live work

the work presented here is emblematic of the medium in which it was written. It is on-the-spot, random, and coarse; there are many intervening variables that interact with the work's production. Rather than taking this work as representative of the whole of the author's writing, it is encouraged that you treat these as effective «B-sides.»

Paloma. Jul 19
To you who share the name of my favorite bird: never let anyone tell you you are not beautifuk. The city and your home share your beauty, church and Messiah the mundane. Of course your flock---the immensity---are nothing near mundane. Paloma, you weather the winter when so many do not. You move through the crowds when so many do not. Never let anyone underestimate the strength beneath your wings; how comfortably you flit and float above the other birds what sing.

Dealer's choice. Jul 19
My love, although you were always fond of the game, I could never play well. Six-shot revolver aimed at my heart, I would always play a round for you, no matter what else in the world I was feeling. Call it a chip on my shoulder the way I would continue until you cried. The difference, in the end, was that (between us) you never hesitated to start a game / and I always had to finish it.

"Open letter", Jun 28
Woman talking on the phone while picking up dog poop: can we not live in this moment? I worried I saw my animals as houseplants and my roommates as animals but that was before I took my night stroll through Andersonville. But I am content with kibble and newspaper bags, soup bowls with water, the occasional scrap of meat. Heartworm medicine. They live as I do: moment to moment to moment. O Woman, I feel your urge, but this I confess: / I do not / understand it.


"Aviendha", Jun 28
I heard about you before I saw you, friend, riding on your pearl-white steed, saving me from a dragon. There is a saying, almost prophecy, to me it goes a prayer---do not despair, child of darkness, she can find you anywhere. Do not dismay, one of little faith, think of her eyes (the wishing wells), and even if you find yourself at the end of the rainbow you will be out of harm's way. / I heard of you before I saw, my friend, / heard before I believed / of your saving grace, flaming sword, / and majestic, cloud-white steed.


"children", Jun 28
If I had a child I would name her Georgia. Take her to every place most gorgeous to see with young eyes that had now grown dull to mine: 4 leaf clover growing in the alley. Street murals and their highway underpass. Those man-made beaches; those big dogs that shed their hair when you pet them. When she is old we can see the greats: old Paris, Venice, Spain. But my clone must know first how to see, lest she forget the beauty
from which she came.


Untitled [haiku], Jun 28
Love is something that
seems easy on the outside:
it's always a choice.


"summer", Jun 28
I think that for too many people summer is just heat. To call it so misses the message: the heat is a beckoning. It is a letter written to my closet asking it to spew shorts and cut sleeves. It is a message to my friends to flee to the beaches, run from their air conditioned rooms, and play. Though we grow old we still must play. Summer's call I missed for too long, buried in books and computer screens, and even though it is so long missed---its beauty is thus:
there is forever more.


"Purpose in life," Jun 18
There is a question asked when you are born and most fulfill it by life's end. I suppose it's natural to be worried that I've not yet begun this chapter of the reading, this problem set, though we're a fifth of the way through.
Let me to the beaches, the rivers.
Let me to the muddy flower beds.
Let me to children and a family of experiences to be had.

Perhaps then I can come back to the homework.
But only if you help me along.


Untitled ["Immediate thoughts"], Jun 18
Immediate thoughts: on contact. An exothermic reaction produces sustaining heat---sodium dropped in water an example, but explosive. Think of when you shake a hand warmer---or of when rocks pop in your mouth.
A tingling and satiate feeling.
Dear friend---
When can we do this again?


Untitled ["Long summer days"], Jun 18
Long summer days feel longer without you. The thing is that I still don't know what any of this is for. I'm passing out & waking up at midnight, making coffee with less sugar by the day, and yet my voice goes every time I try & speak. Sweat is bleeding through my t-shirt. You cried again on the phone last night. When I get my license, I'm driving to Alaska. And maybe everything will be alright.


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