Raining Ice Again

You have been in your head too much
this doesn’t work for you
You are a doer. You must stay busy and engaged
Right now, you are not. You are tired and in pain
Your mouth is dry, your skin is dry. It is cold outside
…You’re an idiot.
I’m bored of this already
This needs to be erased
I need to go for a walk

Off a cliff. dive into a dream of cold water
I want summer in Lake Superior
I want her freedom
Her sweet clean air

It is winter. White and dirty and grey
I slept like shit again last night.
My neck hurts. Blah
That is what I feel like
Blah
Blah blah blah
I am wasting my living
Here
Far away
I am giving it all, for what I can’t grass anymore

Da Vinci

The greatest painter to ever paint
Made sure to fuzzy the line
Where one ended and another began
That is what I am trying with your love
And poetry

This is not the poem I want to write
The poem I want to write is about taking
care of one another
But that poem is boring and nice
It is too polite for us

What the hell are we doing?
Why are we not fucking?
Must I beg for your cock in my mouth?

You are doing dishes and Im pretty 
sure you have fever too
Both of the girls do. 
I can barely stand. We are dizzy
And puking and coughing and shitting 
But you are doing the dishes
You come and check on us
bring water from the other side
of the universe and those cool magic pills. 
Yesterday I went to store 
and got a bunch of groceries. 
you were sleeping and had a fever. 
Then I cleaned. 
Brought you some pills 
And helped the girls. 
We take care of each other. 
When people complain about being married
I want to say, have you tried sucking his dick? 
Maybe if you give it all 
maybe the someone else 
will give it all back to you

As A Child I Did Childhood Things 

As a child

I did childhood things

I packed a small bag of clothes

A journal, my one-eyed doll

and fled from war

The fireworks popped houses off the streets

Shattered and exploded

I hide among the debris

When I was raped and beaten

I was the cold mud and the roots

beneath my body, rustic roads

The maggots of the dead were my citizens

The worms, the trains

My blood, the smoke from the chimneys

In the darkness of the ghetto street

I was a ninja in a forgein land

guarded by red branches hiding

as the gun shots ran on window glass

I snuck across the ground under abandoned cars

hid behind old burnt out homes

Flipped over piss stained mattress

A child with missing sneakers

had penny candy by his side

with a bullet in his brain

So I took his candy and savored the sweetness

as I hid in a mulberry tree until the hungry blue

zombies came and went

When my belly was swollen and empty and my back

bare I was a monkey girl and searched

for apples and pears and blackberries and goose berries

I scavenged wild morel mushrooms and dandelions and greens

I sucked up tiny green sour grapes

I climbed and swung

when I found a fruit I’d eat

the core and worms and all

If I fell and got bloodied, I hid it

It was a curse. I didn’t limp

When I found nothing to eat

And a warm AK 47 in my hands

I was a great hero

when I killed the hawk men

and freed my homeland

The people would throw me a feast of roasted

venison and turkey and pies and cakes

With juices and butter and sweet red wines

with songs and dances with large walls and warm fires

I’d have a dry warm safe bed one day,

I would have people, I dreamed as I aimed into battle

felt the sting and pound of the ground

And my fallen brothers coming at me

In the winter snow with frozen toes inside plastic bags

I was the first to explore so far north

I followed the smell of bear and stole into old ice caves

I made a house under the great pines

broke the ice and fished with my hair and beer can

I followed the river and stole north

I stole bitter acorns from squirrels

when I found a dead thing it did not go to waste

Covered in scraps of lost artifacts

I was the last of my exploration party

My one armed doll chewed and rotten

my journal wet and dirty showed the map of my trail

well beyond where dragons or fairies ever go

I pushed on until the trail softened underfoot,

There I stepped into sinking brown mud

grasping for the first of wild leeks,

with rocks in my in mouth

I was beaten with bondage

I was warrior captured

forced to labor for the enemy

I would not shame self by crying out

When the demon goats shoved me in a bag

And throw me in the back of a pickup truck

I did not panic like the screaming

children under me

I found the seam and breathed slow

I did not cry for help

I saved my energy for the chance to run

when I had it, I ran in the shadows

barefoot with only the rope

that bound my hands behind my back

I ran til the city was new

and my legs strong enough

to kill and the rope a bracelet of freedom

I stole food and shoes and diamonds and life

I was a master spy behind enemy lines

I stole until I had enough to find home

In middle of a concrete street

I gave birth to a blue dead jar

it was a tiny fluffy head SOS sent out to sea

riding the waves and currents to bring back aid

It’s dark eyes searching for an island of refuge

a man of honor

When it came again and lived I hid it

and gave it all I could

I gave pieces of myself for coins

to buy it blanket and food

I gave everything

still, I sent it out to sea

Four times I sent an SOS

Until my blood found the riptides and the sea turtles

met the mermaid queen on the corral of the sea

When the sickness came

I could not walk, my knees swelled

my body ached and my scalp was a drum

for the great wolf chief to beat with his tail

I was poisoned by the evil hound

who wanted me for his bone

Under his jagged teeth

I pounded my fists into his mouth

I splintered and my marrow filled his belly

Covered in dirt, wearing lice

I walked hand and hand with my sister

With one mismatched sandal each and bone thin

I was blessed and happy

When the nights were cold I was her blanket

And She, my pillow

We ate avocados and little fish

when luck and pennies were on our side

We were best friends, ladies on a stroll

In the darkness I heard her scream

I tried to hold onto her

Her finger nails dug into my body

Tore my flesh

her hair was in my clenched fists

Her blood under my nails

the dark shadow lizard

Dragged her away screaming

and left me alone in our rock pile home

I was in the shadow of a great temple

writing my name with my wand

To bless the yellow dirt
when a blast went hard and heavy

I could not hear but the ringing of ice cream truck

At the park where children yelled and played

I could taste the metal in mouth

concrete and salt in my flesh

I was buried under the rubble

the stick still in my hand I was a wizard

becoming all powerful but first I had to fall

through the black hole to other side

and find the evil wizard

who had blasted my temple

let blood magic into the world

I had no hair, on a sheet

I laid hooked up to robots

my body shook with cold sweat ache

The vomit came out my mouth

shit and piss was cold and sore on my body

My eyes could not focus

Blurry and heavy all around me was tiny grey

hands holding me down

I could smell their copper and plastic spaceships

The aliens were inside me

trying to harvest my body

I had to fight so I made a clone of myself

climbed in my nose and slayed the creatures

until I could no longer

badly wounded I found my heart

kicked it when slowed

I kicked until my legs fell off

then I punched until my arms rotted off

Then I head butted and finally bit

Until their beeps and buzzing stopped

I could not feel myself

I was no longer a child

Nostalgia for War and Peace

wp-1481753445367.jpg

Annieepoetry

I get it.  It was a simpler time

A sweeter time for rivers and old trucks

and tongue flicks

Or it was the music

Or maybe we are magnets

and memory aligns us back

to the crystal structure we were before

I’m not sure.  It doesn’t make sense to me

I’m aware of my ignorance.   I don’t need

everything to fit into hard little rows

It doesn’t have to be simple or straight for me

to swallow it whole and let it keep my stomach warm and new

I love winter. There I said it.  I love the cold, the snow

The bundling up with sweaters and blankets

I love hot beverages and rums and scotches

I love cedar in the swamp toppled with clean white snow

And hot steam from my mouth when I breathe out

In steam visions, touching your cheek

As my feet make a trail along a…

View original post 284 more words

Nostalgia for War and Peace

I get it.  It was a simpler time

A sweeter time for rivers and old trucks

and tongue flicks

 

Or it was the music

Or maybe we are magnets

and memory aligns us back

to the crystal structure we were before

I’m not sure.  It doesn’t make sense to me

I’m aware of my ignorance.   I don’t need

everything to fit into hard little rows

 

It doesn’t have to be simple or straight for me

to swallow it whole and let it keep my stomach warm and new

 

I love winter. There I said it.  I love the cold, the snow

The bundling up with sweaters and blankets

I love hot beverages and rums and scotches

I love cedar in the swamp toppled with clean white snow

And hot steam from my mouth when I breathe out

In steam visions, touching your cheek

As my feet make a trail along a doe’s path

Over the creek into the meadow under the apple tree

Pausing to breathe and breathe, happy and sad

I like feeling the relief when I step into a warm home, when I stomp my feet and take off my boots and scarf and hat and coat, the hot fluster on my cheeks. And then smelling the wood burning fire,  the chimney puffing up

like my heart for you and our world

I love you.  I can’t help it.  It’s the music.  The step.  The waves.  The past or the future

It doesn’t matter.  But its here. It hangs on.

It doesn’t leave.  It isn’t sick or destructive

not disparate  or selfish.  It doesn’t hurt.

Its not a spring flower, nor a brown crumpled leaf.

It’s a rustic road that runs up north along lake Michigan and never seems to end

That leads to lake superior and cools all the fear out.

 

You can’t own or  fight it. There is no need.    Its here, in my poetry

These silent odes, from an old fat human woman

who is learning to walk soft and dream expansive peace

I don’t want to go to war.  But the war is here too.

So now I dream we are holding hands, like little laughing children

Who have not learned to hate or mistrust.

I am transforming myself.

I am focusing my intentions on life. I am forever restarting with me.

I am learning to live free of ego and hate.

I am eating the fear and panic one breath at a time.

It will take times.  There is times for you to learn too.

 

Put your ear on my heart, I am alive with you.  What more could we ask for?

 

[AL1]

guilt is a funny thing

 

 

 

it doesn’t matter if you knew better

or if you were doing your best with

the knowledge you had

 

if your own hindsight doesn’t shame you

someone else’s will

 

if it doesn’t, you’re probably not human

 

The Bit

Its two thirty in the morning and

you dear, stumble to bed and put your

knees into my back.

I lie there next to you

for an hour

then get up and stand outside on the balcony

I can’t sleep

I piss

I drink water

I lie on the couch

I piss again

Its morning.  Its time to get

daughter ready for school

For the past 30 something weeks all I have been

doing is lying on the  couch and feeling

dizzy.

This is pregnancy

This is why I’d rather the stork

bit were true

Bills or Bicycles

A friend said everyone has to grow up.

He said it like a man who had been

molded by someone else’s hammer.

It heated me and made me malleable

like burning kittens or drowning puppies.

It is hard to grow up, friend.

So what

if we die too young.

Lets make paper airplanes

with scraps of paper sent

by the bill collectors.

Lets ride a bike around the lake

with a little ginger ale in our bellies

and a plumped up grin

to meet the noise of the old people

doing the boring and necessary things

to keep their lines and moles in order

Lets walk on the beach and kick the waves.

Lets pick up rocks and suck on them.

Lets climb the mountains and jump off

giggling fear into the abyss

I Promise

I am going to die

and I am not sure when

but while I am here

I am going to fuck

with you whenever we can

.

There are going to be bad days

-absurd happenings and stubbed toes

.

and I’ll accept it

-the universe and my ordinary

place in it

.

as long as you are here

to bring me licorice and root beer

and other dreamy stuff

like titty kisses and big warm hugs

.

and your extraordinary love

Even Puppies Smile

I guess you have to be beaten

to learn to smile through

the pain because it too will end

and you will remain

To withhold your hand from scratching

while the scab it is still healing I guess

you have to have a scab or two

ripped off before you’ve healed

to learn the sting is not worth the satisfaction

And to marvel at your ability to heal

I guess you have to know broken

parts and open wounds and near death

experiences before you realize

how wonderful it is to be healed by you

but to be happy, why even a puppy

knows how to be happy on a warm

sunny afternoon with a full belly

and a friend to bum around with

Don’t you?

How long

It is easy to say it in a poem or in front

of a crowd but when you are alone and you accept

your ignorance or beauty or frailty

it is very hard not to  lie.

How long can you play dumb or cheat

smart or fake love or pretend poise

staring in the mirror?

I suppose, you’re not the only one

to have a wasted an afternoon or more

reflecting what delusion told you to

I have too

The Stage

The stage is black.  The curtain is closed.

.

Sit and wait as he might no clap of his

will cause you to step onto the stage

and sing  -“Luck be a lady tonight”

.

In his joy, he miss judged  you for a gentle son who’d

be open for coffee or talk and never leave  for good

How could you after all you’ve accomplished?

.

Does the thick fabric of the curtain hang onto some

of your DNA where you rubbed as you rushed by

to change your costume for the romantic scene?

.

Are there skin cells of yours on the make-up brush

that helped your eyes pop so the person in the back

could gage the twinge of your expression?

.

Is there a hair of yours on the jacket

that you wore when you went outside

to rehearse your lines and get fresh air?

.

Did you leave your voice in the creeks

and falls of the building, rhyming in

rhythm with carpet hairs and the very foundation?

.

Is there some magic left that a father may find

or did it leave when you killed yourself?

Here lies the body

Here lies the body of a well-loved

human -under this pile of stones

a power decayed

Even though, in his generation

his people loved and praised him

now he is a sonnet; a sealed container of dust

We stand, his future, new generations

sprouted from the past and remember his

name and the territory of  his revolution

but none of us can smell his morning breath

or feel the warmth of his penis in their mouth

Some advice

Here is some advice.

Finger what you love

This day is all you have

Lose for it.

Waste your life for it.

This is bad advice. Don’t follow it.

It will get you into heaps of shit.

It will make your heart fall out.

You’ll lose any respect

you’ve gained.

 

 

It is easy for me to drop this

on your doorstep and light it

on fire  -I’ve never gained respect

and my heart, long ago dried out

Jerky?

Hot body in Cold Water

I went to lake superior

and put my hot body

in the cold water

I went body surfing and jumped off a cliff

I floated on my back for an hour

I hiked along her, clumsy with aching

muscles and sat in the shade of her forest

I watched the sunset with a fire whistling

and had a few bottles and fell asleep

to the crash and fear of her waves

The problem is I couldn’t stay

Five days later and

I had to leave for my life chances

to stay optimistic and excessive

It’s a long good bye and even after

days of being back in the city

I’m dazed out and prone to smiling in sadness

Henry and I are going to die

we are not going to be making

you dinner forever

we won’t be pouring your wine

for eternity

so now, while we are here

please share your cigars

and play that song

-the one that makes Henry

cry and me horny

(he is easier to seduce after a good weepin’ and smoke)

diagnosis

my sister is lesbian

she licks another woman’s

breasts

they hold and cuddle on

my couch after dinner

they are uncomfortable

coming out with their

relationship

my sister’s love

says, you’re the only we can kiss in front of

I don’t know what to say

a tear cracks my cheek

and burns the flesh off

I know what it is like to

shout your love out

or hold a hand and tell

your mother this is the one

this is the one I want to make with

here is the only place they can

be natural.  in my closet they

can bang and  sass and touch

and I don’t stop them

when my sister starts to

explain herself I shout,

get real.

do what you want

when you want

fuck the world

fuck the couple

on the greeting cards

and books and calendars

the her and him

movies made for prime time

in the irrational embraces

fuck the boxes and neat shelves

the filing cabinets and manicured lawns

I don’t know if my words get deep enough

to beat the fear or the rationing of how

she found love.

I don’t understand

I don’t know what love is

to others or how they go about finding

it.

or sharing or holding it in

I see two beautiful women

I watch my sister’s love

wash the dishes while my sister

drys and puts away

I watch my sister’s love pour her

a glass of wine with a big smile

and hand it to her with a sparkle in her eye

and see my sister kiss her

and tousle her hair

I don’t understand it at all

maybe it’s a passing experiment

or a new rush or

the real deal

my sister speaks in riddles

as the wine begins to inhibit her

poise

her back bends a little forward

and her worries begin to be spread

on the table with the deck of cards and two

empty bottles

I push out all the uncertainty and confusion

I push it out.  I forget that the world

is fighting out place and roles and freedom

I ignore the pants and belt I wear, the blazer

and the scarf, and long tangled hair down my

back, free and out of control.  the flips, the bra that

lifts my breast,

that in another place or time would leave me

hanging from a tree or stoned to Hades

or cast out of town or home

as dirty or cheap or the devil or against nature

I forget it and enjoy life, the blood and bone, muscle

and cartilage

the nervous system

the sight, the smell, the taste

This is it. This is what I want you to believe in

sister -There is nothing wrong with you

Well Meaning

Well meaning humans

friends and family members

tell me to write a novel

something I can get paid for

They ask if I write

if I write at all

if I do, why don’t I show it

to them

they say with ups at the ends of the words

I mumble about the poem

about the line

about when I sit down and write

a poem  I do what

I can and hope

their war will be lost

on my ability to write a

decent poem

Of course I have a lot of

horse shit that I don’t

finger until it becomes apart

of my identity but the

process of writing a poem

I’ve put everything in

I’ve excepted

that I will never get drinks or licks

in exchange for my poems

But if I don’t write these bloody

stumps, if I don’t fuck on the mother

tongue and smear her ideologies

in my gruesome fantasies

her neat and organized world

may beat out the orgasmic

and thirsty

Huh- What Are You Sayin’?

I don’t want to alarm you but

I can only hear potato chips

crunching.   May have two

dollars and nine cents?

Please?

I’m losing my ability to focus

just listening to you eat

On My Road Trip

I didn’t mean to bring

you with – Henry

You rode with me in

my brain and when the road

opened to new sights and smells

and sounds

you were in the right hemisphere smiling

and each night it was

hard to focus and feel alone

The poet inside kept singing

those old romantic numbers

with the salt of the pacific

in the mouth I clung to

lake superior as the anchor

of sanity

And lamented

I don’t know who you are

without the warm touch

of my hand

he walks in

he walks in and says –

“Hi

I ‘ve got a sore butt from biking

I love you – keep writng

I am watching a dumb movie

bye”

And so I get up and drink a porter

and smoke a stick and ask while

he dies, does he think he’ll pray for life

after death

 

 

and his answer is

a strong and sturdy

“no”

Number Two

Dear husband

Two nights ago we made

love.

In two months we will

be married for three years

And for the first time

we have made love

like they tell it in the stories

We made the kind of sex

that heal wounds or end battles

And I did not realize that we had not before

until two nights ago, when we did.

Do you want to do it again?

A Cowgirl

Anyone with high intelligence

would have stopped in her

pony tracks and tried to go back

and cover them up and pretend

the journey never began

She is the classic dumb drum

who laughs at everyday

sadness and confusion

because

her ass hurts

and it grinds her

to be overly

sardonic

Follow the blood to her heart

It Is Difficult

It is difficult.

I had so much invested

in you being the one

who messaged my

gray temples because

when you hug me

and don’t call me

stupid I feel safe

I never felt that with anyone else

even sitting by myself

I don’t feel so safe

so that’s the problem, Henry

I don’t know where you are

Missed the Atmosphere

 

Then the Water. Now the Sun

 

The sun pulls over the line of condos

with lava rolling down her face

today she said good and tomorrow

she’ll supernova

 

she has been a playmate

the only friend in a new world

and somehow

I am going to have to get use to her

not being here with the already list

of heavenly bodies I have become accustomed

to not having around

 

 

Good bye sun and shine –

Bonny the Monkey

and the Angel the Dragon

will miss you, the Ducks and the Swallows

too.  Even the old crust on the corner

will miss your fusion. Everyone is

in agreement

–this place won’t be the

that hot without you

This poem won’t help

This poem won’t help take away

the tomato stain.  I don’t know what will

my teddy bear.  Move on.

Keep rotting with me and Henry

the christmas cactus.

Weep over the dead god or your

piece of violent nature.

Sob with bubbles at your nose holes

so hard you get a headache

Do it in the morning before anyone

awakes and accept that your heart is

a black bean cheese bake

Wish for something that you

can replace and hope that you

can hold out for some moist cake

Perhaps there is enough for you

if  my piece is a mini marble

Do you mind if your piece is pre chewed?

You like to hit

You like to hit me and be little me and call

me puckered puke or pony butt.

I want you to know that I have changed

my underwear over and over again. I think

now you are the one who keeps switching them back.

I am not happy about that. You disappoint me

in so many ways that I am not sure

I can speak with you again. It is better

for me if I act as though you are a zombie

and I am a brainless seashell

There Has Never Been A Woman

There has never been

a woman like me before.

I am little scared and unsure.

There are volcanoes

inside me dearest.

There are hurricanes and fusion

bombs under my taste buds

my delicious morsel.

I am nervous about my

intentions for all I have

ever cared for was you.

I will kill the universe to protect you.

May I be forgiven  -I am rebellion

Mold reposted

This is my second time posting this.  I think it has a good message


 

Mold

 

Strangers keep asking when I’m going to fit

the mold that they need.  I’m a hobo, a street musician.

I paint on corners, and read my poems

on the sidewalk. Fuck the coffee snob houses.

They’ll take me if I want them.

I write.   This is it. This is all you get.   

This is my hand. It will probably cramp soon.

I must write while pain is young

 

 

Let us not be folded into others’ cubicles.

Not deranged and broken by their patterns.

 

Listen.  I am the greatest woman to ever live. 

Lick me.  When I walk into a room of dredges

they slide the muck towards me with eyes as lonely

as history. They want to pluck my string. Hear the symphony

of my fucked lost lines. Stand aside

poesy. I have a cunt of amber.  Men, women

I’ve changed the philosophy. I’ve brought back witchcraft.