blond girl who used to wear pink berets

you played the violin and it made me feel like i had travelled back in time.

i painted begonia eyes with coral hands on a flesh mountain that month,

when you lived by the warehouses.

we were less human, run on electricity,

our teeth would do funny things and i felt like i was in a soft fishbowl

or a television set, contained and safe with round edges

and we would buy pop from a machine next door

for only

a quarter. and

it made you feel like we had travelled back in time

new age bullshit

i'm watching people i used to want to know in plastic lawnchairs that reflect a sick dull light of new age northwest bullshit and i feel my own young sallow eyes that can't drink in anymore

i checked "no" bubbles with a sordid smirk for questions like "do you ever drink until there's nothing else to drink?" and "do you ever drink to feel better and relieve stress?"

and no i've never blacked out, never done coke, never took pills never never

but i didn't tell enough lies and they're making me come back,

the catholics are making me come back once aweek for two months.

i could tell the lady felt funny when she asked about what kind of things me and my friends talked about and i got all confused and looked out and window and said "strange things i guess?"

i used to pretendsilly, a teeny oblivious, that i was a little black girl who lived in georgia and had peach cobbler and sunday school dresses and a big smiley momma's lap to sit on

nowadays i think about things kinda similar like living real simple in chicago or pittsburgh or new orleans

i was born in DC in sultry july of 1993 and i do miss the fireflies and lightning bolts but now i live here

and it's dark and the buildings are new and the streets are stagnant

worst thing is we stopped learning how to love when we learned how to be scared and sorry

futility blooms in our hearts like a smoked salmon coloured poppy

(Requiem æternam)

like an atheist

in a cathedral:

if this feels like holiness

what must it feel like

to the pious?

at home still

i was a towering dandelion seed, carried wayside by the legs of an ant

swayed by the wind that should have been strong enough to pull me off with it,
not gripped in a creatures jaws so much smaller than i.

but by some miraculous force of ant-nature, i was kept at home still,

through currents, on ant feet, on dirt;

blanket of human

i wish you would smother me like a

blanket until i'm damn positive that

(unlike two Oceans meeting via fictional borders),

we'll always only be Capable of being

two separate creatures that stare back at

each-other exchanging mysterious emotions through

nothing but senses and Trust

milk

guts made of milk fat spilled on roadsides underneath the phosphorescent residue of human thought our memories are moving a thousand miles an hour spun by velocity like gossamer wool along cosmos

when i drink soymilk my spit is iridescent white like the walls of your soul that burn white because i am telling you thank you thank you on the last day of your life

downsides of going to highschool in a college town

1.your name looks so good on paper and the poems that follow make me nostalgic for something i never had kinda like how i always wanted to go home but home was never physically real; i think there must be wax paper covering the insides and outsides of my body and the mix of urgency and bleakness is melting and fusing the paper and i together

i can't see beyond the sunspots seeping through orange eyelids, i can't see beyond this futuristic june i can't see whats happening in anyone else's heart

or in wyoming

or down the street

i can't see how many people died today, and maybe i'd like to be able to,

maybe i need to see what they thought about last

2. maybe it's that i'm not smart enough, or that i need the years to move faster than my mind because i've lived less time than you and i want to catch up so i can be your friend;

we can make hot dogs on sundays or sip cocktails fast on wednesdays or cry on saturday evenings after we are reminded of the things that break hearts .

i need to become less sad or scared or something but i don't think we can ever become good again and maybe i even hope we don't because the only memories i miss are the saddest ones .

3. the biggest problem is that when i'm drunk i feel like an uncouth fool, i feel like an off colored joke; for once, i need to meet you when my senses are still acute because i don't know you yet, i don't know about your ex-girlfriends and your mother and the things inside you, i just know the look in your eye because it's similar to the look in the eyes of people i've loved, disillusionment having lost its freshness, now it's just tired but i know we keep waking up for something

my dreams over the ages

-dream of stairwells, tumbling aluminum cans, broken teeth like chalk

-a dream of an sweaty underwater ship where whales had to work, "making spices", with no breaks until they died

- a dark green tinted dream of a funeral of a russian man, whose open casket is walked down the aisle in a badly lit cathedral- the strangest thing is that the body is missing arms and the head is displayed on a silver platter.

-dreamt i was insane and lived in a vast white asylum and made escape plans that made no sense in the bathroom stalls

-the longest dream i've had was about a woman who ate a starbucks, a camera and my car; she eventually ate me in a parking lot on the edge of the sea in alaska

-had a dream that my cat was with my in my bathroom while I was washing my hands, and he said hello, and i asked him why he never spoke before, and he told me he always had thought about a lot of things, and just never possessed the ability to communicate them to me; abrupt end

-dreamt about a windstorm so strong i got stuck lying down on the sidewalk, unable to move, unable to open my eyes

-had a dream about smoking in bed with theo, wasting paint, and the news channel reporting on the sudden migration of talking chickens across america

-first bad dream I've had in years: huge ugly goat that looked diseased and had extra arms, walking around moaning. i chopped its limbs off, terrified

-had a dream we went to this school in the herald building, but it was bigger and all destroyed from recent terrorist bombs, and we learned about self defense in little circles together; the students thought it was funny that you were in high-school because you had a mustache and wore a leather jacket and looked at least 22 (which you are, in reality). occasionally our teachers would be shot dead in class by snipers

-dreamt i was on the east coast in a beach house with a lot of rain and thunder and a 8 inch record. i played the record and i believe this is the first dream in which there was music. it wasn't actually anything like music though, instead it was more like the feelings you get when you hear music, but coming out of the record player in the form of sound

-i dreamt tova played a glass trumpet

in large, dark concrete rooms with a band uniform on

-there's a dream I know I must have had years ago, of a field at the edge of a forest, with an industrial city is in the distance. there's no sun anymore, and everything glows sepia in the moon light; there's no language anymore, no memories of the past, no one else alive. there are only quiet machines in the distant city, moths, dirt, everything is dull and washed out---there's a sense of finality as well as eternity. you can see beyond the field but you know this is the last place to be, you've always know it, its been waiting,