Enough

I'm the girl who hot-boxed her room

turned the heat up to stop the shivers.

you're the guy with the washcloth

calling me idiot, opening windows

it's 3 A.M.

oh darling you're enough

I'm the bespectacled girl,

in the sweats

looking like I'm about to barf.

you're driving me to urgent care

darling you're enough. 

I'm the girl who still feels nauseous
is still feverish, and is still achy.
You're massaging my back,
fixing up my computer
darling you're enough

I'm the girl sleeping in your bed all day

with uneven breathing.

You make me Campbell's chicken noodle,

wrap me in your mother's blanket, 

hold me tightly in your arms

tell me I'm enough.

throwback poem: The 'e' and 'r' in early

In light of my recent visit to the hospital, I thought about my last one at 4 A.M. I like this one because it shows how you can put yourself together and be so calm in chaotic times.

The ‘e’ and ‘r’ in early

There’s an e and r in early

And writhing in pain is one thing

I feel like one of those girls

I’m made to sing about

Hanging around street corners

In the drizzle

Singing out “Love for Sale”

I like people

But isolation is beautiful

Stray cars

Faint music from

one of the ramshackle

houses

Street lights

And streets

That shine like silver

Like the neglected girl

In Les Mis.

Lots of songs…

About hos and miscreants

Pain in beauty

Beauty in pain. 

Odes to Compadres

found this recently. Interesting. Veeery interesting.
#1
Periwinkle girl, between black and white
fluctuate your moods
move from dark to light
And light into the dark
And that's when I'm afraid
Unsure of your sincerity
Peaks of happy highs
Down to the depths of low.
You say you'll get a movin'
Then you never go.

#2
You're off in Seattle
where the rain falls often,
where the pine trees grow tall,
where you're meant to be.

Amidst the gray splendor
with physics endeavors
in rain cloud moods,
good riddance from me.

When I Am Skiing

Nothing else matters

at the edge of flight. 

Letting go of that edge, 

allowing the fall. 

Kitchen Wall, Your Father's House

The calendar on the wall says 2004.

A freebie from that radio station, KBCO

And in the spaces

little notes, 

how to take care of plants, the roots and such

scribbled in your mother's hand. 

And on the side

a narrow sheet of emergency contacts, 

a long list accumulated:

doctors, dad's work, neighbors

but all of mom's numbers crossed out. 

You say it just happens sometimes,

but I just can't stand it. 

and I understand,
why you can't sleep here anymore.

New Years Eve

It's our New Years,
the time's been ticked out.
You tell me you love me
I feel the same.
You give me a word
for things I can't name.