Monday, April 19, 2010

Must Come Down (poem)

Up in the air -- what
a phrase to binge on
in this era of self-inflicted
chaos. What is so
random about these choices
we make with careful determination?
It's no accident
that plans are made
tentatively -- forever
in the hopes that something
better might come along.
Can't commit my time --
it's just up there.
In the air.
Waiting to come down.

Threat Level: Orange (poem)

There should be a name
for this kind of anxiety --
thick, bogged, damp souled,
half crazed, three quarters
full of serendipity. Do I care,
do I not, and how much?
And how hot? This burn
is cooling after such strange
release of carbonated
froth -- a foaming at the mouth
of the cave of thought.
So stop. Thinking
it's all gonna be ok, well,
who's to say? Who decides
what color goes with what threat
level? I am a terrified woman
inside a confident suit
of armor. Who gets in.
Who gets out. Who
gets it at all.

Stream This Consciousness (poem)

The weather is outside
and there is no controlling that.
Rarely do I fly with birds
or squirrels or ladybugs
but I stare deeply at them.
I like a well-cooked hamburger
on any given night
but I like them best
with you by my side.
If I was a body
of water, I'd hope to be useful
for sailors or sealife
or something super mystical.
What do we know
about these sorts of depths?
I am grounded by whimsy
of swingsets in moonshine
and the legacy of a true story.
Here is mine --->
I was born
I lived precisely this life.
I remain to live more.
But it's only just begun, this natural
disaster chapter, and I'm going to like it
best because it's with you.

Outside/Inside (poem)

Outside is rain
like never before.
Woosh -- wet wind
tunnel umbrella useless
wilderness. Water
in waves, creating
a high tide
for rubber booted
pedestrians. Inside,

I babysit stacks
of paper, for sale,
but useless to purchase
on a day it will
turn to pulp
the moment it meets

the catastrophic outdoors.