Movie in My Head

If I am to ever reach my goal, I must start running, I mustn't stroll

I must believe myself to be a writer of non-atrocities

of aches and pains and gold and lead

of theremins and cellos

If I am to ever reach my goal, I must start reaching, deep into my soul

I must pull forth the beating heart of this soliloquy

and know that it's all just one running

book of the movie in my head.

If I am to ever reach my goal, I must redefine what it means

to be a writer, and stop short of it only when it is the dream

the zenith of it is not in my hands

it's in the process of painting each color

each word, a hue

If I am to ever reach my goal, I must be distressed each day

I miss, and remain distressed enough to bury myself in poem

The Story of the Pancake Mouse

The pitter patter of my tiny feet, I am a mouse, and I retreat

The sopping hair after the shower, I go down the drain with what remains of my power

I live inside the wall, I sleep on bits of hay

I gnawed out my place in this world

and now at night I lay

until I smell cheese and then I start to sniff

and I go and start exploring

the whole house bit by bit

but then SNAP!

quite unexpectedly I'm trapped

I'm flattened

just like that.

Hot

My whole life

I had been making tea

and not allowing it to steep.

Sealed Lips

I'm going to be silent.

Silent as an old black rotary phone gutted from the wall.






Silent as a movie before speakers.





Silent as a dog waiting for its master.




Silent as the Spring after chemicals.



Silent as a man kneeling before a mountain.

Silent as a fish in a tank.

If I am going to be that quiet,

I better start practicing now.

No more metaphors.

The Ice Princess and the Dragon

A terrific time was had by all

the lion tamer made shadow puppets on the wall

The ice princess and the dragon had a date

the dragon was late and made her wait

when he showed up he breathed

and then she melted

Granted

I'm not sure if this will be right

sometimes I get the idea for a poem

and half write it in my head and 

it sounds great there

but when I am here

well

but I'll try

The flower I picked and placed

on a dead leaf

it's sounds unromantic

but it was epic

the deep red hues

against the light pale yellow green

I wanted to draw it and thought I will wait for tomorrow

but then realized the flower wouldn't be the same tomorrow

it would wilt

that's the different between nature

and the digital age

on the phone, it's always there

just as bright as it ever was, 

but in real life

there's something to capture-- 

something to not take

for granted.

Tattered Handshakes

Pushed to the brink, that is brinksmanship

where there are no tattered handshakes.

Relaxing

I'm going to write a poem to relax.

I've never done that before.

Usually, I get myself all keyed up.

I try to squeeze the orange.

I get a drop or two of water from the stone.

I wax on and on like peanut butter on the sternum.

It's really a bunch of horseshit.

I had to insult myself at the end just to make it 

have a punchline.

Why must we insult ourselves?

Is it some cheap, super cheap

like Motel 6 on a rainy night cheap

form of humility?

Grunts vs. Milestones

Did the milestone I reached mean something?

Did it make me better or was it each step I took 

on the journey--

each rock in the shoe

each grunt.

Home Office

The notebooks are messy

strange how

the lined paper

is an attempt at organization

the tea bag

in the mug

droops 

into the stained

well

Oddly shaped plastic

made into communication devices

and charging those communication devices

so we can all talk at once

and solve every problem

The Native American knows silence.

Hugging

On the glorious elucidation of the cloud soaked thread

airborne and evaporating and presenting all at once

that magic mile between stars and outer space

collapsing into my collar bone as I lean in for a hug.

Repetition and the Glaring Sun

 I've found the seance to be quite moving

the sheet above the body levitated

I saw the dead hand fall from the window

stuck fast with rubies

Poison? How else was it that she died?

Ribbons still in her hair

Leeches in her teeth

heart full of pride

I might as well get the words

SOAP BOX

tattooed on the bottoms of my feet

my sweet may I repeat?

I've stiffened myself to the possibility

that she might, in her death,

be showing me life lessons;

and my heart is almost open to it

the way curtains pulled tight

barely open

to let in the glaring sun.

Day X

It's day X and I can hardly wait to get to Y 

Sinking Feelings

I happened to look at the shadow moving on the floor

the flight of a mouse

the thought of a bird

a twist of the wind

a kick of the shoe

I never mentioned what I saw

it happened so quickly

that my mind only stopped a moment

the way the setting sun

seems to set upon the land 

before sinking 

behind the dark green hue

of the treelined horizon

yet we all know it's only a mere 

12 hours

until it's melting into the water

like butter

with the sunrise

The Only Way Life is Aligned

 Forward

Name for Sale?

There's a certain air of importance

or should I say error?

of being the coat check girl at the jazz club

It's different than being the coat check guy

although I suppose it's not the time for gender wars

but still

there's something silly about it

getting the little plastic tags

and handing people coats

one time someone called my name 

I couldn't place the face

and it turns out that someone told them

Hannah will take your coat

and I about barfed on myself as I realized it was like

I was a butler

and "Jeffrey will bring the car around for you now" (please add British accent)

I kind of stopped and stiffened and laughed

one thing I realized is people don't tip for how much they care about you--

they tip on how much they care about their coat.

Sometimes I look at the coat hangers making cool shadows

and think of it like sculpture

sometimes I try to think of how many words I can make up

starting with the first letter of each word on the restrooms sign

like

Ribbon

Estuary

Simon

Trial

Ruby

Ocean

Overt

Mother

Simple

Sometimes I look at the shadows and think of the colors,

and of art problems I am working on.

Sometimes I get tea.

Sometimes I listen to the band.

The music used to be so moving to me

I could just be whisked away

now I think if I hear one more moving ballad

or burning solo

I'm going to 

move to

Omaha.