To the person who visits my blog from Oakland every single day:
WHO ARE YOU
SAY HI OR SOMETHING
WHO ARE YOU
SAY HI OR SOMETHING
Accidentally stole
a book
abandoned
on a bench. Inspected
and collected for safekeeping.
No one returned to look.
Took a peek at the receipt
tucked between its pages.
One dollar.
No big loss.
My small gain.
By the bicycle rack,
in a white dress,
a meek thief.
At the stop-
light today, a driver’s side door
opened. A man emerged, stood
alone
in the left turn lane.
Stretched.
Took a breath.
Climbed back inside,
drove off in time.
My heart beating behind him:
butWhy
butWhy
butWhy?
Mellow, melancholic;
“meh.”
Sinister listlessness
surfaces:
slithers, hisses.
It’s a cyclical
sickness,
centered on his
wishes,
everything he feels
he misses.
How many more hours
can I spend
in an oblong box
pretend-
ing involvement in talks
as my eyelids
drift
down
to my cheeks?
How many weeks
have been wasted
writing piss
no better than this?
The countdown is on
as I stifle a yawn.
“Gross.” “That isn’t
art.” “It’s not
beautiful.” [I don’t {want to}
understand. I can’t
keep anything to myself.]
Shh…
…ut
up.
Spun from the just-closed
door into dim lamplight,
eyes adjust, settle on a form:
my dad, asleep on the couch?
Adidas sweats atop a pile of laundry.
For the zillionth time,
my class discusses
creativity,
each posited prompt
polarizing. Stale.
Three feet jiggle
behind crossed
ankles, mine
jiggling at the end
of my crossed leg—
the most movement
indoors. Outside,
nothing is cross.
The trees wave, say
see you
tomorrow.
Who invented
the splotch-pattern of tile? Three
shades of smeared greys,
checkerboarded slightly because
contrast is unsightly? In thirty years,
will these pepper-sprinkled desktops
scream “the aughts”?
Avocado fridges, salmon sinks
colored an era, seem abhorrent
now. Are neutrals meant
to stave away
specificity?
Conservative
does not equal
forever relevant.
Spicy metallic scent of geranium in her fur from the excursion on-leash. I bought a harness and leash for my indoor cat because I am that person who keeps animals indoors then taunts them with supervised forays into the “wild” meaning my yard, where I see her see a dragonfly for the first time, voraciously eat grass, scan the sky for birds, rest in the shade of knee-high shrubs, and try to remember how to walk with a string attached to her back.
Noticeable floaters in my sight lately, not the clear paramecia I’d seen before but dark spots now, dust on the lens, holes in the retina maybe, I don’t know how it works. I suspect that they migrate, or why haven’t I noticed these before? Float on, little specks. Sail your ship beyond the horizon line. Follow the curvature of the sky until you no longer see the moon.
Roadside scenery along I-5, and pretty things in and around Disneyland.
Bird and Egg Studio, Bows & Arrows lounge, a human skeleton in the back of a car in downtown San Jose, Treatbot indoor ice cream truck, “Art Daily” at San Jose State University, Tower Hall at SJSU, “Sparta Day” at SJSU.
San Francisco and Santa Clara, CA.
Hey, gang!
I’ve sort of fallen off of my own wagon with this personal challenge. It has taken me the entire month of April to get around to uploading pictures I took in the month of March, and I definitely didn’t do all of the poems that I wanted to do for National Poetry Month. I am hasty and haphazard because I am human.
Coming right up, photos of different settings and oddities from March. Working title for the collection? “Go outside sometime, why don’t ya?”
and
a few poems (definitely not thirty!), unrevised and imperfect, posted in their entirety because I won’t do anything further with them. I’m calling them, “A gazillion poems just kidding.”
This month’s challenge is twenty little paintings (/drawings?) and I’d like to post them as I do them, so nag me if I don’t.