Draft 8: Recursivity

Nine Types of Gasoline

Understanding some people-
trying to smell color 9.
Nine lives of cats
too many lives? To little lives?
Seven ate nine.
I wonder how he tasted? If he smelled
like baby powder and
happiness? Most likely he smelled
like gas? Not the kind sold at BP
in premium, diesel and regular for $3.89,
but the baby kind-having eaten too many smashed
prunes.
Nine maybe.

Draft 7: writing about a picture

PicStitch

Face frozen 
in a state of glee.
I’m darting away from Crappa
and Meemaw yet
as a three year old in a giggle
fit, I’m no faster than a drunken
sloth. How involuntary to smile
when flipping scrapbook pages, touched
hundreds of times by oily
fingers-protective covers failing
since we always have to touch-
the glee is fleeting.
Childhood with limited
rolls of film-not yet graced
with lifelong batteries.

Draft 6: Traumatizing event from childhood, using short clipped lines and a poetic phrase

Moai

24 year old VHS tape-holding the Maid of Honor’s 
comments--stuck in the receiver.
My parent’s gift, covered in dust and almost boxed.
Why does Dad have these? Mom’s the only one whoever watched them.
I cross my legs. Knees crack like the snapping shut of VHS cases. Downstairs, a golf video game jazzes
a call and response: birthday gift from years ago turns into verbal MMA matches about time spent at the virtual driving range.
Gazing past the single stockinged mantle, to broken down boxes, towers to toddlers,
in the three stall garage--once housing a family of Hondas, now shelters
one Acura and a Craftsman tool-chest never opened-- and a roll of packing tape, half used hanging off the granite counter. Dad, my voice bounces off the white walls, do you want 
all the wine glasses? Or half?
He appears from the cellar, carrying a corkscrew in one hand, Barefoot
Merlot in the other. I place the screw on Sahara colored packing
paper, while reaching for the upside down half hourglass bottle. He smashes
it against the wall, garnets staining, filling the voids
from each pawned diamond, spliced from the white gold.
It said all my love.
She needs to go tap dance on broken glass and hot coals.
He stone-faces, stripped like Easter Island, placing his matching white gold next to the pile of broken glass.

Draft 5: Least likely place to find Madonna and Child

Price Check on Happiness at the Big Lots

Standing in Aisle Six, between Kellogg’s 20 flaky cereals
and 95 oatmeal brands,
a cart, filled with half priced Valentine’s Day chocolate,
Poptarts and apples, careens into the bean bag display
Spilling contents of the soul onto a gum residue floor,
opening the floodgates of tear ducts for the woman
behind the handlebar. I put unnecessary CocoPuffs back on the shelf, 
between Count Chocula and Special K, which has more ingredients
than the woman’s Poptarts, and follow her to the bathroom.
Maintaining, the 22 step distance, as instructed
by my psychiatrist. After looking in the cracked,
hair spray stained glass, reflecting the fears of my parents, 
my bladder shouts threats of explosion, Big Gulp of Diet Coke
lights the hermetically sealed rejections of the body, yet
I’m distracted by the sobbing to the gods and lack of privacy 
for her drive by sadness.

Draft 4: Persona Poem

Ted Bundy's Nephew Jack

The four inch blade hovers,
glistening in the florescence of the kitchen sink light.
Face mirroring, I don’t recognize my eyes, nor hers.
Those brown eyes darting like a scared bunny on Easter,
never the same place twice.
The pooling under her bare legs, smells a mix of blood
and urine. If I kick her, will she move?
The terror transfixes me, traps me like I’ve
trapped her here now and my hamster four years before.
The Russian dwarf named Dexter, alone in his aquarium
tank cage one night, and caught in rope with each
toe, finger, claw plucked off by tweezers the next.
A gasp escapes me- the claw marks from the last four fingers
raked across my ankle, lead to the pulling of useless legs
down the hallway.
Four steps and I meet her. Four steps and I am god.
Bringing life? No. Taking life? Yes.
Life. A word that only myself
understands. Full of life- this woman at my Doc Martened feet clinging
to wood floorboards once was. Unlike the lifeless man, her husband, in the basement
where the Golden Tee game chimes every hour on the hour
with some catchy jingle that makes the cat jump. She found him four hours ago,
here we are now. Eyes wide, part of him and her drip down the blade
onto the hilt, trickling down my forefinger, forearm,
and puddle on the floor, as the knife dives.

Improv "The Rain"

Be wet with a decent
happiness. That is the goal
of what I'm doing at the pool.
Swimming. The decent happiness
I get when I'm wet.
Wet with chlorine and fun.
The only time the world is
quiet is underwater. As soon
as my eyes and ears submerge
I'm unchained. Hands above,
I sink to the floor, tiled
in a pattern of blue and white,
I don't think...
bubbles peace over.

Improv "Mown lawn"

Dog walking sounds like
dodge while king. King Henry
should have dodged his wives.
They would have killed him.
They didn't. They loved their
dog. Walking the dog turns into
dog walking you. Especially if
you're Megan and Bo. As big
as her-dog walking.
Walk the dog, a request or
command?

Improv "In dispraise of poetry"

It appears the gift could
not be refused. You would be
considered rude. Rude,
if not a jerk. My friend Kathy,
went to China, flying
first class. Along with
blankets and free headphones
for the handbar radio, she
didn't order a meal of octopus
and sea urchin on a bed of jasmine
rice. Refusing, the man
next to her, said "you spat on my mother,
grandmother, and my whole neighbor's
family"
with his eyes.

Improv "I the People"

He bent down,
right hand on his right knee,
left hand pocketed.
What was going on?
My hand jumped to my
throat, clutching the
angel-agate rock at my neck.
Our one year gift.
Pulling it back and forth,
the rough chain rubbing
along the smoothness
of my skin. What is in that
felt box? I know, but I avoid
the question's answer.
There can be only one here...
one reply to life's inevitable
request...
No.

Improv "Powwow at the end of the world"

I shall forgive after:
all my whites have been washed-
I ran out of Wolf Bucks.
I shall forgive after:
My car is full of gas-
I need to go home for ink.
I shall forgive after:
The man at the McDonalds drive
thru gives me my shake.
That's all I wanted at 2 am...
not his snippy attitude.

Improv "Those Winter Sundays"

I stood on my porch in
the blue black cold
repeating what did I know.
What did I know?
Life had two things:
marathon ice cream
and toothaches.

Improv "America"

America is a maximum security
prison.
Says Smitty, chewing
a nail on the cot behind
steel.
Have you been in a maximum
security prison recently?
Its not like the Ritz.
America-
is it really luxurious? Rats
have more homes than Donald
Trump.
My Lays bag will litter not
only my floor, but the floor
of the great great grandkids.
America-
worse than a maximum security
prison. At least they have
rules.

Improv "Sixth Grade"

Girl boy. A tomboy. What
my brother calls me to Tony down
the street. I know Tony thinks I'm odd-
skating when I should be with
Barbies and mom's ancient Easy Bake-
but I enjoy basketball.
When I hit Tony in the male parts
with the bat from a
baseball game, I became a boy 
then.

Improv "Blues"

Boys will be boys,
says Old America.
Just playing rough,
like Young America will.
But Young America
turns into Old America
one day. And will say the same
thing as they
fork over bills from 1912 for
sweet tea
and buffalo wings while
muttering song lyrics along
with the BeeGees and
Otis Redding.

Improv "Strawberrying"

Murder red dripped down the wall.
Streaks mixed with the flesh
white already there- a code
to the trained eye, smears
to others.
Smears of love and hate
swirled together by a single action,
a single swipe-
all tipped on a wood handled
paintbrush.

Improv "Tornados"

I wonder if that girl knows
she's not black.
Her friends, the color of
cocoa, or her eyes,
say that she's an honorary
African. I can hear their
rave volume giggles across
the library. They do black
more justice than I is uttered
once daily. I hope she knows
she's whiter than Casper.

Improv "Man and Camel"

"You ruined it! 
You ruined it forever!"
was the last thing yelled
in my ear as I slid into the driver's
side of the Mazda and tore
out of the parking lot.
Ruined her life. Her dear
dear life with Johnny.
She'll live. He'll live.
Maybe not together,
but they'll be happy...
in about eight years.

Improv "View of a Pig"

It was not a future
of fun,
being a math major. He knew
all this, yet
still declared. To do what?
Teach? He hated children more
than bumper to bumper traffic in
90 degree heat. Research? Computers
were not his thing. He tweets nothing.
Become an artist? Sculpting and
painting-he couldn't tell the difference.
Yet they use fractals too.

Improv "Fern Hill"

The lilting house
sways to "I will follow Him"
in the wind.
Mary blares the bass,
blowing out windows
with what should be cleaning
music.

Improv "Shirt"

When we go shopping,
first we clip coupons, only
the ones that match the peanut butter
and eggwhites in cartons. Then
Mom drives the van to Kroger
or Walmart. Depends on the
list: chocolate for fudge
       eggwhites
       bread
       peanut butter
       hot sauce.
Finally, we stand
to pay. The self serve backed
up with moms and children
overflowing carts
and eyes.

Improv "Mission Tire Factory, 1969"

Ignorance only out done by pain
can be crucial for anyone.
This is my father's theory:
everyone lives life
the way they see best, drunk or sober,
and then we die.
We die in the ignorance of
pain.

Improv "The Poet at Seventeen"

My roommate and I love
snapchat.
A way to send jewels of 
our embarrassment to people
who send theirs back within minutes.
Volleying echos of duck faces and
off key songs. There's no inkling of
shame or fear of
screenshots.

Improv "The Rites for Cousin Vit"

Weddings are playgrounds
for stupidity. Uncle Jack with
his overexcessive billfold spends
his 401K on cheap ale and Merlot.
Champagne is too girly for me.
Cousin Tritt, who does the shake hips
with a hiss during every song-slow like
Stand By Me, or fast like Boot Scooting
Boogie. I choose to sit back and take
memories of these days. Some
things you can't unsee...
but some you can burn.

Improv "Power"

My sister lives for children,
babysitter since ten, she peed herself
with excitement each time
someone called. As the older,
I chaperoned each sitting. The true sitter.
The true babysitter that lined her own womb
with cement,
to make a graveyard
for her children.

Improv "Growth"

The image printed from the ink jet,
grained like iris petals,
or unseamed quartz, showed
only his wife in front of Tim's
Gun on Main and Fifth.
The expression on her face-
awareness and anger hotter
than a stabbed Great White.

Improv "Neglect"

Anthracite reserves
power Russia. Even in the Soviet
coal is needed-
to power trains and
stoves. If only
the coal was easier to mine
and we didn't have to climb
down a mountain
of fear and soil.

Improv "Comings and Goings"

I live in a house
I will inherit
in a land I can't
explain to you.
Its a brown brick
building with black
shingles and tan
windows. My mother
lives here. In a room
with pink kittens in
frames of orange
oak and spotty glass.
Every monday she
argues with a man named
Ken on the phone-their
voices' tidal heave
and dwindle
over the air waves
and wires.

Improv "Salt"

The pale trickle of savvy
flecks the top of a broccoli mound.
sprinkles on an ice cream cone,
chocolate chocolate chunk. Brownie
bits fall from the base of a
waffle cone, speckling the tile
of boring.

Improv "A Tale"

No sea leaps upon itself,
except in waves.
Waves of ticks and
tocks. The tripping racket
of a clock triggers
the sea. A wave of minutes,
seconds, and hours floods
through the fringe carpet
of the living room
onto the granite tiled counter
of the kitchen.

Improv "Elegy"

The mouth is just a body,
a body filled with imagination
to be poured onto the paper
through the pen. Or between
teeth.
Blockades of the mind,
dams for thoughts and
ideas.
Self editing of the tongue-
cut it out,
and fail.

Improv "Loyal"

I wanted peace,
some balance between
the rain clouds of Algebra and
the sunshine of Glee.

I wanted love,
the way a terrier wants the
mail from Don the mailman
or a rottweiler wants a bone
or squirrel.

I wanted hope,
some reminder about the
flower garden next spring
and the lasagna mom will
make tomorrow
when I come home,
after a month away.

Improv "Niggerlips"

He's still a fly in milk,
flitting about, trying to regain
footing where there is none.
Waves of white drown the winged
body, but the sticky
walls of the cup provide
some relief with grip.
No escape.
Only death.

Improv "The Pomegranate"

My sister collects monarchs
and daffodils in her
buddleia.
A city of fogs and 
strange consonants,
the butterflies flit
amongst their petaled
dinners.
Playing hide and go seek
with whispers
and silence.

Improv "Farm Implements and Rutabegas in a Landscape"

When we asked Peggy what color
she wanted her room,
I expected pink, or baby blue
with polka dots. Instead, she
stared at me, wide brown eyes,
eyelashes flicking with each blink.
Mommy. I want the color of spinach,
It'll remind me 
to eat my vegetables.

Improv "Haircut"

I don't need you to beg me
for a job, for kitty litter runs to Kroger
at six pm when Pets Mart is closed and
Mrs. Fritz is going to have
accidents on Mom's antique rug.
Beg instead, to go with me.
To ride shotgun in the van
instead of watching Real Housewives
of Whatever with Ben and Jerry.

Improv "In Knowledge of Young Boys"

When you were newt like,
I was not. I cupped your minuteness
in my hands,
tickling you with my pinky
nail. When you were newt like,
I fed you. Newt food, like
mashed peas and ground
creamed corn. Baby food.
When you were newt like,
I watched, as you morphed-
Changing into my friend,
my child,
my not newt.

Improv "Preface to twenty volume suicide note"

Things have come to that

The back talk and cool ranch
Doritos locos tacos race towards
you like a horse who's master
has smacked their rump with a tire iron,
or a dog who's outside to pee
in 30 below weather, running
for the warm house.

Nobody sings like that anymore

Parachute and One Tree Hill
wannabe bands coat the lining
of the iPod memory. Noting
a period of what seemed to be,
before someone slaps you in the back
and your lung comes through your chest.

Improv "Ode to Boudin"

One day, I'll have the
best brownie. Not the Sweet
Tomatoes kind, where they are chalky
and taste like soot and toe jam,
but the chewing gum of God kind,
where they are warm and slither
down your throat,
coating every pink crevice
with chocolatey spakel.

Improv "Language Lesson 1976"

Hold is forget,
forget is my middle name.
Hold the mayo. 86 the pickles.
Speak english. Tell me what your heart
desires- don't sugar coat your sour punch straw.
I'll punch you in the straw.
Then you'll need a straw
to breathe.

Improv "Canticle with sea worm"

Pelky writes canticles
for the Braves.
Ones he hopes offer telepathic
skill and motivation,
if not today, then
one day soon, if a
trophy will collect dust
in the case. He bears a
tomahawk, under the prickly
chest hair, next to
DAWGLIFE.

Improv "The Dragon"

Kelly stares,
plinth in front of her,
platform for one and only
one statue. Direct orders from
the governor. Finger tapping the pencil,
she sketches a box, scratches it out, sketches
again, only to sigh, crumple the paper, and kick
the stand...breaking a toe.

Improv "The preachers eat out"

"We're not hungry for our kind."
laughs the old man in the red worn booth.
He nudges the man
with the Zac Brown beard
and points at the man across
the Dennys,
"but we'll take him
with a side of potato salad."

Improv "We lived happily during the war"

I watch the hemlock trees
whir by through the windows
of my boyfriend's F150.
The invisible house by invisible house
by invisible house,
hidden by these pineconed
oversized logs.
Oversized logs to become homes
for families of four,
2.5 kids and a dog,
picket fences with a flower garden.
Invisible houses visible
to them.

Improv "Blond"

The creche of five year olds,
filled with laughter and breaking
of Little Tyke houses,
sits at the corner of LA Fitness.
Between the woman's bathroom
and the bicep pumping guy's weight room.
A blond dreamer sticks his runny nose
against the window, watching his future
curl iron.

Improv "A defense of poetry"

The girder above the abattoir
fell. Smashing down
on corpses of cattle
and baby pigs.
Squeals and whining
fly over the falling bricks
and two by fours.

Improv "River of Bees"

A blind man followed 
the goats, and stood,
cane in the right hand, microphone
in the left, singing of what was older
than him and Vietnam. Older
than the shot amputee in the bed
next to him in Cam Pha.
Singing the song
of his people "America,
The Beautiful" ringing
through the halls and empty
rice fields.

Improv "Eating Alone"

Glazed in snow,
glistening of fried onion juice,
my fingers melt in my mouth,
tasting flesh and
Chinese.
Eggrolls of nails
and ice sit on a plate
on a bed of lettuce,
taunting me,
taunting you.

Improv "High Windows"

Church's sun comprehending
glass sports a picture of Jesus
leading children and sheep
through a field of grass.
Wearing a diaphragm 
of love and peace.
Early hopscotch with goats
etched forever,
painting over the red leather
of the pew.

Improv "My Father's Love Letters"

Cracked door,
opened from Becky's
escape from the mattress
fortress adorned with floral
prom dresses and memories, pulled
in a sunset. The last of Becky
found sprawled. Legs
scattered down the
hill. Smile cut
on her throat.

Improv "Green Pants"

A four inch blade sticks
out two inches above the jugular.
Yesterday, I'd be four minutes to heaven.
Today I've got blood
collecting in the hollow of my collarbone.
I see the light,
but Jimmy's shadow
shouts over the brightness.
Four minutes to the ER.
Four minutes Jane...
Four...Four...
Four.

Improv "End of the Weekend"

The twisting tightening
of his lariat pops
blood vessels
and seams. Arm bent,
right angle, bicep bulging
with the muscles in his forehead.
He feels the eye twitch
faster. Just...Fall...
Asleep...
The deadweight falls against
the mat.
Match won.

Improv "Digging"

When a man goes to prison,
he's locked away
from the enemies of rain and snow
but welcomes the enemies
of shanks and soap.
What seems to disappear
for a while comes up twenty
years away amidst
sun and grass.

Improv "2700 Miles"

Russian dolls
package their bodies into
their bodies-
Contortionists of the life
that tests the joints-
bending to the needs
of their makers.
Holding hope
and cartilage hostage
for a fleeting second,
until the show is over.

Improv "America"

Trotskyites wonder if Trotsky still
exists.
His ghost lives in the White House
holding his sharp mind against
Bush's.
Wandering up and down the halls,
wailing Soviet fears into the minds
of officials.

Improv "Madonna and Child, Perryton, Texas 1967"

Little plastic bags of crap
litter the floor.
She asks us to clean them up
but I laugh heartily at the
disgusted face pinching the Kroger bag
between her pointer and thumb.
My plastic bags, if she only knew,
carried not only crap,
but her birthday present.