February 16, 2007


Girl sees orange.
No more little heartaches,
she’s got ambition baby.
That’s a new type of accessory.
Gonna save the world?
Gonna right the wrongs?
Gonna make it right?
Gonna have it all?
Gonna, gonna, gonna,
gonna try?
She arches up into life
one arm extended outward,
one holding her steady—
is, is, is, is.

February 10, 2007

Waking Up

What’s it with supermarkets?
The car started to pull backward into traffic…
And that’s the third movie star,
who do you want to be?
The car slid back into traffic…
He laughed,
“I’ll tell you later,”
but he didn’t.
Where are you?
In bed.
Are you asleep?
If I was asleep, I’d hang up on you.
What are you wearing?
Let’s don’t.
What wouldn’t Margaret do?
Obsess about insignificant details in what is the overall purpose of life…
Well, actually that seems a pretty accurate…
Alright already.
The car was backing up into traffic,
but no one was driving.
He wasn’t driving,
he was sitting next to me
and aging as I spoke to him.
But I was trying.
Is there a why now?
The autistic girl organized her songs by color.
She’s really into scent.
Oh. Yeah.
That was,
will I again?
Just to prove the other one wrong.
Why did she say that?
She didn’t get it.
I wanted the real experience.
Why not?
You’re right, it’s appropriate,
our first time having sex
and I’m alone.
Just get up so you can brush your teeth already.
Where was I,
was his brother in this one?
I was in the supermarket again?
Then the car. Sitting in the backseat,
backing into traffic…
Call one, call two,
that smell.
Things like that soak into my skin.
Maybe they’ll mention me by name
when they call.
Call one, call two,
get up already.
Money, food, drugs,
get up.

February 4, 2007

The Image

I’m flushed.
Is the wind howling?
Did I stumble over my words?
Did his hand brush against mine?

My lip stains the napkin red.
Was it the excitement of the hunt?
Did they use too much novocain?
Did I forget to block?

My eyes are framed in black.
Am I descended from pharaohs?
Is my spirit guide a deer?
Am I someone’s doll?

Away from the mirror,
but still in the image,
is it my face or my life
that’s made up.