clueless

they can pinpoint a beetle 
antennae drumming the earth
satellite imagery 
immaculate coordinates 
from space they alter the ecosystem
in cells driving home clueless
in mercedes they cannot locate 
themselves in the body the breath
why cannot they see 
with eyes?

#katyamills

once dream cars

once dream cars now we need help

We need help, too, our once dream cars now smoking on the freeway and off the next exit not far from home, thankfully, pulling over to the side of the first street off the ramp not being swept today and no meter, thankfully, and not the worst neighborhood in the good old usa, thankfully, and release the hood and look under it at the old beast, V8 like the juice, and the radiator’s miserably old and fucked, she’s gonna need to be cool before we wanna twist that top, we need help and we drop the hood and head in any direction, searchin ourselves for the local friend to lend a hand, cell phone’s dead, legs dead from a heavy day of work in the city, week long and no one’s home to put an iron to those worn out clothes, the way we dress reflectin our feelin inside, we need help, edging over a desk into an office space, delivered back with an easy full swipe of any screen, lit like a lamp with a high wattage eco-unfriendliness in the atmosphere

after hours cuz there’s nothing else to do, overtime cuz extra cash is a screw, locking into union squares with high echelon affairs, all these bios laid out sick and sweetly with photos on websites pushing free streams well into the vingt-et-un of our recorded history, centuries upon centuries of layer cake separated by cream cheese, thought we had a whole generation of twenty/something concentration high kids worldwide leaning and dancing into our wondrous worlds of fluff, they definitely related well with our sundried front street placard mentality, they did our snuff, waxed with plastic veneer smiles over reality. we thought we were badasses big thumbing and wet through sacred pages now soiled — and oh how we fell — cried when we came across our beloved mimeo-copied verse, generous endowment long, sticky fat thumbprints on the cornices, pages I through XLX… who needs sex? not us, thankfully. we need help.

snow me over

snow me over a lather of denial

There is always me and my mindbodyspirit. The spirit cannot be touched nor seen, yet is the cornerstone of the experiment that is me… this truth left the subunified districting in the hands of the mindbody to battle it out for supremacy. The mindbody was not unlike (me) at all, and so much the same it made my mind a furious, raging llama, so furious I decided one day to call the stumbling, hulking mass of idiot flesh and networks of tubes full of bloody hell, something other than what it truly was. A vivid space I typed between the subunified essence of me, smiling when the typewriter rang its little bell. The angels are calling, the angels are calling! The message is here.

A pond of correction fluid grew larger as time (another construct of mind yet several epochs before, the mind says with conviction) went on. The result was the contemptuous subdistricting between which a fence then wall was constructed to keep the obviously related, deep-rooted elements, superficially apart. The divisions grew stronger and the roots were cut off, and soon the sea of humanity institutionalized the damn thing. Children like me were encouraged at a terribly young age (despite our knowing better) about the mind and the body, distinct from the spirit. Groupings of disparate parts could then be made possible for the sake of fun and games. Mindbody. Mind-body-spirit. Psychosocial. Bio-psycho-social-spiritual. Each part could be ritually washed and cleaned and manipulated per se.

My mind had me over the ropes, snowed over a lather of denial, in a plate glass window of time. It was truly obscene! Which I only realized when I finally woke up to the truth.

surround. sound

Inside the body, you will find coursing and pulsing of blood. A muscle, pumping iron.

Inside the mind, you will find the plus and the minus and the neutral of thought. Layers upon layers of judgment surround sound.

Inside the affect, you will find emotional roller derby. Fear pushing euphoria over the rail. Anger throttling fear with a fist. Then the sadness and joy all that’s left.

Inside the spirit, there is hope, there is courage. Compassion and passion and love. Perhaps waylaid by some local, situational lesson in pain.

There lies endless life, in the soul. Free energy in circulation. Awakening and opening the eyes in god’s time, not ours.

why my glass eye erotic

a little bluegreen
marble
microclimate
   pressured with
pumped air
rolled
      across me
                while i slept

up the rubbery
sole
between the index
and fore
toe
told

and on it rolled
up the bald peak knees
cascading view of bedsheet seas

then down the
summit
skin
line
to my triangle
flats

where the clearing
opens
to a depresdion
a sacred private land
unbeknownst
to man

kind
warm belly
soft dune to the tune of
unbuttoned
fertile ground
porous
browned by sunlight

she circled back the belly
button dropped in
to say hi
then glided effortlessly
tickling my ribs
and into the moistened
valley alive with heartbeating
underground

between my
small surrender
of breasts

my tits
my flesh
my life

still life
soft surrendered
to sleep

this small sweet rolling
sensation
to dream
cut an x game
half pipe aerial off
the bluff!

why
my eyelashes
butterflied
as the bluegreen
sensation
skated up the lip
of my chin
and three sixty
nined
divine!

landed impossibly
between my lips
where by my
sudden
surprise

why
my breath
did the rest!

flew it into my eye and
thats how i got my
glass eye