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Jade and Rubies

May. 5th, 2007 | 10:34 am

[Ballad assignment for creative writing]

a place where wizened apples grow
aplump, i did with Jacob go
beneath the sunken river eyes
where otter dreams and blackbird dies

and by the strings, our hearts aloft
we promised, voices very soft
but wind against the fragile scene
brought down a massive bolt of green

a fire worthy wedge in a jar of hollow dreams
a chance to call a number of the jade a thousand years
away from here, to bring it back, to make it clear
another random ransom note for God

the streams and strings still sit alone
in basements closed, my mind at home
forever thinking seven feet
could have kept him from the sheet

the glass that stands upon my wall
the ruby in the upstairs hall
a stack of letters wrapped with love
a tiny purple plastic dove

the sculpture of his final art
a golden ball carved through a heart
and pieces of the tulip found
that follows me in every sound

a fire worthy wedge in a jar of hollow dreams
a chance to call a number of the jade a thousand years
away from here, to bring it back, to make it clear
another random ransom note for God

today, tonight, and hundreds more
of dinners wrought from silent ore
a solitary figure sips
a nector from inside her lips

she dreams of heavy summer days
where she and Jacob might still lay
if tired earth had kept alive
the viney reach at half past five

she cries into her wishing cup
and prays that she had gotten up
and placed a tulip in his hand
and as it fell, they both could stand

a fire worthy wedge in a jar of hollow dreams
a chance to call a number of the jade a thousand years
away from here, to bring it back, to make it clear
another random ransom note for God

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I could sit for a year

May. 4th, 2007 | 07:59 am

wrote this just now, wondering why Alex isn't here..

i could sit for a year.

i would continue sitting,
unless, of course,
you decided to shuffle in,
your backpack bunching up,
punching the floor.

then i wound continue sitting
for only a while,
only a long enough while
to ask where you were,
ask why,
and how,
and what happened between midnight and 8.

but as it is I'm wondering if you're alive,
if your face is still intact,
if you're not hidden away in some compact room

I could sit for a year

but after a while, my butt would hurt,
and I would go home,
everything would feel a little crusty
and it wouldn't've been worth
the wait.

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Feb. 14th, 2007 | 11:15 pm

In the evening I'll sit down with a ream of paper at my desk,
and I'll hurdle a pen from me towards the crowd,
their long noses and short feet all slumping over the manuscript.
They always poke and prod and with slim red nails
carve unanimous gestures of inadequacy down the margins.
But tomorrow, after I am done shaking sparks from heaven
onto the eggshells of my endeavors,
they will quake and dispatch the writhing gods on me,
wishing to swallow my claims in a righteous stew.

But I will stand up, and fan the fire with a dragon.

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a now

Jan. 24th, 2007 | 09:48 pm

it is about 4:30.
our glasses are on the nightstand
with your cacti.
we are both wearing chucks
and for a second I remember your old ones that were
so worn and smelled so much like dirt and ass.

our faces are wide and shimmering.
our eyes are crossed we are so close.
sometimes when you smile I see
steel strings
and your fake tooth.
but right now i've forgotten that,
and you've forgotten that I've been sick all over this week.

every pearl of us is beautiful.

tonight your parents will shut doors
and I'll listen from the other one, wide open.
we'll drive home listening to xiu xiu screaming our fears.
I'll cry suddenly because I
to move away from you.
I'll write a poem after you kiss me goodnight
at 7:28
while you pump gas you didn't use.
I'll miss you and you'll miss me.
but right now it's


we are silver and ripe.

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Jan. 22nd, 2007 | 09:04 pm

I hear a few words that pique my curiosity
so I listen a little more...
against my better judgment I think I've discovered
not meant to be known.
(so much younger than me and well,
that hasn't happened here.)
I hope I'm misinterpreting,
but, as my overwhelming intuition
rarely lets me down...!

it's a shame to defy the Zodiac, baby.

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the secret ingredient

Jan. 22nd, 2007 | 09:00 pm

i give up a part of myself to the sapphire stone,
watching it twist away my memories into a little pool,
a little powdery mountain of green dust.
i give you these ashes, these winter vows,
minute sections of my heart devoted to biological music,
for you to drop into a lavender cask.
years from now, you'll want to make a soup,
maybe to heal yourself of a cold tongue or two,
and i'll come dancing out of the steam on a silk thread.

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[not poetry]

Jan. 2nd, 2007 | 11:06 pm

notes to self: words i overuse in poetry

- fractal
- harrow
- swept
- raw
- unfathomable
- feeble
- tender

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the last thursday of 2006

Jan. 2nd, 2007 | 10:59 pm

[the final final final version, probably 5th edit]

in every dream I have about the world falling down,
you’re there to hold me up,
wrapping your silver hands around my feeble ankles,
while thunder cracks holes in the clouds and into the muddy yard
that disappeared when I discovered we were at the top of a skyscraper.
we are small; we clutch prosaic minds,
and watch jack dance through cubicles and rice,
aching against stained glass grey for us.
our altitude gives us a view of every hanging chandelier of cloud,
heavy and ripe, dripping fractal cones against the nearby buildings.
jack leans out the window, in a suit, grasping a briefcase,
letting the caution on the wind uplift his dreamscape spirit.
he is divine in certainty,
and my fear of storms so injected into my sleeping self
magnifies his heady defiance.
you are curled around me, and the wind so cartoonishly
buckles the building left
and right,
into the sea.

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Jan. 1st, 2007 | 11:24 am

we pull off the skin in a circle,
draping it around our bare shoulders
while trying to forget every jab.
bruised, the last minutes drag away,
and we raise our lips to each other
and resolve to never do this again.

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love hate relationship: she and the gift

Dec. 28th, 2006 | 06:06 pm

my day is lost to the lethargy of contentment,
the inertia stemming from having
everything in my bubble.
nothing excites or amuses
when the whole world fits
in a little warm box.

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