The noisy chug and churn of the machines,
The methodology,
Moving between the machines,
It is its own dance.
The camaraderie.
We are women in our own dance.
The air is full with the machines.
Full with our bodies,
Our armpits and breasts,
Our steady chug and churn.
Outsiders don't know
They are not involved
in the conversation.
Machine and human.
When I leave,
The work subsides in my interior.
When we return, we once again subside.
Taken up in the punch and clack,
Roaring on.
The machines are kept on
To ensure that they remain stable.
In a sense, it is like part of me is always there.
I go home,
Maybe make myself a rationed dinner,
Maybe tap my fingers on a polished table.
Read the newspaper, drink tea, sleep.
Leeds (Revision)
I was a collapsed barn
All you saw were the wisps of bent hay
floating around my temples
making it hard to see
my temples
turned patient in their sockets
while sentimental gossips poked them back ahead
that summer, sulking
afternoon
suffocating in the laboring sun
pointing and deliberate
the grasses wept
from another point of view it all looked soft
Crickets are another man's silence
The old boards have nails in them, so put your shoes on
This treasure is only plastic from the seventies
This emerald is only a wet stone
All you saw were the wisps of bent hay
floating around my temples
making it hard to see
my temples
turned patient in their sockets
while sentimental gossips poked them back ahead
that summer, sulking
afternoon
suffocating in the laboring sun
pointing and deliberate
the grasses wept
from another point of view it all looked soft
Crickets are another man's silence
The old boards have nails in them, so put your shoes on
This treasure is only plastic from the seventies
This emerald is only a wet stone
Beach
Banging my hollow chest from bed
Why did I decide to become a pop star?
Why did I decide to not be sad?
Sad is my cadence
It hurts people
I can see it as a color that absorbs all others
I can see it as a unit ocean
....
....
A mouse eats an ant and becomes a kitten
A cat eats a mouse and becomes a dog
Rave
In the morning hour nothing needs to be done.
I'd be sitting with my pen poised,
pipe in hand-
Mother and Father to the Orphan
If she were emancipated
instead of abandoned.
Solitary
and my furniture is second hand.
The mourning doves assert their soliloquy for infant light
Every morning is their first
Patchouli and its siblings drift into our hall
Announcing the pride we take
In staying in place.
A man, Tyrone, lived in this apartment
His parents lived here
And Before that, I don't know.
But I have made myself at home in Tyrone's home.
And someone else's daughter's bed.
Supercessions are what keep me here.
Moving body in crowded jubilation
Floating over pain and loss and
violence
like a wing
Covering like a wave
we bleed eternally
Dancing against each other, lost and losing caverns of infinity
With no boundary to be found in space.
Only soft boundaries,
different and repeating,
placed in time.
I'd be sitting with my pen poised,
pipe in hand-
Mother and Father to the Orphan
If she were emancipated
instead of abandoned.
Solitary
and my furniture is second hand.
The mourning doves assert their soliloquy for infant light
Every morning is their first
Patchouli and its siblings drift into our hall
Announcing the pride we take
In staying in place.
A man, Tyrone, lived in this apartment
His parents lived here
And Before that, I don't know.
But I have made myself at home in Tyrone's home.
And someone else's daughter's bed.
Supercessions are what keep me here.
Moving body in crowded jubilation
Floating over pain and loss and
violence
like a wing
Covering like a wave
we bleed eternally
Dancing against each other, lost and losing caverns of infinity
With no boundary to be found in space.
Only soft boundaries,
different and repeating,
placed in time.
Italy
It was the 90s
We were in a foreign land
I was 8 and you were 5
We ate ice cream every day
We returned
I was 17 and you were 14.
Everything is old here
Do all these other people know each other?
I could hug these stones.
I would throw my body down
on these old stone streets
to feel your pulse again.
We were in a foreign land
I was 8 and you were 5
We ate ice cream every day
We returned
I was 17 and you were 14.
Everything is old here
Do all these other people know each other?
I could hug these stones.
I would throw my body down
on these old stone streets
to feel your pulse again.
Two Years
I am a blank platter.
Free wine, I ate the welcome.
Mad at the bar
Too light, too loud.
Wasted, waiting
A Fresh Start
My mind is very blank.
I want to caress white tiles
To slide my boots
To swallow sterling silver plated trinkets.
There are so many piles.
and gold plated trinkets.
Straining to be upright things.
So many miles of mistakes
Breaking to be organized
It is a sick formation
I want to caress white tiles
To slide my boots
To swallow sterling silver plated trinkets.
There are so many piles.
and gold plated trinkets.
Straining to be upright things.
So many miles of mistakes
Breaking to be organized
It is a sick formation
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