stockton boulevard

down an uneven stretch of stockton boulevard in summer, south of sacramento, i came across a classy broken broad, remarkably postured like a runway girl, walking bubblegum pink stilettos, long tan legs up to daisy dukes, a halter top, don’t stop, the mechanical boyish stroll, dry heat tempered by a bottle blue parasol angled off her skinny shoulder blade, urban electric milkmaid conjuring the ghost, to the tomb of some unknown soldier

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cuts. dashes

the group became tighter

careful about who they let in and who they let out

ritualistic

 

some wanted in but could not get in

some wanted out but could not get out

 

those who died

were revered

undone

you can do what’s undone. other things are out of your power. what is done you cannot undo. what a gift to be able to stay calm when you are subjected to great pressures and unable to manage. what a talent to quietly go about your work. what a blessing you are when you reach your potential. don’t give up. we need you.

what was given us

the colorless moments of stressed inhibition

must i be always backed into a corner before i come

fighting?

a sea of bad news and brake lights

ahead

even tears and smiles

were a stretch

then

from that place of half flag summer fatigue

arose a current from the far

east

we would not know until we opened two walls

the windows

life came into the trees

i awoke feeling different

all the colors returned

time was no longer just a waiting for work

there was meaning

it was personal

it was yours

it was mine

true.2

i reinvented myself in motion yet stillness was my hallmark. i used to stare into the eyes of hurricanes until they closed. now i am underneath them, plotting a course for open ocean. still they settle into land by choice and suicidal tendency.

i wonder how i survive the oppositions. chaos wants me for my calm. the depressions look to me for uplift. they both know i have survived them. i have survived my self. know me for family. for i have lived there, too.

snapchat sensation

you read the lips of a dyslexicon backwards up against the mirror this evening. they told you books are dead. you found life there in a raindrop bead you rehydrated by a cry. your therapist shouldered insulin in tweed. the sugar cube came with a business card and why? because you were in pain. unheard, unseen. now the plant is watered, turning green. unlock the doors. remove the screen. jump out into an earth sky. don’t forget your no name sneakers.

may sometime five

relocating yourself is hard. i was all wound up and so tightly there was no room for a catch, twenty two, or a finger to inch its way between the string and the spool. the risk was decapitation of an innocent digit, say number two, flat on the ground without its curly-q. the tale had a tail. i saw the end of it, too. it was bushy like a cat’s just washed, having dried. the cat was my tiger approaching me now on the bed, after another long night moving more stuff from point a to point b. all crying in his cage earlier, soaking wet. feeling scared and mistreated. now it was long after my usual bedtime and i was the one hurt and crying after the longest of days. finally lying down @ point b. suddenly letting go. the wind took the kite and all, pulling the spool and the string right out of my hand. now we are free. my tiger and his brother approach me. blondie comes up and nestles his head under my ribs. his brother, pitbull aka bunny, settles down on the blanket by my feet. these are the only kids i have. i am suddenly unwound and so happy. the breeze draws in from the window. we are home. we are flying.