leaving cali

the straight edge of coast

the icon of west meets

east the rush of gold 

lost its allure

big capital fled big 

government’s reach

the fire and smoke 

income and sales tax 

leech

with great nostalgia

for the beach

#katyamills

typewriter.eight

a time before cursors. a
land before chrome
paper journals blue and black
our future unknown

i am walking the beach
early morning barefoot
unblinking at dawn
not far
from

home
loopy cords
fall off an old
phone

cloth covers
worn off
spines broken
soft
and

no space
is safe in these books
in these thoughts
between oceans
and lines

12.16

I still wished the clock would stop and give us a chance to breathe but time preferred to kick ass, drag our hearts around, and mine kept getting snagged in the pricklies or thumped down some steps or stepped on by a bunch of children runnin’ blind for milk and cookies, kick the can around the parking lot for fun, ran up some stairs and dropped from heights to see if it would bounce or explode, or what, and either way sure was hell of a good time, I swear, when you have my undivided attention, guys just stand there and step on it, suddenly great theatrics, entertainment, and maybe even a bloody mess.

When you care the most, when they have you, you can get heartless. Winter never wanted to be so icy cold. It just had to. Yes I will warm it up with some Charlie Brown Xmas cards and long live snail mail. The post office is my second favorite living museum behind the bookstore. Some millenial stopped me yesterday sayin’ wait, you mean people still do that?I was thinking, wait, did you just say that? Never liked sending cards when it was the thing to do, and now when it’s going out of style I’m intent upon it.

These songs, without words, arise in my head. I gotta put words to them. I was chosen. I was chosen for the in-law unit out back. Where is she? She’s in the shadows, we don’t see her much. She’s in the periphery. She’s part of the goddam scenery, dontcha know? She produces something fierce! You shouldn’t bother her, really, she likes to be left alone and do what she does. It’s something magical, I suppose. But you won’t make much sense of her, she’s not exactly on the planet anymore, everything is dissociated, tangential at best. Maybe her heart got caught in the blender one too many times, ya, it’s a bit of a tragedy. They told her but you have so much to offer┬ájust one too many times. Her potential rose up and bricked her in the head. She’s not quite there, but we love her just the same. If she would only let us.