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.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Monday, March 11, 2013
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.
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?
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?
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