#extradirty
if i look back, i am lost
Misplaced Lens Cap
oozey mess
DEAR READER
we're not kids anymore.
Xuebing Du
Sweet Seals For You, Always
blake kathryn
Peter Solarz
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Monterey Bay Aquarium
art blog(derogatory)
NASA
roma★
KIROKAZE
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Cosmic Funnies
trying on a metaphor
Kiana Khansmith
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@redkneesocks-blog
wednesday
wednesdays are typically sweaty, we wrap our feet up like babies but yanking our toes so our bunions stop growing (like babies) waking up our heaters in december smells like climbing gyms and Other Mindless Activities we do to keep our Heads Down without focus (not on Work or How It’s Going but on why we we feel an absolute sorrow, sorry for bringing it up) You can fall asleep with the door open, baby, i’ll come to bed soon.
the six weeks of september
i’m going to remember this time now as the six weeks of september when i could run and you couldn’t, i could work and you didn’t, when i was stronger than you and you still hurt; please but don’t slouch on couches, please but kiss me at bedtime remember only love is on the moon so what shape does the moon make when its stomach hurts?
sick/this doesn’t feel like fighting together for you
held hands are soft, rattly, something loose - brain down in your stomach but i know your heart’s with me, and mine hurts (sorry, no really like that time and that time and the other but this is different not for you so far away, but because you already left and your hands and slumped shoulders were the last things that i got to Keep or got to spend Time with, and i didn’t need to kiss you; i knew you’d known my heart) 6 weeks is too long to be wrapped up in a blanket, and getting better soon becomes more and more for me
in the balcony
we’ve never been so close before, you huddled up to me that woman’s engaged and a man plays music for all of us we are quiet but stabby - one hand to God, up on the rail, we want to be alone but have never been closer, finding our own peace and quiet
these are very sturdy poems
i don’t understand the insides of my brain (when i am supposed to, when i am not) and these are very sturdy poems but that time you met me at the train station surprised me into being solid over you; you see the weeks (hours) are hard when ADD cancers all up in me and i wonder or think or fear or cry about the Bible in my bed; yes really you know getting married is like realizing you’re already there
maybe
braided creek, pancakes, and calendars read: jim harrison, cookbook, and discounts sunny days inside theatres poking at my belly (maybe i’ll buy new shoes) saying i don’t know what i love anymore: california or philadelphia, (a state of being too far v. too close, a fallen paragraph, a way i want to listen but her voice in words makes me want to fall further away, saying tomorrow i’ll be closer, only if you visit today)
if i grew 10 inches and found narnia, would you still answer “maybe”? would you still stay at home?
richmond morning
i can’t find my debit card and i still carry around last year’s planner and my grandma died. you are so sad today and yesterday and the night before; like the clouds frame the trees i don’t know if i should touch you; the windows aren’t big enough to hold you up in the morning - the hurry and coldness of the AM keep me in the dark kitchen while you billow into seriousness. sitting in the Chair by the windows with my sun
i am leaving you alone; you’re better off doing a lot of untouching
pissy lady on the train
i don’t know if the straw that broke the camel’s back was plastic (or what?)but some days more than others i need to go to the hospital
my handwriting is better on these days (tattoo- worthy almost) and my bike is heavier than Usual but not too heavy for someone- else to pick up Or kick out of their way
i don’t care about the pope, guys but presidents make sense to me but not on these days or right now because right now is a million buckets of water poured over my head just my head
sometimes i get dried off before the next straw but sometimes the water begins again, and again is when the world fits inside my broken up brain and doesn’t make sense
oh
sometimes the last mess to come out of your mouth is the notes in your trombone, and the sweat in your underwear has nothing to do with the trouble in your stomach. Other days, your friend moves to barcelona and your handwriting gets worse. wait for me at he bottom of the stairs nd we’ll take a picture together (nope) but why does everything good always happen at once? watch the sad, like the cheeseburger in your stomach, that time you lost $19 after going to a yard sale, the other time you thought about your perfect friends together kissing, and when you weren’t good enough and looked up to God and asked about tomorrow morning
too too far
too sad, too slow to get along: i moved from san francisco on a sunday and became closer to God and farther from my christians hey hey hey today you prayed that your brain is too balanced, always adding salt because your mother lied about sodium, and one night suddenly remembering to keep your eyes open and maybe some night in a whisper you hit your head and tell your guilt: there’s no fishing in these waters
too far
i don’t know why there are So many irish people in san francisco; take a chance to watch - no walk past them And there’s nothing you love so much more than back home a slipping-between-fingers-home, no-good-yelly-mom-home, best-friend-goodbye-home; while doing half of what you did there here you have a handful of weeks and a kiss full of pizza, a sink full of dishes and a commute full of irish people, So far from where you love, so close to just one love, finding that nothing is so comforting as real winter
tuesday
the balconies from the train aren’t anymore covered in the fog from the hills or the family far away or the God in your church. all the people with the jackets who want to take the elevator have to make a plan for freedom; prayer is something your pastor can help you with - prayer is something to listen for
to the man in the theatre
we work too hard for you with the cell phone
stranger
and one minute, at another point maybe yesterday, you wonder how you got here in a theatre covered with gray hair on top, looking at What You Did and letting the pre-show music want you to not let them take the set away - chapstick chapstick today and chopstick tomorrow and a mixy stomach and accident hair makes you forget why you hated your mother; you’re only hating everything around you now because it isn’t her
coit tower
both sides of florida can’t undo the walk to the golden gate bridge, but i like the sun on the days i’m happy and the rain on the days i’m not so hills aren’t an option any more but you will always be so i choose you on the days with the sun and you on the days with the rain but if there are any others, i’ll eat chocolate in your stead
eyelash
every time i pull out an eyelash i think of you (mostly nobody else is fueled by the world and not their fears and you’re my favorite of the people who plan for their fears and let their brain dangle (my only people( nd until then you eat chocolate or old wrapping paper or lists
sarah to me
sarah to me is a blink of the eye and if women grew beards, hers would change
sarah to me has fallen so high she speaks every language from curly to straight
sarah to me furrows her brow, explains how i’ve changed in ways that make me miss her
sarah is going to spain to live there and find a table to climb under, and she’ll blink her eye at the guys and they’ll love her and she’ll fall in love with the skies when they thunder because thunder in spain is better than fall in philadelphia
sarah to me has the same room, and the same cat and it makes me miss her
sarah to me eats from small spoons, spills food on her lap, and it makes me miss her
sarah to me mistakes drive for necessity but sees it in others unless she’s a secret
and that makes me miss her