pica's baby.

i wonder, do we lack the ability to function immediately as newborns where our animal counterparts are ready for action in only minutes because of our ability to speak?

i look in little liana's eyes and wonder if it's the universe's way of preventing us from seeing that reincarnation is real. we are forced into silence until we forget our past lives, overwhelmed by the journey out of and back into the world.

maybe i'm just really high.

still, i want to know what that little bitch is thinking about when she looks around.

words spoken by a silent shapeless mouth.

gunshot victim.




why buy the cow when you get the milk for free?
this poison teat swollen and ready for relief.

people come and go but things they last forever.

hot eyelids smoulder concealing gasoline dreams
evaporating
incendiary devices aglow
the dusk knows your secrets
the moonlight alone.

in the sunshine in the wind.

little yellow leaf you are not like the others, grown green with envy.

the only kisses i exchange are of an eskimo persuasion with my feline confidants.

whore-oscope.

Leo, although you like to indulge in thinking about being bad, you usually do the right thing in the end. Proud Leo can get all caught up, but is always a loyal friend. You don't want to make any major changes, but you might want to refine and tweak yourself.



(it gets harder every day for me to find a single good quality in my possession, but for many years i convinced myself i was a decent human being.)

milestones.

get up and go with a quickness
if your head is not the thickest
slow and witless
excuse for a helmet.

bear witness.
blood on my hands heart pitted
i spit softly in the dry dirt
rivers tickle and just a trickle
remains
down the side of the bed i've made and lie in.

deluxe princess.

driving down the road i saw an aging, unleashed dog taking a dump next to the sidewalk and was reminded of those first moments in which i realized i loved you.

they don't make nostalgia like that anymore.

poor craftsmanship.

to rebuild is an act hindered by a yard littered with corpses.

shit's real.


romance.

nanny cam.

i hear my bra creak
siltent tiles squeak
like my heart
guilt eek
it's a mouse
ima set a trap
ima tweak
real neat
i know you seen.

brothers.

it saddens me that i can't share so many fascinating things i've seen and done because i was in those situaions.

disgust in disguise
your love cloaked in lies.

you will miss me when i'm gone.

i can't hear you over those pants.

somebody turn off the damn moon.

i could see the couple in my driver's side view mirror, kissing, gently.

it's when i look in the mirror, and expect to see a face. a face not my own.
a voice cracked and weary, yay, i do hear thee.

when i see my reflection i am absolutely transfixed by an image of myself paused in time. as if surprised i do indeed exist.

i hear the thunder, rolling in.

they call me scarlett viletti like vile
i spew venom and bile
my body no more than a weapon.

i've told so many lies
not long now 'til i'll die
my heart alone won't get me to heaven.

familiarity breeds contempt.

a drunken letter to myself. found behind my bed.

verbatim, from the back of a torn envelope:

"i get the spins real easy these days partially to bad judgment partially because the boss won't let us eat or take a break and well hey

so i decide to go on one of my vomadventures and don't have glasses but make it towards crickets and water and i can almost hear the moon can't see it but know it's there a big ol' pancake of light

jesus i've invented the time machine and i'm 16."

i am but onion skin.

the warm body in the room, breathing furniture, transformed over-night to no more than a single, albeit most collossal pachederm.

a bird's eye view of tiwsting, highly viscous floors composed neatly of swarovski crystals and free-range eggshells to form a river basin dried and ready to traverse.

whore-oscope.

Although you may feel that trouble has been following you lately and just won't leave you alone, some relief is on its way. As you welcome in your birthday, prepare to say goodbye to problems that have been plaguing you and causing you to slow down and become stagnant. August should welcome in a time of renewal, when you can clearly see what your next steps will be, and you feel ready to take them. Although you may need to be patient at first, the more you practice moving forward, the more ready you will be when life starts moving more quickly. Expect to feel a greater sense of hope and optimism by early fall, as your life begins to take off.

i grew today.

i have accepted that i do not possess enough respect for myself to fear losing it; but that shred which my mother retains i can not live without.

i do not know if that makes me an adult or a child.

it's oh so quiet.

but i can hear you think.

i hear each sip you take of beer,

of liquor,

i hardly know her.

what is, what was, what will never be.

what is what was what will never come to be
what was now done you can never cease to see
what has been a year not enough to make believe
what could be now i see fruitless and relieved.

in other words:

baby i am so relaxed if i were water i'd look like glass.

in response to your text:

YOU ARE MY MOTHERFUCKING PROBLEM YOU NARCISSISTIC, SELF-INVOLVED FOOL

smoke.

what am i left with once my stained fingers are no longer strong enough my mouth on fire so hot and dry i can no longer bring a cigarette to my lips for fear that some spark will ignite an internal combustion and incinerate what little tinder remains within?

caught between molecules trapped between atoms

i feel each thunderclap like a hexed receptor of all the energies of the world shaken to its very core once engaged to be married now simply harried
a girl-child sublimated into the air no(t) matter hopes shattered stepping lightly on egg shells and shards of memories
remembering your slightly sour sweet smell salty taste your solid body my earth and i merely an explorer upon its mountainous terrain
the pain ebbs and flows liquid magma beneath my hot skin.

why?

all the love in the world? on a silver platter, i'm sure.

please simply starve me of affection if this is all the love in the world lock me away until my eyes are small dry jaundiced saffron spheres until i can play a sweet lonesome melody on my cracked ribcage until my heart whithers and beats no louder than a butterfly's wings for one more taste of all that love is no more than poison on my tongue.




he says i'm miserable here but that place is often here nor there.

myer's law.

i sit watching her, her coarse brown hair too mousey even for a rodent. she is in her mid forties, but probably only aged about 38 years. as her dead eyes roll in and out of her head, tongue lolling from a mouth too large atop a scrawny neck, she mumbles, lips loose around half a set of yellowed teeth, speaking incoherently with her face aimed down behind tightly interlaced fingers.

she tells us over and over about her career, counting the years she's done this, done that, spent getting a higher degree that for whatever reason, it quickly becomes apparent, she will never obtain. she mentions her wedding band at least three times, as if to assert that yes, a man did indeed want her at one time.

does she have children? does she have cats? or dogs? cats, definitely, i can see her talking to them like babies, most likely swarming around her when she gets home at night anticipating the clink of a full food dish on the tile floor.

perhaps it is linoleum.

and then, exhausted, she falls into a worn brown recliner - the one with the wood paneling tracing the front of the armrests and a special satchel of sorts for the remote control.

lesson #2:

you get what you pay for.

lube.

i navigate my way through my own soft folds of skin seemingly endless shades ranging from transluscent milk to ash and brown with every move they shift my body listlessly rolling end over end down a hill head spinning with no sign of an end in sight i am slippery sliding through every grasp had in constant motion within a blanket of sound i can hear in the remote distance meaningless words and even more meaningless promises

and i wonder how he thinks he could hold on so loosely and still have a grip.

myer's law.

after a long pause as we stand with faces smiling, mouths closed, eyes squinting into the setting sun as the breeze blows lightly over our ears, i let my shoulders fall and the cool feeling of the air settle on my skin.

"yo man," he says, cracked teeth sticking out in a grin, "yo man you got someofthose get-a-nigga-busted eyes i tell ya sheeeeit."

"it's really a beautiful night, i love the way it smells down here, the wind is always blowing."

"yeah man, yo ain't no shit about it, that gulf shit right over there," as he points his cigarette somewhere towards the west, "that gulf shit just be sittin there chillin'."



lesson #1
i have become so accustomed to lying compulsively for no reason beside the fact that no one is ever actually listening to me, that i inadvertently pushed away the only ones that ever actually did.

country song.

baby i once told you that i loved you and i meant it
but if our time was cold hard cash i simply would have spent it
i always was a small town girl when i'd an ear i had lent it
yet when we were together empty words they were relentless

lately i been thinkin' on some things
like maybe i should give up on my dreams
oh no now baby it's time for you to go

my momma always said every saint's a sinner in disguise
my eyes are sharp now baby and so's my wit grown sly
i tread lightly so's not to falter tightly conceal my lies
for your eyes only mine will shed tears and my own i will die

lately i been thinkin' on some things
like maybe i should keep this and just leave
oh but baby, it's time for you to go

you robbed me of my soul but you can't rob me of my body
my hands now mangled blue and twisted my face's snarled and knotted
when a hug is what i needed the only bear i saw was haughty
until the sun comes back 'round the skies turn ominous and cloudy

baby if the world weren't such an ugly place
maybe i'd get to see your smiling face
oh but baby it's time for you to go

a brief interlude.

that's right my past is in the future baby
my first is just my last.

when i'm moving i see backwards
where i'm going i have passed.

miami.

a strange scent finds its way to my nostrils as i pass the homeless wrapped up tight like mummified corpses.

telephone line

the faintest fluttering heard from beyond a speaker scratching lightly my fingertips tightly gripping a vinyl crust never changing but reshapen as though liquid just beneath us.


i listen though i do not always hear.

optical nerves.

for your eyes only my eyes
lie

my fingertips poisoned my lips on
fire

i will wear you
out
and never, ever
tire

for my eyes only yours will
cry

perjury + fraud

souls floating amongst the bloated bodies of the aged converging, re-emerging from a sun scorched spread of sand

when asked the meaning of life a seemingly constant state of decay is the only truth at hand.

how can i choose between the possibilities of a life of glamour and the guaranteed satisfaction brought by an honest days' work?

a dream.

i drove and drove and drove until i sobered up. i had turned the wrong way down the main road i was taking after pulling out of a restaurant parking lot near the old factory, so i ended up just seeing the same shit i had already passed. there were more people out now, probably because the bars were closing down for the night. you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here, right?

the road seemed endless. it was just winding along the flat barren land, small buildings, large buildings, buildings. there were a few times i realized i might have been going a little too fast. there were a few times i realized how narrowly i was missing the pedestrians. but it seemed like someone else was driving. it seemed like the car already knew exactly what to do, weaving in and out of the lane.

it was starting to get light. maybe 5 or 6am, who the hell can tell with daylight savings. ain't like i put that shit in the bank for a rainy day.

towards the end of the road, at a T, i decided there was nothing more to see. i turned into a neighborhood that was springing up, house by house, foundation my foundation. one of those neighborhoods wealthy young people move their families into, the never ending domestic pissing contest that is the American dream.

most of the houses were just skeletons like the ones i used to play in when i was growing up. i remembered being terrified on the second floors before railings went in. i never did trust myself not to throw my own body over the edge. i always did it in my nightmares, so why couldn't it be translated into reality?

there was one house, on the right side of the street (i'm sure it's owner thought the same thing), that stood out from the others. i had never seen anything like it; it's exterior covered in massive panels of wood with knots like a rorschach ink blot. they twisted and unfurled in great circles and oblong splintery pools, weighing on me with what had to be their own enormous bulk, forcing me to question whether the entire facade of the house might just fall off, leaving it open for all to see like a barbie dream house.

i was enchanted. it looked as though it were occupied, but i decided to investigate anyway. it was early. people don't wake up early on the weekend. not my weekends, at least. i parked my car in the driveway of the newly framed monstrosity next door. i imagine the young couple sitting and musing over what douchebags the new neighbors will probably be.

the ground is just dirt, and rocks fall through the cracks of my sandals with every step. as i get closer the panels of wood look even heavier. i open the door ever so quietly. it is bright inside - open and warm and inviting, with children's toys strewn about. the foyer is massive. it reminds me of a house i once lived in, save for the fact that this one actually looks lived in. the kitchen is that of a real family. it seems used. i stand there for a moment, surveying the landscape. i see a picture of three children, two girls and a boy, ages from 4 to 7, or something like that. they grow like weeds, who knows how old they are now.

as i lean against a small desk i have an idea, and delicately remove a pen from a cup full of markers, crayons, pencils, scissors. i'm sure if me opening a door didn't wake them that scribbling on a piece of paper will. right.

suddenly and without warning, something feels wrong. i can't tell if it's my christian upbringing and sense of morality randomly (and in a delayed manner) kicking in, or my instincts are telling me to flee the scene, but i very quickly and with a determined step walk to the front door, quietly turn the handle, and exit. about ten long steps from the door an enraged man emerges from the house. he is in his mid thirties, dark haired, just now cultivating the paternal gut. the kids must still be young after all. i must have stolen his pen. why else would he be so angry?

"you! you! i remember you!" he yells as he tries in vain to make out my license plate number. he looks ridiculous, really, his hips swaying in a far too feminine manner as he makes his way gingerly over the small rocks and dirt.
"you're the one i saw last week! running through the movementorium! what are you? some kind of criminal?"
"no, i- i don't know what you mean"
"ha! i'm calling the police! you think you can just walk into people's houses! i saw you! you're the one who ran through the movementorium!"
as i stand there helplessly searching for something to say, trying to remember a non-memory, i beg him please, please don't call the police.
"listen," i say in a tired voice, "please just listen." i feel the night catching up to me, driving down this never ending road." it felt like it was only minutes, but it had to have been hours.
"i know what i did was wrong, and i am so sorry," i say, unconvincingly. " i had no intention of hurting you or your family, or stealing anything," i almost whisper now, brokenly, as i hand him back the pen and we walk towards his garage. he looks at me stupidly, his gradually growing double chin hanging slack below his jaw. mouthbreather.
"i was driving all night. i saw your house. it was beautiful. it IS beautiful. i don't know why i did it, something just compelled me to go through that front door."
what in the hell did i write on that piece of paper, i wonder.
"i know it's wrong. i know the fabric of society would break down if people just started walking into other people's houses in the early morning, but i really meant no harm. and i think it's absolutely fascinating that you were there, in the movementorium."
what in hell is a movementorium, anyway? the only place i'd been was a diner, and there was only one kind of movement takin' place in that greasy joint.

suddenly his whole attitude changed. there we sat at a white patio furniture set in his garage. i suppose he must have realized that it was, in fact, quite astonishing that this was the second time he'd seen me, and making an ass of myself at that. i told him that i was lonely, that all i did was drive around at night, just looking into the darkness, dodging pedestrians. i told him that his family looked beautiful, and happy, and that i hope some day i can have a beautiful family too, and live in a happy home.

we sat for a few minutes. he beamed at me, as i marveled at how stupid he was, or at least how given he was to finding excitement in a coincidence. a car pulled in and two men and a woman emerged, at which point i glanced through the now open storm door leading into the house at a blonde woman and the children.
"my car pool," he said, "wait just one minute, don't go anywhere."
he led the people inside. one of the men was wearing an abnormally large cross around his neck and staring intensely at me, through me almost. his gaze did not waver as i sat there.

i sat for a moment. i did not go anywhere. i felt the weight of those wooden panels. i took out the piece of paper i'd shoved in my pocket and wrote simply "thank you. you are the only friend i have." i left it on the table and walked quickly to my car, not looking back.

today.

today i became a little more self-sufficient.

today i came one step closer to disappearing completely.

not not wishing you were here

though we've drifted slightly i sit sifting through memories tattered like old love letters rightly minding edges so as not to deepen the crease never ceasing to grow

but oh

how

the times do change moments accumulating as fine grains of sand in an ancient clock cracked not by use but its very inception.

my friend.

the person to whom i've felt closest since arriving in florida is, in fact, a mildly retarded girl working as a sign waver. she wears a sequined hat and sneakers, and dances wildly (often almost into oncoming traffic), advertising HOT n' READY 2 for 1 pizza deals.

sulfur and brimstone.

sometimes, mother nature must burn the earth and start anew.

miss cherie miss cherie!
why do you choose to elude me?
does not everyone say
that you love company?

my child my child
cannot you see?
that with or without
you are already me.

i turned my back on fear. i turned my back on possibility. i turned my back on you.

i am too aware of myself.

i wonder if other people spend so much of their time wondering if other people spend so much of their time thinking about their life.

like someone else is watching.