i am the making
of some kind of melting
of weeping
for believing
joy
must be watered.

happy hurting world
world full of mistakes
foots in other people’s mouths
world
without shoes lost socks
heartless world
helpless world
empty it to fill it again
starts with a question
starts with
why?

today
i threw money out the window
and slept under it
dark deep sleep dreaming
of your penis
and how it deserted me

i am having the sense
that i need to be quiet
i am waiting
to hear something

trying to stay cool
but not too cold
what is too much
of anything?

i am having the sense
that i need to be still
i am also waiting
to write something

is the work done
now that all the butterflies
have pinned themselves to the wall?
trading flight for admiration
not knowing
love don’t twitch
like that
or have to prove

and the sky cries
for lost colors

I.
she used to eat a piece of cake and go directly
to the mirror
hold up her shirt
and look for damage -

she used to keep a folded piece of paper
in her pocket
of what she’d eaten and hadn’t
doing constant math-

disappearing is an art
she mastered
falling into herself
a dent in her thigh
she was going inward -

into the art of losing
hardly giving up
she was fighting
time, nature
and winning
turning back the hands
turning ahead
hunched back little girl caught
in numbers
negatives
disappearing to be seen

is it really losing
if you are taking away?
forceful, the delicate
she willed herself to bones
hollows sculpting age into her face

she was a jaw clamped shut.

II.
life unfolds certain flowers
a city sprouting things like builidings
she lost things like habits
gained roundness
new clothes
a girl wandering streets
obsessions falling to
relaxation
calcium
sleep-

day lights things up for night
to take away
the answer again seemed to be
fitting into small places
the peace of white noise
folded white papers
isn’t it nice
to believe in order?

III.
streets called city
stars like sidewalks
the silver glitter of concrete
called her home
and here they found her
girl with sad eyes in a pretty face
put her in magazines
put her in Success
a new place
identity
the language of earned love
she felt seen
felt found
in work
always work.

IV.
what is discovered will be lost
and how she hates to let go
has trouble fitting into shapes
when life will not shape her
holding onto nothing
invisible
at the bottom

the things that don’t matter
float away when she is broken
or not looking
and she misses them
but still can move

V.
she looks into a mirror
and sees past it
words her mind makes
shapes her body makes
she wants to know what truth is
the distraction of what she is and is not

night is a freedom
her wings strong from pushing on tight spaces

she lets go-

she is sure
if she fashions herself to an
Image
they’ll buy and be
fervent
and somehow she’ll be whole
and purposeful

but the self of her night in dreams
and lost girlhood
hates this culture of buxom papparazzi millionares
wants to sail them away
on columbus’ trifecta
like some lost and floating dollar bill

each day awakens misconceptions
and she don’t
and she won’t
like a snail trying to promote itself
by wiggling to a whale

what she is she is not.
inconsequential things glued to her
like something to do.
she can’t move
can’t breathe
but, boy, ain’t she pretty
and easy to catch?

do we school
to teach?

i am beginning to think so

a good student, i am ready to graduate
from something

maybe my memories

don’t expect me to write anything good
now.
its 2AM and i’m out of my mind with caffeine
and i’m worried
about that.
today i cut my hair
looked for a job
shopped
got mad at friends
talked on the phone
fended off a cold-

none of this seems like stuff i’ll think of
on my deathbed

i must make a decision
i must make a lifestyle

the list is long and laborious
i can’t stop when its enough

beauty/money/eros
have let me down
let me
on
let me
begin

a pool of promises
childhoods to make up for

thoughts like birds
arise
small singular
alight

small black like crows
single minded scavengers
hungry
or just doing a job

objects of everyday life
at the back of my mind

the car is packed but i don’t want to go.
5 am, a pillow, a pack of crayons, a box of juice
a blanket
I-95 is the way to heaven
heaven is a beach
floaties for my arms
pb sandwiches with just enough sand-

the car is packed and i go.
the beach is a hell
bare toes and pointy shells
spf 40 every 2 hours
indecisive tide
pulls me away
spits me back

the car is packed and we go.
a white bikini
though i never wear bikinis
you take pictures and i
feel beautiful

the only way to fight the force of waves
is to let go-
you are something to hold onto-