DOMESTIC WOE

it's the coldest winter I can remember
and my dad is sleeping in his van

sometimes down by the lake
sometimes up north on a side street

I have a new habit
of dreaming about kitchen cabinets
and flooring - not even tile, just fresh linoleum

when I need a change
I put clean sheets on the bed
I get big art books at the library
and put them on the coffee table
for three weeks at a time

my dad laughed about how hard it is to stay awake
when the sun sets at 4pm and you're living in your van

when it gets dark I wonder what he's doing
and start making dinner

Track No. 5

frank ocean

pizzelles stacked

the memory of making them

a memory of self itself.

agnes and angiers

people i knew

who babysat me in front of

portuguese soap operas

and canned peaches with

gas station brand vanilla bean ice cream.

white dreadlocks

on your crusty face

in the depot of the trains

where all your bags and pants

were through and through stained.

sundress

sundial

sundown

sunday sundries

sashay into town

with everyone’s toenails painted brightly red

laughing loudly on their phones

outside the closed McDonalds

shoulders brown but peeling pink

sloughing off skin layers til we look

like rusted cars.

Life automated

technology bonds us together
in the duane reade on parkside
as we complain how technology is tearing us apart
the man jabbing his finger at the touch screen photo kiosk
the cashier telling us no one looks at her anymore
the woman who is not in line saying robots will replace us all
dave says, "you're right, you're right"
keep fighting back, keep making eye contact

The Urge

Deadline fetish,
well worn furrow in the veins.
Calcified,
blood bottleneck; the pressure.
I'll fill like a marigold gag,
like a percocet allergy,
alert, ballooning into action.
Edging, overwork, the short pants of pre-sleep,
a firm note on the desk,
instructions issued, issuing four hours from now,
200 words, then, and thus far.

JENNY PUTS A NEW HAIRSTYLE ON THE INTERNET

knot then pin then knot then pin
in grey reflection, I am old

first you pick a fucking rose
then you pick a fucking thorn

then you put your new boots on
and let the ankles give

make a list of things to return to,
a list of things you left behind

replace the words return, then left, then list,

put one band at the base and twist,
a second band will hold the coil stiff. 

fight / write and dream

i hold my pen in my right hand
connect to the page like a tree trunk

connects to the earth
thoughts thunder down

crash through my pounding head
words that make me wanna scream / and cry
and thrash against rock

rain
water

life

freedom

i claw / hold my pen in my right hand
connect to the time i was made to learn

by the force of godless nuns
oh what fun

joy
joy

how to write
a little brown girl with braids

peeking over my twin sister's desk at school
nonchalant / cool

trying hard to not get caught
stealth

had to look behind me
we sat in alphabetical order

drag

six years old / couldn't spell my last name
to save my life

writing was a chore

something that required deep
deep concentration

drawing my antidote
to a frustrated compromise

drawing / sweet freedom
didn't have to think

just express
just be

confusion between the right and left lobes
of my brain

and decades later / i fight myself

i am compelled to write
and dream / of painting.

medication nation

she
the one who likes cheese
as much as me
has started on prozac
and he's started to go off
and my mother
doesn't trust anyone on medication
maybe because it reminds her of my grandmother
and her disorder
and maybe it gives her
one more thing to worry about