6. Gate B5
There are bunnies in my nose.
Little grayish brown bunnies
They live in vents in the airport
Inside is no different than outside at a gate
Snow flaked air gives my cheeks monkey bites
Where is my chap stick?
I want to know who bullied the lighting in the airport as a kid to make him treat me this way
Maybe he should talk to someone about it
My mouth looks vintage
My lips are cobras shedding their skin.
Flyers will do everything to avoid eye contact
Stare-rs are soul stealing
I’m doing it on purpose
It makes me feel like that bully must feel.
Guilty.
I keep sneezing into my armpit
I wonder if I’m allergic to airports
but it’s probably just the bunnies
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Saturday, December 25, 2010
#5 Heaven is Your Favorite Childhood Game
#5 Heaven is Your Favorite Childhood Game
Grow young when you get old
Build a tree house as big as a storm
Wash it in colors that make you glow
Fill it with bubbles that sing like whales
Sleep on a sleeping bag on the floor
Hang a swing from the tallest branch
Catch lightening bugs for your torches
Hold concerts for your old friends
Tell them you know a place where the old grow young
Where the birds play drums and the bugs make love
Where the air tastes like snow and the sun always spies
A place where a tree holds your heart because you gave it to him to hold
I’ll meet you at the tree house and we will run naked along his branches
My dear, grow young when you get old
Never change a thing about you
Grow young when you get old
Build a tree house as big as a storm
Wash it in colors that make you glow
Fill it with bubbles that sing like whales
Sleep on a sleeping bag on the floor
Hang a swing from the tallest branch
Catch lightening bugs for your torches
Hold concerts for your old friends
Tell them you know a place where the old grow young
Where the birds play drums and the bugs make love
Where the air tastes like snow and the sun always spies
A place where a tree holds your heart because you gave it to him to hold
I’ll meet you at the tree house and we will run naked along his branches
My dear, grow young when you get old
Never change a thing about you
Friday, December 24, 2010
#4 Grin
Grin
If you smiled any wider
Tectonic plates would shift
Volcanoes would erupt with cherry blossoms
And cover the world in petals
Like tears from a geisha
I shrink to the size of an uncut blade of grass
Carrying a staple remover, I jump on your arm while you’re sleeping
Bound up your biceps and scale your ear
Tempted to snuggle in the peach fuzz
When I clamber to your face I want to lie on it
Forever kissing each freckle like a child who believes they can count the stars in a single night
But I am here with a mission
I position the staple remover next to your eyes and steal the lines that appear when you smile.
I fold them on their crease and race back to myself
Full size and overflowing with excitement I unfold the tiny pleats in the palm of my hand
They smell like bliss
I squeeze my hands into fists as tight as I can
Fusing them into my palms
You’re laugh lines inside my lifeline.
If you smiled any wider
The moon would come closer
Snow wouldn’t fall but float static until you touched it
my hands would bleed blood oranges
And we would make mimosas.
If you smiled any wider
Tectonic plates would shift
Volcanoes would erupt with cherry blossoms
And cover the world in petals
Like tears from a geisha
I shrink to the size of an uncut blade of grass
Carrying a staple remover, I jump on your arm while you’re sleeping
Bound up your biceps and scale your ear
Tempted to snuggle in the peach fuzz
When I clamber to your face I want to lie on it
Forever kissing each freckle like a child who believes they can count the stars in a single night
But I am here with a mission
I position the staple remover next to your eyes and steal the lines that appear when you smile.
I fold them on their crease and race back to myself
Full size and overflowing with excitement I unfold the tiny pleats in the palm of my hand
They smell like bliss
I squeeze my hands into fists as tight as I can
Fusing them into my palms
You’re laugh lines inside my lifeline.
If you smiled any wider
The moon would come closer
Snow wouldn’t fall but float static until you touched it
my hands would bleed blood oranges
And we would make mimosas.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
(3rd) Precipitation
Precipitation
Today is a rainforest of over dramatic egos
Speeding down the freeways in the overpriced soul sucking two door douche-mobiles
Blinking distraction and ignorance is dangerous.
Sitting on the roof in the forest the rain whispers in my ears that it’s time to slow down.
Sit back in my skin
Do you hear it?
Rain speaks. Rain says;
“Refresh yourself. Clean up. Hydrate your memory of a day when thoughts and emotions were more valuable than time and money.”
I am a loving Lioness of God, who sees and perceives the presence of the divine surrounding her, and who falls in love with that experience.
Today I fall in love.
Today I let my claws retract.
Inhale the birth of a cloud and exhale the death of a judgment.
I am a beast, a nonhuman, a filthy creature being cleansed.
I am a lioness who hunts downs hypocrisy and pounces on pretension.
But not today
Today my coat is drenched in celestial dew and I am in love with the spirit inside of raindrops.
Giving over to release and offering up to the universe my pride.
Tonight when you get home to your barely furnished condo and park your black black engine, stand in the street for a moment.
Let your palate slide back and face the sky, because rain has something to say and you’re only going to listen if it smacks you in the face.
Today is a rainforest of over dramatic egos
Speeding down the freeways in the overpriced soul sucking two door douche-mobiles
Blinking distraction and ignorance is dangerous.
Sitting on the roof in the forest the rain whispers in my ears that it’s time to slow down.
Sit back in my skin
Do you hear it?
Rain speaks. Rain says;
“Refresh yourself. Clean up. Hydrate your memory of a day when thoughts and emotions were more valuable than time and money.”
I am a loving Lioness of God, who sees and perceives the presence of the divine surrounding her, and who falls in love with that experience.
Today I fall in love.
Today I let my claws retract.
Inhale the birth of a cloud and exhale the death of a judgment.
I am a beast, a nonhuman, a filthy creature being cleansed.
I am a lioness who hunts downs hypocrisy and pounces on pretension.
But not today
Today my coat is drenched in celestial dew and I am in love with the spirit inside of raindrops.
Giving over to release and offering up to the universe my pride.
Tonight when you get home to your barely furnished condo and park your black black engine, stand in the street for a moment.
Let your palate slide back and face the sky, because rain has something to say and you’re only going to listen if it smacks you in the face.
12/22 Hot Hands
Hot Hands
Does it bother anyone else that Nail Polish is flammable?
Are my fingertips more likely to burst into flames at a bonfire if my claws are colored?
I am only as attractive as the color of my toes and fingers.
And if I breathe in the fumes of the paint I could get sick.
Sick people are hot.
But not as hot as my hands will be when I test my theory in the fireplace.
Keep your clean cuticles crossed and wish me luck.
Does it bother anyone else that Nail Polish is flammable?
Are my fingertips more likely to burst into flames at a bonfire if my claws are colored?
I am only as attractive as the color of my toes and fingers.
And if I breathe in the fumes of the paint I could get sick.
Sick people are hot.
But not as hot as my hands will be when I test my theory in the fireplace.
Keep your clean cuticles crossed and wish me luck.
12/21 Porcupines Dilemma
12/21 Porcupines Dilemma
I used to be one tough cookie.
I’d give you a cavity and a root canal with my eyes.
I used to only watch the nature programs on TV about animals that ripped each other to shreds.
I’d laugh.
I used to have a Mohawk.
My Dad told me a young woman shouldn’t do that to her hair.
It’s too masculine.
So I began calling it a woman’s Mohawk.
Wo-hawk.
I liked that I had to duck to get into the L train to go back to Brooklyn.
So I had a Wohawk and you had a Mohawk.
And we met on a rooftop on the Fourth of July cause we saw each other’s hair through a sea of anti-voluminous do’s.
And before the sunset, there were fireworks.
Like Sharks swimming to each other on a rough sea we parted the ocean of people.
I touched your Mo and you touched my Woah, but you really touched my heart.
You called me Porcupine and I called you Hedgehog.
We were Native American
We were punk rock
We were weirdos
We were tough cookies
Steel Sinckerdoodles
Leather Gingerbread Men
Two tough cookies.
Your apartment smelled like matches and looked like a bomb shelter.
It was a cool night and we shut the windows and sat on the bed.
Not touching. But so close.
Staring contest.
My skin tightens and a chill runs down my spine. It sprints down my legs and back up my sides. It completes its marathon at my mouth and I’m covered in goose bumps.
So is he.
National Geographic needs to do a bit on Porcupines and Hedgehogs.
To touch you and prick you? Or watch you shiver?
That night I froze.
Sacrificed heat so we wouldn’t inflict damage upon each other.
Two tough cookies are too sharp to keep each other warm.
I used to be one tough cookie.
I’d give you a cavity and a root canal with my eyes.
I used to only watch the nature programs on TV about animals that ripped each other to shreds.
I’d laugh.
I used to have a Mohawk.
My Dad told me a young woman shouldn’t do that to her hair.
It’s too masculine.
So I began calling it a woman’s Mohawk.
Wo-hawk.
I liked that I had to duck to get into the L train to go back to Brooklyn.
So I had a Wohawk and you had a Mohawk.
And we met on a rooftop on the Fourth of July cause we saw each other’s hair through a sea of anti-voluminous do’s.
And before the sunset, there were fireworks.
Like Sharks swimming to each other on a rough sea we parted the ocean of people.
I touched your Mo and you touched my Woah, but you really touched my heart.
You called me Porcupine and I called you Hedgehog.
We were Native American
We were punk rock
We were weirdos
We were tough cookies
Steel Sinckerdoodles
Leather Gingerbread Men
Two tough cookies.
Your apartment smelled like matches and looked like a bomb shelter.
It was a cool night and we shut the windows and sat on the bed.
Not touching. But so close.
Staring contest.
My skin tightens and a chill runs down my spine. It sprints down my legs and back up my sides. It completes its marathon at my mouth and I’m covered in goose bumps.
So is he.
National Geographic needs to do a bit on Porcupines and Hedgehogs.
To touch you and prick you? Or watch you shiver?
That night I froze.
Sacrificed heat so we wouldn’t inflict damage upon each other.
Two tough cookies are too sharp to keep each other warm.
Poems for Days
My friend Jeremy Radin is a rad poet.
We had a poetry and tea night.
We drank poetry and recited tea.
He has inspired me to write.
I will attempt to write 32 poems from 12/21 - 1/21
Hopefully 1 a day for 32 days.
Follow me on my Poem Path here.
Follow Jeremy Radin on his
We had a poetry and tea night.
We drank poetry and recited tea.
He has inspired me to write.
I will attempt to write 32 poems from 12/21 - 1/21
Hopefully 1 a day for 32 days.
Follow me on my Poem Path here.
Follow Jeremy Radin on his
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