poems

31 August 2012

#5: Late For New York

I do not do what I am supposed to
because I should - that I should is repellant,
that is usual. So I forgo movement at home:

'Didn't you end up at Acacia?' 'No.
Expectations. I gave the night away.'
'I can not sleep on the plane.'

Bothered, I hang in uneasy languish:
heart of palm, of a virgin, heart of
artichoke, the exertion of lulling.

When I visit I will see Ryan
and Aidan and George, though I am only
visiting for my sister.

I am not late, but terrored that I might be.

#4: Souvenir

I molded a forgiving quality when she slept.
Watching sleep, more than watching
one who thought you were sleeping, who watches
you, must mark a willingness to keep silent.

But not weakness, since sleeping people
have give, they cannot say they see you.
In Palm Desert a woman sold me turquoise
drops, pyramids rounded in Mexican silver.
They bobbed in my ears when I nodded,
the burnished tricolor of pillows,
and swiveled when shook.

#3: Mary's Brother

I grow up to find you're not different.
No wonder Larry drank.

I meant I'm not different,
except I can't
drink because my head thought
punishment nourished it.

Unteachable
or not in the mood?
I kept misunderstanding:
John's sapphire hat blustered.

To put this off for health,
Larry said, and drop dumb talk.

A molten Hefeweizen maedchen.
I am not trying, John balked.

29 August 2012

#2: Theory

I keep wanting to drop the same thing
or person, or amount of money, for future
reference, to then map the extant coordinates.
That way, only affirmation shows up in a scan.

To betters I can chart my two-forward, one-back walk,
calling nausea humility - you buy four bananas
and have set to eat them in a pattern - one
shrivels, is broken by flies, but you hold
your pattern, so in your kitchen, everybody wins
(even the dead banana, since it belonged to you, who won).

27 August 2012

#1*: Lyn Exercise

*labeled "#1" because I am starting over with the one-a-day for the Fall 2012 academic semester, the first full week of which began today. 

What is worth keeping, my friend
said, is what you will use longest.
She folds and sniffs, fending off
a cold. I don't have anything good
to tell her about today. Even though today
was sunny, campus crowded.
I felt at odds with my body and guessing
about others' made it worse. Asking where
do I find this, which I thought would be easy,
made a mess of some clerk's morning.

It is not worth keeping the clerk's face in my mirror,
and I am practicing reverse-empathy today.
I am the practice of applying the theory, rising with it, like breathing.
To speak to my friend, I use old words but nicely.
I feel - she feels - we are helping each other get inoculated.

26 August 2012

#135: Verzichten

Waive and abstain are one-same
verb in the other speech I practice.
Behind me a beloved boils coffee
before going to open the door.