les pauvres cœurs
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Library Memories
enough
in my white pick-up
you and me and I miss -----
OUR TRUCK! big green truck
and bench seats
where we made love
four or five times
in the parking lot
of the University
the height was always too much
but for you
I'd do
and did
everything.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Excerpt: In Transit
The ceaseless alchemical permutation, gold into history,
rain into strawberries, strawberries into my bloodstream,
my blood into flowering dreams
the dream into absolute perception, into coruscating
visions of
THIS IS WHERE IT IS BA-BY into
infinity
-Lenore Kandel
Monday, May 25, 2009
Definitions
This is a very deadly disease. Often it's victims include many women and very romantic men. Symptoms may include panic, annoyance, loneliness,denial and in often but extreme cases, a completely wasted life. Maiden's Peak syndrome can be diagnosed for something so large as waiting for someone to return to you in a relationship or something as small as planning to hang out with someone and 80% of the time it not happening. Maiden's Peak Syndrome refers to the term, Maiden's or Widow's Peak, a very common story where a woman waits for her husband or lover on a cliff as he goes off to war. The end result: the woman waits so long she turns into to stone waiting for centuries, even millennia for her lover to come back.
-Tasha Richardson, 5/20/2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Chin up, girl.
meat off my thighs
skinny skinny drink a juice
to miracle cleanse your everything
skinny skinny blonde women
act and never age
wonder wonder wonder drug
what exactly are you implying?
consider this missing link:
I find bones uncomfortable
and mothers strangle smother toddlers
and bury them in playground sand.
where are our weapons?
fatties fight back!
from lumbar supported
desk chairs
obesity rampant and
you're only fat because you're lazy
or you have a thyroid problem
you wanna be well then stay that way
no one's forcing you to change.
but have you tried
skinny skinny perfect plan?
everyone knows you can't change alone.
be young young, skinny skinny
and never give up your face
who wants
graceful laugh lines
and fat from birthing angels
anyway?
who wants
warm grandma hugs
when granny can be a supermodel?
after all,
love is only
love is only skin deep.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
The Lovers Never Lied
and everything is changing fast --
in her life, it's only ever been extremes.
something's hit, something sticks
and exposes her exposition
with convoluted sentences
and bright underwater lights.
she breaks again,
open and her yolk is spilling
all over your fresh linen hands
(air your dirty laundry in public while it's safe),
but it's too late
for all of you.
the first kiss that created the universe
was passed freely
between two laughing girls
on Capitol Avenue
sometime in two thousand and seven.
she breaks again
and leans to topple
but even across the world,
at the first cracking clap,
hands catch her peace rendered frame
and carry her slowly
to the finish line.
to the finished line.
because it's too late for all of you now.
the kiss that sparked creation
was a well-executed accident
neither gods nor monsters
could have foreseen.
...Run.
~~
It's fitting that this is post two hundred.
I miss you.
and oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire.
I love you, my hipster-headed angel.
-M.
Still Life
and this is what my life has come to.
Memory:
the grocery in late May,
refrigerated section,
staring at hot dog packages.
I love the ones with cheese;
Ballparks plump
oozing saturated fats
and oily goodness
burns your mouth on the first bite,
always and always,
but honey, it's so good.
The first bite always reminds me of our first kiss.
And I'm standing with tears
hot as thunder,
waterfalling down my cheeks.
Decision:
imminent
because the store is going to close
and we need hot dogs.
I heft packs in opposite hands
I love that burn
but you gave me my first taste
and I'm supposed to move,
move on now.
The stockboy is staring.
One with cheese,
one without.
Thump and thump into my basket.
We'll see if I'm ever brave enough
to grill that miracle of
injected beef pieces
and burn hot again.
wise things said #3
-Anais Nin
Friday, May 15, 2009
You Suck at Tennis
I and I getting used to
you and you
three thousand miles
is not a damn thing anymore
and three hours--
in the space of Spain
I could find Seattle.
but my Jersey summer cigarette
lights as fireworks
against a four a.m. sky
an itch in my knees
and I like the morning moon--
you and I
sea and sky
if I could leave you,
I wouldn't anyway;
I don't know where your
eyes are
but I hope they're on me.
and if Kerouac's a never-ending essay
I am haiku on pre-war walls
a metaphor in taste
longing to give just
the smallest mark more
to leave you breathless
and helpless helpless
in the wake of stronger silences
than conversation makes.
and someone tells me
I could sleep it off
but a hundred thousand sunrise daydreams
touch further
than a hundred thousand nightmares
painting realities I can't reach.
so pin me with your nothings;
I am in your head,
ruining everything,
until the last call Northwest kiss
brushes gentle goodbyes,
and sculpts me into something firmer,
more willing to lose,
than what I've become.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
I'll Keep You
but apathy too slow
and numbness leads to sadness
leads to wanting
leads to no,
I like joy best.
and here.
and here is where the walls
break
down.
put your boots on, little sister,
you've come through worse than this.
There've been larger storms,
harder forms
more rocks among the breaks.
pick your pen up, little sister,
hold on to it tight.
we're going farther,
deeper down,
away against the light.
for caves, my darling little lover,
hold more than they can share
and here.
and here is where you can stay
huddled wretched slick with tears
y a comer furia
is to soothe your angry eyes.
pick up your papers, little lover,
and scream as loud as you can
for my heart
is big enough to shield the world
from the pieces of your breaking heart.
and here
and here
and here we leave our walls
behind
and march into the sun,
hand in hand over land
over sea,
porque no hay una mesa para joy,
only one for sorrow
and we do not sup
amongst unbroken dreams
for nothing.
This is the world:
you will dazzle them
as I perform sleight of hand,
hide our hearts
and let us begin again.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Manifesto to a Movement
Little poetic child slumber
What been woken
By midnights in summer?
Curling gray around somber faces
Remembering free, far-off places
Where always a fire meant one heart
Where now we all rub sticks for whatever to start
I’ve looked once around,
And lately I’ve found,
All these options are in my head
Unless you’re feeding it life
Whatever will end up dead
And I’m not talking about who in who’s bed
Cuz I could be
But it’s about who in whos heart, as it should be
Because it’s each other and ourselves that we can free
Because it’s a question to an answer we left empty
What I’m sayin is
The world is lost on me
I freed it all with poetry
But I’m not lost on the world, you see
Pure vision and action is the belief you can be
So now please,
Put your thumbs together
And write something
Make it free
Read it to me
Make my cum think!
We all need rhythms
That jar us from our numb sink
Into twice laid plans
That don’t work,
Yet we repeat
Here’s a dream of community
Poetry in our veins as immunity
So what fires we will start, we are soon to see
In a movement we can embody, but not assume to be
Open hands can hold, without robbery
Closed minds only leading to snobbery
And these aren’t rules,
But assertions if you’re gonna be free,
Ditch the lie and catch a ride into honesty
Cuz I need it blunt if you’re talking to me
No time to hide in the words you speak
It won’t all feel good indefinitely
It gives way, life and pain,
Inseparably.
And here’s the key
Moving on, with integrity
Rising and spreading
Like bedding down the friends you need
I’m so in love
And so heated
Bear in mind this needs repeated
But I won’t wait cuz it’s ripe
As these minds are meetin
Trying to mouth all these pregnant words they feedin’
Your welcome to cum,
let’s give birth this season
To a movement in our minds
And some playful teasin’
With the way we rhyme
And our minds of reason
I lack design
& my breath ain’t ceasin’
Brother, I need some time
With you
Sister, I need to find
With you
Lover, it’s all in kind
With you
Father & Mother, here’s what I find to do
Drop pre-tense
And find a life that’s true
I’m only as good as the love I use
The only thing I’m missing,
is You.
-Kendra Obom, OG Sandflea
August 2007
Saturday, May 2, 2009
My Other Lover
demanding resuscitation and older memories
begging grief for alice danced slowly
beyond summer sweetness
one night in candles
many nights in flame
my other lover claws at my breast
demanding bitter suck of vile
mourning good winter's passing
beyond white wheats silently sipped
one afternoon in corpses
many days in graves
my other lover claws at my heart
and I lay hands to its throat
growing ever wetter in crass places
gritting my teeth and tossing off
a care or two for the piano
which has been drunk since we discovered gin
my other lover claws and shreds
my other lover angers and fumes
my other lover rages
my other lover roars back at the sea
my other lover devours grapes sour as they come
my other lover believes in the bloody taste of iron
and searches midnights for poles to suck
my other lover believes sex is for violence
and seeks to tear all me open
my other lover,
my other lover loves you better
than loves me
my other lover claws at cunts
and fucks til dry and slick with blood
licks and licks and leaves trails
of sick sweet lip marks on virgin thighs
demanding recitation of spring
deep in autumn's bowels
my other lover is destruction undone
and bloated ghosts move past unseen
my other lover rapes
burns with necessitated need
my other lover
loves you better
than loves me
Friday, May 1, 2009
And Selfishly So
of the guitar on your side of the bed
the cat's sweet purr
next to my head
I am weary of distances
far and in between
the wall to wall spaces
left in my hardest heart
and when i close my fist
as the sixty mile an hour wind
whips by me
out the car window
its your hand i'm holding
when our apocalypse descends
o sweet mercy
give me a tale i can believe in
of you and me and sweet california sun
give me your lips and a taste
of the never ending kiss
give me back
my saturday nights
give me back
the ten minute to takeoff call
whereupon you opened my door
i leapt upon that hard body
and stayed thus until we had to breathe again
give me back
my clean shower
and snowy sunrise
give me back
sister rosetta in the middle of the woods
give me back
all those beats of beasts
and the way we used to dance
give me back
all my romance
give me
give me
o lend mercy sweet shelter
a place for my heartache to die
and my lips to live ever after