Waiting To Kill

There is a chipmunk that lives in the same trees I am camped under. And for some odd reason this little forest fellow loves to chirp and bark and squawk all day and night every hour or so. He does this so often, and frankly wakes me up so many times during the night that I have revoked my “no-kill” policy on wild life to seek out the destruction of this little wilderness prick. This article is dedicated to expressing (and maybe dissolving) my animosity with that chipmunk:

Bad Chipmunk

I tried to hurt you today, I admit it.
I threw those rocks hard and missed you 100 times before giving up,
Wish you would die so I could sleep peacefully at night.
What part of evolution gave you that piercing bark,
And why do you feel the need to torture the air with it this wasteful shrill?

In the world of tree-rodents are you a minstrel of peace?
Or have the other chipmunks left the trees in spite of your constant pinging in their ears?
Just as you do to my ears, and to my nerves.
And now my nerves petition to my brain – to kill you now.

Bark all day if you will, bark ALL DAY.
But STOP when the sun goes down.
Stop making noises at 3am, 4am, 5am, 6am…
12pm, 3pm… WHAT’S THE POINT!

Are you mad that my tent has been under these trees all Summer long?
Sorry, I’m not going to move it.
You have one thousand trees to go to, I have only one campsite I’m allowed to stay in.
That’s just the way it is.

Go away stupid chipmunk.
Squirrels are much better than you.
I don’t care how cute that stripe is down your back.
I’ll take a mono-colored gray squirrel ANY DAY over hearing you make your dastardly shrieks.

So go away, or face death.

Scribble Scrabble

In love with love

meters-the distance between me and actuality

the longing for a story to shake history books

to leave my children wide eyed

a serendiptous fairy tale

that invovles at least one sword fight, an angry diralect fool, and two tons of glitter.

Yet I march amonst clovers, yawning under the barrel chested sky as it bellows, awakening soldiers from their graves with claps so loud you’d think a toddler has converted pans to drums in the kitchen. Lindel is swaggering behind me, a far of, as if unaware of the unruley chaos ringing in our ear drums. It all makes me quite anxious.

We whispered, giggling in gasped breaths, envied and loved one another. Then we broke up, estranged, we judged one another, to think I ever let her come to me house.

A dress for school, for work, for car rides, for dates, for dancing. Slips memories with free legs and tattered patterns. Only faint glimemrs, the fabric brushing against my finger tips, umbrella spins. Garmet gone, event captured.

Condeleza, arroz con dulce, early mornings with your tounge hanging out trying to snatch snowflakes.

prickled tastedbuds dance figuratively, tracing generations with a back sliding gulp.

I feel like I’m making less sense the more I try to make beautiful sense.

You are welcome my unwelcomed,

to the platter of my carved watermelon

tap dance your spindly toes

plunge in your orfice when no one is looking

drink deeply

get your fill

force seconds and haul the rest on your back.

You with an armor of black diamond glaze,

 I never sent an invite but still you came,

with your nephews, nieces, and third cousins.

Your rudeness, a truly offensive impingement,

left me with mere morsels of my decadent treat.

sprouted dreams

Oh that big bad world. With all its chemistry and sites, o passion and envy. And here I stand like a firm little oak tree in a vast forest forcing my branches to the Sun. Sun shine on me. And I stretch and wait. Try not to get distracted by the glow of the beetles exploring my length, or shiver when a man comes by to look me once over- to see if I’m worth slaying. But I desire to play, I want to have legs, not roots. I see all the animals in the forest roam, I see what they bring back, and the glint in their eye like they’ve been transformed. But I’ve only changed from fall to spring to summer to winter and back- the excitement has become dull. I want to know what it looks like above the tree tops, I want to feel the wind without all the rest of the forest crowding in. I want to sprout feet and roam continent after continent! Broaden my horizons on the east the west the north the south! Callous my toes twist my tongue to new sounds etch an epic story into my spine! I want to sit quietly and watch, experiencing the world in motion, then get up and play along. I want to be transformed! Don’t get me wrong, standing here, very stilly, has made me stronger, taught me that all nourishment is offered from the Sun. Sun rays have endowed me with a new skin, given me vibrant life beyond my power. But yet here I‘m rooted, standing like a triumphant piece in a garden, and I can’t help but look around and notice that the landscape has become quite dry. For months now, I find myself watching the gravity of the ground, the wind rocking my turning leaves, dreaming by day, scheming by night. All the while, praying for a sizable hurricane-what a sure liftoff it would bring!

crossroad angst

Tender look, her hair waves like angel creases. Stand taller, I tell myself, I could be eight years old right now. Clutching on to her two fingers, basking in her expression. Teacher, talk soft- show me the world. Orbs reflect lightening, stricken by their familiarity, I am greeted by wonder. I follow her, questions pour selfishly, I gather her answers like jelly beans and stuff them into my pockets- gorge. I find myself looking both ways- but watch her move first. Yet I’m stuck looking left, right. What is right? She shifts. Conflict- fretting her small steps that are gaps of distance- street light-street sign- my heavy hands. She’s farther away, her heart a reflection in the corner of a rained out puddle. I fumble, flustered, cumbersome hands anxiously grip the nape of my neck, finger the locks of my hair. Looking over- pulled- I yearn to walk behind her swaying hips- her eloquent tongue. She gracefully fingers the chain lace fence, countenance brightening at the one way sign she’s walking against. I yell to warn her-scream myself hoarse. I even follow her for a while, begging her to safety-but she just looks over her shoulder and reassuringly smiles back. Go Left? Go Right? Green light. Time to go my own way.

Drowsy Domain

 When I lay down to sleep at night, my mind races with thoughts of the day,

With funny things my friends had said or the things we did together.

My problems swirl around, begging me to find their solution

And I review events that I had likely reviewed a thousand times already

But I continue on reviewing, like a damned man who hungers but never eats.

I search my soul for purpose, and plan out dreams of the future

And who knows how much time I have spent before sleeping,

Thinking of the type of girl who would love me for who I am,

And wondering if I could ever do the same for her.

As I lay there in my bed, this tempest grows more intense, and I feel I can’t getaway

But then an image of an enormous city appears in my head, and I grab hold,

Hoping that it could anchor me in the storm.

The winds of thought tear at its walls, and rip up the streets,

But I hold on tight to every piece and try to keep it whole,

Until the wind stops altogether, and I stand in this perfect city, by myself, and alone.

I explore the streets and look in the windows,

Knowing I’m still awake and that the storm couldn’t be far off.

Clean glass, steel, and concrete are all I see in this place but the simplicity is its beauty.

I look ahead, and at the end of the street, the city ends,

But rather than the storm, I see a rich field, with grass as high as my waist,

And trees that grow thick with leaves and have large knots in their trunks.

I see the place where I had walked before.

It’s a dirt path that winds through the grass, leading through the trees, to a wide hill.

I made that path, I remember now, and I follow it up the hill.

A simple wooden chair sits on its peak and I remember why I came. 

I take my seat, finally at peace, and close my eyes to rest.

This was my world; I was its king, and the only person in it.

I took this picture the other day while sitting on the riverbank next to where I live.

I’d like to share this poem with you. It’s one of my favorites:

One cannot stay on the summit forever –
One has to come down again.
So why bother in the first place? Just this.
What is above knows what is below –
But what is below does not know what is above

One climb, one sees-
One descends and sees no longer
But one has seen!

There is an art of conducting one’s self in
The lower regions by the memory of
What one saw higher up.

When one can no longer see,
One does at least still know.

Rene Daumal

Recordings: Patient

Prescribe me something, look at this grim expression. Lucid dreaming, I’ve been lucid dreaming all day..staring at my hands wondering, “Is this how my hands look in real life?”. But then I get a bug bite and the itch creeps and resonates when I move. dreaming or awake or dreaming?  Then a flash, no more like a beam// zips across the horizon of my peripheral vision// angels on an across town mission or my eyelid stuck in blink? Ka! I’ve been wandering around all day thinking like this, look at me! I’m melting, my skin is candle wax dripping in the heat// it’s getting all over the sofa! I know what you’re thinking, “treacherous mess”– I saw my reflection when I came in here||my seams are all teared|| I’ve been played with too much, stuffing coming out all over- trailing behind me like innards. Gall, don’t you at least have some thread? { just use your fingers} Lace me back together now. Oh what was I saying before? Well…Did you see that? That thing! Showing it’s cowardly face! Gah how grotesque. Right behind you! Boils the size of silver dollars, what is that!?!? OK OK, I’ll sit down. I’m breathing I’m breathing, in and out I know…You see what I mean? awake asleep awake asleep.

my condolences

 
 

I want cough syrup. 2 bottles full! I want lots of empathetic looks. Give me long hugs! I want a band aid big enough to wrap around this throbbing useless organ. Ugh no not a love poem! The Darkness said, “Love is just a feeling”. I sang along and fast forwarded to the guitar riff that made your body feel like it just got a hyper electric shock. I didn’t really get the whole love feeling thing. I didn’t care. I still don’t. You see, every song on the radio has something to do with this obsessive “if I can’t have you I can’t take another breath” infatuation. Does it have something to do with Edward and that unvampire girl? All I know is if I’m not in love I’m a societal outcast. This ain’t cynicism. I watched three multi-teired white frosting cakes pose for photos in the park across the street last week. I caught sight of 99 bride and groom duos with obscure frozen expressions in the last month. I’ve tuned into, please never make me count, discussions of ring descriptions, complementary colors, and lingerie, this year to last me my whole life through. Really selective mutism sounds luxiourous. I’m not completely one sided, engagement photos get me. It’s those angles, colors, and artistic expression-freakin’ heart melting. I rather write myself into a love story then live one, because love has gone and lost it’s appeal. It’s the cheatin, wife beatin, take you for a ride and leave you there, love blues. The take me out to dinner cuz I love free meals, kiss me now but I won’t mean it later, luv ya babe 4 eva, romantic fairytale. OH, so sweet. How touching. Sigh. How perfect. I can’t wait for my turn for heaven on earth.