Microsoft Word

 

And i, i can't stop editing

sighing round a merry-go-round

and watching a movie that lights up my room

blue.

I can still taste that raspberry apricot cookie i ate

twenty minutes ago, stuck thick in the

crevices of my

teeth.

 

The woman,

no, the girl, she's pregnant in the movie,

the man can't stop honking that damn horn,

and no one's ate carrots for

at least 5 years.

Fumbly words

    they all speak em

Drunkards drifting from bars with cigarettes gripped

between

chapped lips. Molly's got a broken nose,

flick a toothpick around with her tongue,

that dad gave the OK to pierce when

 

she was

14.

Painted nails that chip,

never stay polished damnitt,

Holey curtains hiding the toes that

they know their boyfriends hate

even more then the bulging of their bellies.

But buy baseball caps

suppress the wild red hair,

Hide the groan

    of displeasure

Examine the long red scratch

that Bugs Bunny gave you when

he leapt from

the

           rainbow, and

watch as your eyes squint,

and you'll find yourself right back

  at the very beginning with

the man who won't stop fucking honking in that

Dilapidated car

and i 

can't stop

                               editing.

 

 

(i wrote this . . . i wrote this because . . . i dunno. cause i hate myself for never being able to leave well enough alone. i'm always rereading my pieces and cringing at all the flaws and -

 well. for once instead of doing that. i wrote a poem. and it became my book of sorts, that i couldn't stop messing with. like, a life.  i dunno. )

 

 

red lipstick

 

The old creaky ladies,

the ones always loitering by the dumpsters

in their stained daisy print dresses

and their felt hats,

the ones with the walking sticks that look like

candy canes.

The weeds weaved through their graying hair,

the ones that don't say a word

and the ones who never shut up about

Roger and

his play.

The ones with the crinkled blank eyes

and

the pale lips,

drool

coating the right corner of a mouth.

 

They wear hollywood gowns today

And long evening gloves

And red lipstick

 

 

favors - tender ages

 

pasta ridden wrinkles oil my feet

so they don't squeak

as much as they used

to, like the

door when

i put chapstick on the hinges.

i kiss your hair and pat something pointy

that i assume is the blade of

Your Shoulder.

"Thanks monsieur."

it would be courteous of you to say "AnyTime."

but one thing about you i've always admired is

your honesty,

and you know that oiling someone's feet

is not something you do

Any.

Time.

so instead you hum "rusty

red bones at such a tender age."

 

 

post it reminders

 

ie. i forgot to call my dad tonight

i forgot to set the alarm

i forgot to get in touch with my inner math wiz

but fuck, that last one's pointless anyway

 

but most nights you forget to call me too pops

and the alarms sorta sets itself or else i'm late and i am

Alright

with that

and the math wiz, well,

i've gotten good enough

grades so far,

and who said a few 80s hurt that bad?

i say i am not a math magician mortician,

and algebra needs

to learn how to

make nice

with my words.

 

and daddy. we should talk.

 

ZOO

 

I guess it was fun.

Zoos are, generally.

You stick your hands through bars

or over plexy glass walls

fingers stretching toward furry critters that go

sniff sniff

 

and make

 

noise

noise

 

Still.

It's hard to tell.

Baby faces are, generally, hard to read

Chubby cheeks and slack jaws. Red shiny lips

wide droopy brown eyes

little girl flower dresses and mini boots

hands held between mommy's.

 

And those mothers,

well

they are,

generally, responsible:

High waisted jeans and

Pastel button downs

pushing infant safe strollers to

   grocery stores

Mild mannered, pretty finger nails, pretty face

I guess counter robot parts to

 

husbands that

trade in their ties for daddy time several hours a day

being, generally,

as fathers should be:

The Heroes,

wearing their suited armor to

work with flowers for mommy

and toys for baby and money money

pouring from

tailored pockets.

 

And despite how far we think we've gotten

we still

think of how it could be.

 

gun

 

slippery bullets

they slip past

My microscopic nose

that is disappearing

or maybe sinking

into my face and

behind

my

eyes

so i can only

smell my gushy slippery

Brain

and not the

roses all lined up in

rows around

the Coffin

or maybe Wedding Dress

 

 

the F to Coney Island

 

Funny little people

Sip cocoa

out of lime colored mugs.

they spread out their picnic

Blankets by the subway turnstiles,

and granny brings the

Garbage salad made

fresh last month.

Everyone tastes and slurps and

tells a story

without a punch line but it is

Okay.

little tykes that holler in

ripped clothes, they sit on

their mothers laps,

patting down knotted hair.

Biting down on a rotten plum from

the Fairy up near SoHo,

Uncle Johnny George grins

and wipes his

dirty old feet on the

sheet.

Speaks thickly through

Puerto Rican teeth and lips,

he mumbles a fable

about a

tiger and a lily.

And when the night falls

lids heavy

pack up the picnic

They dream rickety all night

on the F to

Coney Island.

 

 

twilight (e+b 4eva)

 

i'll be your juliet if you'll be my romeo

and i'll be your elizabeth if you'll be my mr. darcy

and i promise i won't fuck up like juliet,

or have a name like elizabeth

if you'll just be my edward

and then i'll be your bella

 

TODAY (sing song chatter)

 

Today we are the 

Sing song chatter

And the little brother

(baby

boy)

Sucks his pink thumb yellow 

You Smile and play peek-a-boo

Giggles at the infant grins

And they -

The pretty mothers

With the pretty Hands

(don't tell me you've forgotten already)

Stand next to our heroes

Proudly.

 

Yesterday they did not know they'd

Have such a sing song chatter life

When we were

 

Sparkles in eyes.

Today it is Happy.

 

TOMORROW ( sandcastles)

 

The next noon

I'm building

a Sandcastle in the

Little park across from the house.

Brushing grains from under my nails on to

the Tower Top.

A speck, it penetrates my retina.

Tiny itchy thing burns raw eye fluid

and I do the 

Sensible thing.

And Cry

Throat tearing loud volume

so they

 

hear me.

 

But mommy's got a scowl

and a hard angry rock mouth

and she's yelling at

Daddy and it's

louder then my crying.

 

I rinse the grain out myself

at the

water fountain.

 

 

 

Something Silly

 

  she feels like doing something Silly

so "how bout we tie our toes together with

sparkly twine

and try to

lick our Elbows?"

they knock their heads together

trying to get to the ends of the arms,

hanging feet and painted toes off

the Duvet covers

  she says 

"marnie, grab my leg and

break it so i can

get a cast.

it's fine i'll be fine

just perfect

aren't you excited about

signing it?

you have the prettiest signature"

 

she smiles and winces and can't

wait to see all the names of all

her Classmates scrawled across

the gray white plaster.

  for two months it will be her Rainbow.

suddenly

 

OW

the break.

it hurts (? what. it wasn't supposed to be like this)

like Sharp and Dull and Pain and no more Twine

untie my toes

 

the need for silliness dissipates

     and she finds she Regrets This

 

 

Dragon Breath

 

i've decided that today i will no longer wait to die my little deaths

and each time i see mom's hands

i won't compare them to my own

i will not copy homework.

i will not bite my nails.

i will not stare at the little dot of moles on my left shoulder.

i will not chew mints.

i will not daydream up fantasy worlds in french where we all live under tiger skin skies

and everytime we find ourselves

in a conundrum

darling, i suggest you grab me tight and

i'll study the split ends of your hair

and we'll wait for it to pass.

i'll break my habit

put down the cigarettes

if you'll allow me to smoke you instead

 

 

chess (temper tantrum)

 

someone's playing a god damn GAME with me

i swear i hear them checkers

banging

shuffling of cards

and ya gotta 5

king of hearts go fish

 

bollocks. i wish i had a leaf blower and a pair of

glasses,

so i could just See the bastard

who plays the strings

of my life all

day in and

out(?)

i'd climb up the temple steps

without tripping and banging up my

Knees

(eyes are CLEAR, remember?)

to his make shift throne

and turn blow all his boards over and he'd

look at me open mouthed and

wtf

and i'd just ttyl

right

back

here's my middle finger and don't do it again

mom's late with the prescription and where's my camera?

i furrow my brow

as i walk with shaky ankles back

down.

i'd have to return the leaf blower, because

unfortunately, it's rented 

 

 

 

If we all walked with microphones

 

they say, the girls in the high heels, she's a bitch.

and i say really?

and they say "laugh"

fickle funny high pitched awkward ones

that pierce my sensitive ear canals

Seriously.

and then i feel very relieved.

because if she is a bitch, i know that

he is a player

and that ones a

flamingo

and i am an emo opera singer clown circus lion trainer

who moonlights in

harmonica playing

and DID take a trip to the moon

but not in August it was February

and thank you i wanna say

but something furry's got my tongue

thanks and that clears it all up

 

 

Swear word, or fuck

 

and to you i mumble fuck

and to him

i mumble fuck

and to i, i say you are pathetic and

what is with the word fuck?

the uckk is extended i believe and

before you know it there is no other

sound to say but the one you really truly know

and the only thing anyone really truly knows

is you

and the bad

because we can so easily point

it out.

right?

does that make sense can you understand me am i speaking clear enough

 

i, or you. utter the word and

really, that's all there is to it sometimes

 

 

Swimming doesn't work today 

 

I want to write something beautiful

i want to write something that you look

at

and smile

at makes eyes glisten

at because i

think i

am insecure.

And can not take these pity readings and these

stupid all age us age

comments anymore.

 

How mom doesn't always feel

the right emotion

and dad's three thousand miles of

ocean and missed years away and

all

my teachers

are assholes who leave like my parents.

And my only happy moments are used up and

recycled,

all plasticy and leaden,

with friends who i wish more then i anything i could love like i should

like you see on those tv shows,

And my face is constantly falling

away and into itself until i can't

see me anymore

behind the Hair and this Nose

and these Cheeks that don't mesh

with my brain

 

And none of this is right but

i guess.

I'll just keep searching for the

words that

are better. Better then the ones before and better then

anyone else's.

without it i'm drifting

lifeline me to the dock

help, the waters cold and

harsh and sharp,

and someone broke

a vase and added that too

and i can hear my own

Bullshit

resonate toward

the beach

 

Baby sometimes i feel i am drowning myself

 

 

This is your west

 

he wears brown boots on his feet

and a bull's eye over his heart

crickets chirp out a love worn

melody to accompany his walking rhythm

 

he's got no horse

no luggage but the sack slung over his

bending breaking back

he squints his eyes at the red sun and the flat

plain and he grips the

bottle of whiskey

between calloused hands and

the blisters,

god, well, they hurt sometimes but

he's learned to live with them

 

he'll walk the road to

heaven's gate/

hell's dark dreary hot

 

 

Bible Candy

 

my aunt bought a shirt with jesus on it today

and the little christan girl 

chants:

"may the lord be with you" 

and

"christ be loved"

and

"bless you sweet"

"bible bliss take this butterscotch"

 

and she has

those glazed apple eyes

and her mouth is full of spun sugar

and i am disgusted with myself for

wanting to 

eat her

but.

faith is a caramel someone

force feeds

you at birth

and my nurses were always

very kind,

choosing milk and spinach instead.

maybe if i am so very lucky

i'll take those prescribed capsule bright 

purple pills in my

old age,

and they will

light up heaven's gates

make me a reformed believer.

 And It Does Not Matter Cause I Do not Like caramel anyway

and could never swallow a pill

no matter

the taste

 

 

 

This is when i can't give 

 

glossy magazine covers capturing

orphan children from Africa?

India? Atlantisa? on expensive

I-Max film, their bloated bellies

protruding, ribs poking through

pasty skin, bugs crawling

 at lips and sad

puppy eyes tearing,

spilling drops of salted

water from red rims

 

the little red tag at the bottom of the article contrasts sharply with the rest of it.

 

it reads:

 

"DONATE"

 

and you, or the starving kids, well they mumble

an expletive

because the wallet and the penny jar and the electronic bank account

they're all so empty

you could hear a pin drop