Boiling

Your head has been boiling
for some time now-
is it time to taste the plague
you’ve cooked up?

No-
the bones that you trust
sing a song of tomorrow,
tomorrow,
unending,
to die with the light-

your everlasting shipwreck
all over again

until time intervenes for you,
forgives the stones
you could not move.

 

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Experiments (2014)

I am training for something bigger.

Some string has dropped down just in front of me and I’m pulling away at it like mad.

I’m shaving ice, I’m trimming fat, I’m packing bags.

I’m picking scabs and I can feel my mind talking to itself, teaching itself, as my gunny nerves get ready.

Time is standing still these days, in this era of preparation.

My organs are working on a secret.

I have grown quiet and withdrawn, not as punishment but as a gift, being the way I must.

I speak to almost no one.

Everything I choose is wholly right and I have no interest in other people’s doings anymore-

all is bound to my experiments, my constant remolding and pushing.

 

I has a podcast! And it’s not about poetry!

Do you like wrestling? It doesn’t matter. You like silly party games! You like listening to people talk about butts! You like that a person who was once a serious poet is now co-hosting a ridiculous podcast about wrestling with her boyfriend and BFF! You like that this world is a crazy place and you appreciate a good WTF moment. Well here it is.

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A few years ago I would’ve said wrestling was a dumb fake sport that only preteen boys cared about. But a friend dragged me to a live show and I was immediately hooked. I’ve probably been to at least 50 live shows including NXT, Raw, NJPW, PWG, PCW, and Wrestlemania. I know way more about wrestling than probably any teacher should know and my students LOVE IT.

I’m also like, working on a book of children’s poetry but that’s a ways off. So in the meantime you can hear me and my buds play dumb games like:

  • What food does this wrestler’s hair look like?
  • Which two random wrestlers should totally date?
  • Which wrestlers would you take on a road trip?
  • Which dog breed would this wrestler be?

And more!

Subscribe on iTunes, follow us on Twitter, submit your own silly games or tell us your answers!

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Love In My Sneakers

I didn’t know then that I was California-bound
except the fibers on the back of my neck
knew something was wrong
with where I was

and love didn’t make me stay.

I was levitating in the rabbit hole,
pleading for someone to choose for me
because everything I wanted
wasn’t enough;

it was love in my hands
but it was also love
in my sneakers.

And it let me go
just like I watched you go,
tired of holding my feet
to the floor.

I had love still dripping from my shoelaces,
dragged wet traces across the whole country.
I stained every sidewalk I found
with the love that I left.

But I was California-bound,
I was always heading here,
and the love that I couldn’t keep
steered me on.

The First Try

On the first try I had
too many kids
and couldn’t get them all
to sleep.

The second I looked down
at my pelican legs
and thought
“Now that I think,
who are you anyway?
Who are you
to have this many kids?”

Last week it was
fussing at a wedding,
you can’t play that song in here,
and since then I’ve listened to it
twelve more times
and that’s just one more
troubled kid
I dredged up.

If they ever sleep,
they live to wake,
oh lord,
no rest for me.

Yesterday it was #5,
today it’s back to #3
and the time in between
I didn’t learn.

If only I’d been super then,
sober then,
saner then,
safer then,
smarter back then.

I suppose I’d have
different children now,
baby elephant legs besides.

On the third try
I remembered that
and here we are,
look what I can do

’til the next,
oh lord,
child wakes.

Day 45 – Welcome to the Junkyard

It only would’ve lasted
until I knew for sure-
fascination ended by
an answer, at last-
a thirst for the truth
to settle things
in their right place:

“What happened?”

The gears would turn,
try to paint it in different lights-
the liar, the troubled, the confused-
which mask would it come down to?
But I didn’t expect

the least interesting mask of all.
The least helpful, least true
this mask of spared feelings-
to dishonor with lies
for fear of the hurt.

“Was any of it real?
Was it always in my head?”

A half-truth implied for protection.
A flimsy excuse to keep using.

I placed no blame on the blameless heart,
but the mouth who said nothing
and kept eating, who kept
accepting gifts, so easily
erased…

You were just an open box
I couldn’t pack away
because I didn’t know what
to put in it.

No friend should ever lie
so effortlessly;
no one who needs
should use so much.
This, now
I know.

I put a flask
and a pack of cigarettes
and a mask-

Be well
and

welcome to the junkyard.