Mary J. Blige - My Life (Live) - Mary J. Blige

Day 27

The doctors said she was to die by age two
Do you know what it is to bury your child in your mind before she’s even taken her first steps?
You savor her like that last morsel of sunset before an eclipse
You hips become her crib, your arms her home
Never letting her inch outside of the edge of the earth flickering in your eye

And on her second birthday you celebrate it like judgment day passed
Like a new millennia of years in each extra second she spends on this earth
Her birth relived in your mind with every crossed finish line
Like she must be Christ resurrected, a miracle born to remind you she is still alive
She is so alive you can hear her breath drowning out the country breeze at night
So alive her feet cannot stay planted longer than the ticking metronome of her heart
She is art, abstract and difficult to understand but dazzling none the less
And at best, although she didn’t grow into the standard the critics accept

She was still the most beautiful artwork you’d ever seen
Her face birth marked by foot printed scars,
Her mouth angled and protruding like a rainbow
Her back crooked like the glorious hill of a mountainside
Baptized and confirmed in the church where you spent your days and nights
Mailing light thank you notes to God through the mouths of the ceiling
Do you know what it is to bury your child in your mind and live for her resurrection?

And just when you begin to settle into the comfortable nooks of your thoughts
What you’ve taught burns slowly like splintered trees at the crossroads of her youth
She is proof,
that bones brittled and bruised enough from insults will crumble into the first palms
That are willing to touch them,
No matter how lilting and faded the masks above them are
The doctors said she was to die by the time the child lodged in her belly is birthed
And you hated this child like it was cursed
Like it is the devil branding smoke signals through the inside of her womb
A tomb planted and buried into her body
uncovering ghosts crawling nightmares
And remembered fears into the walls
like a tide washing back the demons it stole before

And when the child is born and healthy and she is still alive for that mouthful of seconds
The baby’s first cries couldn’t match the raging rivers flooding the quaking planes of your eyes
Your hatred tumbling like curtains revealing some open field of a dream you crumbled beneath your bed some years ago
Where an angel birthed you a grandchild in those seconds when it was supposed to be in heaven
Placing its feathers on this baby’s brow, on the petal-like smoothness of her skin
No sin has ever produced a miracle more tightly stitched into fabric of a human being’s cover

She was a better mother than you could have ever aspired to be in those last minutes of her life
She savored her like that last morsel of sunset before an eclipse
She made her hips become her crib, her arms her home
Never letting her inch outside of the edge of the earth flickering in her eye
She lies in the bed still like a coffin,
Her womb pouring out debts of all the soil tinged blood she has been bottling into her breaths for years
Her fears backed into her lungs quivering earthquakes as her ribs dance like feet running home
Her lashes ticking seconds on clocks running backwards to the times when she was supposed to die before
Her lips quivering speakers for her voice like a faded traveler singing a distant song
She whispers into the dark empty amphitheatre of your ear,
"Please, take care of my little girl"
Do you know what it is to bury your child and hear her say your own last words?

Day 26

it is a beautiful day

there isn't much hidden from my eyes

as the sun floods the earth

i squint but cannot close this wandering

i feel inside of me

so strong it sucks my energy

as i yawn each part of me catches air

and stillness echoes through everything

my flesh surfs these rays

reflecting off of my brow

my fingers get beckoned by the grass swaying amongst them

each hair tunnelling the breeze

as the life swirls around my mind

so still in the breaths

passing through open tracks

so swift i do not even know i am breathing

i do not even know i am seeing or feeling this moment

i just know that i am living

Day 25

the past two are from an excercise in Natalie Goldberg's "Wild Mind" on page 72. sleep:

we never sleep the same
but always begin in repeated positions
i cradle into the nook of you right arm
you lie it beneath the curve of my neck
like a bar to keep me stable
you press your body into my spine
leave your breath to flutter my hair strands
always above my head with a few vagabond strings in my mouth
you curl you left arm above my empty womb
stack our feet and legs amongst eachother
all twenty of our fingers intertwined like lashes

or i cradle into the nook of your right arm
my face pressed into your chest like a rising pillow
my right arm and leg lunging across your body
with your feet keeping mine warm
and you left fingers dancing through the hairs from
the small of my back to the hill of my head
your lips poised to catch my lost words
as they float from my teeth in my sleep

or i cradle into the gaps of your sternum
my cheek painted by the sweat of your throat
my mouth breathing songs to your adam's apple
my legs finding windows between yours
your arms like tight vines along the trunk of my waist
your sighs tickling the tip of my nose

or your ear cradles into my ribs lullabied by the whispers of my heart
my torso swaddled in the muscles of your arms
as you grasp me like a child looking for home
and you snore twisters through my belly button
my fingers playing the keys of your earlobes
running through the waving fields of your hair against your scalp

we always say that the other is the only pillow we need
the only bed we'll ever seek
my dreams begin in your body
and find their ways to me while I sleep
you are the prayers we murmur at night
at times i awake with your kisses still
painted onto the blushed warmth of my face
that comfort of home
a security blanket encasing my body
we never sleep the same
but like the sun
always begin and awake in repeated positions

Day 24

in response to the many people who are always complimenting my teeth (like the guy today who told me i had the whitest teeth he'd ever seen)

my teeth
are strong stone washed gates
beginning and ending in themselves
they are sturdy rooted fences in the ground
breakers of the breeze that floods my mouth
they are the blank canvases of my body
chattering in the cold like flickering rose petals in the wind
scratched and faded with time

later, when every year begins to matter
like tallymarks on the score of my life
they will fall, crumble into themselves
like bursting buildings and axed trees
their stories rooted deep into my skin

like how they have been wrapped in everything they could
dirt and paper from the days of peanutbutter playgrounds
skin, bread, and plastic breaking open in their grip
blood slitering through them smoother than water
spices gnarled into the scratches of their surface
caressed by my tongue and kissed by those of others
smacked by the words i've said and blocking the words i couldn't
twisted and turned in their battles with wood, concrete and steel poles
displayed in anger, tears and the sunlight of smiles
they aim to match the stars they beam to every night
to be as daring as the raindrops that tickle their tips
as vivid as the colors they have churned through and washed over

they do not want to go
carrying these deep rooted stories
they've itched to be shown
to bring celebration with every second they kiss the air
bold faced and strong gates to my soul
like the moment they were born

Day 23

(written for "Take Back the Night," an event on campus against the abuse of women around the world)

Somewhere in the crack piped caverns of New York
There is a woman cradling the head of her young beneath the moon inflicted city lights
Her sternum is fractured by the earth quaking beats of her heart
Pounding in rhythm with the bangs against her door like war drums
On the other side the man she spoon fed her life to on broken plates every night
Is sputtering grenades from his lips and bombs from his teeth as he growls at her to open the door
He practices on this creaking wood what he would do to her face
Each blow uncovers the bruises on her flesh, the blood streaming like a river
Waiting for the moon to make its way past the traffic and reply

A dollar bill curls like a sagging fetus into the soiled skirt of a young girl in Malaysia
She crumples herself beside it
Attempts to wash the stains from its virus inflicted covers
As the man slips on his pants both legs at a time
As if he were the devil changing skins in possession
He looks back at her in disgust as he wipes her innocence off of his lips
She fears the wind violates her and places children on her hips

A daughter lays limp like a torn surrender flag in Iran
The books she was forbidden to read burning like her secrets at her feet
The knowledge she was forbidden to know singes fire breathing words up her shins
As the rocks pelt her like strokes of red paint against the canvas of her skin
She covers her face but leaves her eyes wide open
So she can never forget what the sun looks like
Knowing she will not have any vision after she dies
Because everyone in heaven must be blind to not see what is happening here

There is a tribe of women
Their legs sturdy like tree trunks from holding doors closed in their sleep
From running circles in cages they’ve never held keys to before
But their bodies are bent and dulled skeletons not seeming to fit any locks
They are potholed smiles hanging in crooked frames
They raise their dreams like children and send them to the wind as crushed dandelions
Pick fragments of their hearts from their teeth as they speak
And they taste the sun’s heat, savoring that light dim and deep within their souls
Buried to give some shelter from the midnight looming over them
Like ghosts of their pasts tidal waving over any future they never knew they had
They want to take back the night and ride the stars
They now hide in the glint of their eyes like the memories of winters past
They are goddess’s fingers
Exterior withered and bruised like dead skin with their power entombed within
And nobody knows them and nobody hears them and nobody feels them
And if only the angels could see
Maybe they’d save them

video is "four women" by nina simone

Day 22

A good friend has lent me Natalie Goldberg's "Wild Mind: Living the Writer's Life." I have read her in the past because my mother has a copy of "Writing Down the Bones." Today, when I was supposed to have taken time out to write I actually ended up reading some of this book and was so taken with one of the excercises that I thought I'd do it here. Although it is not technically a poem, I really don't care. The point is I am supposed to be writing and I think this one will open me up, particularly as a poet. It is a try this excercise after a chapter called Orchestra in which she discusses how teaching reading helped her see the music, sounds and wild breathing in each word and syllable we read and say out loud. Here it is:

"Make a list of words you really like. It doesn't matter if you know the meaning of the word or not. It also doesn't matter if you like what the word means..Feel the dignity and integrity of each word you write down...The writing doesn't have to be about the list. It is a way to become present to words, to recognize their value and to slow you down...Really that is what a poet is: someone who loves words for themselves and sees their magic" - pg. 195

okay here we go:

Extrapolate, gilded, chiaroscuro, babble, glow, smolder, audacity, life, summer, midnight, feast, plum, fire, fabric, murmur, lithe, think, voluptuous, hearth, juxtaposition, speak, skinny, gargantuan, orangutan, feather, wild, petals, sanctum, salvation, cocoon, noose, vigilance, rosewood, glisten, cashmere, impression, muscle, obscure, ligament, demon, heaven, cloud, meat, bone, stitch, obsidian, xenophobia, lemon, pucker, pendant, peer, prince, bile, centimeter, beseech, queen, altruism, quiver, question, hem, what, cholera, paradise, leaves, downtrodden, gingerly, brush, glacier, mass, luscious, incense, jubilant, pastel, passive, patent, organ, cerulean, echo, glass, bruise, shoot, upswing, junction, veil, lace, brook, vixen, sing, soothing, prints, retina, vivacious, tickle, wiggle, woman, yearn, vascular, balance, tooth, tether, gnarled, knobby, strand, puppet, water, waves, ocean, cradle, hyacinths, azaleas, rasp, elaborate

Day 21

unfinished poem

I always loved it when people told me I was sweet
Like nice girl
Like if you’ve had a bad day I’ll feed you a toothy sugar coated smile
Even If I don’t know you kind of way
Like laughter
Radiating in volts from my arms
Like platters
Serving sun-gilded moments upon my tongue
Like love

But I entombed a secret into the storm watered alleys of my veins
And the sweetness expires and spoils the rivers from these written incisions
I find the truth splattered from my lungs as I say
I am a murderer
Nothing else
No false dream of me you’ve settled into the creviced nooks of your mind is more honest than this
Don’t mold cloud shrouded pretentions by my demeanor
This is how the truest murders look

Like someone who’s loved
Like someone who didn’t lose it but buried it with a headstone reading
Another one bites the dust

It began at age fourteen
He was a willing victim baiting my curiosity for attention
Laying his sacrificed flesh out every night on my doorstep
With a tribe of thirsty quivers groveling towards my lips
Injecting his nervous racing pulse through telephone wires
He always agreed with everything I said
And as I spoke I could hear the ready-made head nods
And the hesitated I love yous backed into the scratching pipes of his voice box
Bursting with some complacency I did not need but
Threw away and pretended to keep
And after counting down the days in one month
The time I felt I needed to write the label of a real relationship
Into the finger painted scriptures of my youth
I took the bones that were left from the carved expenses of his tolled body
And with the second’s length of a sentence shattered them
Like glass shards that I can still see him feed his new girlfriend
Poisoning her like the slow piercing freedom aspired meals cooked by a slave

Then age sixteen
He was a crumpled canvas in a broken frame
Found him in some dumpster I ran into while
Trying to escape the looming hands of time
It was the way he forced himself into every swerving track of my path
I could not escape him, some crushable roadblock I took with me instead
I dirtied my hands with the abysmal hatred for his mother
And wing-spanned wishes to meet his father
I brushed some form of hope over his erasure marks
Molded some abstract strokes of beauty onto the dejection of his skin
And watched him attempt to hang himself proudly on the calcified walls of my heart
He began to resent me for it
The way the artist received the praise but never learned to showcase the masterpiece
And so in frustrated attempts to hold some safe case inside my dreams
He muddied and frayed the edges of his character until he wasn’t worth anything anymore
Just a crumpled canvas in a broken frame
So I ripped him
Tore every strand until it was left blowing in the wind like a question
Dripping pigments of no color,
Just desperation bruised by the darkness of him being really fucking crazy
Whatever straining notes left in the buzzing of his heart
Still calls me every week to know if I loved him at all

And then there was him
That romance so pushed so lightly into my heart
I could barely hear it before it encompassed me like a warm bath

Day 20

inspired by "Seven Years" by Norah Jones

She carries the sun lightly in her palms
And buries it deep beneath the earth
As far as her hands can dig
Asking the insects and creatures of their travels
The soil feels fresh as it rolls on her skin
And she molds it into tiny figures to keep the plants company
Strings the grass into embraces with the roots
Rivers some water into the intimate spaces only it can know
And onto the parched mouths of her toes

She shifts attention as quickly as the bees that buzz past her
Never wanting to hurt her but to suck the pollen from her hair
And whisper some jokes into her caverned ears
But the butterflies are quicker to tickle the tip of her nose,
Staring into her eyes as if they were two lanterns
Eclipsing and spinning with the bubbling giggles
She muffles beneath the waves of her lips

She is some seven years old
But hides more in the treasure trunk of her mind than she’d care to know
She is an ancient song whistled through the breeze
On summer days when the ice cream bells jingle
And the tire swings creak and kiss the cheeks of clouds
She is the sound of a jump rope ticking time into the asphalt
And dandelions sprinkling remembered wishes like snow

She is today, this moment
So insignificant but she knows she will remember it forever
She takes the eyes of the sun
And watches herself from above
Writes some words into its roots and buries it
As far as her hands can dig
She plants and strings this root like a stitch into her mind
Knowing she will never forget
Knowing she will love like this forever

Day 19

he lives on death row

his retinas are the shaking fissure of tectonic plates
he is colliding earthquakes in his joints
as he quivers and fidgets
he is an inside crumbling so fast
you can see it in the exterior
like an avalanche of his desires vomited through his voice
as he asks me
if i have any money
that currency
that spare change
he feels it against his flesh and scratches his dreams off the dead skin
holds out his city ridden hands
exposing the short tracks of the lines on his palms
and the long trails of the scars against his wrists
the splintered pot holes pock marking the streets of his arms
still looking fresh as the night we pause under
the moon cannot light the gray of this face
the black bubbling from this iris
as he asks me again
the rabid dog in him growling from his teeth
the murderous hunger seeping from his lips
the grim reaper in him asks for that currency
to take his soul to its death

Day 18

for robby

you are a dream in human form
a wish i sent to the wind the moment my breath touched the earth
you are my birth developed into life
you are
more than a brother
sometimes i scan the mirror for the stretch marks accenting my womb
feel the pains of your labor as you fly past me
on your way to some lost adventure
unaware of the mythical maps cartographed into your eyes
those eyes, ancient yet young
wondering the compliments glazed upon them
like a cherub
you must be an angel allowed into the cracks of my palms
you are my lifeline, my worry lines
deemed you mine before you even flew into our mother
painting your feathered wings into the frame of my brow
replicated upon your face
our resemblance screams louder than the song of your heart against my ear
you are the reader
the thinker
the peacer maker
the smiling uncomfortable quiet one with all the loud friends
you are the artist
the caretaker
the curious
sensitive one always free for hugs and kisses
you are me
only with another mother to hold your hand
you are my angel fueling my breath
and i saved some space for you to share your wings

Day 17

if i end up with you
after the years wash over my flesh
after the tears are collected in moats to protect my fortress
and the scars are faded
after the moments stack themselves into libraries
their pages echoing into each other
after my joints ache from the dancing,
the running,
the lying and
the living

if i end up with you
after the doubt caged in my ribs is released
i can glance back with a smile
and say i knew it all along

Day 16

Open letter to the civil rights activist who is homophobic

(written for the National Day of Silence)

Can you remember those moments when it seemed like God forgot you?
When you were nothing more than just an ant to crush
A servant to wait
A slur branded into your arm through pelted bruises
And the fact that your son held the future in his eyes
Scared you because of the smoldering fire pit of a fate
That was looming ashes into his present

So you did what you could
You fought a contending battle with no arms
You fought with dedication
You fought molding your body into target practice for those serpent headed hoses breaking your skin
Stiffening your wrists into flag poles to hold up those picket signs
Familiarizing your stomach to hunger and prison laced blows
You fought
And you won some form of a settling breeze of your son’s future

And if it was needed you would do it again
You would march with your knees the highest they’ve risen
And take the lashes of slander against the flesh of your back
You’d crucify yourself in a courtroom just to show the truth gushing from your veins
You’d do it
Just to save the life of another little black boy
Like your son
Lying in the ground like charred rags of a crumpled surrender flag
All knees and elbows falling along the breaking jaw and crunched bones
Beneath the stomping feet and stinging words flying from the bodies
Crushing him like an ant

But what would you do if you knew this little black boy was gay
Was having his pride beat and flogged out of him in pieces
Because he gave his precious fragile heart to another man
Because somehow love has been decoded into some monstrous threat
Tempting hate to come baptize it fag and dyke and queer

What would you do?
If the boy had poured his soul into some bottled kiss upon your son lips
Would you let the blood run cool red along the brown dusk of his face
Would you crush the forget-me-nots lining his bed
Tell his parents that their son’s soul,
now lying in fragments amongst his toes
Was to be scorched with the dancing demons of hell
Would you lose that deep rooted voice you’ve been trailing for years
Just to tell this boy that he was unnatural
Because he felt love

Day 15

the masses move in the ways they always have

heads raised and eyes lowered

counting their day old fruits and flower petals to sell

because nature is now the currency of poverty

and we were bartering the hormonal rage of our mother earth

the vendor knows the intimate gnarls

and richocheting roots of the tree that became his dollar

and they are still moving
counting the cracks in the sidewalks
they tip toe over the tossed carcasses of leftover life
lying prostrate on the asphalt to be picked up
by their own cancer lined fingernails
the looming demons dripping from air conditioners
and shooting from car exhaust
the dead bodies covering paths, too large to avoid
and too neglected to be more than the roadkill of the traffic

and yet they are still moving
counting their blessings
like the world's prayer was in one language
branded onto the hunching joints of their kinked backs
lost in direction,
they trample eachother's feet
but braid their hands into strong ropes
to hold the world on the string that keeps it afloat

they are the masses
hidden blots behind the fingers twirling the globe
forgotten pot holes in the mouthless letter screams of the daily paper
small choruses conducting the melodies of the wind
they are shivering in the tossed rags of buildings, islands and plots
and they move and they dance and they march and they survive
like the immortal wick of a
flickering candle in the darkness

Day 14

the light

(inspired by above installation I saw at the guggenheim on saturday- james lee byars "the death of james lee byars", gold leaf)

something flickered on your skin this morning

like you hair left sparks of of your mind's

burning midnight soliliqiues and fairytales

to settle in the craters of your pores

something as indescribable as a question

was glowing in the gap between your lips

exhaling ashes with every breath you took

and smoke rings through your nostrils

it was childlike

the way i tried to catch that firefly

buzzing along your ribs

with its rhythmic wing flaps

growing louder as my ear pressed into your chest

it was burning me in the sweetest way

my colors baking my limbs golden

like a gilded tree

i let hair strainds twirl like leaves

and kisses fall like ripened fruit

i decided to stay

despite my own familiar burning

beginning at the heels rounding my feet

tickling my well oiled knees

i decided to give some cooling shade

and much needed relaxation

to that firepit instrument

that twisting sturdy lampost

you call a heart

Day 13

open letter to my ex boyfriend’s new girlfriend

I know I am supposed to despise you
Like in another life we were gladiators on a battle ground
Like lionesses brawling over a dead carcass
Like goddesses crashing over spinning planets

But such is the way of women
Falling into that gnarling pit of jealousy
That festers in all the dark alleys of our mind
And sends vicious creatures of words flying from our teeth

I don’t know who you think you are
Or what you wore yesterday
I don’t know if you can do things that I can
But I will never hate you
Not even despise you

Because at the end of the road I am still his ex-girlfriend
With our memories dangling like charms on the bracelet
That squeezes my veins every time my blood calls for him

Because although we both have been baptized baby
Are familiar with the dipping base of his back

Pierced daily thoughts with remembrance of his laugh
Have been left alone and glistening in his sweat
We did not love the same person

Mine was headstrong and manipulative
Demanding and suspicious

Jealous and dismissive

But he was also sweet in that
Bring you flowers just because
Let’s let the summer breeze tickle our feet
And I’ll sing a song to you
Even off pitch
But I’ll feed you my smile if you laugh
And brush your hair when you sleep
Kind of way

And although the memories are choking my veins

And at times my anger boils over like steaming pots
And at times I miss him like an old song you just can’t get out of your head
That story you can’t quite remember

That breeze that sings over our smoldering flesh
The teetering thought at the tip of your tongue
I am happy he could never make me hate you

Because maybe in another time

We might have been mailing notes beneath desks

Enveloping eachother's scars in kisses

And chocolate chip cookies

We might have been scarlet red moon leakers

Finger and hair braiders in old creaking tire swings

We might have been sisters

Such is the true way of women

Day 12

Last night I had a dream
Of a clear summer’s night
When the ocean was reflected in the sky
And the fish fed off pieces of the moon
And made ripples in the trailing clouds
I was lying crumpled and broken in my bed
Just awoken to the stars
Dancing along my sheets like leaves waltzing through the park
When suddenly my mind began dribbling from my mouth in pieces
Notes and letters brushing against my lips
It spilled onto the carpet
I was hearing sounds and songs but could not recognize these voices
As my mouth stretched wider like a projector
I saw every memory I ever had piled
And bound in papers like books
With their open covers whispering their stories to me
I was afraid
When I turned my head some snapped forward demons
And covered me in their sickening blood and misery
While some washed me in tears until I couldn’t breathe
And I began crushing stars in my hand as I grabbed the sheets
Looking for something to wrap myself inside of
When suddenly some cloud of sunshine came wafting through
Held me in its cooling mist
Let me sit and laugh and smile
At the strangeness of it all
So this is life, huh?

Day 11

Salvation

We both call to the sound of church gongs like tribal city drums
Under the shadow of my eyes
I see his asphalt ridden hand pocket the altar matches
Below the radar of the crosses that leer down in judgment
As if on cue for his sin
The prayer circle begins
He reaches his other hand out to me
I take it because I know other women haven’t taken it before
Because I know this would be the only time in a week
Someone would ever reach towards him
Touch him not to hurt him or by some shameless accident
But out of some soulful necessity

He sends me a marked smile
His teeth potholed and crowded against each other like project tenants
His skin stretches hard like bridge suspensions bent sideways
He feels fleshy as leather cushioned couches
I want to sink into this palm and give it something to sing to
Carve each word we chant together into lines so he can trace them like brail
Late at night
When the city lights create patchwork quilts against the sky
Our prayer is the rawest form of lullaby
Cooed by pigeons who look down from rooftops with their God complex
I know he is just houseless not homeless
Because we are here now together

And I feel like I don’t want to let go of this hand
I feel like his reflection stains 5th Avenue store front windows with reality
That his smell has driven more people out of rooms than gunshots
Has caused other hands to clutch children and purses but never his own
I feel like maybe if I hold on long enough I can tell him how I really feel
That I am better company than a liquor bottle ever was
That I want to write about a poem about his life or maybe just meeting him
That I want to know his story
Because honestly it scares me
Because I know it is more real than any inked words I could have ever spit out of my tongue

And I was sorry for every moment I told myself I never wanted to be here
Because for him this hour could stretch on to infinity
For this hour he can believe that there is something out there
He doesn’t know what but something that loves him despite his hungry desires
That created him to be perfection
And gave its life so that he could be able to beg on a street corner
That made him the vagabond feather of an angel’s wing floating through this city

For this one hour he feels blessed
To be the one person in this palace of a church
With its gilded symbols and silken curtains
Who knows what it feels like to run faster than the looming hands of time
To know how to wear a fragrance of passing conversations
To know the grainy taste of the earth rinsed with the Hudson River
He carries his naked soul outside like a gift to this world
He carries maps of heaven on the back of his grimy hands
And he has palms that when pierced bleed solely the truth

Day10

music
the words brushed against my flesh
soft and rushed
they swerved into my mind
came out of my lips
in notes
dancing through the air
i conducted my symphony of the wind
my fingers laced with melodies
the keys were smoky city lights
the tempo was something like traffic
with a background of voices
the pitch was moon
with the speakers of the breeze
i was wondering if this song
could kiss your earlobes
over there

Day 9

freewrite:

i feel busy, i am not sure if this is the place i was supposed to be, do you know what it is to be around people that make it feel like you are in their way? do you know what it is to feel alone while there is someone in the bed next to yours? i feel sorry for you, with your insecurities flagging unstoppable into my eyes like raindrops i feel sorry for you with you negative thoughts piercing any happiness you could ever hope for, your hopes are not what you really want and you will see that in the end, if they are that means that you must hope to die because the result is not called living, it is standing still, it is molding yourself into someone else, it is creating a world within the real one, it will not protect you as the time floods into your universe, real life is waiting and knocking at your door, it holds flowers and i'm sorry notes and begs to be let in but you shut it out. hoping for something else you blame real life as you trip over yourself and your own mistakes, you blame other lives as you cut away true friends and you are sorry for yourself and alone and it is solely your fault.

Day 8

call me a lover first
and i will hide behind your eyes
and rest into the nooks of your dreams
existing solely there
call me a friend first
and i will loop my hands like jangling keys for comfort
into your heart
i will cartograph a map of your mind
and explore like a new world
i will pierce a path to walk our words
give our souls some exercise
as they plant jokes and embraces
like blooming sights
to stop us along the way

Day 7

there is a girl
somewhere
that looks like me
we both wear our smiles wide like hammocks for comfort
we both bite our lips when we're nervous
and hum songs when we're bored or busy
we speak with the same fluctuating timidity of voice
and touch our hair when we're doing it
and we both wonder about eachother
sometimes just a glimpse of the moon
i think i see our face there
she always makes it seem more precious than mine
like she carries some secret burning inside of her
smoldering from the edges of her teeth
like she is starving to tell me
but she always just laughs
and loves her life
and dances her way into the sky
and promises she'll be back
i hope she finds me again someday
she'll tell me the secret
of how to become her fully
and i looked for her in the moon
searching to understand
that i hope to find myself someday

Day 6

let's play dress up
let me slip into the hidden folds of your skin
i want to wear your insecurities like colorful ribbons
to show you how beautiful and fragile they are
i want to find some space behind your knee
Melt my scent into the air you breathe
You can wear my hair like curling covers
let me dive into a sweaty creek to soak in
let my lips harness your tongue with our mouths wide open
Give me your purple
to make my palms darker
Give me your yellow
to make my eyes brighter
Give me your scars
And I will unravel their stories like thread
We are dressed with our bare bodies wrapped in this bed
Unpeel your wishes
Place them like bloomed flowers into the cave of my belly button
Make me feel beautiful
Stitch your lashes into my spine
Let our fingers braid into eachother like padded gloves
There is no better attire than falling in love
Let the fabric of us dance like curtains in the breeze
We've been tailored into the suits of eachother's needs
Let us be belt clasps and zippered pockets
And lacerate our minds precious into opened lockets
I am reversible and folded gentle into these changing positions
I feel beautiful
And I've never worn anything so well before

Day 5

I wish there was a way to explain how I feel about you

I am alone in this room

Waiting for your presence to kiss a smile onto my face

Waiting for the music to twirl my waist between your legs

And hold it there

Wishing moments could be kept in lockets and relived

You are the necessity I have to know myself better

You are the breeder of my longing to love me better

Your heart is just a song's length away from my mind at all times

It gives me headaches to look away from you sometimes

Thank you for causing me to think of you this way

Thank you for finding me below the brush in the thicket

And loving me more like myself

Day 4

Letters to an American Lover

 
 

1

 
 

Three months have passed since I have last heard your voice

The glittering dust on the porch twirls restlessly into areas the broom cannot reach

The sunflowers look to the heavens sniffing for the relief of rain

My belly swells like a prepubescent sun beneath the heavy shadows of my breasts

The child is homeless and runs tracks along the inside of my womb

Looking for a place to settle its legs at night

Aimless wanderer

It must have gotten that from you

 
 

2

 
 

I've begun to take English classes at the church

I've learned words

Today, tomorrow, city, snow

There is a picture of it underneath

Matches the white of the page with its grease and coffee rimmed edges

Looks like clouds, like sticky fields of melted icees

Looks like your skin when you first arrived

Before the muddied sun heat licked your face into gold

Into a god,

Into a native of this land only greater

Your American accent curling each word you said into an industrial song

You spoke like traffic,

Like change jingling in fat pockets

You smelled like stiff cardboard and brick

You tasted like coca cola fizzling through my throat

Tickling each part of me with the white of your smile

You felt like stinging cold wind and freedom dancing on a roof top

 
 

3

 
 

The child proves nomadic again

He has begun to catch spirits to keep me awake

At night

When the sky caves over the cane fields in purple waves

And the ghosts rap upon the window of my b elly button

Trying to get in

He is a warrior running

A coward

Running from his room

His womb

He must have gotten that from you

 
 

4

 
 

I spend my afternoons sitting in the airport

After the paper work is rustling in my hands

Birth certificate, applications, medical records

All belong here

Where I don't

When a plane takes off

I unstick my skin from the sweaty leather

Press my eyelashes deep into the bug splattered window

And imagine it is me on there

With you waiting behind the ocean waves and cane fields

You, looking like snow again

White as the papers resting in your hand

Smooth as dollar bills,

Smooth as paved roads with golden stripes

Smooth as freedom

 
 

5

 
 

The child has run into the crevices of my mind

Last night he unleashed a spirit into my dreams

I dreamt that you were dead

That I rode barebacked along the wings of a great white plane

That I lapped up the salt of the ocean

Sucked the sugar from the cane fields

Feasted on the grainy tufts of sand

And after we landed in the snow

I saw your body flat beneath the wheels of my plane

Bleeding through the stiff collar of your suit

Only your heart was beating,

Buzzing red between my hungry knuckles as I picked it up and placed it in my pocket

Carefully wiping the blood off of the papers in my bag

I stepped onto fresh cold snow

I can't even tell you what it felt like but I knew it was right

Your bones trailing like a path before me to a place that looked just like home

Walked with you heart still running against my inner thigh

The child finally sleeping still within my womb

He must have gotten that from you

Day 3

Dear Marc

 
 

You are a speeding truck on the wrong side of the road

A lonely wolf baring its teeth when pleading for sympathy

I do not know if I loved you

But I know the words burst from my lips enough to believe that I did

 
 

I know

The years have passed in bucketfuls and I can barely picture your face

But your voice

Your voice haunts me

 
 

At the end of telephone wires

Postlude to a droll ringing at 2 am

The interrupting nightmare in my dreams

Ever so silent pause before you speak

With the pseudonym of restricted

Behind anonymous codes of illegible numbers

Until your voice cuts the air to my sigh

Visualizing each breath I take into a ticking second

I lose out of my life

When you trick me into hearing that voice

 
 

You always ask me if I hate you

As if it matters

Fishing for the answer that will reel you back into my heart

Closed shop to your gifts of compliments

And corn syrup pasted promises

They taste dead to me

Like the memories of your tongue laying flat in my mouth

The taste of bittersweet lips ramming into my own

Like the smoky rotting kiss of death against my forehead

 
 

You always ask me if I love you

As if it matters

Drunk off your questions

I can't pick up the phone anymore

Fear swimming through my veins every time

I see numbers I can't recognize

Every restricted name waits like a preying beast

Growling its frustrations into me

Clawing insults into crosses against the skin of my cheek

Until I cannot even remember your real name anymore

 
 

There is a message waiting in my phone at 4 am

Tells me you died last night in a car accident

That the sender was told to inform me tonight

 
 

Your face reverberates through the corners of my mind

My breath pounds into the tragic symphony of my heartbeat

You are the thought blooming regret into my trembling skin

You are a boy flagging redemption like a cape down my spine

I want to strip myself of my contempt for you

And lay naked in the infatuation you bestowed upon me

I want to call this number to bury a prayer into your grave

Give this ringing an answer it's craved for years

 
 

And it is you

Alive

That voice I could hear in the silence before you speak

The ultimate trick to get the answer you wanted all along

Tell me,

Do you hate me or do you love me?

Now?

Day 2

Letter to a child soldier from Jiverly Wong

Sometimes it's better to take a life with you when you go

Return to the dust of the earth with some fertilizer to plant your roots forever
Unreachable
Beyond all judgment, all responsibility, all feeling

After the first shot
When the bullet began grinding pieces of his flesh in its teeth
I knew I couldn't watch,
Couldn't enjoy the moment as it unraveled before me
Each breath he struggled for was a ticking second on my watch
A plan playing strong before my eyes
Like a silent film, slow and colorless

You are my predecessor worlds away
Separated through time zones and ocean waves
You too have voices
That bang against the flesh of your ear drum
Like war songs
You too have some God dream braided into your mind
Like salvation never tasted as sweet as bile sinking between your teeth
Like a temple of crunching bones
To lay inside, to go home

You left an empty house to follow an emptier belly like I did
We both run to people that close their open arms to our faces
And inject our hopes with drugs to sedate our consciousness
A conspiracy theory unfolded triggers within my knuckles
And crushed the future within yours

They will look at us and brand us devils
Child, you are the truth lying in the shadows of an angel's wing
I am rambling the words they used as nails to pierce my palms and feet
But religion is for the weak
So tell them you have been bonded to real life
While they sip their blood diluted coffees
And drive their blood fueled cars
With their blood speckled diamonds shining
Blinding them to the truth
We get shot and pierced by those coins they throw behind
We suffocate in those sweaty wrinkled bills

The others will look down in sympathy
Call us crazy, branded and bruised
With the academic oozing from their perfected language
That sounds like the clink of prison walls grated closed
They cannot catch us as we run so fast
We trip into other lives
We shoot into other worlds
We divine intervention into their worth

We are soldiers
Fighting a war we did not create
Fighting for something more than government promised us
I hope you find salvation but know
Your cause is one I am a victim of too
So we must
Let the shots pound the lies into dust of the earth
Dead like we will be too

Without Sanctuary

http://www.withoutsanctuary.org/

Somewhere between an arching limb and picket fence

Between sunset's fire and night's enclosing cave
Between that Mason and Dixie Line and the Cotton Belt
There is the still-life image of a shadow swayed softly upon a naked tree
There is a bruise staining the clouds of falling leaves pointing southward in their travels
There is my lover
Body so vivid in my mind I couldn't falsely name him memory
But instead a painted song,
A visual harmony
Of the rope,
Playfully tugging the breaking bark
Creaking in its taunting way,
Of those last breaths,
Last whispered pants hidden by the blinding light screaming into our eyes
Of the hands still strumming the blues away to the wind
And the nigger,
And the nigger,
And the nigger
Shouted from Satan's lips,
So pale, so dry, so thin
Like a desert landscape and no hope of water

Sunday morning sport
Hunting after the preacher's sermon
Teaching lessons to the children
This is natural order in the South
This is how God tests the chosen ones
This was my lover's lynching
Seven days after he carved permanent grooves into the mahogany wood of my skin
And now he is a burning knife piercing the white cloud of crackling faces
That hate, the way the smoke dances lively out of his sweat glands like it's done this before

I feed the soiled roots ashes of rotting fruit browning in searing blood
So maybe this family tree could continue and claim this country for its own
Cause anchoring shackles of slavery to this earth apparently wasn't good enough
Cause the overworked bare knuckles beneath his breaking back apparently weren't good enough So the magnolias must fall like tears bearing his dirt timber scent
And every night while the prayers are being rolled off of porches
And the hymns rinse the flesh from the river
His song is a strong spiritual wafting eternally through the country breeze
His skin blankets the sky with the envious glint of his eyes
And his shadow blazes along the gnarled grooves in the mahogany wood of a naked tree in Mississippi