Daffodils don't lie

My feet crunched through
October leaves
almost loudly enough to drown out the
sound of my heart pounding,
a rush of emotion
made me lose my balance
and when I fell I disappeared
[dark brown eyes take me by surprise
every time; i guess
i should have said
im nervous.]
in the leaves, in her hair, in the brassy orange glow
of the sun in the fall.
I hadn't noticed that the season changed.
I chased after autumn curls and
she held me trapped
for a week in muddy October.

I didn't actually expect
a one night
stand, when we first
talked,
but we froze time
déjà vu, in the same place,
with some new friends,
minus the dog...
The furniture was rearranged,
but from behind
closed doors,
we could pretend that
it happened before.

Pretend we hadn't talked,
that it was the alcohol
talking
and when we were alone
downstairs
I got lost
in his arms, forgetting time had passed
as the moment lasted
and the curtains kept
out the daylight
we made up for
lost time.

Drop everything
she's coming.
Make the introductions,
pour the first beer; Look up--
everyone's giving thumbs up,
so we let the lines blur
almost as quickly as my vision
and we were skating across campus
when she pulled me in
and we made out
until the security guard stopped us.
We held hands
in the back of the cop car
while they drove us to detox--
where's Jill?--my heart
throb(bed)--where's Jill?
--I couldn't sleep
until they led us to breakfast;
in the Day Room
some guy yelled at the tv, that's not
how you make fried chicken;
we went back to sleep and
got in trouble
for sharing her bed.

We showed up in masks
and drank from green cans,
mixed drinks
in a cup,
I think I missed my chance
but I stole her ring
and we locked eyes for
way too
long
after I confessed
I liked someone else
(I felt bad for Kevin)
he followed me
upstairs, it made our goodbye
less
than what
I was hoping for.

Touch me

I crave that feeling.

Your soft hands.

Trace the lines of my

existence with your eyes.

Let me be vain.

Make my skin resist goosebumps

my muscles shiver away

while my hands are lost

in wavy hair

make me forget to breathe.

Make my blood rush

through my veins

you are my

greatest

weakness.

I'm one
Flattered
Two be shocked
Listen
To my thoughts
You drank too
Much to sleep
Almost enough to dream
Of dark red

On a concrete island
where the hills cast shadows in the sun
the trees don't allow for much privacy
--for safety or for something else?,
windows open to the sounds of innocense
being trampled on
by hooker boots
on young girls,
tramps on the streets
without dignity, no pride and no
one around here knows
what Aretha Franklin is singing about.
This is a place where
the only food in anyone's fridge
is leftover pizza,
and mothers don't lie
to their daughters about Santa Clause.
People die young
from STDs and stupid decisions,
from drugs and denied healthcare.
People die too young
from too little information,
this lack of knowledge is an epidemic
killing off the working class
single mothers
who are trying to raise their daughters into a better life,
with higher standards, but their
hard work doesn't pay off here,
the underprivileged
can only hold on to a false hope for beauty, not brains
their little girls raised to be
pretty
and dumb
with a voice in the back of their heads
telling them to turn around and run,
telling them to
Get.
The.
Hell.
Out.
Of.
Here.
at the first
chance
they've
got.

I miss the smell of
the water-color paint water
that stained six layers of skin deep
into my cold, clammy hands;
that paint water spilled
and smeared and splashed and splattered and sprayed
on my hands
and my jeans and my SKETCHBOOK...

I miss watching the way
my paintbrush
anchors the paint,
trapping it and forcing it to crack,
the paint that is
fossilizing the paper
as it   s     l    o   w  l y  dries,
holding, stiffening, crinkling
the paper
that resists for as long as it can,
until it accepts its fate and absorbs the water
the paper
that was once some lonely plant
now it dreams of being
the next
Louvre worthy work of art.

I miss Mr. Hannagan's organic lines
that grow
from the dead wood pencil,
furiously, fervently worked and reworked and overworked;
the lines on the paper
and the trails
of color
that flow
from the paintbrush.
(my hands know what they're doing)
Images inconceivable until the moment
when my hands dove into the supply closet
to pick a weapon...
and brushed off the crumbs
from my has-to-be-microwaved-for-15-seconds (Mr. Hannagan's rule)
KrispyKreme donut
dripping its crystallized sugar
on the table,
my knee settles in the familiar groove on the stool,
And then
I watch the scribble
that grows
with confidence
and fury and the spinning
of the clock, ticking away the time until it's time to stop,
put away the pencils
and paper and pens
and ideas
for next time's inspiration.

I miss Art.

2009 will be remembered
as the summer
when I sat on a picnic bench
in a sun dress
needing someone to save me.

I could see myself
in a mini-dress
playing golf;
or on the golf course
in the middle of the night
staring frank the bunny straight in the eye...
Save me, frank!

And in the upstairs bakery
I couldn't take off my sunglasses
even late at night,
I was so afraid he would
see the truth
in my lying eyes.

And when I went back to see him,
after all
this time
his eyes were so sunken in
what does it take to save a friend?
(haha we both look like shit)

all of my poems
turn into dreams
and I can't
get them on paper.
No, poems!

Who could say it would've lasted ? It doesn't matter anymore
anyway
who would have guessed? Don't let that kind of love
go to waste
don't let it waste you away.
I'm still waiting for you
(somehow)


...hah

hookah bars are not well known for their tea
so she slurps it down fast
and snaps on the lid of the to-go cup
she hugs the d.j.
there's a tall guy in a black shirt
blocking the doorway
she checks him
without paying attention to his face but
he pays attention to his
one night stand.

I have!

I'm tired. But I drank the coffee in preparation for the hot walk on the sunburned sidewalk of my day to encompass me and introduce me firsthand to summer. I think we've met before. Sleepiness had to be forcefully bled from my eyes to get me to welcome the day and now all I can do is wait. Until the crash, until nightfall, until I can greet untimely sleep again.

Blueberry pancakes
signal blue waves from the lake--
rushing white water in the
river, running along the rocks we would have climbed the day before.
Short shorts and empty bottles lead the way,
an uphill climb
while tall grasses, yellowing in the seasons,
brush against already torn legs.
Cold Feet
is not an expression,
as feet stand fast against the tide
rough skin calmed by slimy moss underwater.
Numb skin is the first line of defense
against the sharp rocks
embedded in the skipping stones.
A string bikini
defines the daylight
until a wave pulls under.
FIREFIGHT sounds as the
gray sky hides the bushes
on edge
thunder rings above the lyrics
and drowns the
rockslide to the bottom of the hill.
Deafening silence is louder than the music
in the dark black night.
Flames repel the wreckage
until it all BURNS to the ground.

The percocet warmed me on the inside and carried me far away from starched white sheets and plastic tubes. Somewhere where it's musky from a familiar scent and dim blue light filters the air. Somewhere where his skinny arms are thick enough to hold me close and block an escape--not that I want to run. I'll run with this, instead, as he leans in to kiss me and my fingerprints feel the familiar definition of his muscles that I spent three hours in biology lab trying to memorize the names of. I recognize the too familiar movements as each one tenses, uncontrollably, unintentionally guiding my hands--as I'm sure my body yields its own familiar clues. The goosebumps that start at his touch and chase themselves down my stomach and down to the backs of my knees. My eyes, at first tamed by the calm blue, are wild from lack of hesitation--we've never known the meaning of hesitation. I let them close with the knowledge that my skin sees more of him than my eyes could see anyway, even in daylight. I can almost feel the hair move on his neck from my breath, less steady with every brush of his lips against my skin. As trusting hands move hastily I relax in lucid temptation, all too familiar. And then I am lost in him, in my breath, in my painkiller dream.

Anxious, I let myself go
Dancing on the floor;
We escaped to the car
To satisfy our craving for cancer
The bouncers turned their backs
At the X's on our hands
So we snuck into the party,
In the back room (into his hands)
After too little conversation
And too many cups
We crawled up the street,
A chance to retain this feeling--
Our crush
A slip of the tongue,
[It's too late now to begin]
Formal introductions have already become
A chemical--
We'll call it Lust
Memories melding together, like they tend to do,
The wood floor of the club became the carpet of his room
Another slip of the tongue,
As my tongue slid behind his teeth
And his hands, in my jeans, our legs between the sheets
It could have been any other night,
I could have been any other girl
I gave myself to him too soon;
The hunt
Is supposed to come
Before the kill.