pennies (2008)

i see 1960 pennies scattered on the floor
at one time, stacked.
copper with smooth edges
and stamped faces.
stacked, they formed one Penny
she stands tall
proud of the savings earned
proud of the children reared
proud with posture

i see her in the morning
before i leave,
seeking oak trees and white linen.
she stands proud
clothed only in the freckles
that cover her chests
and follow her breasts
she stands, the victor
stamping on shame
with feet strong and independent.

i see her smile,
and wave farewell until later.
and i see her face
wrinkle under needles
and loud, pressed laughter.
there are rings sinking deep in her
bloated belly and below.
crying,
"i did it so my father would love me"

haiku. with addition.

her heart descends.
and admits
it was willing to be loved.


(perhaps even looking forward to it)

yelling in the night.

today is the worst day.
his sisters guide him through it.
his mom shows him the facts.
it is the day he realizes his dad just wasn't.

i wait

i too am in need of music,
gentle and pure pouring over my fretful fumbling fingertips.
i am in need of freedom from fearful nights and damp days.
i am breathing smoke thick with longing,
inhaling deep, feeling wearing, wary, worn, weak.

it's been going on for weeks.

too tired, trembling, timid to step up and say stop.
i am no braveheart, only a cowardly lion.
i wait with no great certainty that i am not just stalling.

sonnet

 I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep. 

- elizabeth bishop

We are the first generation raised without God.

i have spent the last twenty-four hours devouring douglas coupland's 'life after god'.  i'm glad that i did.  i've eyed coupland for years now, but this is the first time that i've ever sat down with him.  i want most everyone to read it because i like the way he articulates love and longing.  read it and bask in his profundity.  and, anyway, there are sketches on every page that made me feel like an innocent child, which sums up almost everything i've ever wanted to be.  

"i left the hotel shortly thereafter and, very soon after that, i fell in love.  love was frightening and it hurt- not only during, but afterward- when i fell out of love.  but that is another story.  

i would like to fall in love again but my only hope is that love doesn't happen to me so often after this.  i don't want to get so used to falling in love that i get curious to experience something more extreme - whatever that may be." 

all things go

new eyes.

 back to the empire on wednesday 

(celebrating the olympics in this photo)

the moon outshines the empire

I major in politics, but I haven't gotten around to register to vote yet (I will). Economics, and I am ever silent in the capitalist/socialist debate (unless we're talking about Yunus). Philosophy, and I still ask - what about the human heart?  What about longings that beg questions of identity, value, and intimacy? The heart asks questions that Marx and Locke could never answer. The greatest political structure of all time can't stand up to the heights of joy and depths of disappointment. It can not stop hidden sentiments of failure or triumph, shame or security, that I'm convinced move or hinder us from life. It's not that I don't care about these things that I study, I just care too much.

I don't know how my life works out, considering the amount of time I successfully waste every day. But, within an hour of writing San Francisco Safe House, I got a job.  In the summer of 2009, I'll live with the women we grimace at and spit out "sluts".  Someone in California or Washington could legislate a safety net for these women, but nothing would change.  The facts would remain: 

• 85% report sexual assault, brutal physical or emotional abuse and/or incest before age 18
  
• 90% meet criteria for diagnosis of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, major depression, eating disorders, or anxiety disorders
  
• 80% have been victims of severe violence associated with prostitution
• 90% have significant substance abuse issues
  
• 80% have unresolved grief due to the death of a loved one

I  am so desperate to believe that love can really move a person into a life worthy of the name.

common threads

i got caught in a shitfucking thunderstorm
as i walked home - beginning to end
it was fitting too, making my way to shelter
in a silk dress that stuck to my bones.
i think it rained in everyplace i have ever called home today
as i missed everyplace i have ever called home today
if you were coming,
i would stand in the shitfucking thunderstorm forever
and wait wait wait
with the pigeons under the roof top ledges.
we have weak hearts but i would wait forever.

"Bluebird, bluebird, through my window."

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

-charlesbukowski

seasons change

autumn came crashing on us with a thunder storm.
in the summer time, spring and fall have a battle.
october wins, every time.
there's fire in your eyes, you stay inside
on a walk, i smell trips to the north and canoes rides.
secret lines swing into open space.
we move with the season and the sway
oh you're not dead, just hiding away
i promise to stay until life does the same.