inexplicable

as we utter words that fall like flakes in the air, marinating between meaning and misconstruction of thought
today you said, "shut the fuck up"
as though
as though
as though you cared if my plane really crash landed and i never came back

it is possible that you do

that this inexplicable nuance of friendship discovered under swirling patterns of condensed milk and simple small talk weighing down coffee cups, elongating lines to outside the boundaries we have created for our new friendship
it is possible that we were
both watching each other for months move about hard wood floors and let the pillars of laughter resonate inside our memories separate
unknown but
also a collected otherness


our bond could be just beginning or 100% accident

"there is no chili in my grilled cheese situation"

but
i too, i suspect, i will actually honestly miss you and the affiliates i've come to know through you

and not just
for the coffee.

Assignment.

Time masses and swells with heartbeats
Manipulated
It breaks and beats back along the distance from brain to fingertip
Congested and upset at the confinements we’re attempting to place upon it
Scratching away at the underbelly of skin, breaking through veins
become fluid
We are singular slowing down space for individual simple(s) Pleasure(s)
Let us explore watches rooms and protractors
Blanca’s walls stitched together a womb for
Blanca’s walls stitched together a womb for
Blanca’s walls stitched together a womb for
Stimulation, All area encompassed by our animalistic desires
Let us gnaw apart the sphere we have created individually collectively

We are Phnom
Our fertile regions become splattered in watching
Abilities to perceive await in creaking hardwood floors
Cold city blackness
The sound of his footsteps upon the Marley
Laughter and exploration of extension

Show me a way to the flow between conscious and removed
play the balance on the balls of my feet
Show me a way to the flow between conscious and removed
Play the balls on the balance of my feet
Throw me to your watches, rooms and protractors

the pendulum (est l'clef)
swirling curving bending and bowing between black boxes and backstage
point toes and turn your brain on while you move, learn how to speak dance
learn how to breathe movement
learn how to see sound. How to fold a theatre
Integrate honesty into your tone; make him believe the sun has risen again
Our molecules are beginning to employ
our molecules have begun to employ, into
cursing: a compilation
sent into outer regions of starlight where everything slows down to include all winks and debates between body on
which way to move.

( we are so deep we’re sinking the room)

human inspire nature breathe human from Blanca’s womb
watches, rooms and protractors
if I subtract me from you I'm left with a filtered version of the 2 of us,
puddle-ing and silver sinking into deep black marly
changing texture to conform to distance between your palm and mine.
If I subtract me from you I'm left with a filtered version of the 2 of us
I will statnd at my delta waiting for your energy
Raft rocking and falling
But trying and waiting
Building my own rooms, watches and protractors

Come upon this island
Hit palm to palm
Heart to heart
Soul to soul and lets
Practice
In practice I dream thunder rocks and rain pour indoors provoking our go-ness into uncharted space and time continuous
I move I think
Therefore we are

Maybe we will all become frozen in movement together
It is possible that the shape we have become is a shape we will always become
And never become again
Embrace watches rooms and protractors
Wrestle with each other until every moment
A mistake on purpose an almost literal transition between now and a moment from now
Did you know part of the clock is called the escape wheel
Unique and original inhaling all imagination.
The escape wheel (whose teeth are long and pointy)
Unique and original inhaling all imagination
The escape wheel

Oh-Ba-Ma.

Much love to Barack. I know its late, but I just want to put this out there as much as possible...


Barack, Michelle

ay yo, Can I come over and Kick it after you're all settled down from the move.

toi

vive le roi.
as you become more of a memory
today and tomorrow
i wish you more than what i could give
more than what ive had and
mostly,
many many laughs
for that is one thing you continue to give me.


even in your absence

trucks

weight plays double dutch with the air
when trucks round corners
coughing spitting and falling
into the swing

explosions

and all of them were filled

with frozen yogurt, feeling, and sin

twirling around

lets talk about anything else, but you and me

the tiny explosions

are blasting off from somewhere north of stomach

forming nervous cascading out of my mouth

How are you?

"like the sand" 

Metaphors, Similes, 3

Manhattan 

will hold me 

and frankly,

It's warmer under its cover 

than it ever was in your shadow.

so when you visit

remember how statuesque the buildings can be...

they never will never fall for  your wit like i 

did(nt)

my privilege; in letter S

i have not been granted yachts on which to play with the ocean in

planes to tell the stars goodmorning on

its 6 45 the dawns heat is rising 

 streets are as empty as i have seen them

the grey green splintered side walk , waiting on the knocking 

new york city shoes for it to arise

my footsteps are only a stir stillness, the  sidewalks are still sleeping

patsy pansey eggshell sky is painted inbetween pastell rock pounded buildings, they think they are so cool.

tall enough to  sntatch the space from the sky

the line is rapping its self onto the other side of the building meandering down the slats of old dry pavement

2 squares  down the sleeping sidewalks

Im waiting in, i mean on line next to girls with thick accents

my no shoe wearin, dirt in the hair northern california grass roots soul wants to ask, 

who wears sunglasses at 7 am? 

italians.

i have not been granted yachts on which to play with the ocean in

planes to tell the stars goodmorning on 

across the street from the fruit stand

rusty mustard brick stacks upon itself like  bunkbeds

painted on them are windows, you cant see out of them

but if i got up there, to my 5th story soho building sides, speckled with sparrow shit, salty crackers and other rising remnence from top of building next door

i wonder if i could see into them, those painted on windows on that ancient dry brick building down there in soho on prince street. 

man next to me wants to be a doctor

his medicine books have infultrated my novella with skelitons for examination, the tibia is here, the fibia is here

i dont even know what a spleen is.

A man approaches, sweaty, a 7 am work out type, shirt so bright blue, it fell out the sky. 

he asks. You guys got the tickets yet?

tickets. this is no concert, poetry reading, theatre piece im waiting in line for. 

this is iphone business. of course i dont have a ticket. if you could have a ticket i wouldnt be waiting in LINE!

 future doctor man  just says no. 

see. privilege

ain't granted me yachts to play with the ocean on

or planes to say goodmorning to the stars

but its granted me

7 am soho iphone line

and a lot of anticipation out which color gel in-case to purchase after i got my sick new iphone.

a man with tickets comes around. i get one. i feel cool and like im going to get a concert, poetry reading, theatre piece, with my  iphone

just beyond italys finest ladies is a man, tall like he could basketball with the sky scrapers

sharpie cap in mouth, drawing. all the glass panel store fronts in purple yellow ruby green sharpie with straight lines down the page

ahhhhaaaaa

artist spotted, soho, 7 22 am, so hipster he carries his sharpie sketch pad around with him when he travels the sleeping sidewalks just to 

draw dawn before her daily dose of street traffic

the sharpie cap is going to get caught in his mustache. 

but the swift sound of his straight lines is forming the subtext for the rhythm of the wrap

shhsht shhst shhst flip the page, 

new building.

A mobster fruit stand security gaurd shouts something at the 

crock wearing genius bar regular like, first 10 go in! 

Hell yes, im hungry for an apple, and screw a worm i want an iphone inside. 

thank god for my privilege as i round the steps and enter the store

no yachts to play with the ocean on

no planes to say good morning to the stars with 

but i got in the fruit stand at 8 15 in soho, to get me an iphone.

pablo,

pablo was a good blue shirt wearing, genus bar knowing, sweaty even though its morning salesman

pablo snatched up my privilege, gave me a rotten apple. 

he said, "your young, and need to pay 500 extra dollars because you have no credit"

my privilege does not cover that

i left the fruit stand, saddened by the silliest trick my privilege had played on me. 

and with no iphone in hand, returned to the sidewalk, awake now 

and off to work. 

today

cloudy eyed breaths are swimming in lungs tainted with soot from california's fireplace

all the while the sun was perfect in the 9 13 dawn

though the trees around the corner all the store fronts glistening

there was a ripeness in her thoughts

an anti-contempt for unicorns pirates or mermaids of the youth

for once. she let the music engrave itself onto the wrinkles in

her eyelids.

gargoyles

pa-lease dont forget me on all of your adventures

and when the statues frown at the sight of a without me yes

smile and say
she is write here, all the time.
frowning at my loneliness
saying, you, my dear, should haven chosen differently.

metaphors, similes deux

you are a rough wave
that must have crashed upon the wrong constellation
but oh. this bright skin
still shines, even through longing for
twitter-pated fingertips blending into one.

cabinets

beneath first layers of tres leches are strawberries
smiling awaiting the engulfing nature of your teeth
and

i smell somewhere hovering the scent of polished wood after rain, in the summer time
right above where we used to sit
dreaming of deserts movie sets and togetherness melded along with our sloppy kisses from behind
the silver screen moldings in the carpet.

complementary are the rhythms the bed makes now
without you in it
so please
if you stumble upon a story, that includes laughter or
cheese
tell me.

and if your swirling around in that brain of yours, like we used to do, dont be afraid of what you find, just like
tall grass hiding under the short rainstorms of fall, of course, you dont remember the color
of the leaves, but
the couch table rug and my heart
still smell of your body
odors, which linger in the air as though ashes are waiting to envelop them

and your text message sound, still haunts me with the memory
of

empty couch sitting spots which ca-do-o-le
beneath my underpinnnings.

metaphors.similes. one

paris is like a piece of candy
when you first chew on it
you love it
its taste its smell, even the way it feels in your life
but after your done your
teeth hurt and
you kinda feel sick to your stomach
but you still want more.

dawn

b4 i open shutters
2 the spoken unknown
i pretend the darkness
is your lid,
covering me.

lonely

In londres
le neige, came soaring down
engulfing me,n
trenches of you
nous avons parle of times that someday
we would too, watch
petite paper balls
weighted me
unfamiliar lands
le distance inconnue.

hope

this is not a poem:

dear obama.
today i wore a shirt with your face on it. Today i danced in the streets with you proudly displayed. I am so far away, i still sing our name out loud.
you give me hope, that maybe the boys will be ok after all.
make me sadder i left america, make me want to preform.

la la la la. obama. obama. oohhbama.

you are the secret i wear as my skin
moving elastic through my cells
unrequited now, as your daddy has.

for daddy

you taught me
lust is what the sun waits for while the moon takes all the glory
and always loyal to each other
and always teaching each other
and always balancing each other
and always
each other is laughing.
lust is what the sun waits for while the moon takes all the glory.
and forever
remembering you. each other.
you teach us.
lust is what the sun waits for while the moon takes all the glory.

tell him.

yea peep the status, yea, il never treat u like a nalgene
bot
tle
cuz to me ur precious like things ive destroyed
destroyed on
days similar to
today
many a year ago now.
i might not be leaving,
oh so soon.
i began the night believeing i loved him in the moon light
so now, for tonight
ill remember feelings ive tried so hard to forget
moments i pray never to feel again
but when the sun hits his eyes
through my window
there be nothing we can do...
oh yes.
yea.
peep the date, yo... what does it mean what does she mean, why does she cry oh so so so softly now, why does she pray everynight for feelings she purposely forgot now. why she be so lonely now. why she never try to live no more, cuz she felt it between her bones those years ago. ya dig. ya feel. ya know. yea. check it. day after tomorrow, shell be the same again.
now.

senses

ode to lullaby
its your in your riffs
the way the melodies detox my
nightmares of you
in the way the gun shells still over populate my purses
from those days we spent
shooting rhymes at eachother
stars dont haunt anymore
this is what without you smells like

dear

unfold me along the lines in your mercury
the posion detaching itself from you
allow me to fill the hollow spaces in your curves
the memory of me alone fills you with aggression
you breathe me in on your own
inflamed upon the touch to your lungs
let us be
embelish your beat around my arm
your tone becoming my breath
seeping in through pores untouched in ages
let me hold you
accept the distance and long
oh long for the time we shared
please, do not hate me.
please, let yourself love me.