regents park

i used to sit on a bench, waiting for you

watching the blue cranes picking up their feet

watching the grass grow from the foreign soil

that was my home

i used to listen to the footsteps of the people

i used to listen to the footsteps of the sun

walking slowly across the sky

i miss walking with you there

i used to feel my stomach clench like a fist

when i saw you walking towards me

growing like moss

giving me my bearings

like ivy our arms entwined

we used to walk past the queen anne's lace

past the knotted trees

like old fingers sprouting from a green sea

i used to walk past me

until the first day you came

and we walked together

breath on piano -- gabriel orozco

i'm sitting at marthes's piano, my fingers gliding across the new keys.  new pianos are like new shoes -- you have to break them in, get them dirty.  my hands slip and stumble like some kid who's never ice skated before and i let the room know i am very drunk.  they already know, i know.

i play this version of "rain song" by led zeppelin that i rewrote just for piano and this hipster in the room says, "i know this!  this is french" and she sounds like an idiot but i don't say anything.  i pour my breath into the keys, i pour myself into the body -- my fingers mirror the hammers on the inside, i know.  i am leaving my mark, a stain, a fleeting part of myself; and that is all that matters

at an indie rock bar in paris valentine's day weekend

2/15/11

i pulled away from the tall guy

i have to go, i said

why? he asked

but i think he understood

i pulled away from the guy who was singing at the bar

and i said, your words are proud but they're empty

you speak a language you're sure only you understand

and you don't try to understand anyone else

and then he pushed me away

he didn't get what i was saying

i pulled away from a french guy

i don't speak french, i said

anglais, anglais, oui anglais

hablas español?  si!

quieres bailar?  ok!

mis padres son de españa

no, no, no bailes así, te estás pisando los pies a mí.

pero estoy emborrachada!

no me importa -- sígueme, sígueme.

mejor.  a los pies les voy a enseñar a hablar.  si?  ok.

i pulled away from the business man

i said something he didn't understand

i wish i knew more english, he said

i said i'm the one who's in paris

he gave me his business card

call me please tomorrow, he said

the next day i found it in my bed

i threw it all away

Voto

I vaguely remember your face that afternoon
the linen cloth reflected through the room
the sweaty ebony; the tight wound strings, the tune
the long-forgotten song snipped from the loom

Bravo to you
a thousand paper hearts to you
my memory, a mantra, chants adieu
adieu
adieu, adieu, adieu.

What cosmic certainty fuels working hands?
What power tames the wilderness of time?
all lesser lives sift down like lesser sand
unfazed by tears; by music or by rhyme

You said -- I think you fit it to a tee --
our inner cups are filled with surging spirit;
our music wrings us out when others hear it
lover, you took a sip of me

And so I stoke my heart
with measuring spoons
my do-I's kept at bay by lacy Junes
by lifted veils and shallow drafts run dry --
when shallow sunsets open heavy eyes,
I'm left alone to slouch and wonder why

Their over-potent tepid brew of passion
demands and fades away again
like fashion
when their insides turn to objects --
lesser beings --
they're reduced to empty cans.
tin, cold
unfeeling

Bravo
pretentious, flat adieu.

Adieu, foe,
to things I wish I knew.

la broma es demasiado viejo

la broma es demasiado viejo

la canción ha sido cantado otra vez

las palabras dichas además de

mi corazón latiendo como

ojo parpadeando como

aliento inspirado como

un disco roto

y ¿qué será la historia?

no tendría principio ni fin

y nada en medio

sin objeto

mi mente es tan vacia

como un libro abierto

las palabras leídos 

sueños repetidos

parecería que no tenga nada para decir

las cosas envueltas en hojas de plátanos

en un envase de Tupperware

en datos científicas

en las pañales de jesus, recién nacido

y en mis creencias

¿dónde hay, adónde están...?

la broma es demasiado viejo

la canción ha sido cantado otra vez

we are home, i feel

the seed in your fruit
my arms stretch through soil
i feel alive

folded in your fingers
folded in the wings
i feel safe

strange syllables, we are

built to fit a language

the tongues' fluid motion

we are 

spoken

soul cure.

in the living room,

on the embroidered couch

the light was dim;

the only sign of death

was in the air -- 

the stale fetor of yellow tail

my great-aunt blanca on the left;

on the right, my great-aunt la actriz,

professional queen of drama

proclaimer of poetry

"your hair is like mine was," she said,

"except mine was much longer -- down to here.

and red as rust.

"my eyes were green like yours, and my nose

pointed like yours; everything like yours.  and

although i have grown old, you remain what i was."

she recites one of her poems for me.

"ésta es dedicada a mi primer amor; 

dondequiera está."

her voice is like lightning

and her tongue rolls like thunder -- 

the meaning; the sound

sweet as rain

she takes my hand

she tells me they're like ice

but it's so enunciated, it sounds like

"your hands are like jello"

and it makes me laugh

my cousin plays the guitar

and sings; he throws his head back

white teeth like polished rocks

in his open mouth

he looks a little like mick jagger

and he used to be mick jagger

when he played for the rolling clones

everyone sings along

to the songs he has written

and the melody

strikes a chord

i sit out back

with my sister, carrie

we dangle our feet in the cold swimming pool

we admire the white lights strung across the trees

and the artwork

the visual poetry

scattered like polished rocks across the desert lawn

this was your last gift --

a soul cure

real love's precious medicine -- 

an "i am there"

and a "here are you."

algernon's bouquet

some instances

deserve no words

and some words

deserve no instance

can you not see

in front of you
behind you
and ahead?

i wish i could go back

to the times where i was

at my most beautiful

i wish

you could have seen me

at my most beautiful

or was it only

you didn't want me

at my most beautiful

most of the time

i think, i should stop thinking about it

but then i remember

in order to tell myself

to stop thinking

i must have thought it in the first place

i realize
without having to realize it

my only desire

was to keep you

at your most beautiful.

chanson

a silent stage; a dusty beam of light

you're sitting wide-eyed and afraid

i'm in the wings -- i see your tears

i come and join you from the dark

listen to our rosined hearts

beating together; beating apart

it's strange how things grow strong and fade again

you see through me like a plate of glass

you see my eyes

and how i see

see how i can't see through myself

quietly you hear the rain

slurping through an earthy drain

into the roots of our being

you rise and face the blackened room

the expectant audience in their womb

you see the outline of their faces

you see inside

you see yourself

you get up and you start to talk

"please listen to what i say

although it may all seem cliché

it's just a couple of suggestions

i've seen your ways

your ways like mine

it's hard to wander through the dark

just try to find your way around

and get up if you've fallen down

i know it's harder than it sounds like

you have to find
truth for yourself

you can't put your hands on others' backs

and you may never find a light

but without the search, all you've done in life

is sit confounded in a dark room

without a face

without a name

no one can see you properly

but if you live to see your dawning

before you think the chance is gone, you'll

see your face and what it looks like

and who you were

and who you'll be

you'll be fulfilled when you see yourself"

when you finish, look around and see

the people next to you and me

the auditorium's almost empty

a thousand lights

a thousand men

they look around and through skin

the coffee felt good on a hangover

the coffee felt good on a hangover
the waves pounded silently on the shore

and the frost congealed on the café window

the coffee was too hot for the cold day

my dry red fingers laced around the paper cup

your pulled the string on your tea bag

the coffee burned the feeling out of my tongue

you looked at me and your eyes were red

the coffee grew cold.

"slow day for a saturday."

i nodded, it was a slow day for a saturday

my heart pounded silently in my chest

and the earth began to tilt

very last day.

god gave me perfect weather

on my very last day

the clouds spread like gray frosting and i feel free

in the cool mist's embrace.

the grass is slick and green

and cold on my skin

as i walk slowly through

the ghosts of memories

there is the swing on the cable

i would slide across the yard

back and forth, back and forth

there is the tree that i would climb

and sit and draw the leaves and bark

the spiders and the ants

there is the row of apple trees

they blossom, flower, ripen; bear

my family and i would step up to the plate

in the autumn and swing at fallen fruit

i'm next in the batting order

i can let the apple drop, or hit it hard

into the sky, and feel the excitement

as i pass each base

and end up home.

God save the catholics.

if jesus calls me second-best
if i was made from man
if i must keep my sermons silent
i suppose i was made what i am

if tradition is the law
woman is one short of seven
if good god tells me i am flawed
i don’t want to go to heaven 

if married men are too impure to teach
if wives are just possessions
well you cannot covet me because i am made 
an animal 
free from oppression

if woman is not man
and man should have only woman
if god can’t love what he created
then i don’t want to go to heaven

these ancient laws are dusty
the church is not a court
if i do go to heaven
dear God,
She’ll stand in my support.

tree.

outside my window stands a tree

his ancient posture incomplete

his green leaves whisper in the breeze

he rents his arms to birds and bees

i've known this tree since i was small

i clamored through his hollowed halls

i flew his helicopters on

the strong support of summer squall

this tree has braved both storm and snow

he blossoms back from seasons’ woe

and when i have nowhere to go

i thank his limbs for my repose

he'll never fight or disagree

if i lay sleeping at his feet

he'll never live to see the sea

but there's no doubt he'll outlive me

tell me how you really feel.

 close your mouth

keep your ears open

sing silent words

tell me how you really feel

take the hands off your eyes

take the hands off your heart

look at the world around you

tell me how you really feel

my sister, my brother

i am you; we are each other

i love you very deeply; never-ending

so tell me how you really feel

walk through a fog

release your soul

find the sun with your heart

and tell me how you really feel

you seem so nervous

you seem so angry

i understand you

tell me how you really feel

it’s all because of

the hands on your eyes

the hands on your heart

tell me how you really feel

eurydice.

there once was a springtime

dill lavender blue
the scene never softer
in nival review
the serpent; the may queen
danced fate’s minuet

while lovers and sisters
played long on their frets
the singers, the stardust
took may to the moon
where white holy larvae
spin tapestry loom
the may queen, the moth queen
dance porch light ballet
he caught her; he kept her
she won’t fly away
she tried and she tried
to break free from her home
she’d sit and she’d cry
in the cramped diamond dome
that night she got out
when he screwed off the lid
he turned just to hold her
she’d already left
he turned just to hold her
but she’d already left

things that matter

time is wonderful
lost and lost forever
all that’s left is a trail of memories
our brain is just a storage facility for the imaginary
what has occurred does not exist but for what we remember

i draw the importance of my life
from the memories i have
warm places in my mind
that i do not mind keeping close to me
remnants of the material memories that slipped between my fingers
and into my heart
where they became intangible
just imagination
because the past has wiped itself clean

Excerpt from a bigger project (II)

Robert raised his eyebrows.  "So you're meaning to say that you keep your deceased hamster in the freezer?"

"Right next to the pizza rolls," Lynn smiled.

"Shut up, Linny," Carol frowned.  "Amy is very sensitive about preserving the body.  Blanche was important to her."

"Oh my God -- let me see her!"  yelled Liz.  There was a pause.  "Eww!"

Scooter, the youngest boy, emerged through the living room doorway, his hands cupped gently around a wad of paper towels.  He sat down next to Grandma Sis and, opening the paper towels around the object with strategic, mincing fingers, placed the swaddled mass on his sleeping grandmother's protruding belly.  The wrinkled eyes fluttered and fixed on the opened package.  "EH!"  With an automatic sweep of her hand, Grandma flicked the body off of her, which consequently rolled free of its shroud across the vanilla shag carpet and tipped to a stop in front of the porch's sliding door.  Bocephus and George W. immediately caught sight of the shrunken remains from outside and started scratching at the door, their nails slipping and shrieking against the glass.

Scooter was just scrambling to pick up the crumpled paper towels and recover the body when his mother entered the room, balancing plates of deviled eggs and taquitos in both hands.

"No!  No no no!"  Aunt Linda set the plates on the floor and shoved Scooter out of the way.  "Put those plates on the coffee table, Terence Afton.  Your mother will be very disappointed in you.  AMY!"  Amy appeared in the doorway, half of her head of hair curled.  "Amy, put Blanche back in the fridge.  My cheesy potatoes are burning in the oven."

2010

kinderlied

you, you, i love you

yes, yes, it's true

every day i look at you

you tell me that i do

oh, oh, i hope you know

it makes me smile to watch you grow

and when you hug me; say hello

that's all you'll ever need to show

i see, see you love me

your laugh, it holds the key

for you're the apple of my eye

and i your cup of tea

2009

carrie's song.

harvest moon in the clear black sky

these are the things i love.

 

good folk music and pumpkin pie

these are the things i love.

 

ripened maples like fireworks

kid on the porch in a ballet skirt

 

oh, autumn gold hangin’ in the trees

these are the things i love.

 

pick as many as you please

these are the things i love.

 

yes, these are the things i love.

yes, these are the things i love.

2009