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writing

because that is what to return to

when there are disappointing words

to a distress signal, stuck in waking dreams

crying life

what are you supposed to say

to the sleepy sad eyed puppy

on your side

dog ear each page

you read from

the history of love

right

to

write

to fight the urge to keep sleeping

the pain away, does it ever go away?

even though

that’s where day&night-mares lie

waiting

to say something:

 

don’t go, don’t feel guilty

 

the monster show

 

once in a while

there is a saying

once there was a girl

who fell asleep to her mother’s stories

a princess

un castillo

como se dice “comfortable”

sento seguro con un circulo de las mujeres

 

the dark turned into light

there is no word

only sunrise

a crow cry, internal 4:44am hypnosis

reading the thought: please love me less

reading: a new language needed in this life

the language of her childhood does not have the same meaning

 

hands reach to hold the heavy head

dizzy, floating head

the loneliness lies

in the heavy arms, the stomach, pangs the heart

the legs refuse to move

a sound stuck

inside

the throat sore

the neck cracks

 

there was a time when:

the heart break points

now, pock marks and scars

 

you can only see the inside of a flesh wound

if you lift the skin

spread the laceration with gentle prying pointer and thumb

throw sand in between

we ask preguntas of the things we are hopeless

                                                            he can’t respond and therefore, will not

en esta vida


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The Sound of Silence: I

I type set up the composing wand

I spell upside down and backwards

to spend more time

more life

together

 

after loss of appetite

your name appeared

magical intentions

my body shook &

I rolled off the table

glowing afterthoughts

 

still wanting more

 

time

 

a longer hello

 

can we?

 

sending words

through constellations

that spell fire

when there is no evidence

after hours

passed without a word

I search for the look in your eyes

as I stand on tiptoptoes

asking to be

I can read

do not get so close

or kiss sealed lips, closed eyes

I can read

I can pretend to see a coy sky

treehouse

under smoke

 

as though the call

reminds

memory of sore twisted necks

Disembodied Poets

 

this seems to come from a place

where toes, each pink, calloused tip

broken nails

split

 

there, there was no time to say

more, more than eyes say

closed

 

we tried to open our fists

we tried to open our fists

are the size

of a heart

 

there are moments

we cannot

reach out

one loves the warmth, the sun

one dreams of snow on top of Arapahoe

 

there is a fear

the hazy sky clear

our eyes recognize

smiles, ears pick up laughs

sun soaked skin

wind, howl down alley gust ways

 

sideways the leaves speak

hush hush hush each other

 

if I could understand

I’d recite the words

as we wait for the other

 

slip off the branch

 

I have a notebook full

the way you forget and remember

push what really happened away

late night talks

how you could be a self that understood

distracted

with coffee   books    tea

whiskey

smoke         wood

 

I try

 

to speak your language

one day, eventually you’ll meet

I haven’t thought about my brother

why are you asking what my favorite color

blues eyes

there was so much said

in silence

the kind kind

of rejection

a lonely    comfort

breathe and relax into gesturing

how to be with a body

that wants to hold on

 

while remaining

nonattached

 

writing to a friend…

rainbows leaves dance

and there’s too much to do

wrapped warm in your arms

love, happy tears, compassion and a future of heart and healing the ebb&flow…  un pazzo rush the river, angry waters, the creek… the waterfalls of moving…

[ inspired & there’s too many things… ]

first semester: honeymoon,  then spring: evolution; the realization of boundaries and coming into myself. cut through ego fixation. beautiful, love and scary, violent transformation… inside of saturn’s return… the sun, venus, heat. moon cycles.

writing in LA (SD?) and then SF and Arcata. January? Peru?

reminds me of my itch… the next thing on my list. before i leave boulder. a reminder.

I dream.  ned. rollinsville cabin. the flatirons/ mountains shine in a boulder background, I forget that I’m upset, i’m suffering, we suffer in this life and ask, are you breathing? life is so short, and then a young life taken… slips through your mama’s hands and this love is all there is… to say, don’t leave.

inspired by new marriage[s] (congratulations!)… i just finished reading the history of love by nicole krauss. beautiful book about love = life. thankful for the recommendation. as painful and tragic … how beautiful and rich… the scars leave.

mourning. i am my father’s daughter. i roar.

I am my gram’s granddaughter, mija.

happy birthday dad.

inbetween blessings

Love

dove

love dove

I was always a dove

a free bird

wings tied

never emerging

cocoon fantasy

root in fear

a spell that begins and ends in love

I can pull myself under

know now

as I write here alone

the romantic

the poetic

naked

vulnerability

when are we ever

real

funny, I want more

the urge always close behind

after funerals

kill a dream before it’s flown too high

push

too hard

want

too hard

love

too hard

to wake up

please don’t plead

a spell

that begins and ends

in love

I can pull myself under

doubt

you do not want someone like me

funny, to not figure out

you can’t stop can you?

the last rites

a ceremony

in Quake’s honor

Woke Up

Apples

there were apples

faces

in the red apples

kept dreaming

to avoid waking

without you                                                                             a fallen tree, dear father, mother

Slept in alone on a Monday

there was a time

we woke to each other

everyday

on weekends we could keep sleeping

so close

you held me

your arm numb under my aching head

and shoulders

the neck pain

you never could rub out

I blamed you for                                                                       I am the fool in the mountaintown

                                                                                                buying whiskey for a not-father

This morning

the pain is inside my nose

a sinus pain that leads to the crown

that’s missing

an eye

a jewel center

that will red glitter sparkle

the path I began

even though the validation is past

eating creamywheat, Gram called it: Cream of Wheat

after the red box

The red string, thread the eye

these bullshit pages

lie frozen

in memory

some days: grateful for the memories

as I write to ghosts who have forgotten

names create new lives                                                             while still alive, aching for a future