hide

i am looking for
someone
to have and
to hold and
to crush
on to death do
we part

i am self
i am self seeking
someone
to make me
whole to make me
dinner

i am interested in
a pharmaceutical
beauty
a cutey
a cut above the rest
a pillcutting
precision marching
prisoner of love

a chain gang
related
peptide talking
walking atomic
wonder
free from mistakes
because
God never blunders

i am looking for you
and i get what i want
you will love my decision
toward your realized
captivity

some day
when i tire of
your birdcage delivery
i will set you free cause
i love you so
free you
so
hide !

Q and A with K

Why do you cry while watching the Olympics?
K: I guess because i am really really patriotic
Really?
K: No…
I mean…maybe

How have you aged?
K: I felt like i was older when i was a little kid, and as i get older i feel younger.

Do you think you found the fountain of youth?
K: Ya. It was lying in a pool of blood.

Do you believe in God?
K: Yes. And vice versa.
God believes in you?
K: Vice versa

Who were the writers who most inspired you?

K: Um… (mind gets flooded)…Capote, Faulkner, Fante, Marquez, Pushkin, Borges, Poe, Dostoyevsky, Dickens, Bukowski, Fitzgerald, K.A. Porter, DH Lawrence, Rushdie, etc..
Pass!

What form do you prefer?
K: bifurcated cosidodecahedrons turn me on. And i prefer to write novels, and flash or free form pieces.

Why do you blog?

K: Words. I just like to write words and read words and share in global word exchange markets.

So you dabble in word exchange markets?

K: Did i say dabble? No! You said dabble. I said share. S.H.A.R.E.

Why do you host two blogs?
K: One was too many, and a thousand is never enough.

How was self-publishing?
K: As fulfilling as anything I have ever done.

How about blogging?

K: A spiritual practice.
Like prayer.
Cathartic slowburn.
A selfless endeavor.

What can we expect in 2014?

K: I will continue to post new fresh flashes on wordpress and my website katyamills.com . It’s all original material. I try to offer something small every day.
You may want to follow my youtube channel because i will be reading my work there in the near future. I may also start channeling famous authors there, too. Yay.
I plan to self-publish another novel on Amazon this summer, my sophomore effort.
I plan to do more book reviews on Goodreads. And continue to expand my presence on Google Plus and Twitter. There are so many wonderful people around the world who inspire me every day.

How are you feeling?
K: Blessed, not stressed!

‘The Virgin Suicides’ – Book Review by K

Rhythm, music, feeling. The sound of words, unfettered by the demands of formal punctuation. Gone are the so-called ‘elements of style’, the stilted choppy grammatical prisons of words. Eugenides has liberated a world of words to speak a careful thoughtful truth which reflects a looking glass culture as clear as it is fragile, as rigid as it is agile, and characters trapped within it who are expansive before every contraction, larger than life and yet just a fraction. Fractured in the moving picture. I loved Sofia Coppola’s film adaptation of this novel, equally. Both the book and the film are magical, different, unusual. And unusual, in a creative and conscious kind of effort – unusual with a heartbeat – is the sort of rarity which keeps me interested in reading and watching, and engaged in the affairs of humankind. Nice to find a novel which does not leave one stuck in a pigeon pose, fervently scraping gum with a stick out from the rubber mould of a culture always left aside looking for some traction for a soul.  

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/891578785

wanting until it hurts

And have you ached with want?

the rabid foam

of lack

 

and do you foment insurrection

against your very

basic need?

 

splicing atoms after

that which

never may be yours?

 

if you have

then hear me now

i feel 4

five six

feel for

you

 

along the narrow

twisting

rush along

our river

Styx

emoticon game

They had hashtags in common.
And brown rice rye bread.
His ego was bigger than his and her head.
Emoticonning one another,
In an internet economy of words.

8

You are the one
the only
number 8

divisible by two
the lens we see through
two fours fit inside
off your curves
kids can slide

infinity
on your side

seven plus one
ten minus two
nothing dangerous
about you

what i like best
is skating you, 8
on frozen ponds
in winter

what i like most
is figuring 8
around and around
and around

two zeros entwined
you may not add up
4 a stop and go world
you are poorly designed

cream puff of numbers
the cutthroats don’t suit you
no wonder you come back on
yourself

called crazy
made fun of
you always look
in the mirror
the same

i hope people see
number 8 just like me
and not just another number

there’s a little 8
in all of us
so remember
you are not just another
number

Prayin to god on a curb

praying to god on a curb http://www.katyamills.com/2014/03/praying-to-god-on-curb.html

when wishes went away

What i
wished 4
went away
not without a reach
a chase the
beach i reached
barefoot
i raced

i cast far up and down
pacific highway coast
out blurred and rocky
edge

out
to sea
it went
along that maladjusted spine
of shore

i was left
alone
feeling lost
in heavy
fog
sucking
effervescence
of undertow

sweet bliss
solitude
statements
crashing
into shore

fuck off
  fuck offf
     fuck offff 

lashing myself to friends
until
like tears
away from eyes
i pushed
off

i did not care
to see them or me or
what life was
really…

what was life, really?
without what i so wished
i so demanded
life
     to be

i gave away
my things
to storage wars
for peace

peace
she proved elusive
she ran
the park
off leash

i chased her up a tree
i would not let her be i
would not let it
not yet
it had to can’t you see?
not yet you see i…

see i
auctioned off
my faith
to educated whores
who bid me down
to earth
the ground
was barren

i knelt i turned pockets out for
seeds from Faulkners yard my
drunken pilgrimage

i gathered them with whisky
down beneath a tree in ninety-seven or was it nine?

Oxford
Mississippi
clay

i found the magic
seeds i did! but
ground was frozen
solid so i fell and
hit my head

like Faulkner
from his horse

a sinkhole opened wide
where my blood once
circulated
seven? ninety-nine or
was it?

my family
just a photograph
my life
fading
    silverfish
            fast

what 4 waiting

this orange flower 

was all green all

closed up

 

just another bud

all night long

waiting on the sun

 

cold and frozen like

she forgot about her

true self her real

beauty her

glow

 

what 4 waiting

we might have forgotten her, too

and the sun, too

 

waiting….

what 4?

 

she opened

her heart her

true self

sun kissed orange

to the world

one for the fishes

i cannot know
not will not
go!

to hell for
fishes

cannery row

i cannot
no!
not cannery
row

a hell for fishes i
cannot know

in stead in
place i
read the
book

so not to know the
evil living hell
for
fishes

so not to can
so not to
know
the dreadful
cannery
row