I will walk the line of Imperialism in my mind
I will not conquer only coerce
I will not tread onto anyone's soul
only put footsteps on the sands of time
dragging a stick behind me
only concerned with where I've been
and never knowing where I am going
My Lake will be my ocean
my river, my blood
my heartbeat will be the sun
shining on the land of my thoughts
as I walk each word
a step.
I was walking back from work several miles in the cold
and was probably making a grumbly face as I walked
a friend texted me later and said, "I saw you walking!"
and I thought how embarrassing for someone to see me
in my grumpiest moments when I thought I was all alone
lemon-faced against the wind
with no color in my heart
at all
so now I look around with a face of wonder
because why not
relax the skin on my face
look at the flowers
look at each thing like a miracle
the wavering ripple on a leaf
the fascinating rust on an old grey door
the way power lines lean against the pole
the movement of a jogger
the reflection in the window
the thread on the ground
the trees against the sky
a wonder all of it
all of it a wonder
and put the color back in my heart
and the relaxation back into my face
someone might see me
I might see me
I might see me
Pasture me into a cowland glory digestive tract seance of goop
Genes are riding free on bodies into DNA sperm
and I am here trying to make sense of God
Pleasure me into the stench of plastic pansies bent at funeral parlors
for forgotten Gods
Mean and scathing like dog breath growling
in my heart's junk
yard
Make me a martyr bake me a cake
make me a mixed media rake
come on top of me with all your dead leaves
it's Spring time and the butterfly kneels
in front of the altar of renewal
and my heart lifts up in song
all these broken pipes
and psalms of rust
Hear me, O God!
I fold my arms, I fold the origami
I make myself a star
I cringe each time I hear my name
spoken in that sharp tone
the edges of my origami are soft
patterned by the rain
the edge of a flower
dropping and drooping
laid across the lawn
with tiny sparkling water circles
strewn about like galaxies
across the canvas of muted color
I walk on the sidewalks of Rogers Park
each path a new destination
each garden a new world
In my right hand I held a small glass bottle with no top on it. I carried it carefully as I walked so as to not spill as it was filled halfway with homemade coffee. In my arms, I carried a brown paper bag with a canvas wrapped in plastic inside of it. It was awkward as the wind blew, threatening to lift the items out of my hands.
Moving off the sidewalk, like a small boat leaving the shore, I accelerated across the open asphalt where the busses go, the wind whipped through, making everything hard to carry. The wind also made a tone as it blew across the top of a bottle like a flute.
I lifted the bottle to my lips and blew, but I could not make the same sound.
She came out of the air, a rosebud trampled into the dust of the sky
the bird flew like it walked along an invisible ribbon
Pigeons used to be doves, long ago
I see them sitting on the roof of the steeple
sunning themselves
when they land
The red rouge on her cheeks
was christened like the Spring
running wild this toddler
so fresh faced
her tiny legs like twigs
moving madly she
was giddy to be running
in front of Daddy
she ran toward me like a dream
unafraid
of anything in front of her
just going as fast as she could
as she approached I saw
her jet black hair laying on her head
as smooth as her face
pure innocence
not even kindness could touch her
because she did not know even
what it was to not be kind
this was time to play in the mud
Spring is here
it is time to run!
I think of my own life
compared
in my thick grey jacket
trudging in old blue jeans
my only motivation is coffee
and here is this child
shining like the sun.
The clock has ticked and tocked
on my face
small wrinkles might appear
where smiles have been
where angry faces were drawn in silence
where tears were wept
where fists were pumped
where exasperated sighs once filled my lungs
now there is silence
and the sound of birds singing.
Leaves are glistening
gleaming in the bright white sunlight
blink twice you need to.
It is time for movement.
What would be the difference, if I took a one foot by one foot square and roped it off
and filled it with flowers brim to brim
or if I filled it with fire and then ashes
and we danced shin to shin?
The opposite of marriage is not divorce
it's space
and I could take my mouth and fill it with stars
and never say another word again.
Coltrane has super=powers
of this I am acutely aware
the bare face of God has returned
and my idiotic rampage of notes
has turned sour on the cacophony of greatness
My attempts to secede from the Union
have been met with Lincoln's hat
overturned and asking for change
on a Sunday my tithes are no good here
I will have to put leaves on the water
of the small rushing brook
and think of Walt Whitman
Everything is completely flat
the earth is now a bed sheet
the Plains Indians the Native true Americans, are standing like lampposts
waiting to set my prairie on fire
the gun slingers out West have become
Silicon Valley
I might have to go to Vegas
not to be a gambler
but to be that stone faced pilgrim
standing on the corner
asking people
if they have found Jesus.
Stevie Wonder and cigarillos
Willow windows and rooms of Jello
Scoops of ice cream
James Dean side lean
Hello
Jaundiced candy
dice and laundry in January
Handyman gangster
Plaid rug
Happenstance Dancer
Laced with fancy hamsters
Framed in damaged tantric
Yams on the Titanic
Frantic and handsome
he's coming back besides
bugs are stacked in back
cow hide
horses rancid
Rapt attention, queens
hacking jackets
with plastic acid axes
don't mention the mentor
the mesmerizing tin dragon unhinged
a tinge of the shadows
pristine
Green
Gold
Heat
Who owns the history of the world
Its dodged bullets and its fireflies in jars
Its mad dog who-dunnits and the skyscrapers caked in concrete
breaking apart and me on my knees at a small desk typing
The angels are breaking apart her seance like an orange
The onion is peeled back
and I am a stark reptile
a baby bird yet to grow feathers disgusting as I craw for food
I sat again and looked at my feet. The blood had stopped. I had farther to go.
I slept and dreamed of nothing, but I had wanted to dream of outer space.
As a young girl I watched the stars and always felt I could go there and back. Now I now my feet are much more valuable than those shining lights.
I woke up and shook my heart like a bookcase, the gratitude falling out like many pages of a book, like the cleaning of a canary cage, debris flying everywhere, my gratitude, my gratitude. Falling and landing in space.
Is my gratitude merely platitudes?
It's an armor I started wearing to protect myself from the dark.
I keep seeing those damn lights, though.