Verdant

In the beginning, 

everything here looked beige to me. 

All the buildings, 

and the land, 

and everything 

was beige.

But now, not so long later, (but just later enough to be late-)

I'm finally seeing all this green.

I am obsessed with it;

Verdant. 

The word repeats in my mind as I navigate the scenery, 

The mountains are purple and grey.

That the sky is always blue- 

Unrelenting powder blue. 

And the sun is a molten ball of white gold. 

"The sort of violets that could grow on the moon."

and 

"The wind from the desert is sweeping me away.."

All that Terra Incognito jabber.

If I'm not SEEING-

If I'm too FOCUSED 

I will miss it.

And I will wonder where I was while all this

LIFE was happening.

Talk of connecting the stars, and the dots, 

the points on the map of my life. 

My Then to My Now with a

zigzagging squiggle of a line.

Tracing the history of my generally uncharted course.

Pulling my head up out of the proverbial sand that is

Life-as-a-new-mother;

At least I can look back- 

I have reference.

To notice how the world has changed.

How my eyes have changed, 

how this desert has changed.

Something beige

Transformed into

unexpected shades and hues of life.

TATTOOED GYPSY & THE BURNING BLUE EYED GOOD BYE BLUES

Scabbing tattoo gypsy heart;

Red around the edges-

Raw and aching to be scratched.

Try a little tenderness.

Don't baby it too much.

Stay and go and come away again soon, with me.

Down these halls

Painted over words we let slip

Then slide...

You just go for the ride and I stand behind you

watching you walk away.

It's the smell of piss and shit and blood on a Saturday morning after;

Someone stole your shower head and it's too cold to do laundry.

It's "Thank God the bar's across the street" and  "Are you gonna eat those fries?".

It's a heavy bass line that makes you wanna take your clothes off and dance and it's too cold to sleep alone.

52 card pick up under the back stairwell.

Inky finger print bruises on my hips.

Angry ruby wound;

tight around my wrist like twist ties 

and the ties that bind, and the rope we wind up with 

like a noose turned neck tie.

We run. We hide. And seek. 

We find. And blind eye turn on each other.

While we huddle together against the

concrete chill of warehouse heater blues

hit the snooze button one more time

Before out the door we stumble.

Mumble into our scarves and the scars

we carved into our arms.

Dollar coins and subway rides to work to work to work

We pray this will all just work.

And I'm done with I love you's from far away lips

On this unwashed Monday, but at least my clothes are clean

even if my mouth is dirty, and my mind is dirty and 

my fingernails are covered in war paint and I'm down in this trench of a gutter

with just a hot plate and some styrofoam cups to raise up

and rally myself against the day.

Scabbing angry tattooed gypsy soul;

Those sour words at the back of my throat 

Let loose and I let them. 

Bite and burn like acid on that loving heart.

To break those chains and break myself apart 

and find the marrow worth saving,

Braving this skin that I'm in.

Freezing, bleeding, needing and believing 

I can begin again-

tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow....

For the Kids of 286

We were rolling our eyes

and laughing through sighs,

"Like, it fuckin figures"

she said to me
As we belly up to beer cans all over the floor

Hallway hurricane dance parties outside my bedroom door

Dirty fingernails and noodles with butter

All we have is each other

Windowless Universe Warehouse Home

This is the first place I could call my own-

Busting bottles in the dark, roller skating in the park

howling out the songs of our savage little hearts

I leave my door unlocked and you 

can climb into my bed

If I wake up and you're gone

We'll let it go unsaid

I'll just see you round the stalls

While we're tagging up the halls

And spray painting our madness

on our neighbors walls

Baby, check that sadness at the door

That's not what these rooms are for

We got ceilings full of dreams and cracks

Hold ourselves together with old thumbtacks

And I'll scratch your back if you lend me a dime

We're all living on cigarettes and rented time

This is as good as it gets and all bets are off

As we cough up for coffee on our way to Starbucks

Odds are stacked, streets are packed, and the world is OCCUPIED

Just lay with me, stay with me, we got nothing to hide

Beyond this closed door, it's America's war

And no one out there is sure what they're fighting for

It's students in the park and

Drummers in the dark

It's our history laid out

like a long Boardwalk Empire

On fire and one step at a time

We go hand in hand in hand and cross over the line..

And if you write me in your rhythm,

You know I'll paint you in my rhyme.

Back To Basic

DISCONNECT.
I spent two months in self induced solitary.
I had no internet service and only basic cable.
I didn't frolic wildly with friends, or obsessively check my emailfacebooktwitter.
I worked, and counted my pennies, and tried to climb out of debt.
I hung art work on my walls and curtains on my windows and unpacked the last of my boxes.
It's only been four years since the move.. Feels like sanctuary again.

CELEBRATE.
My Aunt died of cancer over the holidays.
Made me appreciate my appreciation. For everything.
The wonders of life.
Fresh produce and clean dishes, a cold glass of wine, early morning sunlight.
Running in snow with dogs, laying in bed with someone you love. Chocolate.
A good cup of coffee. Working the body hard. Letting your mind dream.

SIMPLIFY.
Life is too sweet to be filled with the bitterness of worry.
Life is to preciously unique to be compared,
one individual to the next.
We all march steadily to the grave. It's not a race.
Overflow your numbered days with the deliciousness of things you love.

PAY ATTENTION.
You are missing all the beautiful details of this magical exsistence.
We are water and iron and electricity
and we are spinning through space towards our destiny at the speed of thought..
And that right there is a miracle.

Train Tracks and Other Metaphores

This is a poem for my generation

written on a Monday at the office,

while I Facebook and YouTube

instead of filing and data entry.

Because I'm trying to peer over the wall of time

and spy on a life I had once, where we all went to high school together

and cut classes in favor of the beach and the woods

and driving around in your parents convertible without their permission.

And in the dark of the night my footsteps make no noise,

and the cars on the high way are a river of fire. 

I am followed by my street light shadow,

these are train tracks and other metaphors.

Where are we? We wonder out loud,

to each other, and to ourselves, and to no one in particular...

Who have we become, and who did we want to be?

And did we lay our plans with as much care as we should have?

Probably not. But there's no time now to,

Lament some of my moments of execution..

Where I lost my grace, and fell out of they eyes of honesty,

and struck out.

And in the dark night my footsteps make no noise,

and the road to anywhere is paved with dreams.

I am followed by my street light shadow,

these are train tracks and other metaphors.

We are treading water somewhere between the shores of Child

and the rocky horizon of Adult.

We are piled into rowboats, some of us with children,

some of us with men, and some of us without..

We are filled with wanting and painted in covetous technicolors-

We dare to dream the American Dream that our parents dreamed

and distilled from their parents who dreamed and distilled it from

their parents, and now it holds just a drop if it's original elixir, but we dream on.

And in the dark of my dreams my footsteps make no noise,

and the yellow brick road rolls out a red carpet.

I am followed by my street light shadow,

these are train tracks and other metaphors.

I want to live in a big house with a porch

and a yard for my garden and animals and children,

and a barn so I can hang my half moon out on the eaves

and wind chimes from the rafters.

Maybe I will have some chickens,

and a goat, or a pig...

And I'll make pottery and beaded necklaces

in between pulling weeds and putting on plays with the neighborhood kids.

And in the dark before the dawn my footsteps make no noise,

and the path we walk is unmarked and winding.

I am followed by my street light shadow,

these are train tracks and other metaphors.

I have to write this down because I FORGET MYSELF (all the time....)

and then go throwing blame at every one around me.

Telling them they don't know who I am,

when really it's me, making a false idol of myself.

And at least we are all lost together,

you and me, and all of us, in our rowboats,

between here and the future, 

still updating on Facebook, to validate our existence.

And in the light of day my footsteps make no noise,

and the faces of strangers are all familiar to me.

I am followed by my street light shadow,

these are train tracks and other metaphors.

Remembering Me

Sometimes I remember myself.
In moments of delicious clarity, I remember who I am,
and who I wanted to become
and I don't feel at all like I am missing out, or being passed over,
or passed by, or left behind.
I don't feel at all like I am missing out on anything,
or spinning madly out of control.

Sometimes, in delicious moments of crisp,
refreshing, blinding, clarity-
I see myself and I am happy.
Like the elation of a desert nomad who's just found the well,
it is the first sip that cures the thirst,
and reminds me I am still alive.

I am alive.
I am reminded to rejoice!

To be gracious and grateful and good.
To dance lightly across the face of this world
and throw kisses at the sky.
Sometimes in cool, fleeting moments, shaded by serenity,
I am reminded of who I am, and who I wanted to become.
I remember who I am,
and I am free.

Conversation with Jesus

I saw Jesus walking up the hill,

He said, "Go on without me, I'll be here when you get back."

and then he climbed up on his cross, one limb at a time

and hung out, waiting for the return of the crowds.

And we all went back to college, 

to tiny apartments paid for by our middle-class parents,

where we hung posters of 60's icons up on our walls and

burned nag champa and drank grain alcohol til we threw-up on our tie-dyed tapestries.

Then we stayed up past our bedtimes around open refrigerators, 
letting the cold air escape, 

and discussed theories about foreign policy and oil and capitalism 

and other things we didn't understand,

and we passed the joint around until it was nothing but ash in our hands.

But me, I turned my radio up and rolled down my window

and shaved off all my hair, started calling myself Diane and

tried to go somewhere I wouldn't recognize myself for a little while.

I waved to Jesus on His cross and He said, "See ya soon."

In the fields under the Moon

trying to find myself amongst all those exploded little particles of light.

I thought I saw you in my reflection, out on the edge where the tall grasses whisper against the wind,

but you were just a trick of shadows and air.

I returned hot on your heels, like a blood hound on the trail 

and without missing a beat, ran face first into a brick wall of sorrows

with your name tagged all over it in suburban child spray paint.

With nothing but time on your hands, and me with never enough time on my side.

Jesus was still chilling, called down to me from His perch, 

"Why don't you try something different?" and I told Him 

I didn't know what I had, so I didn't know what I was missing.

He said to keep looking, and He'd let me know what happened while I was gone.

All the while the people were dancing in the square

banners flying, flowers in their hair, the band was playing brightly

and the hours wound down to nothing but fire and sparks and

me and Jesus, we were no where to be seen, but they were all still dancing in the streets.

And in the morning-after light, on our way to coffee grounds and 

The Grind, and the grim of the grin above the rim of our ugly mugs, 

We shuffle like ghosts in the mist, in the midst of what we missed and

who we miss the most. The Father, Son and Holy Rollers...

I rolled over, and pulled over, to pump my brakes and stay awake.

With a fist full of tears, I rest my weary gears.

Feels like we've been walking away for years and years at a time, 

never quite yours, and you were never quite mine.

"It was a gamble," said the thief at His side.

A couple of Dudes with nothing left to hide, I honk as I drive by.

Jesus waves at me from far away and I pull into the parking lot of my local Mom-and-Pop-Shop. 

Under the street lights, He tells me, tonight, it's alright.