thoughts splintered some sharp others dull and short reports wobble out from flat digital boxes hung from careless walls breath tight or not there at all walking distance from the back to the ground floor books and writing on the walls in the tunnels by the bay ocean blue line thin horizon children grow up and grow into a certain kind of thought me i haven’t grown yet so i color in the sand with tiny sea shells found around my ankles as the tide retreats from me
Aging
cheveux indisciplinés
i love the color of my hair
brown red and in some places pink
my tired legs and lined filled hands
eyes that stare flat beyond the sky
and a mind that has lost the hard shell
of youthful indulgence and inexperience
i love my lips still round and plump
and the new found freedom
of spouting my own thoughts
that are crafted with the filigree of wisdom
i love my face
oh those expression lines
that will never be usurped by botox
my cheek bones high and tight
to frame a genuine smile at the wind
i love my hair when she gets wild
and i walk the streets of Beverly Hills
stroll in the Rolls Royce isles
worn out Chucks with the strategic tears
where the toes are too tight
salesmen follow me with Lysol cans
and their neat white gloves
that eradicate the traces of the hoi polloi
the hair a right of passage glorious
furious bright riot
reminding me that my agedness
is a catalyst to the third eye lens
from where i can finally see
the dimensions of the world
the good and the bad
and really only give a damn
about the moments that matter
early bird special
when i die i’m curious how my skull will look will i have all of my teeth my grave robbers won’t find gold will my nose holes be like a heart i wonder when i steam Botan i like to eat it hot with rice vinegar and a little toasted sesame seed oil how do you take yours love my toe nails well yeah they are a little chipped i guess i’ll get around to them soon this week lazy really no not true i just don’t think my toes are that important do you like my drawings i like the term avant gard between you and me that means i don’t have a rats ass worth of talent but if i pretend it’s a Polaroid of my soul with a few foreign words painted on the rich matron will buy it they love missed spelled words too makes them complete knowing they saved a wretch like me my hair yeah what’s wrong with it oh a nest really i ran my fingers through it when i washed it in the morning but do you think that they will put 10 pounds of mustard seeds in my skull or will the vandals toss it round my chop sticks feel crooked i better stop putting them in the dishwasher i suppose my tits yeah didn’t you hear about Newton’s law of gravity dude what is this by the way how’s your prostate been i’m a lady so i won’t speak of the southern-most half of your equator
date night
i know we said Netflix tonight no hanky spank me but i guess i had a memory lapse on account i want to mount you don’t you move i’ll clear the dishes and close your eyes think up some wishes and i shall be happy to oblige after i get what i want hmm what’s that you say what did i mumble nothing honey just getting the massage oil from the bathroom oh no no don’t fall asleep we need to talk about access by the way how’s your cannoli it must pretty creamed up i haven’t had it in ages yes taxes are pretty high ok i’m back hey hey oh no not again lover stop snoring and make me go higher remember the Y2Ks how happy and free what happened to passion and smoking in bed and kissing and howling till then sun showed his face alright i get it we’ve been working all day good night my rocker my lover my friend
haiku for Petra
endlessness of night
honeysuckle’s soft weeping
stars dull one by one
Faye
the skill is to find life in the routine she said i’ve stood at this counter for 30 years pumping the same bottles into the air and nobody cares she said
do you want some advice i could tell you that you’ll age if you don’t cover up your face in these narcotics made in Spain but it’s your body love it any way you want
ya’ see this scar above my perfectly lined brow fell off a tree in 1963 you have a lot of scars all over are you ok or are you one of those foster girls from down the block
i’m sorry listen that was harsh there’s this cream for $49.95 that can help heal those dark circles under your eyes it helped before my divorce hearing when Harry hit me
the freckles on your face and the bleaching out of your hair you really should try this salve from France you’re far too young to have this damage men like long soft chestnut hair like yours
oh my i didn’t see those tattoos i have a concealer for that but you should really get it removed and it’s a shame with your good bones naturally formed you’d be a good model but you’re too short
can you smile yes that’s it i think you could be on the cover of this magazine but you really have to clean up child you look like a dog town mop head skater boy
those nails you’ve chewed them to your shoulders look i have to take a break my boss might give me a raise but i feel that he just might leave his wife for me tomorrow
Grady, don’t tell your mom she’s my best friend and i think she would worry here’s her order and some make up for you we all have the demons jumping out of us and soon the scars of sin we carry in will come up to the surface
Eunice
Eunice
sits
by the
twin doors on
her porch waiting for the
mail to arrive and have a conversation with
Yan the carrier who always asks about her past and what she’s doing
it’s time for the Moon Festival and Eunice enjoys hearing Yan’s stories too and when his wife sends her Moon Cakes
her heart skips a beat with joy today she wore a peach silken robe her hair is wild and white legs tucked neatly under thighs and her lap nestles two brown gray Siamese kittens
eyes deep black filled with wisdom earned through pain war and humiliation but if you look closer her irises are flecked with bits of gold these are the triumphs of her life i want to be like Eunice graceful with the power of her forgiveness she is eternally untethered from the mortal coil of man
strong in her conviction to love without having to be loved free to walk through the doors of challenge steadfast in her beauty shining from within soul armor for the soldier Queen her lips sea shell pink have spoken with the angels her thin vein covered hands have opened promise closed opportunities for mass destruction Eunice swift of foot feeds the weeds and prized flower bushes the same life is life she says and through this ancient simple third eye view the weeds have nourished the orchards of love
Eunice with her basket feeds the multitudes with far less fish than Jesus can provide today but in her patience and plentitude of faith the cup of satiety somehow runs over in the inky crescendo of the twilight Eunice sits in her back porch by the door where she cried hiding sorrow when the universe collapsed as seen on the 11 o’clock news many Aprils ago clutching a holy book to ensure it’s protection in case that night’s devil came to her own door i know i’ll never be like Eunice with spirituals circulating in her veins while her licorice skin warms the spirits of the children next door who dress like ninjas for the Fall and every year as she pretends to be the frail victim for them to save her reward is the blooming of a brighter future in their innocent laughter
words less spoken 