out African food samples to the passersby
and I am smiling at the glittery cowgrrl in a Zorro mask across the way.
There are two boys in stilts now
and I spy a tube lingering with a Mohawk.
My spelling gets worse the harder I try.
I miss my cello.
I miss my bed.
I am moving again.
Now, in Olympia will I redefine mercy as I curl up on someone else’s mind?
Will I rediscover community and benevolence?
Will I be reminded of humility and reconstruct the idea of humble?
My legs will itch to keep moving, I know this…
but I will have to sooth them soon at the draw of summer.
But, today….
Today I am free.
Today, I am conceived by the Universe.
I am blessed and falling in love
with myself
intensely and immensely.
I think I will propose to myself again
tonite with a bottle of champagne in the tub with a cigarette…
No one else loves me better!
“Charlotte Bronte” the stone bench outside the library reads. Two bikes stacked next to me, blisters on my feet, just the one broken toe. Two steps later Bobbie’s face smiles from down the street.
I miss Julie right now in this moment.
I’m sad that Julie is missing this moment.
Crowd disperses as daydreams erupt.
Circus jazz stars mingle with those in awe.
Sun splits in slits through the breaks above
and I am satisfied
in my belly with the fruits of summer.
Evening rings a tone in my ear,
my turn to flip the knife in Staci’s kitchen.
Facial hair dominates the conversation.
Am I satiated?
Contented?
Belly full with romped desires
swimming : breeding : growing : sometimes dying :
splashing around in my own words,
memories from the past few weeks
come to dance close in my waves of never-ending thought.
Was that a pass she just made to me?
Memory: Bobbie, “I only make out with people I’ll sleep with.”
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