Second Coming

Do it, twice

Internet had a sickness for days and I was starting to think that it would never return. What a blessing; what a curse.

I can't say that much changes for me, not really really really changes
yet I learn about the scope of my peripheries and watching them expand to contact

and then contract down, laced down tight, corset tight, laced up the back leaving red lines and a twenty inch waist tight, with no room to breath I dance into the light before forgotten and tossed like a tissue

onto the floor with a number scrawled
in something red
kicked into ball of lace
and waist

shake it up and shake it off
this one is to remember, this one is for may, this one is for my mother
as the nail hot as anything
hot as red hot scrawled numbers on napkins and twenty inch waists
presses into the soft tissue right above my hip

and I am only mad that I forgot my soldering iron
and that the stove's electric
and that the ups and the downs
pivot and spin around the spine of my heart

shining bright against the night
bright against the eye
open white hot heat of my heart
pumps iron and blood and legs along the road
and I know

I am the star
pressed to the sky reflected off the eye of a lover
and back across time space distance all of this
gone tomorrow

here today
just like the internet in the sticks

tell me who you are

Space Ship Pocket Star

Crashed and burned
the charred remains of that nostalgic trip not even worth poking with a stick—

I made a pie chart of pros and cons of my life. The pros outweigh the cons by a standard american mile. Yet, I still have the itch of not quite right in my bones.

Drink coffee, slept like shit
as I tossed and tumbled across my sweaty sheets for six hours before showering and finding myself here at the keyboard

I had strawberry ice cream with a ripe banana and slivered almonds for dinner
I saw a man that should know by now I will never want to fuck him
but he's a smart enough man to know that I am a nice enough girl
who hates to say no, so he keeps calling

I push out against the sky, I breath against my skin
and this dome overhead holds me to my body and I am grateful for the wind in my face
and the smell of the road as the day bakes the concrete and the jasmine, roses, bay all blend together into a hot mash of floral gasoline and the reverberations of my mind settle into the drone

of wheels on pavement
and bugs on face-shields
hot air and solitude blend together
mix with the wind

I am alright
with all of that
and those choices I made
before I learned how to say no

I learned them now
and I am pretty okay with
who I am in life
flesh against bone against hot road

and breathing alive, I can do all of this
living
I want all of this
living

ice cream and motorcycles and roses and lovers and lost moments
found in pockets of memories
stowed away like marbles
in jars full of prizes

I've got the quarter machine blues

Long winding roads make me hungry

for taco bell
and sleeping with my back against a tree

I took the long way home and three hours later, cold, hungry, and short on red bull I ate some burritos and tried to smoke and make sense of the previous twenty-four hours while I slept with my back against the trunk of a tree.

The nagging and unrelenting feeling that people invite me around only to have a nice good laugh about it later remains a constant sensation that I feel the third right rib. I am sure someday someone will rename that bone.

Then in and out of pretense. I am satisfied with who I am in life. I've got it made, just not yet on paper. I have a tendency to hate on people who are my age and pretty.

I have issues with intimacy, personal space, trust, reliance, respect, attachment, boundaries, social engagement and dynamics, power, sex, money, motivation, and god: would you like to grab coffee and talk about baseball?

This is what I've learned this week: never get separated from star-bright: your ability to leave is your ability to be cool in your socks; travel with a sleeping bag, sunscreen, snacks, water, and headlamp; I am not super much into house music.

The balance of dignity and truth and being cool. I'll take my wheels and a red bull over being cool.

run fast, fall hard, get up, repeat

The walls keep coming

and I am creative in dissolving barriers

but a break in the seam

a crack in the night

would help

money is not the issue

freedom is

****

freedom can fuck you

impulsive distracted will-o-wisp 

of a girl 

chasing light and shadow

hearts opening against their better judgement

"what attracts you most," mouth against ear

pain, I say to the ceiling

a half-truth and a cookie

and, I 'm fucking tired of being quiet and keeping the piece of me silent that shouts against the sky
and mouth open ingests the horizon
as it laps against the penumbra, the word that I learned from William, that's in my pda
and I cannot bring it to mind

but I eat the blue hour, the essential hour before silence
and the joy of living is in the silence of expressing more than words with our voices
and using this thing that burns into our flesh for something more than pain
and yes, this world
is pain
and grief
hollowed our hearts that sit in half-shamed silence
dark streaks against the boom-boom of your voice
as I hear
how little I am
how little I have
how little I have become in accepting myself
and pushing the hot poker to the piece of me that remains unseen I forfeit
my heart in search of my soul

against the sky what else is there besides the winds
and the sharp talons of hooked beaked hawks
dust and light filter across the field kicked up by city folks driving subarus on farm roads
and the dust settles over the crops and into my boots, hair, nose all full
and I am more allergic to my mother than anything else

I find this deeply disturbing http://www.swisslink.com/ and yet I could probably shop there for years satisfied

don't stop before you're done

because really, what are we all here for any ways
to sit on our hands as life gold
drips from concrete veins
and we lace our form across the wires of the vineyard

I am terrified to run in between the rows
the wires are traps
not easily escaped

sometimes I run down them on purpose
to feel the terror of self-entrapment
and listen to my heart

Subjective Harmony

Link: unbreakable

going dark

Within the week I will pull this string of ones and zeros off the internet. Someday, maybe, some of this will be put into a book made of paper and glue.

motorbike fightnight

those are the only two words in my head these days
not that I have a penchant for speed
or an uncanny inability to feel pain

because

sometimes air and wind and fingers gripped around bars
are all we have to hold onto

and

holding my head in my arms and eyes to the night
I can breathe against the drumming of my ears
the lights pulse through my spine
and the rumble of the turf
against the pale of my legs

Fruitful Harvest

sow seeds of contentment
that our harvest may be
plentiful

 as we reap our dreams