Oil Streaked Daisies

Faith Poem

I don't know how to do anything
I am trying to move mountains with words
But I am an ant
I scribble
I drool
I move like a worm whose world (words) encompassed a mile
How do I ries above?
Where will this worm find it's wings?
I look in the mirror and I see filth
Who is that?
Where did The angel go?
Why is there dirt staring back at me?
Why is the soil so imcompetence beneath my nails?
Why does doubt paint blue rings beneath my eyes and stain my skin?
Why does my spine assume failure?
Why do my lips flirt with the sky?
Why do I try to lasso Beauty with such a pitiful rope?
Where is the hair of Rapunzel or Samson?
Where is my sling,
Where is my stone,
My gun?
Where is the weapon with which I may fight this apathy
that feels like sleep in my limbs
that loosens my brother's smile
that kills my neighbor's daughter This pen is scrawny and hardly seems able to ink out
or erase this plague that infests my Generation
This Giant,
This Ogre,
This Beast,
This Death that assumes a million faces,
that borrows my own.



Flight #364

I
i miss you
my teeth ache
my bones are confused
they'd grown so close
my flesh cries like children
i speak to them in hush
it's not fair they say
bring him back!
beg him stay!
it's not up to me. i try to explain
but mind can't make heart understand

it does not whimper

its one lashed eye keeps blinking
it insists simply with quiet disbelief

LOVE IS NOT WITHOUT YOU


II

I go back today
back to where I must move from
my toothbrush no longer welcome

my clothing canker sores
my altar a wound
whose bleeding can only stop
when there's nothing left
to remind him of me

(I don't wanna go)



Me

I
I have blonde hair
I pluck my eyebrows
I have my father's nose
my mother's hands
I have crooked teeth
and green eyes
I play guitar
I used to get sick alot
I like the color of wine
I've cheated on boyfriends
I've owned fake ID
But my hair is still blonde
and my teeth are still crooked
and I probably won't always like
the color of wine


II
I have firm breasts
I have lips that always smile
I have veins that bleed
I laugh when I'm nervous
I feel the pain of others
but cry for no reason
I like open flame
I've been selfish since a child
I'm from Alaska
but hate the cold
I've cheated on diets
I've faked applications
But I still bleed
and my lips still smile
and my breasts won't
always be firm


III
I have strong shoulders
I have olive skin
I have a Swiss face
I borrowed from my grandmother
I have long nails on my right hand
which break regularly
My little toe is strange
I write
I used to make wreaths from dandelions
I brush my hair before bed
I cheated on tests
I faked flirtatious French accents
But I still have gold skin
and my nails still break
and I probably won't always have
strong shoulders
and I may not always write
But maybe I'll start
making wreaths
from dandelions again



Rosarito, Mexico

These strange tongueless people
with their large eyes like muddy sponges
absorbing every detail of
our white bodies
Our flesh an unfathomable dream
sex and cigarettes
and other visions of America
brought to their haveless little hands
through the miracle of TV



It Is Like A Dream

I want to take you
I want to hold you
sweaty and spent
Telling you everything--

let the world fall
into it's sleep!

let these nations
destroy themselves
with swift roads and
impartial vow

For we shall be spared!

we shall be left standing
with four eyes and four hands
to face what's left
of concrete and honey



SEX

OPEN
FIRE
TORCH
TOUCH
SCREAM
GROIN
WET
PLEASURE
KISS
STEEL
TEETH
IRON
SEED
IMPLODE
SILENCE
SPACE
FALL
CLEANSE
ONE
EMPTY
THE
OTHER
HALF FULL



Driving Home Through
Sun City, CA

Churches thrust phallic steeples
into the rosy flesh of dawn
as sleepy eyes file pavement
to a dull stub
commuter cars rattle like zippers
and undress my every nerve
like stories I already know
the ending to

no element of surprise
no unexpected filling
just chocolate Bon Bons
in the morning and
Gin and tonic when they
get home at night



Sometimes I Want To Run

Sometimes I want to run
until my thoughts can't catch up

until my flesh falls away
like solied linen

so I can't scratch
and itch and rattle anymore

I want to run so fast
my feet forget
to be heavy

So objects don't
seem so stubborn

So I can remember
how to move them like magic
(LIKE I USED TO DO)
turn pillows to whispers
and doubt to something
less vain.



Moody

Sometime I turn calico
trying to fathom
your fall
you turn all shades
to an indigo quiver
and at such depths
i do not know how
to penetrate or
turn heavy sighs
to something lighter

it used to be easy
but now I do not
understand your
tongues account
the language changed
my heart the same
But the vehicle ever moving
toward it's Solemn vow
with slow pulse.
I falter foolishly and doubt
my hands or the greatness
of words because words
are not as dependable
as stars
(It's hard to navigate with nothing)



Hommage To Home

For the sweat of my father
and the tough nails that broke his heart

for the sun on our backs and
the water on our brows
the heat on our minds

for the silent miles of dirt roads
Our eyes busy reading the
signs (on the days we took the car)

for bad meals turned good
by hunger, everything beatiful
in the red hot heat of our coal stove

for an honest sleep in
an old bed in an old house
built of hand and log

(had nothing been said all day?)