52 Stars

seventh quadrant / these stars that link together / a constellation / mythos whispered, a wind

...

Shadows creep across our faces; the fading sunset filtered through the screendoor, open windows.  Fat droplets of sweat curve our similar faces, a sweltering heat even in the pattering rain outside.  The house is quiet save the melding murmur of our voices.

Stop Me if You've Heard this One

A poet walks into a bar, drinking
already drunk and dizzily
searching for her muse
at the bottom of a fifth of Jack
or a six-pack of label-peeled beers

Unfinished

Even now as I await the return of my Saturn, I an trying to understand what it is to be a woman,
to be a woman of color,
to be a lesbian woman of color,
to be a lesbian woman out color in influx in America.

PAD 2012 - Day 29/30 - Late

Because time is as relevant as money;
a figment of an imagination we think is real
we can trade either for more of nothing
or less of everything.  We will never even have half of it all
or more than we need.
We will always be tightrope dancers
precariously balancing between falling up or flying
down.  Never stable.
We lack the neccessary equipment to stabilize
We lack the neccessary desire to be "normal"
or wealthy or lazy
enough to let our time drain
and leave us wasted and wanting
more.









Darkness has been pitched
elongating our shadows
'til they become one.

PAD 2012 - Day 28

Unwritten
I write you the story of us
as I dreamt it.  The moon is an illusion,
a nightmare we had once that was overshadowed by the sun.
You are the memordream I always seem to remember.

PAD 2012 - Day 27

So the sun sets again
or rises in slow reverse
purple hued sunburst.

PAD 2012 - Day 26

His rough tongue drags across my neck, I cringe
unuse to unconditional affection. He is undeterred by my avoidance
he just wants fingers that scratch instead of fold into fists,
a voice that isn't yelling, a full bowl of food and water,
he just wants care...
the uncondtional kind he's always given.

PAD 2012 - Day 25

We live in a pocket
little lintlings, next to forgotten coins and errant keys.
We worship torn receipts, loose buttons,
scrapped numbers scribbled by new strangers met
on side streets....

PAD 2012 - Day 24

She could be the dance or the dancer,
the muse
an inspiration
and I'll continue to be a dream as well your dreamer.

PAD 2012 - Day 23

Midnight
we are stars
darkness' sisters flickering.  We can never burn
enough.

PAD 2012 - Day 22

Hell is
a myth
a reality
here, there
love, other people
in love
your family
or mine
you
you
you
or me.

PAD 2012 - Day 21

We come with the knowledge that everything ends,
without preamble or fanfair
ending silently or with a bang.

PAD 2012 - Day 20

Barking at the moon
low deep howls, moonlight and magic
twilight is for lovers.

PAD 2012 - Day 19

All pretenses are past tense
because you aren't who you say you are
what I thought you might be
when I discovered the end to your labryninth
you weren't where you were suppose to be...

PAD - Day 18

Cheshire cat teeth smiles
sparking stars in darkest night
is this wonderland?

PAD 2012 - Day 17 (Happy Birthday to Me...)

Designed with more ego and less tears / I have understood me for ages / have dressed and redressed myself in costumes to fit / til unfitting became fine / more than fine. // Brave words are for pinheads who fear action / or have always lived acting / I burn scripts and live silently / pen to paper / pen / and paper / and ink guns / and scabby wounds / I wrote a love letter and left it on my skin....

PAD 2012 - Day 16

I dreamt I was invicible
bulletproof and invulnerable.

Waking, I cut myself
bleed til it dried.

PAD - Day 15

Laugh, fully-genuinely
be coy, let the pad of your fingers trail
my arms, the lines of my tattoos. Recognize
I am harder than I seem, but still softer than the world will allow.

PAD 2012- Day 14

The thing about extra lives is it makes you unafraid
to really live-jumping
whether or not you can safely land-or die
with the knowledge you can start again.

PAD 2012- Day 13

She asks me if I am afraid to sleep alone
fear of what lurks in the woods, in the dark,
or beneath the lake.  I slide into my home on the edge of the witching hour
head to clouded to ponder what if's or could be's.
I don't allow myself the time to reconstruct boogeymen
the shadows on the faces of supposed lovers and friends
are sharp enough to draw blood.

PAD 2012 - Day 12

"Fear is the heart of Love..." -Death Cab for Cutie

We learn to walk tightropes at a young age
tipped toes and balancing acts.  We fall
for suspenseful pauses and no safety net.  We
tred lightly. 

I have fallen from taunt wires more times than I care to admit,
claim invincibility or pretend to stand
wobbly skinned knees, bloody knuckles; I climb up the ladder again.

PAD 2012 - Day 11

Don't be hazy
I need sharp edges
corners to prick me so I remember to bleed.

PAD 2012 - Day 10

The day drifts by, slowly
unfocused and lazy

I want April to be thirty days of beginnings

Tired of unrelenting sunsets
of visiting the moon just to be turned away at her door
I restlessly dream of more sunrises.

PAD 2012 - Day 9

How long does it take to recover from a break-up?
                        -After "How I Met Your Mother"

Twice the amount of time you were together. A week
for each month you were told you were loved.  Half a bottle
of Tequila, the top shelf one or as many days
as it takes to get to 10,000 shots.  Unnumbered days
spent bedridden, like a sickness that's unshakable.  A weekend
spent wild, bouncing
from bed to wall to floor...never alone.  The time wasted
in a bar
on a flight
off kilter
trying to recall who you were
the last time you were alone.

PAD 2012 - Day 8

I have already spent too many years being
knight.  Oxidized armor and broken sword. 
I cannot fight dragons or save kingdoms.  No new sovreign.
Castles tumbling awkwardly,
this is just scenery. A background that seems to be repeating.
I need a little prespective, some point off in the distance
unfading-constant.  I'm unsure if I can save you.

PAD 2012 - Day 7

Mournful, driving away from my fortress of solitude
the life of a straying lizard hanging across my shoulders
I imagine karmic retribution awaiting me.   Wary,
the day is too slow for my mind not to wonder
lizards and lives; the value of each. 
Darkness covers the day and I return prepared
to pretend undertaker, give hasty eulogy.
Open closets to find emptiness, the lizard's great escape.

PAD 2012 - Day 6

Steady
stand, shoulder-length apart
the train moves forward.  My hands firm
in my pockets, fingering keys,
epherma, the fingernail file I keep there-
not for filing for cleaning or threatening
to stab.  Head straight, eyes closed.  I imagine
that I am already somewhere else.

PAD 2012 - Day 5

Kissing her might lead me down the rabbit hole, again.

The rabbit hole, again
a kiss...

Leading me down to a kiss

Rabbits

Holes

Again

Kiss me.

PAD 2012 - Day 4

Protect your heart
like your land, a possession: Trespassers
will be shot.

PAD 2012 - Day 3

the lake is half drained
shores dancing with seed and dirt
spring's loud announcement

PAD 2012 - Day 2

Work is an aquarium, saltwater
(so the injuries burn more)

There are jellyfish floating everywhere, billowing out
tentacles grasping at anyone foolish enough to imagine them friends.

Suited sharks eye schools of fish
everyday a lesson in navigating, survival.

I am an urchin hiding amongst the reef, prickly
use my spindles to keep the rest of the tank at bay.

Day 1

The day my mutant powers manifested at work
no one noticed, bins toppled
children continued to cry.  We kept the lines moving,
that day, like everyday; precariously balancing: security, customer
service, and wait times.  No one stopped their rush,
their rhythm, the apex of their daily grooves
to notice.  My skin hardened, eyes
flashed pain.  I almost crumbled, but didn't
determined to keep walking upright, despite: diamond skin,
glowing eyes, the new strength of my arms.

Blindspot (A quickie found poem)

Objects, in the mirror
are closer
than they appear.

It's off to work we go...

I race to arrive at a place I disdain, a fixture
in perpetual arrivals
and departures.  Cloaked in a scowl
an aura that screams for distance.  I invision myself invisible,
untouchable: Queen; of the Escalators,
of the maze of gates , of a path I could walk blindfolded.

I destroy my actuality
for eight and a half solid hours, supress
the "fuck it" on the tip of tongue and finger.

When that sentence is sufficiently served, I am a little less
proud   myself    alive...a little more: tired  disgusted  angry...  
Mask on a bit more firmly, to fall
into a dreamless sleep, wake to rinse and repeat.



Don't know if this s finished it came to me on my commute...

I live authentically after midnight.  Free
the locs of my hair.  Disrobe
from this disingenous uniform; the symbols
of a surrealist reality that make dreaming possible.

I enjoy the nightlife provided by my couch,
an errant scrap of paper, an upright pencil.

The I who I am when I'm allowed to be real:
doesn't want power
doesn't want authority
doesn't want to wake-up one day and find my mask melded on.

Using Houdini methodology, I slip my bonds
dislocate my smile
to a time more suitable; a place less demanding.
A disappearing act, where I'm allowed to be more
me.

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