cocaine (1996)

I found this piece I wrote in script, 1996
(black cover diary)…

cocaine

sweeping the powder
with the tip of the fingernail
composing your lines

and nothing can bring
you back

bend the neck down
let a shoulder drop
turn your head to one side

meet your creation

the tide comes in
washes you away

fade gently into the horizon
behind a cloud

the undertow

your world has
consumed you

-Katya

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last dream in august

this morning i am early to rise
a dream i had stays with me
but i do not realize until
i get a call from my best friend
who also is early to rise

i begin to share with him my dream
for he was in it and in it
i dialed 911 because i was worried
about him

the officer on the phone
listened and asked me questions
then calmed me and reassured me
it was good that i called and said

i had no need to worry any longer
about my friend. and
gave me a bible verse
Corinthians 3:16

i remember!
my friend asks me do i know the verse?
i do not and i do not
 often read my bible anymore
when i look up the verse i
cannot even get through it
without fighting back tears
Do you not know that you 
are the temple of God 
and that the Spirit 
of God dwells in you?

typewriter.15

one morning you sit down
to your work with your coffee
beside you and

the tides have been broken 
they have turned on the ocean!
this is what you came for
so suddenly
emergent

disciple to words
the reading
the writing

the sea and the healing
fresh atmosphere replaces
the ceiling! an absence of the world
you recollect so unfeeling

your voice is upon you
you’ve found yourself! finally
the struggle is gone
you no longer push into page

strangely awakened
enveloped by an undercurrent
you sing the song you were born to sing
you come thrashing to surface!

like faith
you cannot see it
you only feel it
you know

these are the moments a writer lives by!
when time loses interest
appetite gone silent
and the sentences form on their own

full of spirit!
making meaning
full of feeling!
with rhythm and rolling

you collide with the page
like a strike
when you’re bowling

thank the stars
thank the gods
you got lucky
kid

peaches

peaches. subsumed

all the rest
made me only more tired
so i stopped sleepin
now im
trackin shadows
cross the wall
while my ice cubes
wave water trails
into ginger ale
rattlin the cubes
against the glass
to remember you
the man above me
looks off the wall into space
dreaming of life
with someone real
i am sunk into a couch
like buried treasure
all the gouramis gape at me
silent kissing
an air bubble
tough feelings to feel inside
more than i can handle
i
rattle the cubes
to remember you
another character
jumps off a page
into my heart
i wonder bout the man
the life in two
dimensions. how safe not having
a back to watch
not being real
how safe
how dry
how terrible
you cannot
lend a friend
a hand or take a stand
brushed off
like you are. canvassed
for meaning
pretty rendition
come into my heart!
lemme hold you there
make you real
i rattle the glass
and remember you
wax inwards
street sweep the cottons
real estate gets pricey
along the ear canal
listen
i need an extension
of gratitude
outward. my ideals are almost met
almost
there is
there is
still time yet

what we thought we ever knew about anything

the Sea
her depths
wash out of the green
to constitute
a firmament of
jellyfish

inexact
unspoken
wobbly
uncatalogued

drawn off the balance of
good will

unaccounted for
in waves
in rolls

pretty coins
ripped open
swaying in the
tide

the amplification
of which
throws off
any and all
of what we thought we
ever knew about
anything

ensconce me

(re)cognition(s)

i thought all over you, i am sorry, i mean no harm, all my memories playin across your body and face like runny egg-white shadows and you don’t know what to do, so politely ensconced listenin to me go on and on about stuff we forgot purposefully long ago — OH — the damage i might do on accident, for me you would do anything, for you i would do anything, making something of you you are not, here with our cutoff gloves playing fingertipsies, blind to the sign language we are groping — THE — cognition is not fully lubricated, does not cover the entire street and buildings and sky and short bursts of nature in the medians, i guess in this ragtag mind i got, driftin here, pausing over there — BY — the cracks in the roads whereby loiters and got no business to be, trance music, clubs, dancing, you and me, why can i not hold up on our benevolency — PLEASE — i mean no recognitions, move along little thoughts, fly away, move along, there are interior spaces up in northern provinces, Canada and the like, which need fulfilling — SPACES — we will bundle ourselves up and head out into icy quiet not-threatening ones,  warmth of coffee and small talk, overtures of what we may be if we simply let ourselves trudge forward and go

Words on Fire V3E2

Words On Fire …Imagineers of Pyrotechnic Poetics Volume 3 Edition 2 ( for November 29, 2015 – January 9, 2016) featuring… Peter Spaulding sma river Evelyn Elizabeth Michael French Denise Baxt…

Source: Words on Fire V3E2