Pimp to the mouth-breathers

Freshly Killed Fish

I fell not once
but twice
before I felt the sting.
A twisted king of pain
heavy handed with the crown.

Frowning
lip sullen and toddler mad
What bad girl am I?
why me upon the ground
But roundly the earth shook
and laughed and didn’t care.

Unfair
I spit
in between the wound licking.
Like chosen last
unripe picking
moldy gripe
The rotten parts spread fast.

But so too does my saltiness
Brining me outside and in.
Until, like a kettle of freshly killed fish,
I learn a new ocean to swim.

The Logan secret letter spot. Where the Loganites write messages to each other, their kids, god, nobody at all. I’ve never actually seen anyone assembling a message until today, when a shorter man with silver hair was out there with a bag of plastic letters.
"I didn’t realize people replace the letters on this thing," I said.
"Well, someone has to or I wouldn’t be able to wish my nephew a happy birthday," the man said as he tucked an upside down "u" next to the right arm of a "w."
"Kolton," I said. "Now there’s a name you don’t see often."
"I know," he said. "My hippie dippy sister. When I first found out about the name, I thought, ‘Ugg, don’t name him that, he’ll sound like a porn star.’"
He didn’t elaborate on whether he still considered the name to be of the porn star varietal.
I dig the grey man’s style. A “3” and a “7” make up the “G” in “Good.” Two plus four equals the word six in one equation, but five plus five equals the number 10. The extra letters form little multi-colored mounds and Kolton -  the six-year-old adult entertainment wannabe - is flanked above and below by mysterious groupings of sideways-splayed letters. A proper happy birthday. One adult Kolton will no doubt look fondly back upon from the cushy comfort of his primo porn king lifestyle.     

The Logan secret letter spot. Where the Loganites write messages to each other, their kids, god, nobody at all. I’ve never actually seen anyone assembling a message until today, when a shorter man with silver hair was out there with a bag of plastic letters.

"I didn’t realize people replace the letters on this thing," I said.

"Well, someone has to or I wouldn’t be able to wish my nephew a happy birthday," the man said as he tucked an upside down "u" next to the right arm of a "w."

"Kolton," I said. "Now there’s a name you don’t see often."

"I know," he said. "My hippie dippy sister. When I first found out about the name, I thought, ‘Ugg, don’t name him that, he’ll sound like a porn star.’"

He didn’t elaborate on whether he still considered the name to be of the porn star varietal.

I dig the grey man’s style. A “3” and a “7” make up the “G” in “Good.” Two plus four equals the word six in one equation, but five plus five equals the number 10. The extra letters form little multi-colored mounds and Kolton -  the six-year-old adult entertainment wannabe - is flanked above and below by mysterious groupings of sideways-splayed letters. A proper happy birthday. One adult Kolton will no doubt look fondly back upon from the cushy comfort of his primo porn king lifestyle.     

Funeral Words

Lieu
Sorry
Loss

We
He
Always

Won’t
Forgotten
Without

If 
Anything
Please

Adolescence

In starting a new blog, one naturally leaves behind something. For weeks, I’ve struggled with understanding what this one will be about. The tone, voice, subject matter all seemed to elude me. I was eluding myself. Then this morning, over a poached egg, I picked up a collection of diaries by Anne Morrow Lindbergh (aviator, writer, wife of Charles) and read this:

People don’t want to be understood – I mean not completely. It’s too destructive. Then they haven’t anything left. They don’t want complete sympathy or complete understanding. They want to be treated carelessly and taken for granted lots of times.

Anne would have just been in college writing this, coming off adolescence, away from home for the first time. Just a short period alone with her thoughts brought this perspective of people – that perhaps the deep connections we search for aren’t, in the end, what fulfill us most. But rather the time spent apart, the longing, the looking inward. Adolescence, Anne says, gives us “a foretaste of the inevitable tragedies of life along with one’s early confused attempts to understand or meet them.” It also gives us our first crack at self-examination. To begin the drift away from parents, siblings, friends until – alone in the little room of our souls – we first discover ourselves.

Adolescence was originally published on SELF-FRIEE

Selfie with post-30th birthday balloon.

Selfie with post-30th birthday balloon.

Run off

Come call away and tell me
Of things I used to know
Of rainstorms not remembered
And puddling mounds of snow

Melting far away now
Cold and out of reach
A pile of drifting leaves
A soft forgotten beach

Spring has run off with my mind
And winter taken hold
They wait for me to sort them out
Should my dreaming dare so bold

Blacker Bird

I’m dizzy with love
for the thing that I cage
small sparrow without any song

Singing you do when
chased or pursued
and my love I have had all along

The bars overlap
like a trick of the eye
little pattern to make my love pop

Eyes rolling with joy
all cornered and coy
it begs of me please not to stop

Turn not off the spigot of love
caught close by the claw and the wing

Sing not for the freedom of choice, my dove
buzz instead with consistency’s sting.

A boiled down song is a word
rattling soup bone without any pot

My heart is – of late – a blacker bird
Heard and not seen
Hunted not shot

Thirty and the Abyss

This time last year, I was on a plane headed to my friend Greg’s wedding in Washington state.

At the time, I wrote,

"On a plane, it’s just you and the abyss. A call to oblivion. A reminder of mortality. An opportunity for salt-laden snacking."

For me, turning thirty has been all those things. A wake up. A check in. Life smacking you square in the head with a tennis ball.

Oh jesus, life calls from across the court. Are you okay?

I’m good, really. Thanks, you mumble back as blood drips down your nose.

Life is like that though. It plays hard and fast doubles and doesn’t ease up on the serve. It slays you at the net if you’re not on your game.

So give it right back. Return slices, watch the lines. Give a heavy-handed shake after the game is done.

Wipe the blood on that white tennis skirt and hustle, always, for something more. 

Fie

And fie most things
and fie the rest
and fie the in between
And fie the things I’ve looked upon
and things I haven’t seen
Fie to both my parents
and fie the ones I’ve loved 
Fie to pets I’ve starved to death
and fie to pets beloved
Scorn to all things equally
and equal scorn to all
Dismiss the noise
and faster fall





Doughnut

What doughnuts do and don’t
is business nut of mine
the icing on that cake
is neither frivolous nor fine
but sprinkled and delicious
and purrs with sugared care
Dough not heed the dieters
whose figures dare not
Jump instead aboard the happy train
-and gladly-
down a doughnut.