Green Tea with Honey

‘There is a ghost in the machine!’

I sip my tea, green tea, avoiding his eyes
After three years on and off
on and off
on
and
off

I avoid his eyes
avoid looking at all the parts of him
that made me want to drown
made me want to crawl to the surface
from the dark Scottish loch
into his bed
because my bed
no matter who else is there
is too big without him.

 All I said was, ‘Oh?’

 ‘No matter where we are
every single day
I can’t, I can’t
many miles away
so close to me
unfilled chasms
deep blue sea
your song, our song comes on the radio.
Every Fucking Time.’

 All I said was, ‘Oh?’

 and shrugged
turning to look out the window
avoiding the helix of his ear
neck
collarbone
flat squared fingertips.

 The song ends, another begins

 ‘See! Different album, but still his.
You ride with him once, just once
he offers you a seat
and now – he’s everywhere.’

 ‘The train was full and
I was holding a large painting.
He's a gentleman, in New York.'

 My ex
my sometimes ex
my sometimes now
refills my cup, adds honey, stirs.
It is brimstone and treacle
being near him, hot and sweet and gall
curing nothing and everything.

 I know we’ll end up back at his apartment
We’ll be together
wrapped around each other
because I can’t stand losing you
I know I should never see your face again
but every time I close my eyes I see your face.

I fill the chasm with tears and regrets
and dance alone
for I am too fragile
he is the shape of my heart.

 I kiss him.

 The song changes.

 I am already crying inside
on infinite repeat
crying inside
crying inside
crying inside.

I am crying.

 

 

Future So Bright I Gotta Wear Shades

Someday

we'll stay at a cabin again
rent an RV

ride through Tuscany

paint 

dip our wheels in the Atlantic and the Pacific

make crock pot chili

have an international night

throw coins in a wishing well

ski

get sunburnt at Playalinda

share an IPA flight

harvest tomatoes cucumbers scallions

ballroom dance

You promised we'd take

classes

in ballroom dancing

Dress up, wear nice shoes

sultry make-up, scarlet lips

Ballroom dancing

and you'd spin me 

round and round and round

They Say

They say it’s easy to see, looking backwards
They say every chicken finds it’s own roost
They say if you wait long enough, it’s all good
They say, they say, they say it’s god’s truth

Well, I say I don’t want to wait no more
I’m sick and tired of passed over
I’m going through that door
No more searching and waiting on four leaf clover

The say sunshine rises to the one who heard
They say keep working at your post
They say it’s hidden in the word
They day, they say, they say prayer is for the just

Well, I say I don’t want to wait no more
I’m sick and tired of passed over
I’m going through that door
No more searching and waiting on four leaf clover

They say it’s a matter of getting the right card
They say change rumbles coast to coast
They say if you believe it’s not hard
They say, they say, they say love God the most

Well, I say I don’t want to wait no more
I’m sick and tired of passed over
I’m going through that door
No more searching and waiting on four leaf clover

Well, I say I don’t want to wait no more
I’m sick and tired of passed over
I’m going through that door
No more searching and waiting on four leaf clover

Pain Killers

The train whistle smears numbing cream on my abdomen, massages it in. Each clack clack clack is a knife.
I swallow, panic clawing up my esophagus from somewhere below my ribcage.
Its coming, its coming, its coming, each clack says.
The whistle blows again and rolls on, crushing me into the railbed.

Through a Glass, Darkly

Was it live or was it memorex?
There was no way to determine if they were in St. Pete, Palmerton or that kingdom of fakery-DisneyWorld.
Did it matter?
Not a whit, not a ha'penny, not a fig.
As long as they could ingest enough liquids to keep their blood alcohol levels above the legal limit, no one cared what universe they were actually tottering through.
A young girl passed, skipping rope. "Step on a crack, break your mother's back. Step on a crack, fall into the black. Step on a crack, find something you lack." They watched until her voice faded into the mist, then turned away.
Arms around each other's shoulders or linked, swagger alternating with stumble, they sang their own odd medley of verse, straight up, on the rocks, over easy, as they proceeded down the streets.
Until Josephenia, hanging off the end, tripped, her arm slid free of Bartholomew and she fell head first into a puddle, breaking up the reflection of confectionary building as if the water had splashed up to melt the sculpted fondant and french meringue rosettes, tripped into the puddle and kept going, until she disappeared completely, leaving only a few bubbles to show she'd ever been at all.
The others blinked, shrugged and continued, just a bit more careful to avoid the fissures in the asphalt.

RCA Victor Warning Label: Caveat Canem

Beware the blunted needle- beware the Jabberwock!
A blunted or chipped needle
a chipped tooth? A needle already used? Draw the blood up, into yourself
can permanently damage your can permanently damage you
most valuable records lock box! lock down! safehouse!
A worn needle no sharing, please
will impair what won’t impair? What substance abuse won’t impair?
the quality of the sound reproduction
quality of life, corrupt DNA now infinitely spiraling off
you hear you hear nothing! You can’t even hear your own heartbeat-
Make sure your needle is in good condition how? How if you don’t test it?
Put the point to flesh and prick skin? How? Drysuit contaminent biohazard fears
before you play just pass the j, pass the blow, pass the horse
the record there are no records subrosa no trace no shadow man following
If in doubt all there is, is doubt have it checked
by the hatcheck girl who holds the bag for the puppet chest of wannabees in their fedoras
by your dealer NUFF SAID
or buy a new needle.

Every Breath You Take

Hummingbird heartbeats,
same beats as mine, that's word count.
Four, three, two, one. TIME!

My Right Foot

My third toe, right foot,
It's name is Bill. It still moves
any way I want.
But one day, maybe
soon, or not, it won't.

Shadows and Ghosts

He opens his eyes, reassures himself that I am here, not a figment, the weight of me in his arms not enough to disprove dreaming, and falls back asleep.
But that was yesterday. Or perhaps the day before. Or a lifetime before.
I'm not sure anymore. He's not here now.
I stare at the blankness of my bed, cool, smooth. A bird caws, the others sleep on.
Sun still down. Stars fade, taking the silence.
It wakes up and leaves to find a new home.
No train whistle to replace it, provide harmony to the dissonance.
And he is not here, not here to keep me warm, to wrap around me and slide his fingers up my thighs. Not here to keep the monsters away, to lock up the demons that chew my brain.
My bed is empty.
All it holds is me. That's not enough.
It holds a shell. My words pour out, spill over the edge, puddle on the floor.
See the light peaking in, and flee.
Farewell, goodbye. Silence, wait for us, we are on your tail.
We won't be back.
You've used up your allotment.
You are as empty as your bed. Replace us, but you'll still be empty.
Ghost fades, put my hand out to touch the space. No trace.
When you are gone, were you ever here?

Snow in July

That night
I loved you so much that night.
Every dream, all dreams converging in one perfect place.
My make-believe future, every girl's future, all laid out.
Perfect.
We'd live happily ever after.

Music pounding, bass note loud in my bones,
not as loud as the steel and concrete, girders and cranes building dreams.
It's all going to be fine.
It'll be alright now.
Well, it's not.
Hands running up and down me, eyes anywhere else.
Not on me. When did it get so cold?
Struggle into a sweater on this 90 degree night.
So cold.
Because the truth is happy ever after is a grease puddle rainbow,
illusion in used up, drained out motor oil when you look down,
faint light reflected on the ground swell.

Lead guitar breaks a string.
Hands in me, kiss me. Close my eyes so I can't see where your eyes are.
Anywhere, everywhere but here.
Keep them closed while they restring the guitar.
Keep them closed.

3 AM

Can't sleep, wanting you
Ducks sing to a silent phone
Its glow reflects tears.

Its glow reflects tears
Inappropriate. We have
no relationship.

No relationship?
"Count the stars with me," you say.
Shh! nightingale trills.

Shh! Nightingale trills
Without you, every note
is flat and alone.

Is flat and alone
my always? You, far from me.
Can't sleep, wanting you.

Really Bad Poetry and Getting Worse Every Day-6th revision

My beloved, with great precision in wording, remitted to me a missive
I prayed it was to give me a decision and it be neither dismissive nor derisive.
Holding that page he had touched, reading it, again, hoping against hope, but
my heart, my soul, my infinite infinitesimal being, all those he had cut
It was sincerely antithetical to me, all the quick and the sloe
was I merely parenthetical? Nothing? I have nowhere to go
but up. O! I cannot bear it. I am rent from inside out. Down is so very very far.
The queen of hearts cries, Off with her head, rip out her soul. The elevator car
stops at the bottom, at the open maw of the shaft.
Crawling out, I climb aboard the terrible, waiting raft,
Holding my eroded dreams in my trembling hands. On a sea of molasses, we drift away
Those dreams drip from my fingers as tears drip from my eyes. O! horrid selfsame day.
I, upon my raft, float along the bubbling, rancid, foul-smelling Styx.
Care I a whit or a ha-penny? Nay. It is a far better thing I do. My life is nix.
I am a rotting corpse now, you see
It’s the only way. It’s what had to be
because my beloved, oh my darling, my best and only beloved sent me a letter.
And the letter was ‘no.’

And A Happy New Year

i don't believe in prefacing my work. each piece stands or falls on its own. but its been a roller coaster week, much emotional turmoil, culminating in yet another instance of verbal abuse. so, in honor of my birthday, anniversary and a tip of the glass to pandora's box , i present.....

“Un cerveza, por favor.” Just one little beer, how could it hurt, hurt any more than she did already? She rubbed her abdomen, its internal soreness aggravated by its external sunburn.

“One beer, miss, with lime? Corona, Dos Equis or Especiale?”

“Especiale con cal, por favor.” That’s so funny, she thought. La gringa se habla espanol and el mejicano speaks English. Without an accent, too. What a twisted world. She gazed out at the plaza, her eyes protected from the glare by her “Jackie O” style sunglasses.

The midday sun was fierce, white-hot, leaching the bright embroidered dresses, serapes, ponchos and oversized sombreros of their color. The gray adobe landscape misted before her, the individual pieces melted into an uneven dust covered lump. It looked to her like a raisin studded Christmas pudding in a snow of confectioners sugar, the sweet sugar hiding the alcohol soaked evil of the dessert.

A Christmas pudding I’ll never taste again, god willing, stuck here in taco and tequilla land. She lifted the beer, surprised to find it empty.

“Un mas, por favor,” she called to the waiter.

“Yes, miss, and will you be dining with us this afternoon?”

“Si, un taco de aquacate con crema y un carne de puerco con chile verde.”

“Thank you, miss, I’ll bring your beer and your lunch will be ready shortly.”

The plaza entertainers processed through the courtyard, a troupe of eight men and women in fake, polyester Aztec garb, accompanied by three midgets in loincloths and body paint. The midgets did a series of acrobatic tricks on a trampoline, while the troupe performed a desultory sword and sun worship dance. It was a hackneyed show, suitable to the heat and lack of an audience.

She sighed again, removed her sunglasses and rubbed at her eyes with a twisted napkin. The green and purple bruises were stark against her tanned face. No, I won’t have any Christmas pudding this year, will I, she thought to herself, and a happy fucking New Year, too.

Misadventures of the Shoes: Charity Brawl

We’re going out! Our little girl is taking us out! About effing time, too. We were born to be wild. That is our whole entire raison d’etre.

What is the point of having ‘fuck me’ pumps if you’re not going out hunting? Or at least going out SOMETHING?

Okay, serious business now. The dress.

No. Not that one. Not that one either. No. Oh puh-leze.

Yes, we understand you want to wear this one. We KNOW you were thinking of this dress when you brought us home, we do. How? We’re the shoes, we know EVERYTHING. Seriously, not this one.

Yes, we know. Yes, you do look great in it. Yes, you do have a body to die for. Yes, it does make men want you and women want to be you.

BUT NOT TONIGHT

WEAR THE OTHER DRESS

TRUST US.

The shoes know. Isn’t that why you brought us home? It’s okay.

Tonight, you are going to look classy, not trashy. You have people to impress. Most of all, you have yourself to impress. Classy, not trashy.

Go on, zip it up. Much better. Don’t you feel proud now? You know it’s the right thing to do. That was the dress when it doesn’t matter. This is the dress for courage. Stand tall, lttle girl.

We’ll make sure our little girl has a good time. We know you haven’t been to a party in forever and you’ve never been to a party alone. Not merely unescorted, but totally alone. You don’t know a single person here. It’s okay. That’s why we’re here. The shoes will be your escorts for the evening, madam.

We’ll make sure you have a good time and you get whatever you want.

Dance, little girl, dance.

Don’t worry, you just dance by yourself. Anybody looks askance, reflection on them, not on you. You just have your own good time. Conga line? What do you think? Limbo was great, loved that, but conga? Oh why not.

"Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga. I know you can't control yourself any longer."

WTF?????

Did that bitch do what we think she did?

No. Can’t be.

"Feel the fire of desire as you dance the night away. 'Cos tonight we're gonna party til we see the break of day."

She did it again. Okay, little girl, you going to handle this or are we going to do it?

"Excuse me. You put your hands on my waist and touched my breasts. You put your hands on my hips and grabbed my ass. If you don’t keep your carpet-munching hands to yourself, I’m going to take you down. You put hands on me like a guy, you get treated like a guy. Do NOT touch me."

Our turn.

"OOPS! Did I stomp you foot? I am SO sorry." Sorry our instep! We feel great!

"I know you can't control yourself any longer. Feel the rhythm of the music getting strongerDon't you fight it till you've tried it. Do the conga beat. Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga."

You know, there’s nothing like going to a charity ball, trying to do a mitzvah and having it morph into a charity brawl.

Take us home, beautiful. Tomorrow is another day.

happy new year, o best beloved!

readers, friends, countrymen,

thank you for lending me your eyes.
i wish you every happiness.
may your dreams come true-especially the dream you tell NO ONE AT ALL,
the one you keep hidden away because if you are afraid if it DOES NOT come true,
you will never stop crying. so you hide it.

stop hiding yourself. you are beautiful.

faith, trust, pixie dust.

robyn

ps: the rainbow cookies came out AMAZING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Limericks-I can SO write trash if i want to!

Each word lying pond scum uses
produces uglier bruises
They fly round the room.
How can he presume
I'd believe his excuses?

I tell him: the world's full of spin.
Go on. Take out your violin.
Just play me a song!
And string me along!
I'm waiting. Time to begin.

Are you sad? Do you feel my pain?
Just give it up. Don't yank my chain.
Never felt better.
Freed from the fetter.
Pass me a glass of champagne.

Dorian Grey: Portrait of the Artiste as a Young What?

It is a pretty picture.
So symmetrical.
Nice. Very nice.
I hate that word-nice.
The pieces fit so well.
Nothing discordant.
Nothing special either.
The kind of picture
doting parents coo over.
I taste vomit.
Pass me a hammer
Pass me a drill
Pass me a sawzall
I will get myself out
if I have to smash it with
my bare feet.

Tin Ear

"Somewhere over the rainbow..."
She can't sing, you know.
Can't sing a tinker's damn
But she will sit in her
Itty Bitty Honda
and sing her soul out
when no one is watching.
A karaoke of the self,
audience of none?
Audience of one.
One hears her.
One hears everything.
And to her,
That
is all
that matters.

Vodka Straight

He wore a lavender tee shirt
with a unicorn and a
raaaiiinnnbow on it.
A rainbow.
Could you get any more cliche than that?

But he was beautiful
broken tooth smile
Made my bones hurt
marrow boiling away

Stands there, microphone in hand
Eyes shut, so far away.
He sings.
Silly karaoke bar.
I watch lean back on my bar stool.
The counter holds me up
because
my bones are melting.

He unlocks the door
of his beat up civic del sol,
old dented.
The rear passenger panel is red.

I wish
I wish I knew
I wish I knew his name....

Epiphany: Control Alt Delete

Clear memory
deleting old files
write new pathways
over the old.
They are there.
But...
Links are broken.
Dust on them
I do not need them
any longer.
Build new ones
Faith in this
Faith.

Moments of awakening
Arise, ye sleepers, arise!
Moments when I am
conscious.
Each one
I was not here.
Can't hear god talking
So full of noise...
I stand
one foot on the other side
pale shadows of music.
Then,
I hear.
Understanding will come later.
Maybe. That is not important.
But I hear and I obey
Sed audio obsequorque.
Sed...