Sunday, September 30

for clodia

ea amat
minding i am to
fly away, she holds me on a
tether tied around her finger and my
heart, so it is my hurt that
threatens
when i stretch the
distance taut.

myself am not so wise, i
crave the clench of the hand that
says i am worth holding tight.


-----------------------------
once, there was a woman named clodia who came from such a pretty family that her surname was pulcher, beautiful. there was a poet. what their story was, we can't know anymore. she stayed real but the only words left are his.

and the sparrow, no one has found.

Monday, September 24

because i am hungry:

tamarind

on the brown laquer of the
seed is engraved
a small sun--
the rays of the corona hair fine

the seed woods clatter brightly in
my hand like polished
stones or divining bones they speak
like teeth to the
tongue
things only mouths
can eat

pensées profondes

j'ai besoin de faire pee-pee
c'est ça dont j'ai envie
d'aller faire pee-pee.
et ça, c'est le bonheur, aussi
d'aller faire pee-pee
mais seulement quand j'en ai envie...

Saturday, September 22

on that note:

in london
to my sister who is not my sister


you had undone the ticket.
at the home of the mother who
did not want you, who
could not hold on to your wing
beat heart,
you tore into the way back but
i waited. you had lost the ticket
you said.

they searched through their anger,
our parents, and we went back
before the planes that would not carry you

it tore in two. i won't go back
you told them
until we saw at last--

face sick and set, you shouldered
aside
the pleading.
you stayed with her, your mother.
you left


i can't seem to find the right way to end this

bad poetry...

i dearly love the above.

these might be a waste of space on paper, but i thought i'd post them up and see what (if anything) anyone has to say.