a spatter of blood on the snowy sugared bank of a wedding cake

I would like to take a photo of that. The wedding party in the background with blurred, horrified faces. heh. that would be cool.

Well..

My best friend used to be a unicorn
but I took away her golden horn
because all I used to say was:
"Move, I think you're in my way".

I am tired of being an asshole. What the fuck happened to me? These days my eyes just can't stop rolling in the rudest way. People are like cardboard cut-outs. The other night I ran into a friend at a bar and was so happy to see her there, to be able to escape the company I was currently keeping and talk to her instead, I felt like I was STARVING for authentic interesting coversation.
Maybe it's the birthday coming up. Maybe it's the fact that I've been walking the highwire of my mind coated in vaseline... and sleep hardly hands me a veiled wink these days. Eyes are pickled in a brine of bitch and whine... it would seem I am in a "Funk" but without all the fun of george clinton and brightly colored dreadlocks.

Art may imitate life, but life imitates T.V.
I need a smidgeon of religion in my laugh track.
This is SITcom
we are always ON
and look life-like as long
as you have earplugs and cataracts

Oh well. I'm about to take my hissing cynic self out into the dishwater night to get so drunk I will piss under streetlight.
(that sentence looks fun to say, eh?)

Varekai

Here's another reason why my job is pretty fucking great...
I just got back from seeing Cirque de Soleil tonight, with one of my favorite clients, J. We had such a great time! There were points where it was so beautiful, so amazing, and where I was so happy I felt like crying. It was really special to see J have such a wonderful time, and with all the mental torment of her illness she goes through she really deserves it. Alot of my co-workers thought that J wouldn't be able to handle it, but she was perfectly lovely and there were hardly any delusions or outbursts at all. We just had so much fun, that even though I luckily got to go for free I promised myself that I would go the next time I get a chance and even shell out the dough for it because it really is worth it. Our seats were great, close enough to drool over the most perfect male bodies you have ever seen... Emily, remember when we went in Orlando? I swear, this one was even better. You need to go.
Allright, I know I'm gushing and I sound like a soccer-mom who just got back from seeing Lord of the Dance but hey: Fuck You. My face is sore from smiling so much and if that means I'm a dork than well, it wouldn't be the first time...and I'm sure it won't be the last.

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My Aunt, the Spinster

She says all the good ones
are either married, paralyzed, or gay.
So she turns off the red lantern, uses her high heels as garden tools
and fits the negligee to the neighbor's lawn gnomes.
The KY she keeps
for the occasional rusty bolt.

She walks out of the battle with Gravity
Lets it claim the prize of her body
She drops the bloodied weapons of spandex and underwire
and stretches for comfort, not calistenics

The days once filled to the gills with a pushing lonely Empty
now open their arms and say:
"We've been waiting for you!
Have books, have tea, have an account with Netflix..
This ragamuffin cat?
Name him Prince.
No more frog-kissing days for you, lady."

The grocery stores and the art stores
no longer assume a Mrs. prefix
Her position is obvious
Maybe it's the earth-tone cotton clothes that swaddle her curves
in a soft breath of lavender,
or the bits of pulled weeds still clinging to her heavy graying braids.
Or perhaps clerks just learn from experience
that no married woman makes dinner
of artichokes, irish butter and a bottle of Ravenswood zinfindel.
Nor would she have the time to wait
for oil paints to dry.
Maybe they imagine a rainbow sticker on the bumber of her Suburu.

When she takes me to the cafe where they've hung her paintings
and I spill out my dreadfully dire love woes
She merely shrugs her shoulders,
grins wider than a catholic womb,
and with a chuckling mouth full of buttered muffin says:
"Honey, even with all the mayonaise in the world you can't make chicken salad
out of chicken shit."

My Aunt- My big round beautiful moon-
You float into family functions
face loaded with laughter
arms loaded with chocolate and home-grown flowers
And all the nieces and nephews crowd about you like presents
around a christmas tree.

And the kitchen-weary Mother and Sisters
who huddle in worry
wringing their potato-peeled hands
every year
whisper:
"Poor dear. I just can't BEAR to think of her
out there
all alone."

Chalk it all up to a bad bout of PMS again..

Well, yesterday I was all moody melancholy and bursting with poems. Today I feel fine, feel like playing in sprinklers and throwing water balloons at neighbors. It never ceases to amaze me, how much the body has to do with the mind. I'm sure that stuff is there but it is really not taking up much space. Could it really of been just hormones? I think about my mood yesterday and feel sheepish, like um well..
what can I say? Nevermind, better now, thanks?
Lovely man, thanks for the beer, the food, the cheering me up last night. You really are obnoxiously persistent, maybe sometimes that's good for me.

Love is..

...plunging yourself into darkness toward a place that may exist.

You are here, somewhere. I heard your ghost strangling its howl into an anxious tension knot at the base of your dead throat. The sound of breaking fingertips, as you ran your empty hands along the walls of this city. You are gone. This city is mine now.

Oh, heart..baby bird in an iron box...let me go
let me be weak..let me sleep..and dream of sheep.

A strong woman is a woman who is straining
A strong woman is a woman at work, cleaning out the cesspool of the ages, and while she shovels, she talks about how she doesn't mind crying, it opens up the ducts of the eyes, and throwing up gives her killer abs, and she goes on shoveling with tears in her throat.

These days spent luxuriating in the palace of my studio, having discussions about booksemptinesslovedeathartdreamspoliticsetc.. with people at cafesbarsparks.. Summer coming. Silent sunlight spills over shoulders and legs. I watch the limbs of strangers peep out of tank tops..blind and pink as baby rats. I am happy, I am touched by my own sorrow. I wish I didn't forget so easily the way you smile. I wish I had that. Your letters are soaking in a dump somewhere, filled with words that always seemed like a fist reaching out to make me pay.

A strong woman is a woman determined to do something others are determined not to be done. She is pushing up on the bottom of a lead coffin. She is trying to to raise a manhole cover with her head, she is trying to butt her way through a steel wall. Her head hurts. People waiting for the hole to be made say: hurry, you're so strong.

My heart is locked within my head now. Everything the life of the mind. I am selfish with my time. So much work to be done, so much work to be done , I feel I could run forever and collapse on another planet. I miss who I was when I loved you, I miss how much I wanted to share, to show you.. but how did I starve myself for so long? Sometimes I feel like I've escaped the thrall of a vampire.

A strong woman is a woman making herself strong every morning while her teeth loosen and her back throbs. A strong woman is a mass of scar tissue that aches when it rains and wounds that bleed again when you bump them and memories that get up in the night and pace in boots to and fro. A strong woman is a woman who craves love like oxygen or she turns blue choking. A strong woman is strong in words, in action, in connection, in feeling. She is not strong as a stone but as a wolf killing for her young. Stregnth is not in her, but she enacts it as how wind fills a sail.
What comforts her is others loving her equally for the stregnth and for the weakness from which it issues..like lightning from a cloud.


It is good to be beautiful, to be funny, to be charming, to look good on paper here's someone who I can take home to mother (given that the mother is reasonably fashionably modern and liberal maybe she wears earth tones and a small quartz crystal around her neck those women love me). But like any lost continent, I revel in my mystery yet still long to be discovered. No one pulls the covers off, asks the questions that are dipped in compassion, draped in a hope of understanding, no oceans just the same shallow tin of rainwater. All but one. but that was a long time ago and maybe youth had too much a hand in that. I used to be a giver, but I think this scab is sticking around longer than I thought was necessary.