i found a bunch of my old writings
and decided to share them. i fuckin barely write any more but there was a time when i busted out a poem at least every week and most of them were pretty good. these are some of them.
stay away june 2001
cry the mute angels
anguished & insane
trapped in their tiny
stained-glass bottles
rattling their chains-
stay away! stay away!
& when their eyes have
finally fallen snowdrops
upon the earth
their tortured fingers curled
seaweed on the sand
still we reply, w/ our own mute cry:
stay! stay! stay!
time for new brains! (dunno when)
time for new brains!
(i tell myself)
i need a good bleaching
that goes deeper than my mousy roots
to burn those tiny, dirty fingers
burn them out from between my thoughts
so they skitter away
take the bad chemicals w/ them
and leave my head antiseptic
reeking of health
to turn away from you september 6, 2001
i will emerge from this
mud-splattered & torn
but alive
because i stood too
close to the fan
& wash splashed for it
curiosity or lust made
me stick my fingers
in the blades
now they are ribboned
& useless
what fist could i make now?
what punches could i throw?
& could i find even the will
to walk away?
i am amazed to find that
i already have
things have retreated over the
horizon
& i am dirty, scabbed
& solitary once again
at this crossroads
watching a shadow fade that once
crossed my body &
chilled my soul
now the sun can see
just where i’ve been
venice, july 18, 2000
i see my handprints like chalk
on the black coats of the world-weary
brushing by them as i pass, i leave a ghost of myself
on each indifferent sleeve
i am a pale, dusty girl
straggle-haired on the road,
seeking experience through the sieve of my senses
ever onward, leaving a trail
a chalky trail of soul across this continent
it says, ‘i loved here’
i kicked this sand & picked these flowers
& smelled this air alone
these illusions mystified me even in my disbelief
w/ leaden stomach & feather heart i move forward to the ocean
ready to sink or swim or float
ready to turn it chalk white w/ the touch of my spirit
to say, ‘i loved here’
stay away june 2001
cry the mute angels
anguished & insane
trapped in their tiny
stained-glass bottles
rattling their chains-
stay away! stay away!
& when their eyes have
finally fallen snowdrops
upon the earth
their tortured fingers curled
seaweed on the sand
still we reply, w/ our own mute cry:
stay! stay! stay!
time for new brains! (dunno when)
time for new brains!
(i tell myself)
i need a good bleaching
that goes deeper than my mousy roots
to burn those tiny, dirty fingers
burn them out from between my thoughts
so they skitter away
take the bad chemicals w/ them
and leave my head antiseptic
reeking of health
to turn away from you september 6, 2001
i will emerge from this
mud-splattered & torn
but alive
because i stood too
close to the fan
& wash splashed for it
curiosity or lust made
me stick my fingers
in the blades
now they are ribboned
& useless
what fist could i make now?
what punches could i throw?
& could i find even the will
to walk away?
i am amazed to find that
i already have
things have retreated over the
horizon
& i am dirty, scabbed
& solitary once again
at this crossroads
watching a shadow fade that once
crossed my body &
chilled my soul
now the sun can see
just where i’ve been
venice, july 18, 2000
i see my handprints like chalk
on the black coats of the world-weary
brushing by them as i pass, i leave a ghost of myself
on each indifferent sleeve
i am a pale, dusty girl
straggle-haired on the road,
seeking experience through the sieve of my senses
ever onward, leaving a trail
a chalky trail of soul across this continent
it says, ‘i loved here’
i kicked this sand & picked these flowers
& smelled this air alone
these illusions mystified me even in my disbelief
w/ leaden stomach & feather heart i move forward to the ocean
ready to sink or swim or float
ready to turn it chalk white w/ the touch of my spirit
to say, ‘i loved here’