I

More than anything
I wish for music, to sooth
This aching within-

II

She sat there frozen
Bewildered that i should know
Mouths being sewn closed.

III

I feel if I come
And watch your moving truck load
I surely shall frown.

IV

This week has been long
The sense of being pulled down
Under a rip tide.

I am making up
For all the lost time and words
All of it spilled now.

Almost gone you are
Your trucks rolling down routes
You'll make children soon.

There are floods outside
Google forgot my password
How seldom I'm here

Been sucking cough drops
Ignoring emails and phone
Must get prescription.

To making wishes
To beautiful songs
To remembering tearful beauty.

it's hard to be back
the days rolling into none
words transpiring.

In western Massachusetts
I would find my lake.
Water lilies sprouting like millions of old friends in greeting.
Purple Wildflowers swimming across the water and
Blue fish nibbling toes

In Vermont the vast sky would appear over green hills carved by gods hands

Valleys howling like the coyote calls into the wind.
I would find clouds in the shape of gods and goddesses making love,
A wise woman and my sense of smell.

I would find the teasing sun creeping into the morning’s window like a curious child

Maine of course would bring me the ocean with its salt air.
Pink granite rock on coasts
Tide pools with red starfish
The sea moving boats gently into the harbor.
Here I'd find my chowder and lobster huts.
My roaring fire pits
And roasted marshmallows
Not to mention ferocious mosquito’s.

New Hampshire would neatly fold every place before it and wrap it into silk cloth,
It would include its star lit skies,
Its bay, it's canvas sails,
Its barns and rolled hay
Mount Washington watching over
Nickering horses and fishing villages
It would tie a red bow around the silk like
A package to be sent into the drawers of memories.

the cat.
pacing.
from living room to bedroom
slowly stopping
at the front door
tilting her head to check the time
realizing the sun has passed.

it is that moment in the day.
the wooden doorway scratch
the feline yawn of exasperation
licking lips
staring at the door patiently awaiting
supper.

I can't wait for this trip.
Maybe I'll find myself lost near a coastline and take a picture.
I want to meet the lady who plays her violin for the seals.

i feel like writing.
Like having it be weapons.
Intriguing and mute.

Maybe...
It's because I just don't feel like fucking writing.
Or having everyone read me
feeling like they somehow connect with me but
I hear nothing from you.
(not knowing me at all)

Maybe I don't want to give out treats while my hearts been broken.

I feel sorry for that girl that posts photographs of herself half naked, looking like a junkie by the way.

Natalya speaks broken English
She types leaving out verbs.
She's in charge of my case but hardly communicates with me
Opting discussing my business with Hugh

Poor Hugh,
Forging, welding, building, surviving, being a secretary. Trying to understand broken English. Doing everything, and always holding me. Never forgetting to love me. Rearranging his life, simply to make mine easier

Seeing such selfless beauty makes my heart hurt a little.

The rain just can not be good for this-
having my grandmother running off scared.
Wondering if I'll ever stop the tears from falling
drowning deep.

for Dori

An off duty New York cop was
Killed by friendly fire here -
He was innocent, running after a thief
One brother shot by another brother.

I can't grasp the meaning of friendly fire.
There's just nothing friendly about
a bullet intentionally released through the air
Readying to kill.
Imagining animal stampedes.

His family and friends
Placing candles and flowers outside his home in Brooklyn.
A makeshift memorial blooming with tears.
A heartbreaking song filling dense air.

The flower petals drying out and falling from stems
Scattered along the concrete,
Still pungent in color
Tunneling in circles from the wind and
Eventually being chased down streets
The gusts making sounds like sirens
Only to find a lonely tree branch to settle into to rest.

Sometimes
While procrastinating
I've been known to watch
No Reservations at
One o'clock.

I know full well Tony is
A cocky egotistical asshole who smokes too much and will
Most likely die of liver failure but
This man eats a certain way that makes my mouth water.
Watching people eat usually disgusts me.

On days like today
Where my body won't do things right
And my mind wanders off down the wrong way
Storm waves crashing on concrete jetties
And receading back to the mouths of nature, swallowing whole,

I find myself crying.

The world spins webs of anger
My ears ring,
My eyes see truth and fog
I keep checking emails hoping
Someone will write and hold me in their arms and give me answered to questions
I haven't asked

My cat watches from across
The room
While I spill my tears to her

She has no opinion,
she let's my cry
Eventually sitting by me while
I sing her silly lullabies.

Jason Bay
There is something about
Your forearm muscles
That
Make me hot.

I notice them when your at bat
Your elbows too.

Jason Bay
There's something about you

I call you the Silent Warrior.

Morning rituals/
Coffee, yogurt shake, water/
With a straw in each mug.

Holy rain pouring
From the large mouths of sky gods
Coating secret ground

A haiku

Exercising, LOST
to bed quite early for sex
Without skipping meals.

I've thought a lot about you,
I hate admitting that since I pretty much loathe you.
Wishing I had the strength to wipe my hands clean of you and
Not giving a shit

just like you.

I have slept a lot.
And though I've been sick in the regular
sort of way-
Over the counter flu remedies
sprawled
throught the
apartment,
half used tissues heaped on the coffee table like roadside debris,
I think I've stayed under the covers to avoid having to feel...
Empty.
Asking god for a few more hours of solitude.

We picked her up Sunday.
Hugh playing chauffer, minus the cap.
Holding doors,
carrying store bought cake,
rolling windows up,
taking a left, then a right-
Answering uneventful questions like boring weather talk.

Gazing out windows at ponds and green buds
Shifting only to avoid feeling that I needed to listen.

On Saturday
We drove along thin country main roads
Towards the Poconos
Skully pushing on like a good old car would
(we've determined she's a
4th gear kinda gal)

When we got there
The four of us and
the old walrus looking dog
(his white whiskers resembling ivory tusks)
went to the man made beach with it's well built jetty.
The non blood brothers walking together- as boys would,
Talking incoherently about life,
A mere strip of rock and green wood.

The sisters would sit watching the squawking geese glide around the man
made lake.
Wondering all the while how the big fish got there-
Thinking of stealing one of the neighbors rowboats to get to the
middle of this large pond.

Hugh would later indicate
The fish got there most likely through a small
Stream that stretched from the dividing river but,
I could not understand how a trout could wiggle along in such shallow waters.

And so,
Us women in our girlie intuition would conclude,
(The old dog resting nearby)
That the fish must have been brought in,
(Imagining a 16 wheeler driving along
A one lane turnpike hoot hooting
Gallons of barrels of fish to be released into still water)

The geese seemed to start squawking in anger,
And, knowing the folklore of angry geese we all stood to leave,
The sun gleaming onto the rowboat reflection
Millions of hauled in fish finding their home along the
Ash wood colored landscape.

i wanted stillness
i wanted my brain to stop
thinking deep darkness

It's been a long few weeks.
a lot's been happening

(this apple wireless keyboard kicks ass)

none of it's really interesting
except of course if
you know me well, and know how hard things are
around here.

(my mom texts me and e-mails me in french when she's worried-
i think it's easier for her to make sense of these things
when speaking in native tongues)

i hadn't been feeling well,

(there's also all those NY state people for the ramps)

I only found out recently it was due mostly to anxiety
anxiety is depressing-
and though the right foot's not due to anxiousness
i do feel a sense of liberation

my brain tumors are fine

(my mom stopped writing in french)

the keys on this keyboard are easy

i don't know why i got so worked up about it.

Thinking of my walls
Being painted deep fusia
Dark chocolate dreams

My right foot is numb
And I can not travel far
Enough to reach you.

My Quote of Today

"i should just get over it, but I've been getting over shit my entire life."

THOUGHTS

show details Feb 25 (1 day ago)


Reply


Sometimes,
I wonder why I fight so hard.
Especially on days when my body won't work the way I think it should. Those days where a headache isn't really an ache but the anxiety of something being terribly wrong, feeling locked within a prison of thought. Those sort of days where getting up is physically so tough not because you lack the drive to but because you want to so desperatly it's heartbreaking.
Yea, those days I wonder about. Am I fighting because I don't want to dissapoint those that love me by giving up? Or do I fight for myself because... Well... In the end it's worth it?

I dunno,
Honestly-

I just look back on the days I love, the days where I might have that ache but I also am at a table with a circle of friends laughing hysterically, eating delicious food and gulping down amazing wine. Thinking about days where that ache lies there but love surrounds it, having this amazing man I share my life with cuddling up next to me and kissing the back of my bare neck, our cat at the edge of the bad with purring eyes staring at us, and wanting to stay there forever.

Those days of cloudless blue skies and blossom petal winds.

Your refrigerator stink
(I say I don't care (I kinda do but don't want her rummaging through it))
I DO! (she exclaims)
I say- good thing it's not refrigerator then.
Huff huff
Shuffle shuffle.

When city nights fall
Small square lights are turned on, one
By one, lightening stars.

Thirty years ago
At precisely this hour
I'd start arriving.

I do, I sigh tons
She just makes me so crazy
and touches my food!

LORE IN 30 SECONDS

what time does he leave?
oh, and what time does he arrive?
(exhausperating sigh)
(shrug; shrug)
(touches my lunch, folds salami)
(rolling eyes)
do you want raspberries?
(pause)
raspberries
...
so...does he take lunch?
what does he have?
when does he get home?
appoximatly?
oh.
mm-hmm.
i love trout
you should eat fish twice a week
(sigh)
goes he like fish?

six, yes, six word short stories

1. Having fallen harshly, she came home.

2. Her birthday lasted three days straight.

3. Hugh brought crickets home for Seymour.

4. The car's name is Skully Pirate Booty.

5. I keep counting syllables for this?

6. I hope you enjoyed yourselves,sleep well.

FOR DORI

When i sing these songs
I wonder if the artists
Would want to hear them.

He is hardly home
This place echoing empty
Footprints exiting.

The sun sometimes wise
Hitting clear crystal water
The Brooklyn bridge moans.

Can I comb your hair
Can I make you eggs for lunch
You should brush your teeth

Red calligraphy
Streaking down New York gray strees
Sad eyes speaking soft.

A NOTE

I'm not dating them anymore... but i'll do my best to write daily again