Wednesday, April 23, 2014

npm: 04.23

04.23

When young I kissed you once.
I remember because we knocked teeth
because you were handsome
dressed for work--
you had a truck.

All my favorite writers
lived with fists and pens,
unshaven faces, switchblades,
hearts outside
thrust on sticks.

One summer,cramped cars and mugs of malt--
I wanted trouble
more than trouble wanted me,
grown baby in the weeds.

And then blood and sleep.
Incisors of our brittle weeks

because romance changed faces
it wasn't the bar anymore
it wasn't the broken
or brick leaning patrons of our
older affections and their small town bands
no more winking over neck
amused by youth as
ashtray goes above sea level--

carriers of decay, restless
in our abandoned boats
beards to our bellies
unsame
yet still--

ourselves,

surviving ourselves

surviving

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

npm: 04.22

04.22

if you opened my mouth
there might be a tree
something both gnarled, flourished,
trunk shoved right from tongue.

among the newsprint,
some graves.
piles of wilt
paperclips
a hole where reasons should be.

my bed is red--worse than blue.
oven hollers and wine glasses
pop like glitter--
unhinged bone
rarely burns.

darling
do me a favor

find these teeth
a reason to bite--
find me meat
I can earn.

Monday, April 21, 2014

npm: 04.21


Another haiku.



04.21




Sometimes the words fall
asleep and when they twitch with
dream we break their legs.

Sunday, April 20, 2014

vintage

The year = 1998. The event? Best play ever.

stevie nicks

I love this. Young Stevie Nicks singing "Wild Heart" backstage while getting her make-up done.


npm: 04.20

I didn't write a poem yesterday. I was too busy hiking and soaking up the sun. Last night I went out. I fought the urge to hermit myself away and instead met some new people and danced my ass off with an old friend. Just one of those days where you get caught up in living and there's a pen nowhere in sight. Yesterday was its own sort of poem. I needed that.


Today's poem is comprised of three haikus.


04.20



It is how you can
smell a season. It is what
you tape to the walls.


Hills hides the dancers.
I look up and still myself
to see the clouds move.


Rare these days become--
the ones that threaten time,
the ones that feel like God.

Friday, April 18, 2014

npm: 04.18

today's poem is a haiku. i was reading about the habits of bees(fascinating stuff--i highly recommend it) and came across the term "balling." when a new queen becomes available, worker bees will kill the reigning queen by balling her. this entails tightly surrounding and stinging her until she dies. i like the idea of our girl knowing its coming and being ready for a battle


04.18

balling

colony morale--
pollen crown queen, broken legs
loads her gun, spits blood