Becomes you and is becoming to you are archaic but not for me my mother said these things and I do too but only in my head nobody speaks that language anymore. Maybe I’m archaic I guess a lot of people would think so. Her favorite color I never liked it much but suddenly I made my new life blue every shade of blue after I held her while she died for hours did she pass on blue love in that last moment or was it you? Blue is becoming to me you said so, but not like that you said looks good on and look good in. So vulgar on and in not like blue which defies prepositions. What does becoming have to do with blue or anything? Something has been lost forever. My mother and you in the space of three months I am all and always becoming blue.

the way


You can feel everything at once, and you do, now, like when you stood at the heart of a swarm of monarchs in the summer heat at six and seven and eight and tried to catch them but other times you didn’t try, you just floated in the cloud of orange against the blue not chasing just soaking, just being, absorbing, which is what you learned that you learned much later when you learned The Way. Now you float in the tickle and hum seeming brash and musky to those who would see you that way but you are the breeze and the glow, you know and only you seem to know that you are that precious powder you’d get on your fingers that shimmery orange powder and you’d feel bad like you’d stolen some magic that wasn’t yours the way they do, the way the men always do, but they don’t feel bad do they, they just catch you.



I am crushed into cardboard boxes, strangled in brown tape bondage. To avoid the carnage I navigate around the stacks, look to either side and past them, look at the curtains I made and the fancy rug and the past and the future but never at the now or the empty closet. That blackness will suck me in, first the air from my lungs then blood through my pores and all my holes then my powdered bones and at last the meat of me. Where I stood is a void but for the toys I leave to my once and always almost children and the easter egg for the man who avoided and voided me.



I hover ghostly in his room that once was ours whose babies are in these pictures and when did he get that book I would have liked it. There remains no trace of me oh yes there we are that first night of love tucked behind dusty toys from the children his children I mothered. And the ukulele from my heart. That will remain. Some day he may know it is my heart’s strings he plucks plucks plucks. He does not seem bereaved and I am broken and I try to decide which photo of him I will frame and hang in paradise. I will be there soon and he will be with me always.

pizza box


They say
this too shall pass
and everything has up till now.
The dog starts humping
my leg and I tell him
cut it out
you’re not the man of my dreams
or maybe you are
maybe you are.
Anyway, what dreams
they passed.
And what man.
There’s no water in that
vase of sunflowers
three sunflowers
on my sister’s table
and they are holding up
looking not too shabby in fact
wilting gracefully
more or less
like an unloved woman.
Nobody will fill the vase
I know this house
it’s like the world.
Nobody puts water
in the dog’s bowl either.
Now he has
a pizza box
he’s shredding
the pizza box
wagging wagging
shaking his head
that’s life
shred it and wag
and shake your head.
Then he comes to sit
at my feet
looks up to tell me
and I say
oh that was fun
wasn’t that so fun
your pizza box.



I’m drinking too much and getting fat, she told the man, but I’ve learned there’s a lot of self-loathing and self-destruction in the wake of rejection so I’m gonna ride it out and not judge myself and remember when I can that this too shall pass and hope my body can take yet another round and hope it won’t happen again not that I’m so naive as to believe that because I keep loving and one time will be the last time and the destruction will end in destruction. I think I love you, he said. See? she said. This is what always happens. And then you don’t. And then I’m fucked.

free hugs


Where am I? Is that the right question though? In certain eastern thought the goal is to get rid of the I even though you are not supposed to have goals in that same eastern thought so I’m confused. And I suppose if I did get rid of the I the where would not matter because it is relative to the I that is you can’t have one without the other you see if there is no I there is no where. I asked myself this question on acid thirty-five years ago and suddenly I was floating away in the air waving and saying goodbye to me and then blackness for I don’t know probably not long. There was neither an I nor a where at that moment but there has to be a better way. Something needs to happen soon but not a thing actually. Words are useless. Except for free hugs. That I can understand. And a few others.