notebook build-up

Seattlites in May
This Summer's been holding out for so long
we forget our sweaters on public bathrooms hooks.
When the first sunbreak hints it might stick
we plunge our hoodies to the very bottom of the laundry basket
feel a strange inkling of violence between our hands and umbrella shafts

I saw you leave you your jacket at a bus stop
missed it while you were pinching the light from your eyes
your sweet, tilted-up, triangle cheeks
gathering up the the novelty of a sunburn.

We wrote that love letter together
when we took off our outer clothes
eager to expose the places we'd paved over
all winter long.

With purple-throated tulips
bending, bumping,
large 'lips calling us out by name,
Sunlight rolls in thick with nostalgia rebounding bright,
duck feathers swick out like arrows,
seduction swept blue & open above,
Springtime's got all of the wiles.
No matter how late she comes
our hopes always circle back into her warm submission.

Seattle seasons come and go so softly
the roles are often reversed
our cold longing bodies hooking hot on the heels of spring.
Spring is the lover we'll always have hope for
whose beauty smothers out our better judgment.
You left your sweater in the bathroom at cafe press
hooked inside the 3rd stall,
you both seemed the better for leaving each other.

In Case of Rapture (written 5/21)
To ready yourself for the rapture
pick some lilac for your pigtails.
Miss two consecutive buses.
Study the worn down pavement in front of your stop.
Wait for the puddled clothes to become like cracks on the sidewalk,
Emptied of their wasted nakedness.
Some bodies are never fully used.
Always remember
your life weighs nothing if you're not of use.

Express grotesque concerns:
"What about the children
right that moment being born?"
with that baby
half born & half being born
if the mother keeps her gravity
what happens to her body?
Does her pelvis split as the child is lifted?
or is the infant severed?
Each permutation plays out at the same ratio
half rapture and half rupture.

(Blackbird singing
in the dead of night,
you were only waiting
for this moment.)

Ready yourself for broken wings and ripped up skin.
line your pockets & shoesoles with feathers.
Acknowledge that poets
should always hold on to something broken.
Write through the entire ordeal
with whatever materials available.
If you happen to find yourself floating
hold fast to something shattered and indistinct,
if you must, sink your teeth into the furniture.
When your teeth fail you
recite HOWL until the words bring you down.
Don't let the dirt leave you!
It is your primordial home,
Mother of the bottoms of your feet.
Dirt birthed your palms
and you won't gather any callouses in the sky.
Stay here.
Stay dirty.
Stay human.

Allow gravity to collect
in the places your soul has been cracking,
get heavy with the deep muddied filth.
You are more than a weightless rain cloud.
You are a river
and a river isn't a river when it's ripped from its belly
If all else fails
please remember this:
keep at least 1 finger firmly stuck
in the silty muck of being.

Smallish Manifesto
When there's so many pages to fill
they feel thin like sunlight in the wind.
Open spaces invite puncture
paper screens in a karate film.

Ragged creeps up
cornering the weaker adjectives.
Is that a symbol for how it all breaks down?

You should never use a word you don't mean,
if the word you mean is unavailable
fuse together a new name
or use a clearly denoted placeholder.
"Something like soul mates?"
for example.

May 19th List
1. Plastic straws lazing like fish bones
2. Year 7 tears
3. Thumbsucker Yellow
4. Mangled daisies
5. 1,000 splinters waiting to happen
6. Shadow-striped bicycle spokes
7. The hazards of spinning
8. Creating situations for stretch
9. One leg craned out of the merry-go-round
10. Elbows flaking
11. Ball bearing music
12. Big bubblegum haze
13. "Let's play!"
14. Only one bolt left
15. "Now that's the squiggy stuff!"

Not a poem (but it's about poetry!)

I know I usually only write poems on this blog (and in my own purist kind of way I have been priding myself on that), but I need to disclose the reason I have been not-so-every-dayish and more once-every-other-day-or-twoish about posting.
In addition to ritually writing 750 words every morning (usually directly after I wake up) I have begun reviewing and editing pieces to compile as a manuscript. I have a good lot of material to sift through and plenty of edits to make so there is an drool-worthy but staggering mission ahead of me.

The downside to this is that I am finding myself less available (timewise) to hone my words into poetry. This does not mean I won't be writing poems to share on this blog. Just that the frequency will be less. (hopefully at least 3 times per week!) I will not be pressuring myself to write/post a poem every day (at least until my book is done).
Writing poems is so much more reflexive at this point (which was a major goal of this project). Having seen out the whole year (though broken laptops, relationships, and internet-less road trips!) I am very satisfied and proud of my performance!
Yay!
See you on a tri-weekly basis!

Sway

Sea legs. I want to write about sea legs
about the whole room rocking,
the walls I could swear were swaying,
But something else came up
surroundings swishing and floating
the night ended shuddering on the crisp red bed sheets.

Brackish Music

Birds
when emptied out or flattened
(if they are lucky enough to realize it)
release their souls
into cable car throats.

This city is lining its wiry mouth with feathers
as the cables laugh a sharp triangular laughter.
With fibers interlocking
her quicksilver voice uncurls.

Brackish music peaks
that's when the torsion might spark
then fizzle out
like a ghost in a light bulb.

What it's about (free-est write ever!)

What is it about?
It is about satellites and antennae,
or the first thing you see when you look up.

Did you know your molecules are being reduced right now?
Frequencies at the cell-level are conspiring to keep the machine together.
For the kids I guess.
To get her.

I wonder if that means anything at all.
Suddenly there is function in the world
I've got to do SOMETHING about that.
like finding music on the roadside.
DO something drastic
take your throat out of our neck,
let them stroke each other,
then separate again.
I am kind of almost there right?
barely having what I have.

Why do the words feel like grains of sand,
(don't tighten your grip,
don't even think about reaching for the toast or coffee)
do you get it?
do you get it at all?
I am caring about it so much less this morning.
the worries were so comfortable before the became aware of themselves.