a riddle
scent of pine or cedar, pulled along toward greater things, move food & give height to the banquet- rapid pace for the brave, aimless drift for the sun burnt drunk, muscles fight the current near the fall yet only w/ teamwork - or just go in circles.
receipt from a bar
I know the snowflakes attached to the lights are common to you but, damn it, they are new to me. Never neglect the small details, they might come back and remind you of who you were for the rest of your glorious life. Those reflective beer signs, I'm sure you see yourself -- do you call yourself beautiful in your mind? Or is there a block of some kind, a resistance... it will become futile with time... cheap beer trivia night, does the vibe personify your soul? I doubt that. It must be transitory. This is something to endorse and fund a greater cause, great! Be an artist! a magician! I still love those snowflakes. The chalk sign or trivia, by definition, mean less. Where we grow on these sticky, marked up tables. this is a poetic, constant experience. Patron - bartender, to bouncer-patron.. if something does not work out of these relationships maybe the paramedics will be called again. many actors on stage tonight disappear in an instant, look a shot of jameson as a man took...
open mic night notes
set up, acoustic guitar, bass, trumpet, tuba. storytelling song structures, humor split between. I say two without connecting them with words coherent, open forum for all forms of performance art. the wide, expanded minds of artistic, soft spoken writers, and their evident creative output.
"build a city in your image."
funky, folk art, multiple materials, mixed media words
(poems in the mail) dark philosophy, creation myth, infinite decisions (spacey cousin of eternity). this house is like.... (body metaphor).
news articles from different perspectives.
back corner with my lemon herb tea, to dominate my nerves as I signed my name up first... bricolage, literary arts journal. Trekked up the mighty hill keeping blood flowing in my hands, those cold strings... creative writing vs. literature (nearby same classes just with additional workshops)
- mic set up with curled up cable - tiny amp for the voice. went first, nervousness subsided though difficulty knowing what to do with my eyes (only used microphone after songs).
scattered applause, connects & future open mice (spoken word dramatists) started the trend of microphone ignorance
- shaky hand poems, indecision what to read, self-affirming poem of family
torn out from notebook
bright world music, primary color scheme, yellow beams & ceilings, red table, blue painted bricks, now the pier & the sleek, covered ferris wheel salt scented summer heat. We misunderstand and tear apart. I'm embarrassed by my credit cards and my ears. I returned to a life that is not mine, a guilt swelling up like a riptide and a cigarette sounds an alarm in me. (today I am terrible a depression fails my arms) Fuck this feeling. Return to a unique life. a velocity. return return.
I tried. The octopus with its fervent oscillations cheered me.
torn out from different notebook (tangled vines)
tangled green vines (coliseum ivy)
those glory days, before the woods became tamed, my vision held through rose colored glasses, she was a wild flower whose petals fell and caught in my eyeglasses
the ambulance took hours making sense of the wreckage my sudden shifted broken lens try to piece together with duct tape and bandages but the view is lost in haze of coal fire smog, gently lit the carriage wheels ablaze only plunging in the river could they be saved....
caffeine when we need the rest
fire when we might freeze to death
water when we burn alive
an awful sight for sore eyes
tingling with fireworks and lightning flashes
re-drafted letter
jeremy-
I had difficulty waking up this morning, the sleep too comfortable, dreams too lofty and safe because my logic knows they will extinguish themselves like moths to flame with the morning. Then I ask if any of these dream-ideas, below my comprehension or acknowledgment, blood or grow wings rising from the ashes of cloudy morning as a dazzling fiery bird? The dreams I can't remember most likely guide this pen across the page.
Background, first fresh pot of coffee brewed in a few days. Smells smokey. Foreground, a temperamental plant with purple clover leaves that faux-wilts if it has too much sunlight or water and then folds up as if to cuddle itself at night. (pause to pour a cup with eager, shaky hands). There is a large stack of books to my right. External motivation will help me with a pace for each without my normal distractions that disallow prolific reading when I inhabit free time... I must make breakfast and walk up to campus, I'll write more this afternoon...
thoughts in a cafe 9/18
she rolls up her sleeve to show a hand-shaped bruise
dress made out of bath mat material
