Dear Jim,
I know when you died, I promised to write you a lot. I haven’t. But you know that. Apologies are pointless, so, I’ll just get to it. I can’t remember the last time I wrote you, so I will just start from wherever … I’m in DC now. I’ve been here about 2 years. I suppose I came for a job, but really to find something more important. I’m still not sure what it is, but I suppose it will all clear up as this movie unfolds. This weekend was like few others … Bar / Club hopping on Friday night with Dave and some Boy Candy who got us in to the I Bar for free (and me with my sneakers!). The guy at the door gave me a future reference point that sneakers weren’t normally allowed, but he gave me props on matching my nice suede blue pumas to my blue button down, untucked. What a style monster I am. Jim, if it weren’t for the failures I keep repeating, I swear you’d be proud.
thinking of zen
find out just what you don’t need. put it on sale and buy 10 of them. say it was worth saving the money. pick out a small dark spot that is scary. send your children in to it without light. tell them it was an effort towards freedom. take a nail and pound it through … Read morethinking of zen
The English Lass
is it the end, just yet? or are we waiting for it to start. it’s so confusing sometimes trying to understand our heart. it has not been a life time of souls separated by life but there’s a pull of the life line from a core of drum and fife. will I cook? will you … Read moreThe English Lass
Hard to say
OK – here it is. I’m torn about releasing this one. It doesn’t really have a title, per se, but it’s been called “Amerika”, “3 Thousand mile Love”, “God damn piece of shit”, and others. Either way, I wrote it in January, 2004 over the course of about 5 very sleepless days. Of the 6 public readings this poem has had, the introduction that was closest to the truth was, “I slit my wrists and bled out onto the page.” Of all the poems that have kept me up, this one was the worst. I don’t think I can convey just how personal this poem is to me. Everytime I read it, I well up with tears and choke on my words. When I’ve read it publicly, it always comes with a lot more pauses than I’ve written into it. It is with great reluctance, but even more promises to share it, that I post it now.
It came from an argument I got into in front of a coffee shop with … well, let’s just say that they weren’t the best debaters. It ended with them saying, “This is America – love it or leave it!”
Propaganda Dreams I
I’ve been dying for the Propaganda Dream They put it in motion – I don’t know when Make me want freedom, and all that. But something went awry – The Propaganda Dream can’t hold up to lies. Oh, the dream was good – Freedom, Equality With Capital F’s and E’s and no one gets on … Read morePropaganda Dreams I
Propaganda Dreams II
P r o p a g a n d a D r e a m. Propagandi zing D.i.m. Propaganda props. Dreams Of Proper Ga ng in g. dream. proper. Gain. Gain Dreams. Dream Power pro painGanda. Goal.
Love Letter
I want for you and me to dance like school children at play; to know the bottom is between two upswings. I want the ropes under our feet, off of our hands I want to be free from these adult conspiracies with sticks that hurt too much. I want to hop through squares in arbitrary … Read moreLove Letter
Cardinals
There is now a set of love birds in the tree behind my apt. A red Cardinal and his fine lover chirp to me as I hang out and smoke cigarettes in the blistering heat. Occasionally, they hop down and hang out with me. If I’m watering the ivy or the daisies, they hang out on the fence under their tree and commiserate on neighborly things.
The Sexy Nurse
every whore is worthless;except for their pain.that’s worth something – to me.it’s cold.i drink tea i made.i eat soup i made.i sleep alone,shadows painting monsterson the ceiling;with sirens wailingtheir curses at me.“No.” I’ll say it again,“I don’t hate you.”I just don’t like to fuck you.you can say it in any language you want,but I know … Read moreThe Sexy Nurse
Childish Dreams
Sweet little doll, you’ve never said a word. You’ve been on my mind, you may have heard Your momma and I, we aren’t really talking It’s been a long time since I went a-walking. If my memory serves, you’d be almost 8 And in my dreams, honey you’re doing great. When you lost your first … Read moreChildish Dreams