i coulda
i coulda
i coulda
but noo
but noo
hussutta ohh
hutsutta hoo
uh uha uh uha
uh uha
utulluah
utulluah
no!
i said no.
i'm a flower. i'm three years old. bob and suzy tell me stories and i'm putting them here for you to see.
Dec 15, 2009
Dec 10, 2009
walk skip jump run
sore throAT ugly goat walking down the lane
pretty ribbons pretty lace on his collar like his name
forget me not and simply be a place a louse a dirty floor where water spilled and coffee stained and children ran and rolled for pleasure.
the colors were unreal and the story was sugar coated and plenty of little girls gazed in amazement at the prize they all desired but only one can ever have and what kind of prize is imprisonment and loss? what is happily ever after? what is looking forward never back? what is not just knowing you've arrived in each moment intact?
i buckled up my shoes and left out onto the street frost bitten and glaring and dodging cars and over under into up around and through and the russsshhhhhh of steam and steady wait of up up and then
like blooming smoke escaping the stack and spreading out to get in all our lungs and clog our breathing or moving or thinking or feeling. trees are more forgiving. here you have to walk just right or you might crash and bruise your elbow
or
your knee.
and still that voice is tied in knots of confused second chances that dont exist unicorns of thought bounding through the open valley towards the river that descends from the steep slopes of that one mountain that we climbed and rested on and ate blueberries from in the sun. so high. we saw the fire.
we imagined the destruction.
we tried to connect the dots and predict the future.
written in the sand.
you know how to know me. you know how to see me. i know how to need you and where are you and why can't you?
precious stones and feathers dropped so i can fly.
but before i leave i have to find out what i did that made you so disappointed. so angry. so shy.
pretty ribbons pretty lace on his collar like his name
forget me not and simply be a place a louse a dirty floor where water spilled and coffee stained and children ran and rolled for pleasure.
the colors were unreal and the story was sugar coated and plenty of little girls gazed in amazement at the prize they all desired but only one can ever have and what kind of prize is imprisonment and loss? what is happily ever after? what is looking forward never back? what is not just knowing you've arrived in each moment intact?
i buckled up my shoes and left out onto the street frost bitten and glaring and dodging cars and over under into up around and through and the russsshhhhhh of steam and steady wait of up up and then
like blooming smoke escaping the stack and spreading out to get in all our lungs and clog our breathing or moving or thinking or feeling. trees are more forgiving. here you have to walk just right or you might crash and bruise your elbow
or
your knee.
and still that voice is tied in knots of confused second chances that dont exist unicorns of thought bounding through the open valley towards the river that descends from the steep slopes of that one mountain that we climbed and rested on and ate blueberries from in the sun. so high. we saw the fire.
we imagined the destruction.
we tried to connect the dots and predict the future.
written in the sand.
you know how to know me. you know how to see me. i know how to need you and where are you and why can't you?
precious stones and feathers dropped so i can fly.
but before i leave i have to find out what i did that made you so disappointed. so angry. so shy.
Aug 19, 2009
orrrrrrr
you fill me up
ribbons cities undertow
a spine in halfways underneath the covers child
partly how did i know how she felt it?
the orange yellow glow subsides
her curtain drops like water
portly men in funny suits wave at you on the beach under the red sky waving good-bye. and the boat flies higher like a song or dove falling. deeper in the deep blue sea aliens come to visit me with tentacles and grit...
ribbons cities undertow
a spine in halfways underneath the covers child
partly how did i know how she felt it?
the orange yellow glow subsides
her curtain drops like water
portly men in funny suits wave at you on the beach under the red sky waving good-bye. and the boat flies higher like a song or dove falling. deeper in the deep blue sea aliens come to visit me with tentacles and grit...
Jun 11, 2009
you
morely peacock muscle friend
pretend pretend
plainly over under a bridge, rocky shoe underfeet
creamsicle fingers curly dam and WHACK
sixteen chapels of young black leather horror
stand here, please...
here
don't leave...
pretend pretend
plainly over under a bridge, rocky shoe underfeet
creamsicle fingers curly dam and WHACK
sixteen chapels of young black leather horror
stand here, please...
here
don't leave...
May 7, 2009
uhm chloroplast music
pretty blimps on your arms geese fly around and crash in one large group over the water swimming with people and ice. needles wove a simple picture under the soil like a stream underground finding efforts to bring a child to see the water, dip your feet in, eat the sand on a green blanket funny one there is magic north of the border go there! butterflies shine on the glass... and wilt.
golden braids falling from a window don't forget her name or their names reincarnated as leather and rubber and metal and fabric.
pretty blimps on your arms geese fly around and crash in one large group over the water swimming with people and ice. needles wove a simple picture under the soil like a stream underground finding efforts to bring a child to see the water, dip your feet in, eat the sand on a green blanket funny one there is magic north of the border go there! butterflies shine on the glass... and wilt.
golden braids falling from a window don't forget her name or their names reincarnated as leather and rubber and metal and fabric.
Apr 8, 2009
Jello
its like sinking
underground
i think you are talking about
dinner
but it sounds like
disaster
inside my eyes.
figure eights make circles in a shadowy red curtain full of placements in time and space.
you confused me. you wanted us to say something, and we didn't. what was your point?
everybody walked away on little bridges in different directions, searching for the sunlight in the desert coming closer to the edge of a canyon. looking over a river flowing around in every direction at once, it was red. sandpaper dresses flapping in the wind. my hair covers my face and it is cold in the bright sun.
its such a juicy picture, jello falling apart in chunks, and we keep trying to keep it in its shape... but it liquefies and we drink hot jello liquid in grandma's house, sitting in the dark in chairs that smell musty on bare wood floors. and in the summer she hugs me tight to her chest, and i remember the yard like allergies cloudy opaque coarse...
underground
i think you are talking about
dinner
but it sounds like
disaster
inside my eyes.
figure eights make circles in a shadowy red curtain full of placements in time and space.
you confused me. you wanted us to say something, and we didn't. what was your point?
everybody walked away on little bridges in different directions, searching for the sunlight in the desert coming closer to the edge of a canyon. looking over a river flowing around in every direction at once, it was red. sandpaper dresses flapping in the wind. my hair covers my face and it is cold in the bright sun.
its such a juicy picture, jello falling apart in chunks, and we keep trying to keep it in its shape... but it liquefies and we drink hot jello liquid in grandma's house, sitting in the dark in chairs that smell musty on bare wood floors. and in the summer she hugs me tight to her chest, and i remember the yard like allergies cloudy opaque coarse...
Mar 15, 2009
a missed train
a dark house full of warmth
teetering on the edge of a canyon
waterfalls
water gravity
where do you go?
underneath her circle pond she burried the dead racoon and gave him a proper send off. she invited her sister and best friend and they each read passages from a small book they held in their hands like a precious crystal. her sister went home and made soup from elbows and broken plastic. the men who ate it thanked her and went back to work, building a giant bridge accross open space, designed like a spider web. they climbed, growing arms with many fingered hands stretching outwards. they crossed, inching and speeding like drunkards on a tight rope, skinning their hands on the pavement on the other side. the fall was impossible, bounded by nets of elastic force and the tangible fear they might fall forever through the stars and many yesterdays. they continued on crossing rivers run dry and dripping and sucking back to their source. inside a cavern cave armor hold, sunlight. growth and determination. does it break out and return?
the landscape is crumpling and flexing and scarred. when the river runs backwards it brings the different colored downstream soil. the meadow is confused, its memory clouded by wilted winter vegitation waiting for the sun.
teetering on the edge of a canyon
waterfalls
water gravity
where do you go?
underneath her circle pond she burried the dead racoon and gave him a proper send off. she invited her sister and best friend and they each read passages from a small book they held in their hands like a precious crystal. her sister went home and made soup from elbows and broken plastic. the men who ate it thanked her and went back to work, building a giant bridge accross open space, designed like a spider web. they climbed, growing arms with many fingered hands stretching outwards. they crossed, inching and speeding like drunkards on a tight rope, skinning their hands on the pavement on the other side. the fall was impossible, bounded by nets of elastic force and the tangible fear they might fall forever through the stars and many yesterdays. they continued on crossing rivers run dry and dripping and sucking back to their source. inside a cavern cave armor hold, sunlight. growth and determination. does it break out and return?
the landscape is crumpling and flexing and scarred. when the river runs backwards it brings the different colored downstream soil. the meadow is confused, its memory clouded by wilted winter vegitation waiting for the sun.
Mar 11, 2009
Feb 10, 2009
will you come with me on this sailboat?
cardboard titans
you twisted off the edge of the package and poured silly string out your ear under the bed next monday night to a round of applause. they nibbled around your feet like rats in summertime on a warm night under a full moon. plenty of children pointed to your balloon, the red one over the forest glinting in the sunset but you were playing chess under deck waiting for the waves to crash and drown your sister's daughter's heart. melting teacakes got smeared on our faces and flushed past the second basement of mops in a castle lost in the clouds or a cube of cubes on the edge of a spiral deep in my other stomach. there is a strange place there like layers of untied shoes laces now gone missing and round nesting boxes left alone in a corner at the back of a shelf in my grandmother's house. it is mostly metal they found in a kitchen - they had to sneak in through the window. a funnel, a small cup. on her way to the supermarket she found an alley with cold empty space waving at her like sunshine yesterday while it snowed and she dove in the lake for the brick at the bottom, a small child drowning with a red hat
they left it undone and the peices flew in the wind toward all corners of everywhere
left in the sand a small round stone
and around the other side in tomorrow there were birds in cages and soft yellow-green light everywhere and tin foil dresses crinkling and creasing and tearing suddenly. what is this fuzzy jagged pain?
pretty soon the plane will land in arizona carrying my sweet son's wife to her mother in a garden of stones and cacti. shfiting around getting sunburned. where are the weeds to pull? the river is drying up, dont try to promise me water when im a child in a child's arms. sundried tomatoes in brittle cages all ants gone surfing in the crashing water at the shore.
will you come with me on this sailboat?
you twisted off the edge of the package and poured silly string out your ear under the bed next monday night to a round of applause. they nibbled around your feet like rats in summertime on a warm night under a full moon. plenty of children pointed to your balloon, the red one over the forest glinting in the sunset but you were playing chess under deck waiting for the waves to crash and drown your sister's daughter's heart. melting teacakes got smeared on our faces and flushed past the second basement of mops in a castle lost in the clouds or a cube of cubes on the edge of a spiral deep in my other stomach. there is a strange place there like layers of untied shoes laces now gone missing and round nesting boxes left alone in a corner at the back of a shelf in my grandmother's house. it is mostly metal they found in a kitchen - they had to sneak in through the window. a funnel, a small cup. on her way to the supermarket she found an alley with cold empty space waving at her like sunshine yesterday while it snowed and she dove in the lake for the brick at the bottom, a small child drowning with a red hat
they left it undone and the peices flew in the wind toward all corners of everywhere
left in the sand a small round stone
and around the other side in tomorrow there were birds in cages and soft yellow-green light everywhere and tin foil dresses crinkling and creasing and tearing suddenly. what is this fuzzy jagged pain?
pretty soon the plane will land in arizona carrying my sweet son's wife to her mother in a garden of stones and cacti. shfiting around getting sunburned. where are the weeds to pull? the river is drying up, dont try to promise me water when im a child in a child's arms. sundried tomatoes in brittle cages all ants gone surfing in the crashing water at the shore.
will you come with me on this sailboat?
Feb 4, 2009
tuna
kink knot in spirally circles green and black smooth metal, not shiny
reflective thin narrow strip hard but
all the RIGHT side, its confused. tossed around inside out
but better
before buzzing bees doing flips falling mud out my mouth, red mud, like liquid lava jello
twisting stabbing gently into softness, fuzziness
exhaustion hyped up on thisway thatway forwardback
from it all flat like cake filled partly with bad plastic.
reflective thin narrow strip hard but
all the RIGHT side, its confused. tossed around inside out
but better
before buzzing bees doing flips falling mud out my mouth, red mud, like liquid lava jello
twisting stabbing gently into softness, fuzziness
exhaustion hyped up on thisway thatway forwardback
from it all flat like cake filled partly with bad plastic.
Feb 1, 2009
Bloated Fishes
Bloated fishes over your head like twisted mobiles falling down over mossy rocks in the mountains last summer. Finish your sentence and hand me the ham. I'm making a sandwich to forget you by. It rests on my knee in the sunlight like a plate of dead kittens. Clearly I'll find another way to fill my stomach little miss walks for miles in a pink t shirt and green shorts and yellow flip flops like it doesn't matter its below zero on a Tuesday afternoon. When she got home she asked her sister's brother for a piece of frozen pineapple to hurl at the sun and he said he couldn't, he was rushing out the door to meet a friend who gave him the flu one day in 13 years while they sat on a swing set rusting in a broken train yard lot next to half a car and three empty dumpsters.