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My 1st post here! Jun. 30th, 2004 @ 11:58 pm
I know I haven't critiqued anything yet, but I promise I will. This piece is called Used. It's one of those pieces you write, edit, edit, edit, get annoyed and set aside for awhile. What I'm really looking for is a way to strengthen it as a whole, but particularly the last 5 line to pack more of an punch.
ANY comments however are welcome.

BTW - it is really more of a performance piece so try to think of it aloud.

UsedCollapse )
: curiouscurious
: A/C Hummmmmmming

Mother to Child Jun. 30th, 2004 @ 02:05 pm
"I'm cold"
I said,

as I absently stroked
his vision-
Turning a page of my journal
I spat on my quill and began
composing creation-

Every eye in his soul
was fixated
intoxicated by-
The idea of what journey
he would undergo
at the mercy of my mind

Creating for him
a path
dictated by myth and secret code

He would be the lonely adventurer-
The last of 40 thieves
to enter the tomb of twilight-
To steal the holy grail
from it's divine perch
in the belly of hell

Spewing him proverbs and psalms
in an ancient tongue-
He prayed to the moon
for translation-
To disclose the meaning
in the message of
his life's decent

He'd come alone
from the depths of my solitude
seeking absolution

" I'm cold "
I said,

as he
paid no heed to the warning-
a storm, quickly approaching-
" you should sleep now"
But he only smiled and
asked for another story

Then after working, feverishly
for a century or so-

He'd not noticed
he'd grown old-

" it's time and
I'm cold"
I said,

and handed him my journal
: Missing my Richy
: none

haiku in triplet: against the war Jun. 19th, 2004 @ 07:29 pm
please, show me something
beautiful, something real that
isn't death, isn't

talking heads, rolling
heads; show me birth, growth, loving;
things simple in faith.

please, show me something
more than human, not less; show me
something that's not war.

Jun. 9th, 2004 @ 03:47 pm
I wrote this one to kind of settle some confusion i had. I'm looking for any feedback, but mostly a way to try and pick up momentum newar the end, maybe it's just cause i've read this so much that i've lost what i was thinking, maybe it's fine, maybe it's not. Anyway, thanks for anything...

PiecingCollapse )

about lies and breaking up Jun. 5th, 2004 @ 01:31 pm
Sometimes the most often used themes can give us some new thoughts, i think...

The Leftover Sense of youCollapse )
Other entries
» truth or dare?
wrote this for a poetry class...


Once, just to prove that
I was not chickenshit
I kissed a girl on her foreign mouth.
(Blame it on my friend, John,
parading about with his Irish drinking songs
and free samples of brandy.)
Far too young was I
to recall the 18th century
when the only jobs for those who defied
their gender
in the travelling circus,
side-show freaks:
an effeminate man,
a masculine woman.
Yet I was also too young
to traverse ancient Greece
where elder men were mentors
and younger boys, their pupils,
and love came as it chose.
"How odd," I mused, "it would seem to
reach across the sheets
at night and touch
the curves, angles, shapes
of your own body."
Though my eyes were closed, I thought,
"This is how it feels
to attempt a brassy swagger
down a public street
knowing that the one you are strolling
so closely against wears
a bra that matches yours."
Maybe I will move to
Italy, where
an air-kiss is impolite,
and no one curls their upper lip
when a man embraces a man
or a woman
lays her mouth where she chooses.
» resurrect
i found
your god today.
he came skipping through
the check-out line at
Ace Hardware store
came to help his
construction-worker father
purchase a hammer.
he was quiet for
just a few minutes
tracing pictures in sawdust
tiny fingers powdery
maybe it was the
white noise of
fork lifts, cash registers, shopping bags
but i didnt
hear him right away.
"i'm four years old today,"
he said
and i just smiled and scanned
the bar code on the hammer
because who had time
to be nice to this kid anyway?
just as i handed over
a dollar's worth of change
he spoke to me again;
fixed innocent eyes on mine and said
"my mommy is dead."
it was silent, like holocaust.
"i found her," he said ," she wasn't
it was silent, like grieving.
in the space between his
child's voice
and the swish of automatic doors
i felt the floor of my
heart crumbling away.
mea culpa, i thought,
forgive me.
the pain i think i'm feeling
each day is pale.
shame on me for
tying trivial things into bundles
and resting on false hardship.
in his face i could see
how the weight of
unearthly sorrow
was borne, carried by
one who should never have had
to define it.
i found your god today.
he is not wrapped in swaddling blankets.
he is not bathed in light
nor wearing a crown of thorns.
your god is
four years old.
and every
one of you
probably passed him by in that
check-out line
without saying a word.
» (No Subject)

My father said when
his daughter was flung from
the back seat of
a 1987 Bronco,
the song playing in his head
rang out 'hallelujah'.

Do not pray for me.
It is because of your faith
that you are permitted
to condemn me.

My mother said when
she entered the emergency room & saw
her child's body, brow split like
bleeding infinity,
she could not look towards
the bed.

Do not presume that this is past.
You cannot see my and my scars
even now.


Mother -- I grow weary.
I am forever the child you never wanted me to be.
Perseverant wanderer, the one who
will not disappear.

Mother -- I am angry.
I am never enough until you have left me
with nothing. I asked you to give me

shelter, a young one lost
& ostracized again, but you
saw my sorrow and laughed.

And who was I in the face of
your laughter?
A strange, sombre adolescent in some
school-yard watching

other, more repetitious kids
who so assuredly belonged.
You'd triumph if you could see me
fail: It would make you


Father-- I worship you.
I have crawled my whole life
in search of your approval.

Father-- I am worried.
I expectantly huddle near
to wait for a kind word
yet you have none to give me

unless a lecture precedes
your compassion, as if kindness
is reserved for my ignorance.

I do not have it within
my chest, the space
to carry your expectations &
at midnight when I


cannot hear my sister sigh
cannot hear my brothers breathing
it is you who
stops my ears with difference
because I am not the one they should idolize:
I am not pure.

In family photos it is I who
develops with closed eyes,
not because sunlight stings me
but because

perhaps, if I blink
once, I will miss these

of dissatisfaction & you will at last
soothe my battered confidence
with kisses & a piggy back ride.


My grandmother said when
her eldest grandchild lay prone
in hospital gowns & could not
speak, she remembered that
even those dying can still hear
& uttered simply:

"I am here."


That is all I ever asked of you:
mother, father
who will not speak.
All I needed.

It is that which you can never give.
» (No Subject)
when the end of
the world comes
and nothing is left but
cockroaches and ice-fog,
you will find me.

my teeth embedded in
white-decayed shoulder-blade of
the last deer hunted.
latched down upon
seedless core of the
last apple fallen from the last fated tree.
scraping slow along
sinewy spirit-like clavicle of
the last lover
of the last
woman standing.

my footprints pressed into
red-sand blood-sand beaches
where once we gathered shells.
tiptoed through fields
flat like forever.
faltering shell-shocked across
weaker warrior's graves
left alone by stuttering
hearts and tired voices.

when the end of the world comes
you will find my hands
printed across the backs of the mountains
like the first written word.
i'll call you from the clouds
with the raucous caw of the

could you crawl from the pyres
and stride, the only giant, through
ravished lands to eat the
berries from the prickly bushes?
could you paint again your stories
on the walls of many caves
to be read some evening
in 1000 years?
could you sing out bells like magpies
for everyone to hear?
could you possibly be that irreverent?

when the end of
the world comes
and nothing is left
but startings-over
and sabre-toothed tigers
you will find me
laced through the sands of
further oceans
waiting to arise.
» Premarital
they fucked in a cathedral.
in a cathedral.
(holy holy holy)

he shoeless for silence
tiger-padded to the altar
clinging to her hands
she cocktail-dressed
horse's-hoof clicking behind
and unzipping his fly.

(my children you have come to perspire and blaspheme
with your bodies my covenants white and pure)

he bit her breasts
beneath the visage of
Virgin Mary
glistening tongue tracing outlines
of tainted water

(no my girl-child you shall not ascend
if you'd have waited the Father would have
granted you His son)

she stroked his back
led him into confessional
legs spread wide for
recieving all of him

(this be your penance my boy that you
lose your place in heaven for wanton coveting)

his heart beats
her womb contracts
they have forgotten their
spare angelic names
built themselves an offspring
under a horrified crucifix

there are beads of sweat
mixed with eucharist
filling up the Cup

(o how Eden has fallen
thou shalt not covet
all seven deadly sins
lust is the worst of these)

she is satisfied
he is spent
and they are laughing towards
home together
this cathedral is not their
sanctuary salvation
is not inside a building.

(cast them out)
we are not penitent for
(cast them out)
we are skin
over skin
(cast them out)
we are entwined
and not afraid
of your holy
puritanical ghosts
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