volume no. 53,4111

november 27th, 2005
New York Times.
African Times.

there is a push
pull
try to keep up with the times
try to keep our cultural lines
some things aren’t meant to last
some traditions don’t stand a chance
when are we going to speak up
start raising our intellect
if you listen to an anthropologist
he’ll show you a view beyond your own mind
but tell me how can a baby be sold still
the value of a girl child
compare to food on the kitchen stove
debt unpaid
your son with his own wife
the sorrow in her eyes
when you tell her
she is your bride child daughter
to a man with seventy years
paying your going rate of 16 dollars
the price of your adolescence
taken away
by your parents own blessing
did you know then
you were the sacrifice
the lamb upon the alter
its been happening since bible times
told you to consider it an honor
but you child are a child
the lamb was just a lamb
there is a push
pull
on demand
come with me now
let me show you
how we disregard
societies lower rungs
so we lower the sins
for the guilt of our own stakes
resist the efforts of change
divide our sanity in desperation within
to think it’s okay
to mutilate
and mutate
fight the laws
that govern land
sell the soil
with our own plans
give away our righteous daughters
with attempt to believe
they are our own rightful martyrs
to keep lineage
right
and good
with who lives in new money
who lives in old money
who lives with no money
and lets keep it this way
who would want to divide up the profits
the rich look richer
richer with goodness
to give their portions to the poor
to the needy
to the cause
but the tax dollars
get bent
and they get relieved
by there own reductions
so they can sleep at night
but there is a push
pull
and I am not sleeping
cant sleep
because I am middle class
middle street
twenty four
and still im coming home
still blessed to speak my mind
to say what is so
of my belief
to write these lines
and scream with rage
to find food
rotting in the cans
below the sink
because water still runs clear
on this share of land
and I look away
turn the blind eye
but today new york times
haunts me
with Africa front page
center stage
because this is our world
yours and mine
food enough to go around
airplanes to travel the time
but how can things still be so harsh
just another 12 hours away
how do the streets stay so full
and the homes live so empty
the doctors told me of my dis ease
but blood is thicker then water
more knowledgeable then eyes
today I was granted with the gift to be humble
and still spared my own purity
but there are so many
mis fortuned
layers
to unfold
overlapping
the how
and why
and who would
when
you could
but never did
and we have not be honest
with our intentions
not been honest
with what really lives beneath our surface
viruses and bacteria and little bugs that manifest on the flesh
this is how we live
an epidemic
of tribulations
there are so many ways
to look
and point the finger
to many ways to tell a story
into believing it’s a piece of fiction
a world to far
gone away
to believe
and to regard
because even our families
even our bodies
even our own souls
get looked over
denied
into caring
because it is easier to numb pain
take the vice
find the muse
and write about the tragic occurrence in the mind
what does it take
to share the burden of the soul
to reach out
and be the needy one
and still find that steady hand
there is a push
pull
and here I stand divided
here I am broken
how many volumes of new york times
does it take to feel your heart strings felt
how many children have to be sold
how many viruses must be spread
how many victims of hunger have to die
how many human beings must be prisoned
how many words must be written
how many people must lose their way
until we find solutions
does it have to reach into your home
drag you out of your warm bed
shake you down to core
push you until you are pulled
how do we fight without the rage
how do we find a new way
because we keep on repeat
the past becomes the
future becomes the past
and we keep on repeat
there is a push
pull
the past becomes the
future becomes the past
and we keep on repeat

momma may i.

momma may i

jump across that dividing line of symmetry
over the borders of self loathing
and the loathe i tasted in him
it was a tuesday night
it was a war wound
a life wound
a dirty push towards the edge
he kissed me like he knew he was kissing a stranger
i woke up without the fight
and all my sunken poetry concealed itself inside the pacific
cold top confessions of the confession less

momma may i

trust you with my words
because i am your daughter
because ive made mistakes a mother would question willingly in her own eyes
i love this city
but in my love i am bordered
by time and money and myself most of all
because here i am alone
you think that i reach to far towards the deepening depression of repression
after i write this
i will fill a bath and remember my senses
cleanse myself of my disease
of dis ease
and i will pretend it is like any other day
but it is not

momma may i

wait for you to hold me tighter
but the truth has always been that space cannot be taken back
again the womb will never hold my body soft
pure
this day has brought on a heavy weight of metal or lead
and there is no vice that can make me tell you where my soul holds me now

you tell me to go and make myself known
to live the day towards the other days

but there was a shift that night
when my body lied broken
by possibilities
and human distinction
3am
i woke up
never the same

momma may i

be honest
always you would say
if i could take your voice and morph it into my own understanding

its the theme of my life lately
double sided
rear view mirror of someone lost
me
and no one can save me here
no one can grasp my hand
and take care of this for me
take care of me
because this is my internal war

elevate.

elevate this
eight million
categorizing in your brain
creating lines
when truth lives solely in the bend
so this is tuesday
mixing jazz with the hurdling roar of the F train running a line
that borders the geographical center of alcoholism
singing an old nina simone song
un expected
me there in my 7th street loft
the body of a girl
and the woman i would become while i waited for the rain
five stories up the steepening stairs
along with the sleeplessness of wired telephone lines
ravaging hunger
pennies in the pockets
broke
watching the way i create life out of itself
around the corner
past the man with a freckled nose
between tompkins square park
and that hairy-lipped woman that resides forever at the windowsill
here i arrive
after the flat irons of boulder
after three nights shacked on a peruvian bed
after early morning matte in the pan handle
after wine drunken nights skinning dipping in the reservoir
after desert nights and a full moon expecting
here
lost in this city i just had an idea of
elevate this
oh! lower east side
how i wished to lay long
naked on your brownstone bed
a muse for broken days
between exposed brick
and the words echoing off of someone else’s page
grit wedged in the spaces defining my teeth
it doesn’t matter where I go
this city haunts me
with temptations to fall hard in love
as
the world falls hard
crashing against two ankles
shattered expectancy
of how well the mind knows what it knows
and knows nothing at all
elevate this
eight million breaths before you die
below the bowery
breeding life into the indifference
living is such risk
the street
a bus a second off schedule
the airplane i will board tonight
poetry itself is a risk
staying here is a risk

china town.

its how it has always been
the women on the edge of the alley
peering thru blind eyes
the language is sharp and to the point
the smells remain the same
dried fish
plum sauce
frying rice in a thickening of oil
the children are dancing on the street in dirty feet
there is no room for cars
but they come anyways
equipped with horns and heavy exhaust
mostly yellow
carrying people from upper east side
commuters heading south
its how it has always been
although changed
a pot bellied man carrying a wheelbarrow
to lighten a load his shoulders are to old and weary to take weight to
a girl thin skinned and hazel eyed watches me watch her
then looks down towards wobbly knees
i don’t know why ive come here today
i walked out the door of my apartment without direction or cause
purposeful with my misunderstandings of this city
i walk thru realms of others indulgences
i want to taste the thickening of the dried pigs ear
but do not
the rules i concern myself with
they are how they’ve always have been
i do not buy used underwear
i do not wear the color pink
i do not have sex without love
i do not tempt myself with drying pigs ears
they are for the dogs
where do these places of do not carry thru
from a grandmother who has never indulged in the pleasures of sex before marriage
a lover with fear lingering in the eyes
my second grade teacher who told me God was looking at me from above
watching me
retracing me
memorizing me
my lines
of thoughts and worldly imperatives
its how its always been
and its how it will always be they say
but i will disagree this time
i will release a bitten tongue
i will pull anothers underwear underneath my dress
up against my fleshy nakedness
i will wear fuchsia
hot pink
pale pink
blush pink
peachy pink
pink pink
all backwards and inside out
i will take you up five flights of stairs and lay you long on my orange bed
and fuck you
deep into me
i will taste those drying ears
suckle them like i would suckle you
and then throw you to the dogs
because this is not of me
because this is not how its always been
because something has to change
change from within
we hold on to patterns and dates and times and schedules and political reasoning
and why we love
what we love
and who we love
and where we love
and what is love?
without question
we live our days
we habit our ways
i don’t know why i have come here today
the hot humidness sticking to me
the air conditioners leak from above giving me one taste of what coolness feels like to the skin
i would have not let it touch me with gratitude coming from where i came from
but here
i will take all the un pleasurable with pleasure

a riveting mind.

maybe the world takes us where we dont want to go sometimes
and maybe the stories in our heads will always be just stories
when a day is at its folding
and all that adds up has nowhere to follow
there is this one moment where our emotions remain slighted
between words and sounds
to the softness in the air of “good-bye”
the split of your breath ending
and mine just beginning
as the sun folds down against the sky in goodnight
there is a moment of chance hardly ever taken
time takes its course thru the bend of this river
past the cattails of misconceptions
to the beauty of a woman
revealed in the softness of her eyes
take me back to the beat
before there was a man at my side
before the womb held my body
delicately
deliberately
we all have sailors of a past life
bringing us goods that are not fulfilled by the soils of our own understandings
a mistress longs for a lover
but has no knowledge of its depth
we all long for something we have never tasted
but by our minds riveting ways
there is a vision distilled into an echoing inclination
of a reality known to my own kind
where dreamscapes never make the scene
in a race of human retribution
crazy and obscene
like the language of my tongue
heavy and indulged
my world revolves around the depth of my pen
dark ink
darker now to BLACK
where the pins of my eyes float in a haze of smoky blue
looking into a world out of confinement
and gratitude
the coastline hits the surface of an ever ending misunderstanding
taking me into my own wanting
of things that i am not of
i walk on edge in the strength of your voice
i talk of men and speak of all things i am not about
ive betrayed my truth
taken shame into my voice
the lines run thin up here
i am sick of lines and shapes
parallels to live by
they say im getting big
in what way do they mean
do i offend them with my hip size
with the roundness of my breasts
with the love my lovers caress
im charged with form
you underestimate my moves
i walk on my stride
on the bridges that un-gap the time
ive been wandering through theses streets of ancient names
dating back before the birth of this body
before my soul could touch with cold hands and bare feet
before streets turned gray and stars faded with the lights of these corners
ive been talking about getting out of this rut for to long to keep counting
my father is an artist
a musician at heart
my grandfather and grandmother were singers
before they knew the rocky roads they have crossed over
my mother is a lover
a woman of virtue and truth
of innocence and light
my german roots have left me off somewhere between two worlds
and I am debating between the colors of grass on either side
the sun holds a new twist in her rays
im twenty four and counting still
beyond my fingers and toes
past old boyfriends and rebellious thoughts
i catch myself somewhat grown
retracing the outline of my nipples
supple with a mind of there own
warm to the touch of august fever
and the heat of a heart gone mad
everyday i learn something new
everyday i let go of a heaviness weighted beyond me
taking me into the subtleties of being human
of being a woman born under the power of two
i don’t want to look past you to see my reflection on the other side
i pray to hold my head up to the heavens
where angels meet and reminisce about our lives

a naked woman.

a naked woman
i confine myself
his wife here
on the right
i am concerned
i lean outside again
suppose we got off that train
which is also a way of saying
a life gets built out of its resemblance to something else
i would've nailed the heart to heart
in an endless play of vowels and dissolution
nothing to add to this love
an excess taken back
if you cannot talk naked
there is nothing to say about it
the expectation of an entrance is simple
in these holes of my memory
space of indecision
you could see in the hallways the curling of smoke
see it running the risk of white
when i search the past for you
its just another april
almost morning
messy heart
just for the hell of it
oh manhattan
how we lay long on your orange bed
breathing beside me
stitched into my bones
a new way of appreciating has arrived
because by morning it will be gone
to chase the dream
get worn out
give up again
at that place where the land begins to taper
two or more lies are combined
breaking the air between wings beating
against an impossible choice
all that i am hangs by a thread tonight
i need you to remember to tell me
how i have learned to hear the spaces in between your voice
all i see are steps leading down into the water
a silhouette of this disappearing city
there are a thousand ways to escape a life
in the absence of sound and every word that you swallow
i need you remember to tell me
the shapes our bodies made as we slept
its only memory closing onto us
the same hope
the same wearing out
i need you to remember to tell me
its harder to kill harder still to love
you tempted me always to manifest my desire and finally it wore out
folds on your shirt lie like shadows
the body moves towards decay
i need you to remember to tell me
with those measuring eyes
i wasn't exactly forgiven
your tongue knows what it knows
no longer speaking
fatigue
regrets
we turn our backs and weary
weary we let down
the temptation to evacuate is stronger when no one is looking





soldier in the night.

baking immortality
between the thickness of clouds
and the fullness of a moon unexposed
the rain beats down softly against canvas
molded into steep siding woven thick in cord
steam rises high enough to reach air
and i take in one more breath
let my body reside and resonate with the idea of lapping ocean water
against seaweed
caressing deeper into my contours
ask me who i am
soldier in the night
against the beating of my heart and that fear of letting you in
i am not the woman you once knew
would you like to see again and then let me decide
if you are still the boy i knew
that soldier in the night
talking between smoke pierced lips
we all have to go to sleep sometime
we wake up to a new morning
and to the moon a little less full

maybe you were right.

in every way
it didnt stand on edge
the way we wanted it to
forced back and believed
to distance yourself the way
a distant glance fades from the eye
but you decipher still
tepid air
stale touch
the way you came to the moment of past premonition
pale compromises behind the veils of justified worlds
tongue on my back
downward
shake your head to say no
shake your head and let the words fall off your shoulders
stumble to the ground
i will pick them up
i will follow their trail
before i say goodbye
and not turn round
round like i turn
but woulnt
because its to hard to
carry words on burden
maybe you were right
in every way
to say what you said
i havent loved the way love should love
disowned by trust itself
i could place a thousand words on the rim of your heart
then swallow them back into the abyss of my constant
a place to put you
you are a scar on my left hand
a burrow in the skin
in deep rememberance
and thats what you will be
there are no sorted stories in remain

how old young people think they are.

he called me
with his big head plastered in the sky
to far above my reach
but close enough to define
he said i should come back
live unhappy and fat
in the white suburban neighborhood
in the white suburban town
against the white suburban river that lined twelve acres down
he thought his voice would lure me into the picket fence
of a yellow trimmed house
with the cherry oak lining all the streets downtown
he thought his proposal would grasp
my aching body
my restless body
my youth body
this body that runs from everyplace its ever been
as he would call it
fear
running
does he know its to escape from him
all of him and his bright ideals
all of him and his thundering thoughts
all of him in his whiteness
but i am white too
whiter then him
pale
bleak
winterized
he came fresh off the corn fields with his heart on a rampage west
i came fresh from the west with my heart on a rampage to anyplace north south east of the pacific
he says “its time to settle down baby”
just barley twenty five
i laugh to myself
how old young people think they are
he says “its time to stop the running”
“i will never stop running”
I scream
into a whisper
he found me an arizona desert
to young to drink
and to foolish to know the differences of sex and love and fucking
so we fucked and i thought for a moment “could this be love”
but how could love feel like this against my skin
irritated
red
abrasive
simple living
simple soft
beautiful body
would he ever stimulate my mind in the depths of the night
in the four cornered rooms
of that four cornered house
three babies sleeping
i will make cookies
pack lunches with peanut butter and jelly home made from the fruit trees of plum and apricot slowly dying in the back yard
he’ll take the 9-5 shift of security and its scrutinizing pain as we forget our dreams and
that feeling of freedom
i couldnt tell him beyond the borders of white and the hard to define gray
that in my restless mind
my schizophrenic gemini ways
that some days I wake up without the fight
and he sounds good to me
taking care of me
wrapping me up in blankets against the heated dry seasons
and when im forty-seven ill look back
bitterly exposed
raging hormones and hot flashes
and i will run
and i will scream
so i couldn’t tell him
not today
and possibly not tomorrow
i couldn’t tell him in any sense of strength that i never loved his heart
it was fucking
confused with love or sex or something i wished could conjure up emotion
but never would
i couldn’t tell him that i might come back around
in my red linen dress
find myself nestled between the spaces of white planked wood
in the backdrop of a blue house
i couldn’t tell him that the arms wrapped around my protruding belly would not be his
couldn’t tell him i might possibly run around the world
twice
around thoughts and distances where ideas form and create themselves
under the tongue bellowing out of a poets breath
couldnt tell him in the years beyond me
in any sort of clarity
that I might be the third house down
just left of his

a risk.

i wanted a woman to feel the inside of my skin
i wanted to whisper all the secrets that I have never told a man
i wanted her leg against my hip round
i wanted her beauty to conceal my eyes
i wanted her touch to turn me on
i wanted my soul to feel peace
as we lay like moths withered, heated by the nights flame

you took me stern
mentioned tompkin square park
where athena lives
you fondled my strength
tucked me away
shrouded by your presence
piercing my wounds

your rough hands knew their markings as
your man breath should know its bitter resentments

we are at WAR now with each other
between our words
the heart has so many minds
this way
Yes Yes
this way
yes, no, nO, NO
this way
clashed components
radical enough
to gendered ness
heritage
sexual ness
to simple
to complex
complaining
complaint
complain
i question if we were always at war
here within the confluence of both east and west

what hasn’t been written
not one word
has not seen the page

i want you as my excuse
to cross the boundaries
towards the takers of risk

ive been sleeping naked
ive been having dreams about my teeth falling out
ive been wanting to pack up my car and leave
enter into the cadence of vanishing

go back home tonight
whisky mouthed
cigarrett stained teeth
go back home to the confines that the east confine you as such

there is a confluence of east and west
and i will cross the divides without you
so don’t touch me with your words
i don’t want to hear your voice against the telephone
i don’t want to be a thought crossed inside your mind in the deepest part of night
i will not be the woman you call on occasion to find the way back to your own heart
when your so unsure of where it holds you

i am concerned
the limitations of my language concern me
i am concerned
my german roots left me somewhere between two worlds
and i am debating on each shade of grass

you were like a place i always knew how to get to until someone asked me for directions
and i am someone who thinks she can cross dreams
like i would cross a neighbors lawn
but i will cross anyways

living is such risk
the street
the bus a second off schedule
the airplane my father boards tonight
poetry itself is a risk
leaving you is a risk

i will disagree with you this time
we stayed together longer then it felt specific

here in this confluence of east and west
here I am divided
this is my way of saying im letting you go

a lone valkyrie falling.

she drinks too much
leaves too much on the line
over does her smoking
swearing she’ll never light up again
again is just a word with a slight numbness
never profound meaning as it slithers off her tongue
constant never
boys fall prey to delicate eyes
bitter cold blue she says
every moment you think she is
is a moment she is not
heart less whole
holed and worn
scars twine skin into leathered form
bruising the mind in constant sound
enough death to know life
rooted deep pleasure to know pain
odd she sits
water thick flowing thru her veins
she’ll ask about the blood
unaware in that moment that everything has source
humble her
a lone valkyrie falling
the earth moves
she forgets to taste the wind
a soft brush against matter
raging war to bend her to knees
she takes hold of her bottom lip with a bite
nervous
unprepared
little girl in big girl skin
silently alone in the wait
she calls out a past
a crooked ear on a straight face
she is her never ending repose
griped then released
the way light shines into water
breaking into infinite indecision
pale skin in pale comparison
haunting full moons linger
shackled by a skyline
forage the outcome
or breathe
wait
water always settles
smoothes over surface
beyond heady conclusion
something to trust
make root in
conceive upon
a mother carries weight enough to know
knowledge beyond bones
flesh
worldly imperatives
improvise with me on this one
a lone valkyrie falling