Monday, November 29, 2010

"there are power lines in our bloodlines"

My poetry has a style like that of writing out lists.

The first time I smoked a cigarette, it

was a Marlboro Red.

It was Garden Grove, CA

the apartment alley

4 high school girls.

An 18th birthday

and a pack of cigarettes--


Now I sit in a cove of brick buildings

inhaling slowly on a handmade replica.

One time a day, only at the moment

when blue bathes in

a color of babies’ skin

do I inhale.

It is only when I come home

from sitting silent in class discussions (cut discussions?)

that I pull the paper between

fingers [create] --

You on my mind:

Books, smells,

your hair against my palms

cheeks touch,


We are

together when trees

start to warn us

of the chill

falling from above.

{i write because i feel like it needs to be written, not because i want to make some great literary masterpiece or statement

they are first solid bursts of inspiration and then edited down like one would shape the leaves of a tree with a chain saw}

Colors of Glass

I used to dig up different colors from the ground.

When I was a kid

they were all over

my grandparents’ yard—

They had an old telephone pole

just laying around

up against a

giant avocado tree

and when you climbed up that pole

it was like a ramp

into a forest

of avocado leaves—

There I was

above the jewel



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