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softenher

ending with a dis
connect

(

)

with a dis
sipated satis
faction

: two sperate static
factions

both are rightwrong
and rightly wronged
(hoping for wronged
rightly)

and once things are rung and hung and dried
they will feel crisper because we forgot
the fabric softener.

those not ghosts are cocoons of ghosts
but at least the war is over now.
at least now we don't have to list deaths
under Category:Casualties
Category:Collateral Damage
now at least there's no Reason to die.

given the choice between death and taxes
I'll choose to live towards death
and pay my taxes.

at it's finest

precious little
little things to worry about
so i'll stick to the larger
and wiser worries
which include
but are not
in a sense
limited to
but may include
and certainly will
be certainties
before i'm through with
beyond these things
stuck distracting
myself from things
otherwise known as
not being
a waste of
precious little time.

Marbles spilt
on linoleum floors

A chair touches
a paper wall

Minute vibrations
signal something lives

Under the rug.

I remember time when we used to watch films
together
or at least
try
to watch them together.

Here's a wave to the good old days
that are scarcely older than today
and maybe
scarcely better.

Everything works for the goodbetterbest.

You cannot be more passive aggresive than writing.

a toast (pre.emp.tive.ly)

I feel a rift approaching -
one that only needs uncovering
as the foundation's laid and set -
as we're set in motion towards it.

Good luck to you and you
Here's to the new You

cheers.

A toast to last
until we find the bottom of the ravine
and can begin to crawl ourselves out of it.

I won't say that it's unbearable
because it's not un-
bearable.

But it begs to be
to be laid bare
like my own bed
lays
alone.

As I barely
lay my head
and ruffle sheets
before I realize
that sleep will not come soon
enough.

Given a moment before I pass
into dreams
I consume myself
with thoughts of you.

Thoughts of you that
make me feel that next year
will never come
soon
enough.

optimism strains in searching: something real
something almost more than this.
lyrical-ish verses-ish make me uncomfortable
in their inability to express what I feel
-ish
perhaps a signal for turning to prose -
only that too fails here. everything is failing here.
language is falling apart at its seems
as its stitches dissolve
and its insides fall out and begin to unravel themselves.
not uraveling themselves (which would indicate an agency)
but rather that they are themselves unraveling.
unmotivated entirely.

optimism strains in searching for
motivation for anything.

on the bright side

finding yourself between a rock and a hard place

means at least you found yourself.

rendering to scripts

a shift (from emotions)
lines blurrd:friends/loves:
love friends.

.limited typesetting possible.
enter: Unloved Lover
stage left.no.right
wrong(!)
but from the right
though she's a leftist

opposite (means never
[better])

clever though. clever.

Almost Sleeping

It's worse in the dark:
the fear of spending the night
asleep.

of spending hours without
thoughts of you.

I'll loop memories
as I pain myself to sleep.
Trying to see inside eyes.

Something besides the prospect
of falling asleep
and leaving thoughts to dreams of chance.

borrowed from Brecht

Today I met a girl I used to see who said (excitedly):

you haven't changed

a bit.

I said out loud that neither had she

and couldn't help but feel that I had

failed.

Rumor Has It

Rumor has it.
Which means I lost it
along the way.

Or maybe (!) he just stole it.
Either way:
I'm failing to find
the phrase.

If you come across the rumor
and he still has the words in tact,
please ask for my
I Love You
back.

LOUD

birthday gifts

For your birthday I bought you perfume
that everyone in the store turned to smell again
a pair of shoes
that were expensive enough to prove they were stylish
a watch
with a lifetime guarantee.

After my birthday I promise
to smell better
dress better
and be on time.

you're never lost when the only place you intend to be is

here.

Today all I have to say is

I miss her.

(If her is you (and you know who you are)

I miss you)

the meat district (pessimism)

poetry is swine walking a plank.
grabbed at their feet by a chain
and flung to their deaths.

One after one after another
they fly and screech
and their cries are carried to the folks looking on
listening to one screech after another
until you can't tell one from the next
and all the squeals become a squeal
that starts promptly at eight in the morning
and is carried to bed by the workers that drive the machines
that pick up the pigs and throw them into the chutes.
Carried to bed next to clothes splattered with blood.

Tomorrow the workers will start it again,
throwing thousands of pigs to their deaths
making them scream
not caring what each pig has to say.

follow until

one word is drowned by the vowels on its heels,
and you struggle to understand
or even stand under
and watch it tumble down upon your ears.

last weeks sutures strain
under the leftovers
of suggestions left
at your door.

Hearing nothing but echoes
of low breaths,
and low brows.

I stood mute
by the side of the road.

I feel generic every time I open my pen to say something.

working on something larger?

I wrote the ending of my book last night.

Now, if I could only find the rest.

I'm leaving today.

I'm not nervous yet.

I have to pack.

I should be sleeping.

pretzels

Sitting in Row 23C, watching all the going ons and people pushing past. Squeezed tight in open aisle-way like words between margins of a line. 27A tries to push past 19E and they get knotted up like pretzels that I already know we’ll get. Businessman in 23B is all business (and upset about having neither an aisle nor a window seat). His suit is something else. Fancy stuff. Leather laptop case to match his…well…something (can’t put my finger on it).

Takeoff time. 23B clenches tight white knuckles against a frigid armrest – wait, no, both arm rests. I wonder why he’s holding on so tight, but my knuckles are just as pale. That’s unfortunate. I see a boy in the next row. His arms are up like he’s on some rollercoaster ride. Like this is all fun and games. I watch him… I miss the ride. Watching him makes my arms decide that relaxing is ok. I want to hold them up like he is. What would people's eyes say? People say he’s just a kid. I can be just a kid. So I place them in my lap. Close my eyes. Imagine that my hands are waving wildly like his – imagine we are flying.

Later on I’ve settled down and settled in, the reality of where I’m headed commandeered my private jet – my rollercoaster ride. We get our pretzels. I watch the boy again, playing with his pretzels, using his whole tray. His pretzels have become legendary warriors, or maybe dinosaurs before extinction, or aliens or birds or something even more magnificent that lives only in the innocence of his imagination. Inspired by his heroic acts, I take my own bag and shake it. What could be inside? Maybe soldiers… or cowboys… or dragons… I can’t wait… I open my bag and find…

…pretzels.

language (re)literalized: 2

I lost my mind today
If you find it, please return.

You never miss things
until they're gone,

and I think I miss thinking
but I could be wrong

because as I've said
I've lost my mind

If you find it, please return.

You never miss things
until they're gone.

and I think I miss thinking
but I could be wrong

because as I've said
I've lost my mind

If you find it, please return.

You never miss things
until they're gone.

and I think,
but I could be wrong.

language (re)literalized

when she left
she took my heart
or at least
my heart went with her

and my body collapsed to the ground
with a gaping whole in my chest
with nothing left to pump the blood
around my limbs

and it died.

If a tree falls in a forest
and no one hears it:

a tree still died
and no one cares.

Saying I'm myself around you
means that somewhere else
I'm not myself?

Anyway,
I'm glad I can be myself
around you.

Since I've been criticized by the only person who reads this on a regular basis, I thought I would oblige with an update...
What is writing if inspired by criticism, not inspiration? Does it matter (if the event is in the reception, not production)? (Am I even producing?)
The blog as a readerly text?
(Oh how far we've come from [quiet] self expression)

Also, I've discovered that even if things come together in pieces, they still come together,
and even if you replace all the pieces, you can still call it Argo, and it's still the same ship it was before.
(question the objectivity of existence)


I am starting to ramble

but this is as good a [place] as any for that.


jfmg

one line drawing

.nebulousessentialthingsleadtoopendoorsthatnevermadesensetoopenbefore.

(read it backwards and you'll see what I mean)

New York: From jmharper and jfmay

i was in new york for her first snow.
I remember how badly I wished as we froze
we walked times square till nearly two o'clock
that I would remember all this
in the morning;
at least enough to write something down.

but that's ok because the lights in times square
As cool as they were when we touched them
were taught to be the sun
as if they were as natural as the woman sitting
by men with big wrenches and lightbulb boxes.
on the street with their banjos.
so on they shine, waking the night on the back of black limousines.

after we finished our movie and they finshed theirs,
I followed you – a firefly finding something brighter
we met up near that small stand on the corner
– and I lost track of us on the pocket map
with the yelling vendor who sold good tasting foods.
that refused to tell us where we were.

grand central station was quite grand,
I couldn’t find it again if I tried
and, well, a very central station. the ceiling was alive,
running around like New Yorkers
the windows, like towers of vintage light.
we never saw a thing we set to see.
can you hear the trains? the schedules flipping...
Proving that things were moving along.
our legs got sore after blocks and blocks,
The same blocks from last time we were here
and jeans felt too cold on the legs...they don't warn you of this in films
feel differently when
on the subway back home
the feeling in my toes is gone
out of the corner of my eye, a thought sprang...

keep watching until it boils over,
seeps into your pores,
makes you want to
race your heart
to see who crosses first.

absence only makes you fonder
if you were fond to start

All is fare in love and war

and all your pennies earned
don't buy you a thing.

it must be bad

you know it must be bad
when even sticky buns don't help
when cinnamon rolls
and chocolate chips eaten right from the bag
and cookie dough
can't help ease the strain
on sloppily sutured wounds

banned words list:

evermore
indeed
dream (as verb in all tenses and as noun)
adore (all tenses plus adoration)
desire (all verbs and noun)
beloved
void
gate
empty (and emptiness, etc.)
gaze (noun and verbs)
ponder (all tenses)
hate (noun and verbs, also hatred)
freedom
memory (and plural, and remember & its tenses)
beautiful (and beauty, etc.)
wonderful
honor (noun and verbs)
truth
heart
like (try out a metaphor before succumbing to a simile)
lie
passion
bondage
weep/wept/tears
false
lips (or lip)
splendor
touch (noun and verbs)
bled/bleeding/blood etc.
blossom (noun and verbs)
sprout (noun and verbs)
moon
sun
clouds
stars
Love

things are ringing
blinking like aging neon signs
that can't decide if they are open or not.

OPEN
O EN

OPEN

chicago part 1

It's the feeling of reaching the end of the line,
realizing you've gone too far,
that you should have transfered
to the green four stops ago.

Having no choice but to lay down
off the grass:
In the winter they ask you to
go around.

Eating and buying in the same places
you've never been.

Peace is such an odd thing. Coming in those when you expect to be unsettled,
when everything turns on its head; making everything seem like nothing more than a something.

Peace is not the opposite of war, but the feeling that carries you through it.

last night

My chair broke last night.

I tried to put it together again, but I couldn't.

All things considered, it was an amazing night.

One of many this year worth writing down.

if you could read my mind

perhaps things seem clumsy
because i'm a fool to begin with:
to think that letters on page
(strung in whatever order they may be)
could capture what I can't even say in the narrows of my mind

things I can't even realize to try to say
and i try to say to say try say to say things but they say the things are
awkward. (it makes sense to me)

things i overtumblestumbleover
when i see you. (and when i don't)

things you'll never know,
even if you read my mind.

(don't worry)
(they are happy things)