recession

today i see kids copping a tag in front of general with mustard. a big, yellow, tube of mustard. i could smell it. i wonder if this is what the recession looks like.

anthems

just listen to old
music
like from
when you were 18
and the music, older
ancient dancing
around tackle boxes of makeup
and whiskey
rimmed lip stain
get ready face off

walk quickly through apartments
dont leave your
tracks
on carpet
you hate the feel
of it undertow
clings to all the
heels of your
broken
thrift store shoes
just nails
and hardwood makes clicks, like clocks
speeds you up
walk lighter, make less noise

dont get too attached to things
fill out applications
use your full name
and tell him you
love him
because this is all you ever wanted
remember
THIS

quit pretending
fill bags full of food
and take them to the hungry
we are closer than you think
i just want to hug my sister, i just
want to look someone in the eye
there are more bags than things
space is limited
but ill take you on
ill move over
clear tables
allow corners to be dusted
with knowing fingers

i know people get bored
i know its easy to
forget
to take for granted
but i love you more than yesterday
ships and starlight and
fancy cocktails
tie me up to fences
starve me
cause cuts cause time
just slide in bed next to me whenever you can
forgive imperfections
its the world
were just people

thank god

fly up day

its so much easier to write about things you dont feel close to. like i could make fifty poems in ten minutes while riding the 9, while filing through craigslist, while reading and the page jumbles and the words jumble and youve created a story in your brain, beginning, middle and always, the end. the end usually comes first. why do we write the end before the middle, after the beginning, why can we never let anything unfold, why must we always assume that we know, ultimately how the story will close, skipping the meat, the sandwich of the story. its easier, to close your eyes and point, to spin the globe on your bookshelf and point, to a continent, a far off island in the middle of a body of water than make actual plans. why is that? why are we incapable of letting that middle of the story fill in, become ripe and full and grow, with age, allow the ending to end, when, if, it does. we are impatient and untrusting of ourselves, of other people. people have made it difficult to trust and so we save ourselves by saving our stories. by writing ourselves out of situations we cant see clearly through, so that those last pages arent left up to fate, they are in our careful, sorrowful and limited hands. because fate fucks up and endings arent always happy, unless you write them yourself.
i cant write about any of this. i cant put it down and i cant say it out loud so its just swimming around in my head, fish bobbles and clear jellyfish murking up the tides that used to come easily, in and out. i cant breathe under all of this and im stuffy static walking through the days. im trying, im trying, but i dont know how to write this one down. i dont know how to make all these feelings come out on the page and resolve themselves, because they are too big, they are too heavy and im so used to carrying such weight. im in it right now.
my preschoolers graduate tonight and their families watch, their large and diverse families, each with two cameras in each hand, their little babies flying up to first grade and in one photo im sure, at least, tears were caught in kids hair as i hugged them, as they grabbed onto my legs and smiled up at me. i couldnt help it. i wanted to feel what that felt like but i was too far away from it. like, i wanted to be them, to be that young, i wanted that day again, to remember what it was like to be so small and hopeful, to have it all streching out in front of you instead of bleak, dry, desert. and i wanted to be the parents, because as much as i love these children (and i LOVE them) they are not mine and with their parents there they arent looking for me in the crowd to give that approving nod and one finger wave, so i just fade back into the cubbies and clutter and cupcakes lining the walls.

philosophers club

my book will be
touring in mexico
and youre with someone else right now
blue eyed and mannered

im not worried about getting in
over my head
i don't know about reverse psychology
but i know about you, and
the smell of your neck

its a sunday house hunt
home hunt
thanks for the directions

don't give up
with the wind like that
church on the hill

and get all sexy black midnight
on me

interference

your heart is (open crown)
in your hood
beautiful green
flashing since july
go, go, go
sorry i upset you
lets spell our names funny ways
silent p's and long a's

your face is stoney hardware
ive hired a security guard
to live
somewhere very deep down
in my gut
so i can
wear that salmon dress
like a second chance

turning hits into misses
with that smile & those eyes
were always ending in
elevators
politely feeling each other
up

you mailed a good
time
to the usual
suspects
and it came back unopened, fragile

ill load flowers
around your bed
and look at you critically
ive come to love folding
your underwear on sundays
youll never have to
walk alone
(Lets walk together)
unless you want to

cutting corners

shortcut seeker, I'm still lucky gold -





lets watch butterflys on sunday
i'll be your peach-shirt girl
with
nice (burberry) gloves
buttons and
banjos
pho with friends
WHY can't you give an inch
say goodbye to yesterday


my dogs are tired
your tongue is
yellow sweater in convenience
all I want is to take you to
church
palm sunday or
midnight mass



theres nothing like
riding across the GG Bridge with you
at 5pm
when weve been sweating for days
and finally the city air hits us and were
cool again, calm again, home
again
like black horses in buena vista park
you are unexpected and magical
a secret, lets whisper it, a
secret

beauty bar-f

one more day passes
and

you are beautiful
too pretty for me
a

van gogh starry night tattoo
half red sea, half jewels
i know i said i'm through

you give me
bragging rights
under water, underworld
somewhere in the mission, its
witten on a stone
girls in this town effing blow

but
lab girl, blonde girl,
im your girl
and

we're beautiful, remember that