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Like air in space
you are there
and in a wisp of a moment
you are gone.

It is a magic trick.

Now you are visible, whole,
Real.

Then 'Poof'!

You are air molecules
a black silhouette
a formless memory.

Please return I ask.
With a loud human shout.
To the air, and wind, and elements that seem so I inhuman,
but remind me of
You.

MilkBlood

It's the simple things
that will save me. Like eating toast with cheddar
and banana in memory of my mother.
And dreaming about babies' heads
soft hair like peach. Longer than your
eyelashes
and sweeter than those cracked teeth on
the moon,
all chipped and broken like

all the other parts.

Kind Word

Some mother's son, an ascetic then eruptive,
spills out into traffic, hair stood on end.

Paroxysmal tongue, wild out of wit.

Though he sees luck that I'm pushing,
I'm pushing for sport,
he can't possibly understand,
that I don't understand then I push.

Some mother's son, some quiet worry was enough.

I should not have pushed,
he should have been spared.

Lincoln Tunnel

Three arches / passage way
of concrete and tiled steel
 
Gateway to Monday-morning
don't-wanna-call-it-Blues

Rubber races toward the mundane routine
Of a morning I want to be happy

And affirm I am a poet
And do so by writing poems

On the commuter bus
Where most sleep

And hopefully dream
Like children do

Not drones
On their way

To another day
At the office







by Mariposa María Teresa Fenández

 

The only objective worth raising up is Care

picking out a Star of the Day is bullshit
power tripping, cult of ego teacher.
I resisted it hard and sometimes still:
I don't care if you like me, I care if you like yourself.
I don't care if you remember me, I care if you know you!

But I was told education is
the authentic relationship between the young and grown
that it's the natural outpouring of what we know. and
When I show my own work, I don't have to point out favorites
The only objective worth raising up is Care.

drag a pen on skin,

you're king. 

eat pensively, 

for making a limit. 

run some water,

to get strained.

tossed-away siphon,

with a streaker nose.

its getting hefty, 

you've been laughed with.

to know me,

my shelf space is for an airplane. 

The oldest recorded dream is a shepherd's
it was pressed in wedges on clay
in ancient Sumer 6400 years ago

A dream, my sister! A dream! In my dream, rushes were rising up for me… Tall trees in the forest were rising up together over me. Water was poured over my holy coals for me, the cover of my holy churn was being removed, my holy drinking cup was torn down from the peg where it hung, my shepherd’s stick disappeared from me. … The churns were lying on their side, no milk was poured, the drinking cups were lying on their side, Dumuzi was dead, the sheepfold was haunted.

4000 years ago Gilgamesh told his mother his dream

Stars of the sky appeared, and some kind of meteorite of Anu fell next to me.

I tried to lift it but it was too mighty for me, I tried to turn it over but I could not budge it.

The Land of Uruk was standing around it, the whole land had assembled about it, the populace was thronging around it, the Men clustered about it, and kissed its feet as if it were a little baby.

I loved it and embraced it as a wife.

I laid it down at your feet, and you made it compete with me.

 2600 years ago it was written that

 If a man flies repeatedly in his dreams, then all that he owns will be lost.  

And last night I dreamed that I was hugging President Obama
for a long time.
He picked me up and then put me down,
but I could not pick him up,
even though,
you guys,
I'm really strong.
He laid kisses down the length of my arm
and I was like, woah, hey,
you gotta stop there.

If Only!

But then, I think,
Who would Bukowski be without his pock-marks, his scars?

Perhaps without mine, I decide,
I would be too perfect?

Ha! If only.

SAME OLD

here I come again

with the DJ metaphors,

with the white dog,

the light and dark

together and apart,

the magic vs poison,

realities of the physical

body and whatnot,

waking up and watching,

stepping into a confessional,

water swirling, the way

I could never learn to dive,

the ways we sabotage,

patterns created as we go

side-stepping the evils

we’ve already seen.

PLEASE DON'T COME IN HERE

Finally, i miss it

the fresh water freedom

car tumbling towards 

a little 

lake town

where i could 

have my way

when we were putting stuff 

into the bedrooms 

you asked me if liked her voice

I have very certain feelings:

that record hooked me 

springtime minneapolis

beautiful, but i'm 

no convert

that car climbed 

mountains 

that looked Swiss, 

Canadian

the crescent cliffs

where wealth dwells, 

and sandwiches are small

ain't it hard

tears

      fall

      from

      my

   face

down

to 

the 

floor where they gather

to remind me of my pain

Today was the kind of day where
you finally stand up to the woman
who never admits she's wrong and she's always wrong
When you realize it's enough
and it's time to do what's right for those kids
and maybe she hates you for it
but at least you don't hate yourself
and maybe those who witnessed it will next time stand up
when she does it again

Tonight was the kind of night
where you need to decompress
while watching bad tv
You drink your lavender and honey tea
and eat some mac n cheese
and drink a pumpkin beer without worrying
that the beer is out of season

everyone with removal of half thought doubt by old buddy ignoring ick

there are days when i can't see anything
and days when i can't say anything either

t says in new york everything is too close
to your face and it helps to look at a sea

but t grew up in fl and i grew up north of here
and i think trees would do more for me

Hurry on down

If I feel lost, or trapped 

          and must escape my father 

who comes driving out of an apple orchard in the fancy car 

          he got from his third divorce 

then I can crawl through the corn rows 

         on my hands and knees and find my way 

following the sodden ground towards the water

         growing colder as the sun sets 

and float down the creek back to my mom’s house 

        which the new owners do not keep as clean as we did 

I'll hide in a plush sleeping bag when I see his blue car 

        make a left turn down the road 

and then I'll find that this must be his very own sleeping bag 

       that has fallen off the roof. 

I do not want to be close to it, but I must stay hidden.