tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55667084077822667632024-03-05T00:11:49.516-05:00Poet TreeClimb the Poet TreePoet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-12689319276321874962009-03-21T19:50:00.001-04:002009-03-21T20:07:26.527-04:00Siesta - JamesYou used to sit feline<div>the undulation of muscle</div><div>linking inexorably</div><div>into the darkness.</div><div>You would wait</div><div>by watering holes,</div><div>in malignant homes</div><div>and lace yourself between strangers</div><div>kissing.</div><div>You tend to land on lips</div><div>that are no more reluctant</div><div>than runways.</div><div>It's just that you didn't come here</div><div>expecting the welcome of a stranger.</div><div><br /></div><div>For you,</div><div>dimly lit corridors</div><div>are ground zero,</div><div>laid waiting in the shade</div><div>of mazes</div><div>for straight girls</div><div>to apply themselves--</div><div>to jigsaw the sexuality,</div><div>and after the fifth drink</div><div>they chased every sentence</div><div>with confession.</div><div><br /></div><div>You've felt the lips</div><div>and promises</div><div>of too many retreats</div><div>wrapping themselves in you</div><div>like tapestries of love letters</div><div>written on white flags.</div><div>These surrenders</div><div>were just as much yours</div><div>as every other girl's.</div><div>You never applied</div><div>for this missionary work.</div><div><br /></div><div>You once found yourself</div><div>in war-zoned ballrooms</div><div>compositionally based</div><div>in closets;</div><div>morse coding</div><div>the numeric equivalent</div><div>of sin</div><div>on doorknobs</div><div>with the subtle drop</div><div>of fingerfall--</div><div>but then subtle</div><div>was short for stealthy</div><div>and stealthy,</div><div>short for lying.</div><div>And I'd be lying</div><div>by omission</div><div>to not acknowledge</div><div>that you could sit instead </div><div>like tack hammer.</div><div>'You don't need to be vague,</div><div>charming, sneaky, or untrue.'</div><div>she'd say, while</div><div>contemplating</div><div>the curvature of your palms</div><div>the unclasped bra strap,</div><div>and then ask what you mean</div><div>when you say your prayers</div><div>into her throat.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I'd be lying too,</div><div>to say that the mechanics</div><div>of curtains and closet doors</div><div>don't smother</div><div>or box you in at times.</div><div><br /></div><div>Do the orchestrations of</div><div>Valkyriesque</div><div>war crimes</div><div>sometimes sound like </div><div>cigarettes?</div><div>Do the parallel lines</div><div>you've plowed into scalp</div><div>never grow to anything</div><div>but frustration</div><div>and excuse?</div><div>Does your marrow sometimes</div><div>feel like spolied honey</div><div>when you consider the boys</div><div>you've shared</div><div>through the transient property of</div><div>finger the holes in our bones?</div><div><br /></div><div>Because it puts holes</div><div>through me</div><div>to watch woman after woman</div><div>fall into you</div><div>after having</div><div>boy after boy</div><div>fall out of them</div><div>because holding you</div><div>is as close to self-love</div><div>that will ever seem feasible.</div><div><br /></div><div>There is a rumble </div><div>in your eardrums--</div><div>it is rocket fuel.</div><div>There is something radiating</div><div>in your stomach:</div><div>it is Stalingrad,</div><div>and Chernobyl is on your heels.</div><div>Your heartbeat is a Geiger count,</div><div>and flash photography allows</div><div>every broken bone</div><div>to develop,</div><div>reveals the cities you are</div><div>carrying with you,</div><div>along with the graveyard arrangement</div><div>of forget-me-nots</div><div>hung on every vertebrae in you.</div><div>It is a haunting silhouette.</div><div><br /></div><div>You are not a predator.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's just that some</div><div>cannot help but be prey.</div><div><br /></div><div>And it is always you</div><div>who loses sleep,</div><div>as each of them</div><div>pretends</div><div>that it's your melody</div><div>that is fever-dream harmonizing</div><div>these</div><div>catnaps.</div>Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-90086762931985727782009-02-27T02:21:00.001-05:002009-02-27T02:21:48.313-05:00WHISPERING TO NICHOLAS BATESTo Kenny<br /><br />you are born wrapped in a caul<br />of<br />confusion and medication. your mother lays on her<br />back for an entire 9 months<br />capped off by<br />18 hours<br />of pushing<br />and sucking <br />and wishing<br />that maybe things had gone a little differently<br />with you.<br /><br />your mother is hoping to take you back<br />your father is down at the gift shop<br />and your big sis is at home with a bulimic nanny who likes to bite.<br /><br />you see, the world is what you make of it<br />and your efforts will be rewarded if you put them forward<br />and everyone will value your opinion if you actually have one and-<br /><br />your mother, she’s going to try to force you back.<br />she’s not going to physically force you back into her womb,<br />no. she’s going to unconcieve of you. she’s going to take her brain and wash it with windex and you, you’re not even going to be a smudge.<br />birds will pelt off her glass thinking they are actually flying into her<br />conscious thought.<br /> she’s a killer, learn it now. you’re better off knowing. <br />she’s gonna need some help with all of her brainwashing, 18 hours is hard to forget and 9 months is even more of a challenge so…<br />she’s gonna suck in some snow through her nose<br />and she’s gonna push some glass into her veins<br /><br />and you, you’re gonna be fine. You just have to try harder, pal.<br /><br />live your life to the fullest and try hard,<br />you’ll get somewhere, you’ll see.<br />or if you don’t…well i guess it was everyone’s fault except your own.<br /><br />stay away from cigarettes and pot and booze<br />stay away from women who say they love you<br />stay away from fast cars and credit cards.<br /><br />remember what your sis<br />tried to whisper in your newborn ears-<br />remember what she said as she helped<br />wipe the fluids and casings of home off of you-<br />you are not a carbon copy of that woman on her back<br />you will not be responsible for picking her up off the floor<br />or doing the dirty dishes she will leave in the sink.<br />don’t block the punches that she receives<br />or take the hits that are passed her way.<br /><br />you’ll wreak of cigarettes<br />you’ll go to school with fleas<br />you’ll be hungry all the time<br />and you’ll learn that water can be told to taste like anything you tell it to.<br />you’ll learn how to swim without help<br />how to be black and blue<br />you’ll learn to muffle coughs and sneezes out of a fear of being heard<br />you’ll learn to swear and cuss with the best of them.<br />you’ll learn how to jump off of a two story roof and run to the neighbor’s for help.<br />you’ll learn to sleep with a gun underneath a tiny twin bed.<br /><br />your sis though,<br />she’s going to invent motherhood for<br />the both of you.<br />she’s going to tuck you into this world and<br />she’s going to bring you back to life.Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-6432130961941809212009-02-16T13:21:00.003-05:002009-02-16T13:39:03.710-05:00my tolerance has increased.i've got this theory that you're the reason hot water doesn't seem quite so hot anymore and oxygen doesn't seem quite so...what's the word, pure?<br />you've made me think that it's time for an embargo. i've been turning the handle so hard, it's coming off the wall.<br />scrubbed raw in lukewarm water leaves the most important muscles exposed to viral infections and bacterial defection consider this as you change the sheets of your bed tomorrow.Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-43444288715097858262009-02-16T13:16:00.000-05:002009-02-16T13:20:45.108-05:002:05 A.M. Ode to a Metaphorin the light of my kitchen you look like a relic. something to worship on the tips of unwashed, torn toes. let’s dance on the linoleum and forget that our shoes are filled with cement and our hearts seem to belong to everyone except each other. <br />sometimes i imagine you as inanimate objects- how you would engender the bends of a mahogany table leg or the sleek shiny handle on a avocado colored 1950s style refrigerator door. and sometimes you metastasize from simple pictorial representations such as these to the inevitable and unstoppable metaphor. you’re sand pouring through the gaps in my fingers, phases of the moon passing without my permission and my personal favorite- the closed black door at the end of a hallway lit only by light leaking through the gaps in your casing. so let’s approach it in that Freudian way, you know, the stuff of dreams. let’s talk in similes and circles and avoid any sentence structure of meaning. you’re a door, you’re a door, you’re a door, you’re a door that leads to-<br />well maybe the metaphor is not that thought out or maybe you keep me in check with your schizophrenic attentions and your fleeting affections and defy me to devise any meaning from your gazes and phrases of interest. that’s all true but i call you a door rather than a window or piece of roofing or a box in my cellar because i know how you’d love it to have your handle turned and to meet a girl who would finally go through you.<br />I’d love to be ending this in the form of a romantic Shakespearean couplet dripping with irony and wit but instead, i’d like to let you know, you’re a door, leading to where i am entirely unsure.Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-27193800322789988762008-12-30T17:38:00.002-05:002009-01-01T15:23:41.463-05:00lovelikedishwater- Anastasia<span style="font-family:times new roman;">i am a prisoner in the world without end and</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">i suffer at the feet of this lovesick addiction,</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">crinkling into a pile of dry skin</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">in the palm of something lovely.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">it's love of a mother, lover, sister, daughter, niece</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">in a million tiny pieces floating over my head</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">and appearing before me on this t.v. screen.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">it's abandonment, forsaken and dead</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">underneath my feet</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">i am a jailor in a world without end</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">and i worship at the feet</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">of something bitter tasting-</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">milky and gray</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">i'm drowning in the kitchen sink.</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">my toes will rise to the top-</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">grease and suds and sponges-</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">and i'll watch you melt into a bowl of domesticity.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">you'll find a way through</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">the pipes in the walls</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">and escape to London or France or Amsterdam.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">i flip through channels.</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">it'll be static</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">after popcorn</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">after snowy civilization.</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">These Channels Are No Longer Broadcasting.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">the sink's all dried up.</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">i'm trying to find a rabbit hole to fall through here and</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">some descension back to earth.</span>Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-18834629703773010342008-07-02T23:50:00.003-04:002008-07-03T11:11:51.966-04:00<h3 class="post-title entry-title"> <a href="http://shesarealnowheregal.blogspot.com/2008/07/flux.html">Flux-Anastasia</a> </h3> I am in a constant state of stress.<br />Of egress and regress<br />and I never know what<br />phase the moon is in<br />or the mood of the<br />woman who shares my bed.<br /><br />I'm selfish and unfortunately<br />prejudiced against this<br />world that tells me<br />I must pay for everything<br />I gain and let<br />time slip through my fingers<br />because this loan is out of grace.Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-37416529195808477302008-07-01T20:20:00.003-04:002008-07-02T23:53:10.699-04:00Down the Stairs- AnastasiaThe most painful thing<br />I've heard in a long time<br />is the downward trek<br />of a person falling<br />who still isn't ready.Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-29878643744257416332008-05-10T11:03:00.002-04:002008-05-10T11:07:04.501-04:00James; Smoke Signals<p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Catching embers with our lower lips,<br />we shared misery spread out<br />like a tablecloth;<br />a decoration we’d place our survival upon<br />and consume only meager portions of,<br />in a flavor<br />easily familiarized.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p>Sitting in the makeshift triage<br />framed by citronella blowtorches<br />like the missing muscle masses<br />we hauled in zip-loc bags<br />filled with formaldehyde<br />could be replaced if one<br />simply held the hand of another<br />with the same injury.</span></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Excavating our former battlefields,<br />I reminisce on future incantations;<o:p><br /></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p>hope we never shake arrowheads from our hair<br />to plunge the <st1:place st="on">Arctic Ocean</st1:place> through each other<br />by carving our sins into chalkboards,</span></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p>hope we never stretch coitus across centuries<br />where the middle three hundred years<br />of bad sex gets blamed on evil spirits,</span></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">hope I never confess to you in sentiments<br />stolen from movies you’ve never seen,<br />hope you never write poems about me<br />being a nostalgia junkie<br />track marks pacing through photo albums,<br />or lament how my emotional state gets annexed<br />by every song in the vault of my memory bank</span></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p>but mostly, I hope when I muster the intestine<br />to stomach the firebrand<br />working towards my esophagus<br />to blow smoke signals through phone lines,<br />you’ll receive them<br />or return them at your earliest convenience.</span></p>Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-21806806784160173192008-04-22T23:35:00.005-04:002008-12-12T01:50:27.012-05:00Anastasia: Dig<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5YpV1IPSGbaLpYlcqwXGeek7dbqfS-UwSZQIMmusgizUY0UxUrBWqhVn2BhpfRSEK0vQtg5wLBsgr-VzbZEqXc8e3bDr1TRZIEk9JG-S8lpj_ltc7MlZnZR67Xvs-34_-tR_9X0IxXXEU/s1600-h/100_0400.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5YpV1IPSGbaLpYlcqwXGeek7dbqfS-UwSZQIMmusgizUY0UxUrBWqhVn2BhpfRSEK0vQtg5wLBsgr-VzbZEqXc8e3bDr1TRZIEk9JG-S8lpj_ltc7MlZnZR67Xvs-34_-tR_9X0IxXXEU/s200/100_0400.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194451591236012610" border="0" /></a><br />these old bones<br />will bake in the<br />sun and chatter<br />a message in<br />morse code<br />asking when<br />will you stumble<br />on my stony bed?Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-2104862424500918502008-04-17T17:30:00.003-04:002008-12-12T01:50:27.128-05:00Anastasia: untitled<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdpINw4IzTgV9tHpEBjQGHlkKe3DTRP9huSRWnBXCcLjWQBD_3N7OM4tyEjOMii9VTXGslP3swDWV_HtN4znnt_p3O7EezJhyphenhyphenlsuck3OxlbxBzz0iA4zW67HuGuaJEOdxG4VhcEMmtT-O3/s1600-h/100_0435.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdpINw4IzTgV9tHpEBjQGHlkKe3DTRP9huSRWnBXCcLjWQBD_3N7OM4tyEjOMii9VTXGslP3swDWV_HtN4znnt_p3O7EezJhyphenhyphenlsuck3OxlbxBzz0iA4zW67HuGuaJEOdxG4VhcEMmtT-O3/s200/100_0435.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190603242133663362" border="0" /></a><br />you've gotten inside<br />a postmodern mind<br />and proven<br />that words<br />can't ever count<br />for everything.Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-86109723711150391812008-04-11T12:14:00.004-04:002008-12-12T01:50:27.290-05:00Anastasia: observation deck<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkbJeQMz9qhirO7HOCdZnzD3efDd07vFhmmYtBg8_i9l1EhTNjoES3DMhE6dopDblNrh_2dqwTCK71HuBUnVABOcaDLio5cgbNRKXMDyYCUKqZWIzitaL10_3pmNceo2Sxj4Wb6pF0y1Da/s1600-h/Photo+73.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkbJeQMz9qhirO7HOCdZnzD3efDd07vFhmmYtBg8_i9l1EhTNjoES3DMhE6dopDblNrh_2dqwTCK71HuBUnVABOcaDLio5cgbNRKXMDyYCUKqZWIzitaL10_3pmNceo2Sxj4Wb6pF0y1Da/s200/Photo+73.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188025303878975186" border="0" /></a><br />in a crowded room of people<br />i feel like i am the one<br />under the scope<br />of the eye of God.<br /><br />every time i fall<br />i scrape my knee and bleed<br />and i stare in disbelief as<br />my blood cells scream "god isn't watching."Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-2956461621566024522008-04-10T22:53:00.003-04:002008-12-12T01:50:27.365-05:00Anastasia: I do my best thinking in the shower.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifMlaFwXRKFRsugl5SsqE2wMAc2VoMdNnkMtfYoxj1JZVvyQYZkmRU8eoU39GAvk2RabB4knD1yR7n32kvOJQPN5fRZIoSrPJ_S0xer5oL8tuKo72qq0JCaWHxQUruKC_2VNcoZmWre3lw/s1600-h/Photo+148.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifMlaFwXRKFRsugl5SsqE2wMAc2VoMdNnkMtfYoxj1JZVvyQYZkmRU8eoU39GAvk2RabB4knD1yR7n32kvOJQPN5fRZIoSrPJ_S0xer5oL8tuKo72qq0JCaWHxQUruKC_2VNcoZmWre3lw/s200/Photo+148.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187817341562502850" border="0" /></a><br />everyday I run the shower<br />for several minutes<br />before I get in.<br /><br />I listen to the water<br />splatter on the floor<br />and peek the curtain<br /><br />just enough to feel<br />the faucet kiss<br />my bare hands and feet<br /><br />that rest beside it<br />on the floor.<br />I think of all the ways<br /><br />I am torn.<br />Between left and right<br />up and down.<br /><br />my body is segmented<br />like an ant. I never<br />know which part is<br /><br />alive and moving.<br />maybe my arms are<br />dead and maybe my<br /><br />thighs are an icy<br />tundra, unfriendly and hostile<br />to manifest destiny.<br /><br />everyday I stand<br />and enter into steam.<br />I never wait for it to cool.<br /><br />everyday I start from the top<br />and work my way to the bottom<br />but I wonder-<br /><br />how long would it take me<br />to be kissed clean<br />unmoving, on the floor?Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-63527368931200822972008-04-10T14:52:00.003-04:002008-04-10T15:00:39.949-04:00Anastasia: Firecandles burn and i am<br />hallucinating, feeling,<br />red, orange and yellow fire<br />in the pit of my<br />stomach. the gentle<br />tips of your fingers will spread<br />and i will thank the stars in 5 syllable words.Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-39373262154054105722008-04-10T01:22:00.002-04:002008-12-12T01:50:27.736-05:00Anastasia: 3689<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji3TIMqPsuz2_BvWYg2OasFON54yk4Sq3NWU_bvSRoq_SznQzywZc9En9O_dY3w90bH4NOEyPLM2jCMZLSkDlxXMmvHustG3QRdzxMNkVMnJxL8sOoP0kldwTaSmjO9e1ZzGtq_F10VWWJ/s1600-h/Photo+76.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji3TIMqPsuz2_BvWYg2OasFON54yk4Sq3NWU_bvSRoq_SznQzywZc9En9O_dY3w90bH4NOEyPLM2jCMZLSkDlxXMmvHustG3QRdzxMNkVMnJxL8sOoP0kldwTaSmjO9e1ZzGtq_F10VWWJ/s200/Photo+76.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187483974790921906" border="0" /></a><br />our magic number<br />is 3689.<br />i count the<br />ways we<br />can play:<br />3689-3688<br />is 1<br />3689 + 1000<br />is 4689<br />and i count<br />until my finger tips<br />numb and my<br />mouth stops<br />forming vowel sounds.<br />i wish i had been<br />better at math;<br />i am sure these<br />numbers and vowels<br />can cancel one another<br />somehow.Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-15311653951926714812008-04-09T14:12:00.003-04:002008-12-12T01:50:28.126-05:00christa*: de la vieja (of the old woman)<span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:85%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheGwYennjm5W6WsgN4qhuK_X_loXe34Sjss5IrNRua8z6WzAfNPFeo7PHQ3e_CuomO6pIbDTO4fCqBA6nrpic-uLnYD1bmhmH23UrIMcpVH39wRbVXLcmotvyxwivU4mYfFIeTmjmGO2_C/s1600-h/IM000913.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheGwYennjm5W6WsgN4qhuK_X_loXe34Sjss5IrNRua8z6WzAfNPFeo7PHQ3e_CuomO6pIbDTO4fCqBA6nrpic-uLnYD1bmhmH23UrIMcpVH39wRbVXLcmotvyxwivU4mYfFIeTmjmGO2_C/s200/IM000913.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187311939875880594" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXO0t7_1SGtTA1Ibh7oDBa4iUuHu-Uz3ldXeP9P2mIS5iAi5MYiIFlWrCm7lqcPIjg_4gUg0nME88JOtsigntBqupYAi7QUCfYSXM3rVyAbB1bdL1QdxmREWtSJXvEttP5XZY0Hwo3o0YG/s1600-h/IM000914.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXO0t7_1SGtTA1Ibh7oDBa4iUuHu-Uz3ldXeP9P2mIS5iAi5MYiIFlWrCm7lqcPIjg_4gUg0nME88JOtsigntBqupYAi7QUCfYSXM3rVyAbB1bdL1QdxmREWtSJXvEttP5XZY0Hwo3o0YG/s200/IM000914.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187311944170847906" border="0" /></a><br /></span> <p style="font-family: verdana;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" lang="ES-MX" ><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" lang="ES-MX" >la boca de la vieja<o:p></o:p><br />tembla<o:p></o:p><br />revive, repaso, fecúndo<o:p></o:p><br />dale un momento<o:p></o:p><br />para que puedan caer<o:p></o:p><br />todas las fotografías<o:p></o:p><br />de azulejos en sol sangrante, olores<o:p></o:p><br />de sabanas </span><span style=";font-size:85%;" lang="ES-MX" >recién</span><span style=";font-size:85%;" lang="ES-MX" > planchadas<o:p></o:p><br />caer de sus labios<o:p> </o:p><br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: verdana;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" lang="ES-MX" >la mano de la vieja<o:p></o:p><br />tembla<o:p></o:p><br />revive, repaso, melancólica<br />dale tu mano<o:p></o:p><br />para que se quiete<o:p></o:p><br />y se vaya<o:p></o:p><br />sin miedo<o:p></o:p><br />del olvido<o:p></o:p><br /><br /></span></p> <span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:Tahoma;font-size:85%;" > </span> <p style="font-family: verdana;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" >the mouth of the old woman<o:p></o:p><br />trembles<o:p></o:p><br />reliving, reviewing, fecund<o:p></o:p><br />give her a moment<o:p></o:p><br />so that they fall<o:p></o:p><br />all the photographs<o:p></o:p><br />of tiles in bloody sun, smells<o:p></o:p><br />of sheets just ironed<o:p></o:p><br />falling from her lips<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: verdana;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" lang="ES-MX" >the hand of the old woman<o:p></o:p><br />trembles<o:p></o:p><br />reliving, reviewing, melancholic<o:p></o:p><br />give her your hand<o:p></o:p><br />so that she can be calm<o:p></o:p><br />and go<o:p></o:p><br />without fear<o:p></o:p><br />of forgetting<o:p></o:p></span></p>Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-30972372783706147712008-04-09T13:58:00.003-04:002008-12-12T01:50:28.293-05:00christa*: a midnight proposal<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50EFJQ-0d03M2JCYZOdjMPw0R3rH58-S0lRD1zzDDoyF1LeMC5RHg2RqdZZ57a_yI7nhZWX9Gb5QXMTLxj0giU4Mekdh9QKsRkENV3sChOy8OtC4op3eU43WmP8giPHMMpOOYfbYmdLSZ/s1600-h/Picture+3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50EFJQ-0d03M2JCYZOdjMPw0R3rH58-S0lRD1zzDDoyF1LeMC5RHg2RqdZZ57a_yI7nhZWX9Gb5QXMTLxj0giU4Mekdh9QKsRkENV3sChOy8OtC4op3eU43WmP8giPHMMpOOYfbYmdLSZ/s200/Picture+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187309113787399810" border="0" /></a>you lead a very complicated life, he said. complicated? maybe... but today it's just empty. Keys opening doors is the only hint of belonging as the space between the possibilities expands with my chest. Breathing in smoke and smog, I long for a horizon, a snow-covered mountain, a lake, with a canoe for two. If I am two, will you be my one? We can play at love, nibble at it around the edges until the sugar-coated giddiness forgets the goal of the game. For playing kissing touching slide the snowflakes down the tips of green, carried by old friends weighed down by change. I think I could love you, she said, and kissing touching playing they giggled, tossing words like leaves of fall, and welcoming their return. Cherry blossoms of warm rain float down through thick air of four eyes searching, seeing hands touching in propped pillows and wondering... would you complicate me?Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-65749597112894627602008-04-09T10:53:00.003-04:002008-12-12T01:50:28.454-05:00Anastasia: An Explanation<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8YNVR7d5wbFylLbdSBLbS5ZtAHZSen_mAb9FqLtxjDamiwOP1bhJaXi62c_CoPC9kSn9wuqRfEGpC-rDSUVtsc0XjbDViZQnenHJeecVF3ukqF9xaHZh6X9ccM60kqSh6LubqlFzZEDFj/s1600-h/Photo+97.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8YNVR7d5wbFylLbdSBLbS5ZtAHZSen_mAb9FqLtxjDamiwOP1bhJaXi62c_CoPC9kSn9wuqRfEGpC-rDSUVtsc0XjbDViZQnenHJeecVF3ukqF9xaHZh6X9ccM60kqSh6LubqlFzZEDFj/s200/Photo+97.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187259940229021794" border="0" /></a><br />when sleep finds<br />the corners of my eyes<br />i know that it is in<br />my veins,<br />flowing behind my retinas<br />and in my fingertips.<br />in the strands of my hair<br />and in the heels of my feet.<br />when sleep finds the corners<br />of my eyes it comes<br />to me in a flash<br />and i am jolted awake-<br />fly to the light<br />and let every word<br />of you flow,<br />pour from my<br />mouth.Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-66528309492448278112008-04-08T23:42:00.001-04:002008-12-12T01:50:28.657-05:00Anastasia: The River At Night<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG2vJXkipBfgWZeNP7VUIinymjSzCo8RWABqJlt3Zf2jjHKDT-glaL1Ub1CnMyfMqkKP6mX2Kd0RHbOf0Fe1YW161Cy-f-Y6pvT_sTA-LiQipA7R7xErfweVM6n3AvLtrSzAHJv0toldWd/s1600-h/Photo+148.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG2vJXkipBfgWZeNP7VUIinymjSzCo8RWABqJlt3Zf2jjHKDT-glaL1Ub1CnMyfMqkKP6mX2Kd0RHbOf0Fe1YW161Cy-f-Y6pvT_sTA-LiQipA7R7xErfweVM6n3AvLtrSzAHJv0toldWd/s200/Photo+148.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187086341945884754" border="0" /></a><br />I cross the River at night<br /><br />I stand midstream<br />between her shores<br />and wait for the tide to rise.<br /><br />I count fish and pebbles in her eyes<br />in the moonlit rays between passing clouds.<br /><br />I wait until morning,<br />climb out and wait for her<br />to silver again.<br /><br />I cross the River at night.Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-88116495807772659762008-04-08T23:31:00.002-04:002008-12-12T01:50:28.860-05:00Anastasia: Westward Current<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-4ivEBTLdUwOBKcgJc-Ho4atnhkgd-yJmBFamQOy3uVdZoV_F71INrPCwbrlekA8Z9NcH_YU9ivHDm_61dNrxCHKX0fj__MIerDQQDEQ5HG55g2Pa05BdRf1kJRmaYEwaCLssdqk05Sqg/s1600-h/Photo+163.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-4ivEBTLdUwOBKcgJc-Ho4atnhkgd-yJmBFamQOy3uVdZoV_F71INrPCwbrlekA8Z9NcH_YU9ivHDm_61dNrxCHKX0fj__MIerDQQDEQ5HG55g2Pa05BdRf1kJRmaYEwaCLssdqk05Sqg/s200/Photo+163.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187085714880659522" border="0" /></a><br />I've run to the edge of<br />the map, looking for you.<br /><br />I can see you<br />through the fog on the horizon<br />I can hear you<br />through a violent mob of seagulls.<br /><br />I've watched you<br />running back and forth along the coast,<br />waiting for you to join<br />a western school of fish gulping oxygen at the bottom of the ocean<br />speaking in silent english of how they<br />long for the worms and waters of a western seaboard.<br /><br />I watch and wait<br />and sink a hook into the ocean<br />hoping you'll come take my bait.Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-17896160640051418872008-04-08T01:13:00.003-04:002008-12-12T01:50:29.290-05:00Anastasia: *****<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF8FXlb2Z0FY7zsQQNHcOKKFI0VctM9N4HAo71Y3S4RYqPGhonEUlrPkCkUNsBmomE9LDSKe6MNnhWqfAH1nGQvolI46sSumRMw4NZnOWnC3BuHjQOVpp7fceQLbCjgk-BfO1L0IzkTY0u/s1600-h/Photo+165.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF8FXlb2Z0FY7zsQQNHcOKKFI0VctM9N4HAo71Y3S4RYqPGhonEUlrPkCkUNsBmomE9LDSKe6MNnhWqfAH1nGQvolI46sSumRMw4NZnOWnC3BuHjQOVpp7fceQLbCjgk-BfO1L0IzkTY0u/s200/Photo+165.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186738969285951538" border="0" /></a><br />you breathed into me<br /> a black velvet sky<br /><br />and i spent a century<br /> counting the holes of the sun burning through.Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-52202811371566585742008-04-07T12:43:00.005-04:002008-12-12T01:50:29.465-05:00James: Almost There<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5P7qMADv01kB2nXWsCfayBsFksqo9t0HPAMkvT-hKEx7xLfceABqbZs6Ahjumm6IObzJwJoWRynGi9QsN0QvNZCpIbYWXAclAK1zt8cm_6H_ifBL08O_MvVtysgK9M0YTNGn80sMK0qKz/s1600-h/n16501361_31383858_1889.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5P7qMADv01kB2nXWsCfayBsFksqo9t0HPAMkvT-hKEx7xLfceABqbZs6Ahjumm6IObzJwJoWRynGi9QsN0QvNZCpIbYWXAclAK1zt8cm_6H_ifBL08O_MvVtysgK9M0YTNGn80sMK0qKz/s200/n16501361_31383858_1889.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186547727277162530" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Almost There<br /><br /><br />I am driving West on I86<br />listening to David Bowie—<br />Life on Mars?<br />on repeat,<br />casting glances to where<br />I’ve engraved the words<br />'Almost There'<br />at Ten and Two<br />on my steering wheel,<br />with the destination:<br />Away.<br />I breathe the neon gas<br />of road signs, looking for one<br />that might tell how far until<br />Someplace With Something Worth Seeing.<br /><br />I contemplate interstellar portraits of<br />all the lights dying;<br />What must the Moon have thought when<br />the Northeastern United States turned off?<br /><br />I spend the highway reprogramming a heartbeat<br />to match the protest songs of a generation,<br />manipulate my voice into radio waves,<br />aim it at satellites to converse with the planet,<br />if you’re out there,<br />please,<br />triangulate my coordinates and tell me where I’m going:<br />Yesterday will always be<br />not quite as good as it could have been.<br />Tomorrow will never be anything but possibility.<br />Remind me what it’s like<br />to wake up in a city that forgot you were there,<br />tell me again about the open road<br />while I’m stuck overnight in Grand Central<br />reading Ferlinghetti,<br />make antagonism tangible so I can have a ‘this place’<br />to want to get myself out of,<br />write me the equation<br />for the medicinal effect of avoidance,<br />carve my spine out of ball bearings<br />so I may occasionally slide from my skin,<br />compress me into aerosol cans<br />so I can mingle at dinner parties in the troposphere,<br />whisper me the words to every<br />soldier poem,<br />Dear John letter,<br />suicide note,<br />grocery list,<br />and religious text.<br />Teach me the phonetics of humming piano keys<br />in a forgotten language.<br />Call me between the hours of 2 and 3 AM,<br />leave a message after the beep;<br /><br />I’m no longer questioning<br />the presence of life elsewhere.Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-20104384344847819612008-04-07T10:50:00.003-04:002008-12-12T01:50:29.631-05:00Scratch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUifN-s9PZ5eW9cfgxLEgRamZGBXAP6jKU8Bpw7mIF8ypXIqUPK77lH-3tcSw97ze3xTCsGBeBWhqWrrNjIMwYdb8JSIgKfEJ6CUfsXDfZ3ZfkeRDA3XhwvW55hcoJy_nJC8K3a-mbuS6l/s1600-h/Photo+97.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUifN-s9PZ5eW9cfgxLEgRamZGBXAP6jKU8Bpw7mIF8ypXIqUPK77lH-3tcSw97ze3xTCsGBeBWhqWrrNjIMwYdb8JSIgKfEJ6CUfsXDfZ3ZfkeRDA3XhwvW55hcoJy_nJC8K3a-mbuS6l/s200/Photo+97.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186517396218118114" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">scratch </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">the itch underneath my skin </span> <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">makes me crawl </span> <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">like a snake </span> <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">shaking off its old </span> <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">and loosening armor. </span> <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">i can feel it </span> <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">flaking and falling </span> <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">to the ground </span> <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">around my feet. </span> <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">this is my morning </span> <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">shower </span> <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">this is my ride to work </span> <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">this is the final picture behind </span> <span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);">my retinas. </span>Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5566708407782266763.post-71580413792279968742008-04-07T00:47:00.001-04:002008-12-12T01:50:29.891-05:00Anastasia<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIk-qkoMuJ64ZfWuwRygjzKHRvz6OQ0trKTgPs1lwUvYeMwlczbQfqiWSBvc-dVlLCtwyhLpWcAqkn5IEBgtKmha2ynZtlJN355Hy70gBFAMgEGbZ1kv2Pf4dozGCF5Sx9_j8IiWnIe7zw/s1600-h/Photo+97.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIk-qkoMuJ64ZfWuwRygjzKHRvz6OQ0trKTgPs1lwUvYeMwlczbQfqiWSBvc-dVlLCtwyhLpWcAqkn5IEBgtKmha2ynZtlJN355Hy70gBFAMgEGbZ1kv2Pf4dozGCF5Sx9_j8IiWnIe7zw/s200/Photo+97.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186517842894716914" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Igneous<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">i am a flat</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> strong</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> piece of historical</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> evidence</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> that the earth</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> existed without</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> love. throw</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> me in the ocean</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> and i will sink</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> to the bottom</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> or skip me</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">skim me</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> across the</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> glass top</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> of your world.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> put me in</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> your hand</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> and i will</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> let you read</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> my imperfections.</span></div>Poet Treehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09457272571255272754noreply@blogger.com2