The book Moving Performances is a book collecting materials derived from a series of live shows and performances, and was originally released as an mp3 CD, which can be referenced at a Janet Kuypers or Scars Publications CD/Book sale page This book is divided into parts, representing the different shows these writings were performed in. And because a few of these shows carried the same pieces, individual writings only appear in one of the sections in this book. Now it is finally released not only as a perfect-bound book, for only $11.95, but also as a downloadable copy, for only $3.53.

    This book is now also available as a 2.7 meg e-book (PDF file), so there are now so may ways you can enjoy the material from this presentation.

    The works in this collection book were derived from a series of live shows and performances, and was originally released as an mp3 CD, which can be referenced at a Janet Kuypers or Scars Publications CD/Book sale page This book is divided into parts, representing the different shows these writings were performed in. And because a few of these shows carried the same pieces, individual writings only appear in one of the sections in this book.
    Section 1, called 6/11, was a live performance art show at the Cafe in Chicago, performed live on June 11^th, 2002, and the number 11 was referenced throughout the show (from 09/11/01 to a near fatal car accident on 07/11/98). Section 2, called Change/Rearrange, is based on a CD release in 2002 of readings placed over previously mixed and released songs. Section 3, called Rough Mixes, were writings from a series of pieces that Pointless Orchestra sampled with the original music pieces. Part 4, called Seeing Things Differently, is from a live Chicago show at the Red Lion in the 90s, that also had studio mixes expanded and released on audio CD. Section 5, called Stop., was a live 2002 performance art show at the Cafe in Chicago about love; while the CD release was just of writings, the live show even contained a few songs sprinkled throughout the show. Section six, called the Entropy Project, is based on a CD with writings mixed with music by Order from Chaos. Section seven, called Tick Tock, is from a CD release of writings mixed with house music created by 5D/5D. Section Eight, called Live at Cafe Aloha, is from a 1990s performance art show with Janet Kuypers and Jason Pettus (at Cafe Aloha), where they alternated reading works — and in this section is Kuypers’ work displayed. Section nine, called Lake Demented Poets, was from a gathering of poets (sponsored by C Ra McGuirt of Penny Dreadful Press) in the Nashville area. Section ten is of readings performed at the live open mike at Cafe Aloha. Section eleven contains readings from live radio show performances at WZRD radio (88.1 FM, Chicago). Section twelve is of readings performed at the live open mike at the Note. Section thirteen are additional pieces of “raw” readings, including one short story (in addition to all of the poetry listed here). When this was released as an mp3 CD, these shows were placed on the CD, but because there was room for more files after the addition of all of these live shows and CDs, “raw” readings were added as the last section, so people would have a wider variety of writings to listen to — and in this case, to read in this book.

NASA Project

    I’ve always loved astronomy.

    I’ve kept the telescope I had since I was a child, I remember tracking the motion of the stars to the horizon when I was six with my sister when she took a high school astronomy class, I’ve witnessed two comets, I’ve even had a star past the base of the constellation Cygnus named after me.

    I’ve studied black holes, tried to learn more about astrophysics, the whole nine yards.

    And I have noted that there are studies and possibly plans for NASA, after setting up the space station, may be planning a colony on the moon for inhabitants, as part of a test to study which would also entail the long-term-effects of a change in gravitation force on the human body.

    And I heard this, that there may be plans for this within the next twenty or thirty years, and I thought,

    my god, I am meant for this, I would be perfect for this.

    But then I thought,

    what would I do there, why would they want me there

    And

    I’m a journalist, I’ve written all my life, and I’m a designer,

    and my job would be to catalog what is going on at the colony and to distribute news to the colony about what is going on on the moon and maybe also even about what is going on on earth.

    And I liked this plan, it would seem fitting, give me occasional feeds through occasional transmittals of information for me to pass on to the colony, and I would catalog historically what is happening here for people on earth to learn from, this sounds like the perfect thing for me

    and then I though, wow,

    I would disseminate all information to this colony of people on the moon. I would be their only link to news.

    I could tell them anything.

    Just think about this for a moment: I could tell them anything and they wouldn’t be able to use another source to prove me wrong, I could tell them I sang the national anthem for the President,

    no really, I don’t have that bad of a voice,

    because we were leaving to live on the moon,

    and these people would believe me.

    I wonder if I had to write reports to send back to earth, would I have to tell them about the hypnotic effects of the earthlight, because, you know, everyone talks about how wonderful it is to be in the moonlight.

    But I don’t know if it is a good idea to have a restrained audience, people who had to listen to me, and then I started thinking:

    would I be able to bring my pet cat with me?

    Cause all I can think is that my cat would be taking leaps and they would be fifteen feet jumps, 10 feet in the air, you know, they probably wouldn’t let me bring a pet to the moon, but it’s still fun to think about the gravitational pull for them. Remember at the Planetarium how they would have scales for different planets so you could see how much you would weigh there because of different gravitational pulls? All the women liked weighing themselves on the moon because of the moon having one sixth the pull of earth they could look at a scale and say,

    “I weigh thirty-six pounds.”

    But then I suddenly started to think: I love the idea of seeing the stars from an entirely different angle, I wonder how they would accommodate for days that are twenty-eight earth days long on the moon, can you even imagine seeing the earth in the sky out there the way we look at the moon now, can you imagine it. You’d be there, unable to make any connection with people on earth at all, and would that be hard?

    The one thing I realized I’d miss so much about leaving earth for years would be not the traffic, or having to go to the grocery store or to a restaurant, but missing love. For the first time you’d be separated from your family, would my husband go with me, or would I have to live without the one person that meant the entire earth to me, would i have to learn to live without love.

moonlight

looking for a worthy adversary

I’ve been looking for a worthy adversary
someone I can battle to the death with
because it can’t be about love, you see
love can’t exist on the terms I demand
it’s never that pure

I’ve been looking for a worthy adversary
and so I slither up to you like a snake
as you sit there at the corner
of the bar drinking your gin and tonics
and I tempt you with a golden apple

but all I was offering you
was fruit from the tree of knowledge

I didn’t know how willing you were
to take from that tree
I’m not used to that, you know

Did you know you’d need to come back for more?
Did you know what you were getting into?

well, I didn’t know you’d have
a thing or two to each me too

and did I know I’d need to come back for more?
Did I know what I was getting into?

because as I’ve been looking for a worthy adversary
all this time I’ve been playing a part
an actress on a stage, spouting the lines on cue
and that role was getting tiresome
but those stage lights still came on night after night
and I still had to play my part

until on my night off I saw your performance
at the theatre down the street
and you know, your protagonist
was doing what I was doing
right down to faking it with people who don’t matter
right down to going home and still feeling empty

and you know, I liked to see
that boiling emotion underneath
that no one else could see
because only I had the knowledge to know
what that emotion really means

and you know, I’m beginning to wonder
if we can get together
and write our own play

it would be a masterful performance, you know
and as that curtain would close we’d hold each other’s hands
and walk off the stage
and the audience would know that there is a happy ending

and now when I walk out on to the set
and there you stand, in front, stage left
I wait for my cue to make my move
none of the rest of the scene matters to me, you know

maybe they’d like our little play, maybe they wouldn’t
who really cares

because even though I came to you
and tempted you
you now tempt me and tease me and torment me
and tell me everything I was too afraid to believe
and show me the knowledge that always escaped me

and when you talk you reach your hand into my brain
and pull out my thoughts and shove them into your mouth
and spit them back at me

and instead of filling me with terror
it fills me with joy

I’ve been looking for a worthy adversary
and maybe you are much more than that

I’ve heard the words you say to me before
I’ve said them to myself many times
but why do they sound so much better
coming from you?

I had been looking for a worth adversary
someone I could lock horns with
but now I’m no longer locking horns

now it seems I don’t have to fight the battle alone
now it seems that there’s no battle to fight
we know what all the lines from our play really mean
and now we’re performing for no one
now we’re just ourselves
and now there’s just understanding
I don’t even have to speak

and now every day is Valentine’s Day
and now it’s like candy and flowers and springtime
and hearts and cupids and sunshine
and you know it’s scary
these cleches are actually beginning to make sense

I guess that’s what the tree of knowledge does to you

so this is what has been going on in my mind
and now I’ve just spilled my guts
and now I’m just a puddle on the floor

but now my performance of a lifetime is made
I stand here like a statue
and wait for my applause

and as I wait for the reviews
on the performance I was made for
I know what they’re all going to say
and none of that matters anymore

because I know what you are going to say
because it’s everything that I want to say

because now it’s time
for you to take my thoughts again
and shove them into your mouth again
and spit them back at me again

and now I wait for you to come on stage again
for our next wonderful performance
where we have our happy ending
where you tell me what I already know

Work Journal One

    At my job I’m hated for being good at my work and I’m hated for trying to make myself better. Everyone has given up here, so I have to pick up the pieces after them. Others scream because they don’t like hearing the answers I give to the questions they ask. They all just want me to do everything, and they want me to smile about it. No one can finish a job here; no one cares to. Then everyone wonders why I’m not happy here; then everyone thinks I’m overreacting. With my coworkers now there’s no sense of pride or else there’s an egoism coupled with a complete disregard for others. And the thing is, I hate the fact that people hate me when I’m right. I feel like I’ll have to settle for the rest of my life.
    Settle for idiots telling me what to do. Settle for idiots hating me because I have pride. Settle for idiots loving me, idiots who don’t know why they love me.
    I feel like I can’t be an optimist forever when the odds are continually stacked against me. I have nothing but my mind to help me with this fight, when everyone else is fighting me by shutting their minds off.
    How do I live in the middle of a barren desert?

    Remember and Get it straight, Janet - Keep telling this to yourself and maybe you’ll believe it: Whenever you’re at work, YOU’RE NEVER RIGHT. You’re overbearing, obnoxious, and you always think you’re right. All you have to do is follow orders. No one wants you to use your mind. Just follow the whims of everyone who wants to rule you. Don’t make waves. When they change their minds, don’t ask why. Always take the blame, especially when it’s not your fault. Always smile. Always be courteous. Always thank people, even if it’s for doing something they were responsible for. Especially thank them for that, because who are you to think that people should know or do anything? Who are you to think?

why i’ll never get married

at work we’ve been looking
for a new employee
we’ve sifted through resumes
we’ve interviewed a few

and some were good
some were very good
and we took some time to decide
and then we called our #1 choice

and they said they wanted
more money than we offered
so we said our goodbyes
and we called our second choice

and they said they couldn’t work
at such a small place
so someone at work said
we should interview some more

and that’s when i knew
at the rate we were going
we’d never find anyone
and no one would want us

Work Journal Two

    A co-worker quit from the company I work for today. I work in an office with about thirty-five people. Now this co-worker was in charge of our trade shows and quit two days before our annual trade show was about to begin. Apparently she was at a meeting about the trade show and someone else started badgering her and twenty minutes after the meeting she was on the phone with her husband saying, “It’s been bad enough that every day after work I cry when I get home, but now I’m on the phone crying while I’m at work.” So her husband told her it’s okay if she wants to leave, they can work it out. So leave she did. She collected her things, said, “Fuck you all, I’m quitting,” and just... left.
    Now I only got to hear about this scene second-hand, I didn’t actually see her or even get to say good-bye to her, and that’s a real shame because I probably would have shook her hand and thanked her for doing something that just about every person in our office has pretty much dreamt about on a daily basis. I mean, when I heard about what she did I let out a low, sadistic laugh, you know, one of those laughs that comes from really deep down, because we haven’t had one of those angry quitting scenes in a while, and believe me, they’re always fun to watch.
    And I laughed like that because I know what she was going through and I know what a relief it must have been for her to do it.
    She’s not the first person to do this to my boss, and I’m sure she won’t be the last. Once I saw a saleswoman walk right up to my boss in the hallway, get right up in his face, and tell him, “You’re an ass-hole. You have no idea how to run this business. You are incompetent, and so are your favorite employees. You make me sick. I quit.”
    I’ve only been here four years, and I can tell I can’t take it here much longer, but in these past four years I’ve seen a turnover rate of like forty percent or something and the retraining alone puts too much stress on a staff...

the Battle at Hand

I wanted you to know
that I was on a mission when I saw you
and that I was a warrior
and you were just a helpless victim
that couldn’t fight my weaponry

that wouldn’t fight my weaponry

I would come in to town
and pillage and rape
and rape and pillage
depending on how you put it

and rape is such a hard word, you know,
entirely inappropriate for this
because I made sure that you wanted me
before it was all over
because I have a knack for doing that
when I fight my battles

this is how I care to think of you.
I was on a conquest
and i came fully equipped with ammunition
I had bayonetts
I had a rifle
with rounds of bullets in a chain
thrown over my shoulder
I had a .22 calibur magazine loaded hand-gun

I didn’t even need to use the hand-grenade
or the tear gas

even before i started using my tongue as a weapon with a kiss
I used it as a weapon with words
and I knew I had won you won over from the start
you looked at me when I spoke
and I think you might have actually wanted to listen to me

and I would never have to resort to violence
to get what I wanted from you

we selsom had opportunities before
and there wasn’t much of an opportunities here
but we made one
and we somehow made it work

I know I wasn’t ready for a battle before
but I want you to know
that I came ready to fight
and I didn’t care the circumstance
or whether or not we had to be quiet
because we wouldn’t want anyone to find out
and no one did

and no, it was not a monumentous moment in my life
it was just a moment
a conquest, a battle,
and in my own mind,
I won the war

you still thought I was beautiful
and that I was horny
did I create a little monster in you?
now I’m going to have to re-arm myself
and use my stockade of defenses to push you away

but that is the cost of winning battles all the time, I guess

you thought I would always want you
and you know, I liked winning the battle,
but I’ll have to work again
so that you don’t come back to haunt me
because we weren’t meant to be anything to each other
and you were just a conquest for me
a battle won

people thought we would never get along.
but I know better
I know there is no such thing as NOT getting along with me
and I know I can make anyone like me
as I did with you

you were easy prey, you know.

The Effects of Nine One One

    Today is June Eleventh, exactly 9 months after the September 11 crashes.

    It’s strange, has everyone even thought about the fact that the terrorists decided to destroy greatness on nine one one?

    It’s strange, how close I came to losing friends and family:
    my friend didn’t happen to go to the Trade Center on business that week,
    my brother-in-law lost a slew of contacts who died in New York,
    the Pennsylvania plane landed a mile from my sister-in-law’s house,
    my friend in D.C. wasn’t hurt but he talked about how different streets would be closed on different days and that there were so many military guard there you felt like you were in a war zone,

    which in a way, you were.

    And these terrorists, they had a masterful plan, they were stopped that day from starting different flights, and one of them was slated, I think, to sun into the Sears Tower.

    I mean, think about the emotional effects of these disasters. I know different people had different reactions...

    I know that for months afterward whenever we were driving toward the loop, taking the kennedy where you could see the Chicago skyline get closer and closer, I know that every time we drove by, I would be sitting in the passenger seat and I would imaging seeing a plane fly right into the side of the Sears Tower, toward the top, to the side, exactly like how it happened to the World Trade Centers. Like how you saw it over and over again on television, when we were flooded with images of it on the news. I’d see a plane flying right into the tallest building, this landmark to Chicago.

    I still see that sometimes, whenever we are driving into the city,

    imagining witnessing the destruction,
    seeing it all,
    and thinking,
    what do you do then?

new to chicago

I’m still new to this city
I know, I know, I’ve been here for years
but I haven’t gone to the Sears Tower Observatory
since my Junior Prom

but when I walk by the First Chicago building
the beams along the north side
sloping up, parabolic pillars curving up to the sky

when I walk by the First Chicago building
I walk up along the side
and lean up against one of the sloping pillars
press my body against the cold concrete
feel the cold against my chin, my breasts, by thighs

and look up along the curve, stretching up towards the sky

you know, these pillares look like race tracks
and I could see something come rushing down that curve
a matchbox car, a race car
a marble, a bowling ball
a two-ton weight

I see the seed, the power, and it
almost makes me afraid to look up

and every time I walk by the First Chicago building
I do the same thing, I do this little ritual
and it feels like the first time

The Burning

Right There, By Your Heart

i had a dream the other night that i was in a
bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat, i think it was
the one in florida, but it could have been anywhere.
it was a small bathroom. i was stretched over
this seat, and i think the lid was up. i was naked. there
was a wall right next to me, and i felt cramped,
like i couldn’t move. and then kurt was there, with me,
in the bathroom, naked, standing over me, screwing me.
i was sitting on a toilet seat and he was fucking me,
and in the entire dream i couldn’t get comfortable,
i felt very awkward, it felt like he was pressing
on my chest, i couldn’t breathe, it felt like there was a rock
in my stomach that would stay there forever, but
the entire time i didn’t complain.

II

have you ever had that feeling before, you
know, the one when someone is telling
you something you don’t want to hear, like
if someone was about to tell you that someone
died and you knew what they were going to say
and you still didn’t want to hear it, or if
someone did something to you you didn’t like,
like when you were little and the kids at the
bus stop shot pebbles and spit balls at you every
day because you were smart and you still had
to go to the bus stop every morning and just
try to ignore them? and when that happens
it feels like a medium sized rock just fell
into the bottom of your stomach, and you
don’t want to move because you’re afraid
that the rock will hurt the inside of your stomach
and so you just have to sit there and hope
the rock goes away? or else you get the feeling
in your chest, right between your lungs, it feels
like someone is pressing against the bone there,
right there by your heart, and you’ve got to
breathe, you’re not going to be able to take
that pressure, that force any longer?

III

it had already been a long day, sitting in the back
of someone else’s car for two and a half hours,
knowing that if elaine’s dad wasn’t such a slow driver
it would have taken less than two hours. I was trying to get
home so i could make it on time for the christmas party
but still have enough time to pack for my early
flight the next morning. airports have become a second
home to me. so i walked in through the melon doors
only three hours late, those melon doors that scream
of the perfect fifties home, of the perfect fifties family
that everyone believed we were. i walked through the
doors, sarah hugged me, and dad walked into the
hallway from the kitchen. wait a minute. he was
supposed to be on the other side of the country... well,
don’t ask questions, just act happy to see him. so i smiled
and laughed, until he hugged me. then the rock settled
in. he didn’t have to say a word. my mind started
going through the checklist: okay, what would have
brought him back here? who was the one who had died?
i said ’grandma’ before he did. i cried for fifteen
minutes, wiped the tears from my neck, my ears, and
i got ready for the party, trying not to move too quickly,
so not to disturb the rock.

IV

i got the mail, like i do any other day, and by then i had
almost forgotten about waiting for the test results. i
was just getting the mail, like normal. when i saw the
letter from the hospital that day in that little metal
box the pressure on my chest came rushing back like
wind when it rushes around the side of a building and
it takes you entirely by surprise and you lose your
breath trying to live through it. what if the test results
said i was sick, and i wasn’t going to get any better?
i had too many symptoms, the results had to show
something. something, damnit. maybe if i never
opened the letter, i’d never have to deal with
illness. maybe then i’d live forever. but i opened the
letter. it said the doctors still know nothing. i
just wanted to know what was wrong with
me. why i wasn’t perfect. the pressure on my
chest didn’t go away when i threw the envelope
on the ground by the mailbox. i walked upstairs.

V

i needed to talk to someone, so i threw my bathrobe on the
floor, pulled on some sweats, and walked over to his
apartment. steve was supposed to be coming home
from work soon, and i needed to talk to somebody,
i couldn’t keep everything bottled in. i must have looked
like an idiot standing on his stairs looking like i
was about to cry. i felt like an idiot there, too, not
knowing why the rock in my stomach wasn’t going away.
i wanted to ask him if he ever felt that rock, felt
that pressure, even if there didn’t seem to be a
reason for it at all except for maybe life itself, which
everyone was supposed to manage through
anyway, i mean, everyone has stress, what’s your
problem if you can’t take it? i wanted to figure it out,
whatever the hell it was that was bothering me, i
really wanted to. this panic was driving me crazy, and i
couldn’t even explain why i was panicked in the first
place. i didn’t tell him i wanted to light a candle and some
incense and just curl up in the corner of my bed,
holding one of my pillows, probably the black one,
and cry for a very long time. i sat there in his
apartment when he got home, but i didn’t speak. what
could i say? that the rock in my stomach wasn’t going
away?

VI

i don’t know how many times the idea of seeing him
went through my mind. at least once a week i’d imagine
a scene where he’d confront me, and i’d somehow
be able to fight him back, to show him that he didn’t
bother me any more, to show him that the rock wasn’t
there any more. to somehow be able to prove that
i wasn’t a victim any more. i was a survivor. that’s
what they call it now, you see, survivor, because
victim sounds too trying for someone who has been
raped. so i keep saying i’m over it but i keep imagining
mark all over again, not raping me, but following me
on the street, coming to my door with flowers, or
sending me a valentine. but once, when i saw him
walking out of a record store as i was walking in, the
rock fell so hard that i thought i was going to be sick
right there by the cash register, right there by those
metal things at the doorway that beep when you
try to take merchandise out of the store, you know
what those things are, i just can’t think of what
they’re called. but if i did that, then he’d know he was still
winning, to this day. how many years has it been? how
many years since he did that to me? how many years
since i’ve been wanting to fight him, since i’ve been
feeling that rock in my god-damned stomach?
i managed to hide my face from him in the store so he
didn’t see me as he walked out. when i saw he was
gone, i wondered why i still felt the pressure in my
chest. i thought the pressure was going to turn
my body inside-out. i reached for my heart, grabbed
at my shirt. maybe the pain was always there, right there,
by my heart, but i try not to think of it until i
go through times like those.

Death takes many forms.

Death takes many forms.
For you, death first came when you were five years old
and your mother had to give you three shots of insulin a day
until you could take a needle to yourself.
Did it hurt to push that needle into your arm, the first time?
Or did it hurt you more to know you had no choice?

Death takes many forms.
Death can be someone telling you without trying
that they are losing their sight.
Behind coke-bottle glasses you would see me and say,
"That’s a nice black suit you’re wearing."
And I would tell you, "It’s green."
And you wouldn’t believe me.
You wouldn’t hear the howling wind of the changing seasons.

Death takes many forms.
I know what follows the autumn wind.
It is winter now.
Do you remember when it happened?
The changes are subtle, the temperature drops,
first only slightly. It’s almost imperceptible.
Only when the first snow falls do you realize
where the seasons have gone.

Death takes many forms.
Death can be a sweat-soaked shirt, the shakes, dizziness
when you needed food.
You would look as pale as a ghost
as I would hold your cold wet arm and steady you.
Quick, some sugar will make everything better.
Isn’t everything better yet?

Death takes many forms.
The signs of death can come
when you lose your circulation.
"My feet are numb, Janet," you’d say.
"I can’t feel my feet anymore."
And I would rub your feet for you,
and you would say it makes a difference,
you feel better.

If only I could do this forever.

Death takes many forms.
I said good bye to you to travel my own road
but I didn’t think it was the last good bye.
How was I to know?

When I left, I knew you didn’t want me to go.
And now it’s my turn.

Why are we always saying good bye to each other?

Are you trying to teach me a lesson?
Because if you are, well,
I’ve learned it. Trust me, I have.
You can come back now.

Death takes many forms.
And now, now it seems
you’ve taken me down with you
you’ve taken me into that casket with you
and I’m running my hand along your jacket lapel
and I can feel the coldness of winter all around me
and I can hear them shoveling the dirt over my head
and I want to get out
and I want to take you with me.

Death takes many forms.
Death can be that hole you left,
you know, right over here, just a little to the left.
I keep wondering when the pain will go away.
When will everything be better.

You once showed me that winter could be beautiful.
Instead of the dark and dirty snow lacing the city streets
you showed me a quieting snowfall,
over a lake at your parent’s back yard
glistening in an untouched whiteness.
I told you I hated winters
and you told me, "This you don’t hate."

Well, I’m still learning.

It is winter now.
And death takes many forms.
The seasons change for you and I.
It is snowing. And something is ending.
It is snowing. Somewhere
it is snowing.

Seven One One Part One

    Dave, after I dated him for a year and a half, was the gentleman who died.
    I was traveling when he died and was unable to go to his funeral.
    I never saw him lying in the casket, {where the undertakers had to sew his lips together,} maybe I needed to see him so I could really say goodbye.

    Because four months later,
    on seven eleven,
    I almost died in a car accident, unconscious for eleven days, had severe skull fractures.
    After losing my car, my home and my health, all I could do was try to recover.

    They even called me Elvira Doe in the hospital because they couldn’t find any identification, which was buried under the seat of my totaled car.

    But while in the hospital I kept imagining Dave coming to visit me, he came in through another hospital entrance
    so no one saw him
    and no one knew he was alive, and he was
    there for me.
    And I wasn’t alone.

    I felt so alone in the hospital all those weeks, maybe it was my brain’s way of trying to fill in all the unexplained gaps in my life.

    While recovering I even imagined my friend Brian, who now lives in San Francisco,
    Dressing up in old woman’s clothing and staying in the room like a patient with me so I wouldn’t be alone.
    And no, he was never in the hospital,
    and yes, I shared my hospital room with an old woman who was a patient I had never met before,
    and no, I never even talked to this lady,

    While recovering I even hallucinated that I was in my apartment and not in a hospital bed
    Because I REFUSED to believe that ANYTHING was wrong with me.

death is a dog

when you want it to heal,
well, it never does
and it never rolls over
and it never plays dead

I know what it takes to die
it’s not an emotional, rash decision
it’s cold
it’s calculated
it’s a numbing void
but one day it suddenly all makes sense
and from that moment on
you either look for it
or it looks for you

Death is an untrained little bitch
and I’ve been begging for it, I tell you
but it doesn’t come when you call

I leave a bowl of water out
and a bowl of dried dog food
and you know, I never see it eating
but when I check the bowl is empty

and I still refill the bowl

and vacuum the dog hair
that sticks to the couch
and spray air freshener
in the living room
because no matter how hard you try
you can never get rid of the smell

Death is an untrained little bitch, I tell you
and what it boils down to is this:
you won’t get along with her
and she won’t get along with you

she’ll claim her territory
under the bed,
eating your slipper,
while you try to sleep
and remind yourself
that there are no monsters
waiting for you
to shut your eyes

Seven One One Part Two

    I was in pain all the time, painkillers didn’t help, my back was sore, my head ALWAYS hurt, my sinuses were terrible. I wanted the Hell out of the hospital but I couldn’t take the first steps to do it. I could barely even stand. They strapped me in my bed at night,
    and once I contorted my way out of the harness, wrapped it up and set it on the nightstand; the nurses thought it was strange that the straps were next to my bed,
    and when my mother
saw how the harness was wrapped, she KNEW that I had to have done it.

    I had to fight every step of the way in that hospital. Three different doctors viewing my records even knick named me “miracle girl”, but learning to walk was no miracle to me,
    I just had to work harder to prove everyone wrong and try to get my life back.

Changing Garments

Agonies are
one of my changes of garments,

I do not ask the wounded person
how he
feels
or
who he
is

I myself become the wounded person,
My hurts turn livid upon me
as I lean on a cane and observe

Seven One One Part Three

I don’t need to eat
I haven’t been eating this entire time in here
(Eating is really overrated, what do I need it for)
So when they told me I could eat
I didn’t.
They offered breakfast and I told them no.
They offered lunch and I told them no.
And by the time dinner came along
my stomach was making more noise than I was
(I think it started a language of its own)

So being a vegetarian I got an egg sandwich
and then I was faced with this task I didn’t know how to undertake.
I had to rationalize it to myself.
You’ve eaten before, I told myself, you can do it again.
I know it seems foreign to you, but you can do it.
    Put some food on the fork, put it in your mouth, remove the fork, start chewing, and then just swallow it. You can do this. I had to talk myself through every step, the first bite was the strangest thing to me, I ate only half of the food,
But I did it.
I know that once I got used to eating I ate ravenously, but
The next morning they offered food and I ate an egg sandwich again and I had to tell myself,
You did this yesterday, Janet.
I had to goad myself into eating again.

King of the Universe

Seven One One Part Four

    My sister started a journal while I was in the hospital for people to write in. My father, who never writes, wrote down while I was still unconscious,
    I squeeze your hand
    But you don’t squeeze back
    But I still love you
    And my roommate, a man I dated and loved, was the first to write in the journal, and he wrote that he remembered me telling him just before the accident that I had written about a car accident, that he was a fantastic car crash,
    And he wrote,
    But it was supposed to be ME.

fantastic car crash

and most of the time we’re just moving
in a straight line, and the scenery
blurs. there’s nothing to see

but I know what’s inside you and I
know what you’re made of. I know
there’s no such thing as a calm with you

you are a fantastic car crash. you stop
traffic in both directions as the gapers gawk and
the delay grows and they slow down and stare

everything shatters with you, you know.
it’s a spectacular explosion. I try
to duck and cover as metal flies

through the air. and every time you leave
the scene of the accident
I am left picking up the shards of glass

from the windows. you know, the glass breaks
into such tiny little pieces. they look like
ice. it takes so long to pick up the pieces

even though I’m careful
I’m still picking up the pieces
and I’m still on my knees

and the glass cuts into my hands
and the blood drips down to the street.
think of it as my contribution

to this fantastic car crash
that is you, that is me, that is us
as I pull the glass from my hands

and I wave my hand to the line of traffic:
go ahead, keep driving, this happens
all the time, there’s nothing to see here

High Roller

I want to be able to walk up behind you
rest my hands on your shoulders
lean my head next to your face

I long to have my cheek near yours
not touching
but so close
that I could still feel your warmth
your desire

our skin wouldn’t touch
but I would still feel the rush
from your presence

Gears get caught in the mud

I’ve wanted to be so much for you
I’ve wanted to to cook your meals
and clean your clothes
And even wanted it to surprise you
I’ve wanted to do things
To catch you off guard
To beat your intelligence

And once I want to start
My gears gets caught in the mud
And they start spinning
And I try to get them out
But I usually never learn
And I spin them and some more
And I get further buried in the ground
And it’s like I’m digging my own grave
By spinning my own wheels
And trying so hard
To be everything to everyone,
No, wait, to you

I’m trying to be so much
And do so much
I’m trying to accomplish so much
bit I’m spinning my wheels
and I’m burying myself
And I want you to know
(At least)
That I’m trying

After the wreckage

I can’t leave this funeral that never seems to end
I can’t leave this funeral that, in a way, never started
And all I know is that I have been doing all of the mourning

And is that the way it goes?
Is someone mourning for you for too long
And you, the deceased, didn’t know anyone would care
And you, the deceased, didn’t know they were dead
So

So was it just me
Do I feel this alone

Does your spirit rise after the wreckage
And you watch from above
And see how everyone reacts
And see how I cry
And see how I suffer

Is this what you’re doing to me?

And now, after the funeral,
And I have to clean up the room
And I have to put awasy the flowers
And I have to escort the people out
Because they don’t deserve to be here
Because they don’t even clean up the mess

I should know by now
It’s still me
It’s only me
Isn’t it?
Is that the way it goes?

All Your Fault

you know i could kick your ass
for not calling
for not showing you care
for moving across the country
for leaving me

you left me, you know,
let me repeat that, you left me
and that’s how i’ll remember it
nothing more, nothing less
and god damnit, i wanted a future with you
i planned it all in my head

and hindsight’s 20/20
i know i was a fool
but i still know it was your fault
and i won’t accept any other explanation

i’ve got to put my foot down on something, you know

and so i left you
and i thought that would surprise you

but you have so much on your mind
to worry ’bout ’lil ol’ me, don’t you

i wonder if you even knew i was there

there are many things i could have told you
and never did
and i want some kind of closure
so i can put you behind me forever
so i will no longer think
that i was your only hope

Expecting the Stoning

you know how
you want a popsicle
and you want it for the longest time
and you don’t even know what it’s going to taste like when you get it
and then you finally get it
and it tastes oh so good
and you have some if it
and you want to save it so you can have it later
and then you realize
that in order to keep the popsicle from disappearing
it has to stay in the freezer
to avoid melting
and becoming just a liquid pile of remains
instead of what you wanted

that it had to stay in the freezer in order to survive
and you couldn’t stay there with it
that it was meant to be cold forever
or consumed

it was either one or the other
they taught you that fact when you were little
you can’t have it both ways

you can try
and it might be fun at first
but everyone knows it will hurt later on

and it will

I think what I liked the most about us
was the theory of romance

no, wait, it wasn’t that
it was the fact that it was forbidden
that you were a friend of a friend
and this wasn’t quote unquote supposed
to be happening

but I liked the idea of being with you
I would travel across the country to see you
the thought of you and the times we had behind everyone’s backs
those times were like poems to me
and maybe looking back we weren’t technically together
when we couldn’t even tell anyone that we we ever together in the first place
but it was still nice for me to fantasize

and what did it get me

maybe my problem was that it was all in my head
and maybe I didn’t realize
the novelty would wear off for you
that you were like the average American
and after twenty seconds of watching a television show
you’d want to change the channel with the remote on the arm of your chair

I didn’t know you were a popsicle that would melt
when you were exposed to ANY sunlight or ANY heat at ANY time

I didn’t know you had problems. don’t we all.
we all don’t go to psychiatrists and stay on medications
maybe I didn’t know how bad your problems were

I didn’t know you were a snowman
that I made in the backyard at my house in the winter when I was little
a snowman that was fully equipped with
a carrot nose, like pinocchio, no, wait, like you, with
no hair, like you, with
black rocks for eyes, like you

and yeah, that snowman melted with spring, like you
and maybe I should have learned my lesson
from that damned snowman

I guess there was a lot about you I didn’t know
because in so many ways I didn’t know you

I remember how little kids would want to build snowmen
in the winter
they didn’t seem to mind the snowman eventually going away

I hated the cold, so I didn’t play in the snow as much

maybe in playing those little games
everyone else learned their lesson, maybe they learned something
that I should have learned

I should expect the stonings that I am bound to receive
for telling you that I know what you have done
and that I want the rest of the world to know it too
I will expect the stonings
with time, I have been getting used to the punishments
for telling the truth, even when people don’t want to hear it
and I don’t want to be your savior
and I don’t want to be your prophet

I don’t want to be that for anyone

I think I am too cocky to be a good leader, anyway

so, thank you for getting my hopes up and then blowing them away
with one breath from your lips
like anyone would do to a pile of sand

or table salt spilled on the counter

because I think I needed to learn that lesson
and in a way, for now,
I only have you to thank for it

being god

I’m tired of taking this knife to my hands
over and over again giving myself the stigmata
the blood gets all over my clothes
and I can never get the stains out
and for what, for you to see how I suffer

I’m tired of being humble when I’m
supposed to be the one with the power
over and over again I become your servant
and never are you bowing to me
I don’t even get a thank you

I’m tired of preaching to the converted
when the converted aren’t even really listening
they’re snoring in the back rows while I
deliver my sermon and there’s not even air
conditioning in here and I’m sweating

I’m tired of coming to you and healing the sick
taking away the problems, over and over again
giving you something to look forward to
and all I have is an eternity of waiting for
someone to take my place and tend to my wounds

I’m tired of giving the earth up to you
watching the devil’s work be done, and you know,
he’s just sitting down there looking at me
and laughing, over and over again because it’s
so easy for him when he doesn’t have to work

I’m tired of being your salvation
over and over again you turn to me
and I have no one to turn to but myself
it’s a bitch, you know, being your own god
since no one can save me from me

I’m tired of being your teacher, handing you
what you need on a silver platter and waiting
for that damn collection plate and someone
is always stealing out of it from the back row
I know who you are, you who leave me nothing

I’m tired of wearing this crown of thorns
over and over again the needles prick my skin
and even gods bleed, at least this one does
and when I ask you to wipe the blood
out of my eyes, well, I can’t see you anywhere

I’m tired of being something for everybody
when everyone is nothing for me
maybe the devil has the right idea, you know
maybe I’ll sit back and wait for you miss me
as you wonder who’s your messiah now

will be just fine

i could never take care
of anything, you know

and i wonder what i’ve done
to you

could I find you again
hold you in my arms
rock you like a baby
stroke your hear
and tell you everything
will be just fine

communication

now that we have the information superhighway
we can throw out into the open
our screams
our cries for help
so much faster than we could before

our pleas become computer blips
tiny bits of energy
travelling through razor thin wires
travelling through space

to be left for someone to decipher
when they find the time

II

got into work the other day
and got my messages out of voice mail:
mike trisko left me his pager number
and told me to contact him with some information
mike wright told me to call him at the office
between ten thirty and noon
lorelei jones told me to check my email
because she sent me a message i had to read

so i first returned mike wright’s phone call
but he wasn’t in, so i left a message with a coworker
and then i dialed the number for mike trisko’s pager
listened to a beep, then dialed in my own phone number
then i got online, checked my email
read a note from ben ohmart, emptied out the junk mail

realizing i didn’t actually get a hold of anybody
i tried to call my friend sheri
but i got her answering machine
so i said,
“hi - it’s me, janet -
haven’t talked to you in a while - ”
at which point i realized
there was nothing left to say -
“so,
give me a call, we should really
get together and talk”

III

sara and i were late for carol’s wedding rehearsal
which was a bad thing, because we were both
standing up in the wedding
and we were stuck in traffic, and i asked,
“sara, you have a cel phone, don’t you?“
and she said “yes”
and i asked, “well, do you know carol’s
cel phone number, cause if you do, we can
call her and tell her we’ll be late -”
and she said, “no - do you know it?”
and i said “no”

IV

I was out at a bar with Dave, and I was explaining to him
why I hadn’t talked to my friend Aaron in a while:
“You see, we usually email each other,
and when we do, we just hit ’reply.’
when you get an email from someone,
instead of having to start a new letter
and get their email address, you can
just hit the ’reply’ button on the email message,
and it will make a letter addressed
to the person who wrote you the letter originally.
so one of us sent the other a letter, and
it had a question at the end,
so i hit ’reply’ and sent a response,
with another question at the end of my letter.
so we kept having to answer questions for each other,
and we just kept replying to each other,
sending a letter with the same title back and
forth to each other. well, once i got an email
from him and there was no question at the end,
and so i didn’t have to send him a response.
so i didn’t. and we never thought
to start a new email to one another.
so we just lost touch.”

and then it occurred to me, how difficult it had become
to type an extra line of text, because that’s why
i lost touch with him

and then it occurred to me, no matter how many different
forms of communication we have,
we’ll still find a way
to lose touch with each other

V

now that we have the information superhighway
we can throw out into the open
our screams
our cries for help
so much faster than we could before

but what if we don’t want to communicate
or forget how
too busy leaving messages, voice mails,
emails, pager numbers
forgetting to call back

what if we forget
how to communicate

VI

i wanted to purchase tickets for a concert
but i was shopping with my sister
and wasn’t near a ticket outlet
but my sister said, “i have a portable phone,
you can call them if you’d like”
so she gave me the phone, and i looked
at all these extra buttons, and she said,
“just press the ’power’ button, but hold it down
for at least four seconds, until the panel lights up,
then dial the number, but use the area code, because
this phone is a 630 area code, then press ’send’.
when you’re done with the call, just press ’end’, and
make sure the light turns off.”

so i turned it on, dialed the number,
pressed ’send’, pressed my head
against the tiny phone

and the line was busy
and i couldn’t get through

VII

i wanted to get in touch
with an old friend of mine from high school,
vince, and the last i heard was that he went to
marquette university. well, that was five years ago, he
could be anywhere. i talked to a friend or two that
knew him, but they lost touch with him, too.
so i searched on the internet, to see
if his name was on a website or if
he had an email address. he didn’t.
so i figured i probably wouldn’t find him.
and all this time, i knew his parents lived
in the same house they always did, i could just
look up his parent’s phone number in the phone book,
and call them, say i’m an old high school friend
of vince’s, but i never did. and then i realized why.

you see, i could search the internet for hours
and no one would know that i was looking for someone.
but now, with a single phone call, i’d make it known
to his family that i wanted to see him enough to call,
after all these years. and i didnt want
him to know that. so i never called.

VIII

now that we have the information superhighway
we can throw out into the open
our screams
our cries for help
so much faster than we could before

but then the question begs itself:
who
is there
to listen

Holding My Skin Together

is life pre-ordained?
i’ve been trying to remember
all the little details
that i’m supposed to take care of
and i know i’m not even getting
half of them done
and i wonder if you feel what i feel
is it just me
is the stuffing falling out
of my insides
through the stretched seams
holding my skin together
because i keep finding
bits of stuffing fallen out
and i try to put it back in
but damnit, i don’t see the holes
and i just have to work faster
so that maybe
i’ll have a better chance
of not losing my insides

is it just me?
probably
but i’ll keep frantically trying
to hold myself together
so i can be a bit more normal,
no, wait,
so i can be a bit more like myself
and i won’t have to be pre-ordained

I Don’t Want To

But I don’t think I earned this
And I don’t think I’m being punished
For a deed I did not committ

Who am I supposed to apologize to
Who am I supposed to accountable
Who am I supposed to forgive

I don’t want to think about the bad stuff
but the bad stuff keeps coming back
To haunt me
And I don’t like it

I don’t want to live this way, and
I don’t want to keep paying for someone else’s sins

people tell me I’m being pessimistic
when I say I don’t want to
But at least it proves, at least,
That I am angry, and
That I live
And I do

Lost in the breeze

I have only seen you through my rose-colored glasses
I know you thought of me
On the most important day of my life
And well, wouldn’t you think of me anyway
We’ve had enough of a track record together to earn it

I know you thought of me
you did things for me
But a part of me ask for you there
Because I knew it would matter to you

I know you thought of me
you worked for me
But the minute you’re our obligations were met
Well, my name flew away like a feather on the breeze
Caught up in the wind
And then muffled noise
That was my night
And was my life
Was forgotten

I know you were doing me a favor
And I am grateful for that
And all that I afraid I will carry with me
Is that you did what you felt you had to do
And then
Like my name, a muffle sound lost in the breeze
I left you
In you went on your way

medication

I closed my eyes at 4:32. I hated that damn alarm clock. And
taking the pills early still wouldn’t make the pain go away
before I woke up. I knew that. But I took them anyway. And
I tried to fall back asleep. And I dreaded 5:30, when I’d have to move.

5:40, I couldn’t wait any longer, I couldn’t be late, we
couldn’t have that, so I’d finally swing my legs to the floor.
I’d put on my robe and limp into the kitchen. The trip to the
kitchen lasted for hours. And picking up the milk carton from the
refrigerator hurt like hell. This wasn’t supposed to be happening,
not to me. Just pour the damn milk. I’d wipe the tears from my chin
and sit down for breakfast.

II
The doctor doubled the dosage, and he was amazed
that I needed this much. He told me to follow the directions
strictly, STRICTLY. “You can’t take these in the morning the way
you have been,” he’d say. “You have to take them with food.”
That doesn’t help when I’m crying from the pain in the morning.
But I could get an ulcer, he’d say. And I wouldn’t want that.
Of course not. I just wanted the pain to go away.

Take one tablet three times daily, with meals.
Do not drink alcohol while on medication.
Take with food or milk. Do not skip medication.
Do not take aspirin while using this product.
Do not operate heavy machinery. May cause ulcers.

III
All I had to do was get through the mornings. The mornings
were the hardest part. Just take a little more pain, and
by the afternoon it will all be fine. Just fine.

An hour after the pills, and I’d start to feel dizzy.
I’d stare at a computer screen and it would move, in circles, back and
forth. I wanted to grab the screen and make it stay in place. But
I’d look at my fingers and they would go in and out
of focus. I’d feel my head rocking forward and backward;
I couldn’t hold myself still. I’d sit at my desk and my eyes would
open and close, open and close. Before I knew it, ten minutes passed
and I remembered nothing. I could have been screaming
for ten minutes straight and I wouldn’t have known it. Or crying.
Or sleeping. Or laughing. Or dying.
I had just lost ten minutes of my life, they were just taken
away from me, ripped away from me, and I could never
get them back.

And I could still feel traces of the pain, lingering in my bones.

IV
I’d sit up at night and just stare at the bottle. It was a
big bottle, as if the doctors knew I’d take these drugs forever.
Hadn’t it been forever already? I’d open a bottle, look at a pill.
They looked big too. Pink and white. What pretty colors.

And then I’d think: If one tablet, fifty milligrams, could put me
to sleep in the morning, could make me dizzy, could take
a part of my life from me, then think about what the other
thirty-six could do. 1800 milligrams. It could kill me.
I wouldn’t want that. Of course not.
But just think, the bottle isn’t even full.

May cause ulcers. May cause dizziness. Side effects may vary
for each patient. May cause weight gain. May cause weight loss.
May cause drowsiness. May cause irritability.
Medication may have to be taken consistently
for weeks before expected results. If effects become severe,
consult physician immediately.

V
I began to count. In the mornings I took eight pills:
one multivitamin, one calcium pill, one niacin pill, one
fish oil capsule, one garlic oil pill, and one pink-and-white
pain killer that I was special to have, because you need
a doctor’s permission to take those. Then I took diet pills:
one starch blocker, one that was called a “fat magnet.”
As if the diet pills worked anyway. But I still took them.

And then I had to watch the clock, take a pink-and-white
at one in the afternoon, a different pill at five o’clock,
another pink-and-white at six o’clock, and there was also
usually sinus medication that I had to take every
six hours in there, too. Or was it eight hours? I started to
watch the clock all the time, I bought a pill container
for my purse so that I would always have my medication with me.

When I’d feel my body start to ache again, I’d look at the clock.
It would be fifteen minutes before I had to take another pill.

civil war

the confederates are winning the battle
but I know the north will win the war
and all they’ll get is a ravaged battlefield

II

a civil war is raging inside me
but I’m tired of fighting from within
when all I want is a revolution

most accurate metaphors

rape is one of the most savage
one of the most accurate
metaphors for how men
relate to women in this society

it is a political crime
committed by men
as a class
against women
as a class

rape is an attempt by men
to keep all women in line

Bob Lamm, 1976

now there’s two ways
this can happen, little girl
you can keep fighting me,
and if that’s the case, i’ll
have to keep my hand
over your mouth and
this knife at your neck,
or you can relax, enjoy
yourself, make this easier
on the both of us

you know you want this
so stop fighting it

i saw the way you were
looking at me earlier,
the way you stared at me
the way you were dressed
i know what you were thinking
so don’t say a word

did you think those drinks
were free

how long did you think
i could wait
it’s my turn now
you owe it to me

just do as i say
and no one gets hurt

My Dead Daughter

I keep getting this image in my head
of a little girl, and she has long straight dark hair
and she is quiet and she comes to me and asks me questions
and I am working, but I turn around to answer her
and she sounds really intelligent
and I treat her that way and I answer her like an adult
and then I wonder if I’m not spending enough time with her
so while I’m answering I turn off my computer
and I turn around to her and I continue to look at her
I make a point to make eye contact when I communicate with her
and I get up so we can walk to the library
as I finish answering her question
and we get to the library and I ask her
is there is anything else she wants to know
because I want to be the one to tell her the truth
and she says no
she says she doesn’t need anything
and underlyingly she makes me feel as if she doesn’t need me
and I think,
I gave birth to that girl, she has to need something from me

and maybe she’s a smart girl
and maybe she’s learned to do things on her own
maybe she does all the things I have had to do in my life
maybe she understands more than I ever did

but these are my memories
these are the memories of something that has never happened
and will it ever? I always imagined a girl
maybe that’s the maternal side of me,
being a mom and knowing women
but I never knew who the father was
and I never got her name, whenever I would have these memories

maybe she never had one

Once Wanted You as my Friend

and didn’t leave me fucking someone else
while I was engaged
“I’ve never orgasned
while having sex with him,” you’d say
well, I don’t know what to tell you.
All I can think
is that you’ve made this bad
out of straw and fabric scraps
and I don’t care if it rained yesterday
and your precious bed smells like shit
and you’ve got nothing clean to grab on to
well, you’ve made that bed
and now you have to lie in it.
so
so have a good night’s sleep
while you try to make sense
of what you think is insane
God, the only insane thing
is that your man still puts up with you
or how much of your story
haven’t you told him?

So yes, I should be laughing
because you’re the one filled
with so many questions. Please,
for your own benefit,
for OUR own benefit,
get them figured out.

I wanted to cut off ties from you sooner
but I would have had to lose one of my
closest friends in the process
and we couldn’t have that (of course not).
But I’m glad your warped mentality
misconstrued what I said
and that is exactly what you did
nothing more, nothing less
but you at least got the idea
because no, I don’t want to be a part
of your life any longer
and I don’t want to openly condone
what you’ve done to your man
and what you’re doing to your man
and I want to walk away from this unscathed

so I think I will.

timing is everything

that’s when for a brief moment something
wonderful happens and reminds you why you live
and reminds you of what hope and joy and
even love is

and suddenly breathing is no longer a chore
and suddenly nothing is a chore and suddenly
there is no pain and suddenly you remember
what it’s like to be alive and you start to like it

well, that’s when they pull they rug out from
under you, right at that moment, so that
you can fall to the floor and then the biting
sting of pain hurts that much more

timing is everything, you know, they do it
that way on purpose because they can’t let you
go on feeling hope and not feeling pain
this is their key, it’s all in the timing

praying to idols

every onc in a while
i question whether or not there is a god
bu i changed my mind
i thought i have found him

he had dark hair
almost black
just like a god should
and he had these blue eyes
not just blue
almost white
so light
they look like glass
and you could almost see right through them

and could i see right through you
if you gave me the chance?

i’d clasp my rosary necklace
and pray to the right gods
and wouldn’t they be you
and i’d let the necklace drape over my shoulders
around my neck
and i’d let the rosary fall between my breasts
and you would forgive me that much more for my sins

how many hail marys
would you want me to say
i’d ask

i cannot believe i have seen you
and i have talked to you
and does everyone get to see their god like this
and does everyone remember

why do you have to be my god
why did i have to see you
and talk to you
and realize how young you are
and realize how inexperienced you are
i mean, you’re supposed to be the god
you’re supposed to be teaching ME

is this what people think
when their gods let them down
did you let me down
or did i just never know
what i was looking for?
is this what people think
when they realize
they are only praying to idols
what then?

Two Minutes With Ayn Rand

when someone asked me what I’d say
I said I’d rather hear you speak
I’m sure the words you would part unto me
would mean infinitely more
than what I could say to you

and if I could talk to you
I wouldn’t know what to say

But I know I’d have to tell you
like so many of your fans in the past
that I thank you
for showing me
that there are logical people in the world
that man can live by reason
that reason is a virtue
that selfishness is a virtue
that I have a right to what I earn
to what I create
to what I know to be true

I would have been still searching blindly
for philosophical answers
to the meaning of life
if you never told me
that I am worth something
that I am my own end

and it’s nice to know
that even when I’m surrounded by these
unthinking masses
that there are people who hold their minds
as the highest value
out there somewhere in the world

and the fact that they exist
helps me through my days

but you knew that
you wrote about these heroes
over the years
and how could you manage to write
gripping, thousand-page novels
about heros that a rational mind
can’t help but love
and did you really find that hero in real life?

because I’m still looking.

You’ve created these heroes
but are they just created
does anyone else understand
these values as I do?

Yes, thank you
for giving me the answers
I’ve been looking for,
but tell me that someone else out there
found the answers too

so maybe, if those who posed
this unreasonable illogical ethical question
in the first place, if they could give me
another two minutes
so you could do some talking
maybe then you could explain to me
how to get through the days
when no one understands you
how to accept less than perfection
when you’ve seen the purity and the clarity
of the thinking mind

What do we say

What do we tell our youth
when we let them out on probation
for violent crimes
because there’s no room in our jails

What does it say of us
when a painting of a clown
by John Wayne Gasey
sells for millions

What does it say of our self-esteem
when hundreds of women write letters
to Charles Manson
asking for his hand in marriage

What does it say of our media
when it glorifies these
dark heroes

Dear
Hero
I want to know how your mind works
I want to know why you did it
I want to know how you feel about politics
and love
and marriage
I hope you’re not suffering too much
I love you

What rights do we really take away
from those who take our rights from us?

I hope you’re not suffering too much

Richard Speck, convicted of killing
eight nurses, was videotaped in his
prison cell by cell mates with his
male lover, counting hundred
dollar bills, snorting mounds of
cocaine,
showing off his hormonally-
induced shapely breasts

When a menber of society commits a crime
they relinquish the rights
they have taken from others

in theory

One man in prison filed a lawsuit
against the state
for serving peas to him too many
days in a row
One man in prison filed a lawsuit
against Ann Landers
because she published his letter
where he wrote he killed his wife
One man in prison filed lawsuit
after lawsuit against the state
solely because he felt a great joy
in uselessly spending
the taxpayers’ money

What do we say to all of this
What do we say?

Why do you

Why do you make us wait for you to come back?
Why do you allow suffering?
Why do you aim all hurricanes at mobile home parks?
Why do you let us destroy ourselves?
Why do you obstruct people from gaining knowledge?
Why do no major Hollywood film companies collape in one of your earthquakes?
Why do you let innocent people die for crimes they didn’t commit?
Why do you let the guilty go free?
Why do you fight against progress and technology?
Why do you fill this earth with so much pain?
Why do you not come down here, right now, and show us your face?
Why is it that the less intelligent people are, the more religious they are?
Why do you treat women in the Bible as possessions?
Why do you allow pro-wrestling?
Why do you insist we have faith in you and make us denounce our brains?
Why do you think we’d think you exist?

Against My Will

Not that some man
Some quote unquote man
Had physically held me down
Has forced himself inside me
Against my will

That way is just to obvious

Not the “someone tried
To beat me up” thing
Because that is old news

If you have done the research I have
If you have gone through what I have
If you have lived the life that I have

Because
You know
I should be above this
I should be a feminist
With a capital fucking F

I guess with that in mind
I should not mind the cat calls
Or the whistles

Or the fact that the word “woman”
Is the word “man”
With a couple of letters tacked on

Like how “she is “he” with an “s”

Like we’re an extension of them

Or the fact that men
First look at me
By looking at my breasts
And not my eyes

I should be aware
That a woman with power
Instills fear
And a woman with power in a company
Can still be demoted outside of the company
Where she can still be down-played

I can handle the jokes
About being a blond
Or being dumb
Or being both
I can hear the line
Always said insultingly
That we HAVE to be irrational
Because we are so damn emotional

I mean
How can you trust something
That bleeds for five days every month
And doesn’t die?

Fine
If they want to brush off
Everything that makes us strong
Fine
If they say we can not hold a job
Fine
We will just depend on you for money
And work on our OWN jobs
On our OWN time
And stash enough away for our OWN little nest-egg

And how much money
are you boys going to have
when it comes to the end of your family line?
How much of a life
are you boys going to have
when it comes to the end of your family line?
How much happiness?

Andrew Hettinger

I never really liked you. I met you through
a friend and he explained to me that multiple
sclerosis left you with a slight limp and a
faint lisp. Faint, under the surface, but there,
traces of something no one would ever
know of you well enough to fully understand.

yourself to me and I never wanted you to;
you scared me too much. You, plagued with
physical ailments. You, with a limp in your walk.
You, with a patch over your eye. You, who
stared at me for always just a bit too long.

They told me the patch was from eye surgery
with complications and now you had to cover
your shame, cover someone else’s mistakes,
cover a wrong you didn’t commit, cover a
problem not of your own doing. The problems
were never of your own doing, were they.

I heard these stories and I thought it was sad.
I heard these stories and thought you had to be
a pillar of strength. And then I saw you drink,
straight from the bottle, fifteen-year-old
chianti. And I saw you smash your hand into
your living room wall. This is how you lived.

The house you lived in was littered with
trash. Why bother to clean it up anyway. It
detracted you from the holes in the wall, the
broken furniture from drunken fits. This was
how you reacted to life, to the world. You didn’t
know any better. This is how you coped.

I never really liked you. You would come home
from work, tell us about a woman who was
beautiful and smart that liked you, but she
wasn’t quite smart enough. And I thought: We
believe anything if we tell ourselves enough.
We weave these fantasies to get through the days.

I never really liked you. Every time you talked
to me you always leaned a little too close. So
I stayed away from the house, noted that those
whom you called friends did the same. I asked
my friend why he bothered to stay in touch.
And he said to me, "But he has no friends."

This is how I thought of you. A man who was
dealt a bad hand. A man who couldn’t fight
the demons that were handed to him. And
with that I put you out of my mind, relegated
you to the ranks of the inconsequential. We parted
ways. You were reduced to a sliver of my youth.

I received a letter recently, a letter from
someone who knew you, someone who wanted
me to tell my friend that they read in the
newspaper that you hanged yourself. Your
brother died in an electrical accident, and
after the funeral you went to the train station,

and instead of leaving this town you went to a
small room off to the side and you left us forever.
Strangers had to find you. The police had to
search through records to identify your body.
The newspaper described you as having "health
problems." But you knew it was more than that.

And I was asked to be the messenger to my
friend. The funeral had already passed. You were
already in the ground. There was no way he
could say goodbye. I shouldn’t have been the one
to tell him this. No one deserved to tell him.
He was the only one who tried to care.

I never really liked you. No one did. But when
I had to tell my friend, I knew his pain.
I knew he wanted to be better. I knew he
thought you were too young to die. I knew he
felt guilty for not calling you. He knew it
shouldn’t have been this way. We all knew it.

I never really liked you. But now I can’t get
you out of my mind; you haunt me for all the
people we’ve forgotten in our lives. I don’t like
what you’ve done. I don’t like you quitting.
I don’t like you dying, not giving us the chance
to love you, or hate you, or even ignore you more.
My friend still doesn’t know where your grave is.
I’d like to find it for him, and take him to you.
Let you know you did have a friend out there.
Bring you a drink, maybe, a fitting nightcap
to mark your departure, to commemorate a life
filled with liquor, violence, pain and death.

I never really liked you, but maybe we could get
together in some old cemetery, sit on your grave
stone, share a drink with the dead, laugh at the
injustices of life when we’re surrounded by death.
Maybe then we’d understand your pain for one brief
moment, and remember the moments we’ll always regret.

Christmas Eve

vegetables
bread

we ate
couldn’t finish everything

we were putting on our coats
getting ready to go
to midnight mass

i decided to pack up
our leftovers
give them
to some homeless people
on the main street

we got in the car
and drove
to broadway and berwyn

i got out of the car
walked over to a man there

asked him if he was hungry

i got the bowl of noodles
and the gallon of milk
out of the car
another man walked over to me

i told them to promise
that they would share

i got in the car
we were just driving

and all i could think of
was these two men
in the cold
eating pasta with their fingers

on Christmas Eve

Conversations

a day of grieving, 1/22/94 two

i was five
and i always played with her daughter

our families used to go on picnics together
we were never apart

then one day
they told me
the mother was murdered

no one ever talked about it
to this day
i still don’t even know why
she was killed

or who did it

but after that day everything changed
we never spoke of her
like she never existed

we never spoke of our fear
of our pain
and we didn’t go on picnics anymore

domestic violence in america
nashville, tennessee

i have had my cheek bone
and nose reconstructed twice

we’re divorced now
but he still keeps calling me

he keeps denying it in court

domestic violence in america
nashville, tennessee

according to accounts, her husband
allegedly locked her and their
four-year-old son in their house

for about forty hours. They were
essentially hostages. The husband
then allegedly beat the woman

while the son watched. This is the
stick he allegedly used to keep her
in line, it looks like a metal broom

or mop handle, it’s hollow, and you
see, here is a bend in it from the
hitting. The bend looks like a twist

of a garden hose. And this bloody
knit glove, it was tied on here, at
the end of the stick, so that when he

allegedly hit her it didn’t scar her.
Isn’t that funny? You can tell that
the son was there for it all, too, he

doesn’t talk much at all, and he never
leaves his mother’s side. She limps down
the hallway now, and he follows.

he told me his dreams 1

he was walking by the
white hen pantry
on sixth and green

and they turned around the
corner in the car
opened fire on him

he was hit over and over
again; his teeth were
shattered by bullets

he said he died then
and he saw from up above
his bloody body

he even saw his obituary

but then he went back, did it
over again: this time
he was in the doctor’s

office. It’s always like this,
he thinks, always
running away from death

he told me his dreams 4

fell out again, he said.
This time they fell out one by
one, first slowly, then faster.

Sometimes they all fall out
at once, sometimes they fall
one row at a time. I try to

stuff them back into my mouth.
What is this supposed to
mean? I don’t understand.

I just don’t understand these
dreams. What does it mean
when you dream your teeth

fall out, when you dream it
regularly? I think it means
I’m afraid of commitment.

No, I said, it means
you’re pregnant. That didn’t
go over well with him. And he

walked to the washroom,
brushed his teeth, made sure to
floss, like he would four

more times that day

he told me his dreams 9

you feel like you’re falling
very quickly and you instantly
wake yourself up? Everyone

gets that feeling sometimes
when they sleep. Did you know
your body does that on purpose?

You see, it happens when you’re
very tired and your body starts
to fall into a sleep state at too

fast a speed. Your heart rate,
your breathing shouldn’t slow
down that fast. So your body

makes you feel like you fall
so you’ll wake up, feel a little
tense, and fall asleep more

slowly. He said: No, no, that’s
not what I’m talking about.
I know that feeling, but

what I’m talking about is
being in a dream and going
to the edge of a cliff and jumping.

She said: Well, what happens?
Do you land? He said: Sometimes
I wake up before I land,

sometimes I land gently and
live. You’ve never had a dream
like that before? She said:

No. He said: Why do I have
dreams like this? Why this cliff?
Why do I fall? How do I land?

i’m thinking about myself too much

all of my life it
has all been about you
what do you need
what do you want
how can i help you
what can i do for you
and now for once
i start to live
and now you tell me
that i’m thinking about
myself too much
and i think back to
all the time i’ve
spent with you
and all the care
i’ve given you
and now you tell me
that i’m thinking about
myself too much
and i’ve cooked for
you and i’ve cleaned
for you and i’ve made
sure everything in
your world made sense
and now you tell me
that i’m thinking about
myself too much
and all i can think
is that you’re only angry
because i’m thinking
about me at all

Japanese Television

one new television show in Japan
boasts young women in bikinis
who attempt to smash aluminum cans
in between their breasts

another television show in Japan
brings a young boy on stage
to tell him his mother
has been shot and killed
to see how long it takes him
to cry

I wonder what they’d think
of Rosanne
and Married With Children

people’s rights misunderstood

and you know, I’m afraid to go to sleep tonight
I’m afraid I’ll be walking down that street in the city
I’m afraid that a pregnant woman
will come up to me
and ask me for a hanger
and I’ll tell her there has to be another way
and she’ll say this is the way she chooses

I’m afraid I’ll be walking down that street in the city
and a woman will come up to me
and tell me she doesn’t want to live
because she’s just been raped
and her world doesn’t make sense anymore
and I’ll tell her that she can make it
that one in three women are raped in their lifetime
and they all make it
and besides, the world doesn’t make sense
to anyone
and she’ll say that doesn’t make me
feel any better

and I’m afraid that I won’t be able to
walk down that street in the city again
without it looking like a Quentin Tarantino movie
where everyone is pointing guns at each other
yes, Mr. NRA
you are right
I feel so much safer
knowing everyone out there has a gun
that there are more gun shops than gas stations
and that everyone is so willing
to do the killing

why do my dreams have to be
so much like real life

I’ve got to stop dreaming
of that damned street

Scars 1997

I have a scar over my left knee.
It’s left over from a bout with poison ivy
I had after climbing a mountainside.
The four-inch long slice curves around my leg,
almost perfectly defining the muscles in my thigh.

I have a scar on my right shin.
I slipped on a patch of rocks and cut up the lower
half of my leg and filled it with gravel and dirt.
Joe poured hydrogen peroxide on my leg
and wrapped my wounds with paper towels
because the cuts were so wide spread.
An hour later I was on a plane home,
so I could tend to my wounds in greater detail.
Tend to my wounds in depth.
Now all that is left is a two-inch line down
the side of my leg. Although it wasn’t a very
deep cut, it looks like it went straight to the bone.

I have a circular scar on my left calf,
from getting off a motorcycle and sliding
my leg over the scalding hot exhaust pipe.
It has been seven years since I gained that scar,
and with each year I see it fade away just a little.
I can still see it, but the memory is slowly slipping away.

My cat scratched me on my wrist once
when we had to give her medication.
Cats don’t like taking pills, or having ointment
dabbed on and liquid poured over their wounds.
When giving her pills, we’d grab all her paws,
pull her head back by the nape of her neck,
pry her jaws wide open so the pill will fall back
and she is forced to swallow it.
But sometimes she’d move too much
and a paw would slip out of our grasp.
And now, over the bone on my left wrist,
a long thin scar stares at me defiantly.

I tell people that if they wake up
with bruises and cuts they don’t remember,
then they must have had fun the night before.
But each marking, each scar is a story,
is a memory. It is a way to remember how you lived.
And it is with these marks that I gauge my living.
It is with these marks that I feel decorated.

the carpet factory, the shoes

in this case
he was working
for a carpet factory

he managed to escape
he told his story
to the world
he was a hero at ten

put the people from the factory
held a grudge
and today i heard
that the little boy
was shot and killed
on the street
he was twelve

and eugene complains to me
when i buy shoes
that are made in china

now i have to think
did somebody
have to die for these

will somebody have to die
for these

too far

thought about
getting a rib or two
removed
like Cher
but I figured
they’ve got to
be there for
something
and hey, that’s
just going
too far

waiting for you (2/13/94)

snow falling out of the sky

star-shaped flakes as big as fingertips

falling onto my face

melting into my skin

touching me sharp and sweet

like your hand on my cheek

in the cold of winter

it almost feels warm

without you (1/6/94)

trees laced with snow
on the delicate branches

glistening in the whiteness

the darkened sky the powdered streets

the trees aren’t as beautiful anymore

warren stories

and didn’t notice when it lodged itself
among her folds of fat. years later,

when she felt a sharp pain, and the doctors
couldn’t figure out what it was, they opened

her up and found the pork chop, and realized
that her skin just eventually grew over it.

white knuckled

women’s very existence

rape is neither a sex crime
or a crime of passion

rape is not an isolated brutal crime
against women

rape is often premeditated
rape is a crime of violence
rather than sex
it is a crime of violence
against women

it is an attack by men
on women’s bodies
on women’s feelings
on women’s very existence

Bob Lamm, 1976

i still have to take showers a lot. i mean,
every once in a while, no matter how clean
i am to the rest of the world, i have to go
take a shower. i lock all the doors, i close
the shades on the windows, i put a towel
over the bathroom mirror. turn the water on,
piping hot, so steam is billowing out of
the bath tub. i finally undress, open the
curtain, put my foot in, burn my foot with
the water. i wish i could hold my foot there,
just a little longer. i turn down the water.
wait for it to cool down, then step in. then
i just put my head under the shower head. hold
it there for a while. catch my breath. get the
soap. start scrubbing. i use the soap first,
then i get the bath brush. scrub off a layer
of skin. i know this makes no sense. my skin
is red, from the heat, from the scrubbing.
but i know i’m still not getting it off, it’s
down there, the molecules are embedded
deep inside of me, and i’ll have to rip my skin
off, pull out my organs before it goes away.
but for now all i can do is take showers.

Writing Your Name

I sat there
in the shade
I took
a stick
I wrote
your name
in the ground
preacher says
the number one
sin is lust
then I am
condemned
to Hell
for
I
want
you
and I
don’t care
what
preacher says
for if
the elements
wash away
your name tonight
I will
be back
tomorrow
to write it
again.

Coquinas

I can’t imagine
the number of times
I’ve been there

visiting Florida,
Christmas with my parents
a plastic tree
decorated
with sand dollars
and red

ribbons

eating Christmas dinner
listening to Johnny Mathis

and after the Irish coffee,
father with his brandy snifter
in hand
mother and the other
girls
putting away the dishes

the carolers would come,
walking in front of our home

singing "We wish you a
merry Christmas"
over and over again

we would walk outside
and the cool breeze
almost felt like Christmas
after the hot
humid days

and we would stand on our driveway
smile and nod

you could see down the road
all the candles in
paper bags
lining the street

and for a few lights
the bag

burned

and we would take
boat rides
off the coast
my parents and their friends
to a tiny island

dad drinking beer
sometimes steering the boat
control
the women sitting together in the shade
worrying about their hair

i would sit at the front
sunglasses, swimsuit and sunburn
feeling the wind
slapping me
in the face

and turning my head away from the boat
into the wind
away from them

to face it again

docking at a shoreline
everyone jumping out
little bags in their hands

the women go looking for shells
the men go barbecue

after an hour or two
the sandwiches, potato chips eaten
the soda and beer almost
gone

we turn around
and head back

we have conquered

and I remember
the coquinas

the little shells
you could find them alive
on the beaches north of the pier in
Naples

going to the beach
I would look for a spot
to find them

they were all my own

they burrowed their way into the
sand
to avoid the light
worming their way away from me

I unearthed a group of coquinas once,
fascinated with their color of
their shells, the way
they moved

before they could hide

I collected them
in a jar,
took them home with me

what did you teach me
what have you taught me to do
is this it
is this what it has become
is this what has become of me
of you of us

and I took them home

I added salt water and sand
but I couldn’t feed them
I realized soon that they
would die

so I let them

And I’m Wondering

And I’m wondering if you’re sensing what I’m
sensing, is it just me, am I making this up
in my head, or when I glance up and catch your
eyes, well, are you actually staring at me

And I’m wondering if it could work out this
time, if we’d have one of those relationships
that no one ever doubts, especially us,
because we know we’ll always be in love

And I’m wondering if you’d find
my neurotic pet-peeves charming
like how I hate it when someone touches
my belly because I’m so self conscious

And I’m wondering why you had to tell me
when we happened to be sitting next to each
other that the fact that our legs were almost
touching was making your heart race

And I’m wondering why I felt the need
to take your cigarette and inhale, exhale
while the filter was still warm from
your lips, there just seconds before

And I’m wondering if a year or two from now,
after we’ve been going out and should have
gotten to the point where we are bored with
each other and sink into a comfortable rut

if you saw me making macaroni and cheese
in the kitchen using margarine and water
because I’m out of milk and I’ve got my hair
pulled back and strands are falling into my

eyes and I’m wearing an oversized button-down
denim shirt and nothing else, well, what
I’m wondering is if you would see me
like this and still think I was sexy

When I glance up and catch your eyes from
across the room, when I see your eyes dart
away, when I feel this chemical reaction, well,
what I’m wondering is, can you feel it too

headache

so whenever i say i have a headache
eugene takes my hand
and uses acupressure:

he pushes his thumb
right in the middle of my palm.
the pain disappears almost

immediately. but eventually
i have to tell him to stop
pressing my hand, that my

hand now hurts. he lets go,
and the headache, almost
immediately, comes back.

everything was alive and dying

I

I had a dream the other night
I walked out of the city
to a forest
and there were neatly paved bicycle paths
and trash cans every fifty feet
and trash every ten

and then a raccoon came right up to me
she had a few little baby raccoons
following her, it was so cute, I
wish I had my camera

and she spoke to me,
she said, thank you
thank you for not buying furs,
I know you humans are pretty smart,
you have to be able to figure out a way
to keep yourselves warm
without killing me

and I said, you know they don’t
do it for warmth,
they do it for fashion, they do it
for power. And she said I know.
But thank you anyway.

II

Then I walked a little further
and there was a stray cat
she still had her little neon collar on
with a little bell
and she walked a few feet,
stretched her front paws,
oh, she looked so darling
and then she walked right up to me
and she said thank you
and I said for what?
And she just looked at me for a moment,
her little ears were standing straight up,
and then she said, you know,
in some countries I’m considered
a delicacy. And I said how
do you know of these things?
And she said
when somebody eats one of you
word gets around
and then she looked up at me again
and said, and in some countries
the cow is sacred. Wouldn’t they
love to see how you humans
prepare them for slaughter, how you
hang them upside-down
and slit their throats
so their still beating hearts
will drain out all the blood for you
and she said isn’t it funny
how arbitrary your decision
to eat meat is?
and I said, don’t put me
in that category, I don’t eat meat
and she said I know

III

And I walked deeper in to the forest
managed to get away from the
picnic tables and the outhouses
that lined the forest edges
the roaring cars gave way to the
rustling of tree branches
crackling of fallen leaves
under my step

when the wind tunneled through
the wind whistled and sang
as it flew past the bark

and leaves

I walked
listened to the crack of dead branches
under my feet
and I felt a branch against my shoulder
I looked up and I could hear
the trees speak to me,
and they said
thank you for letting the
endangered animals live here amongst us
we do think they’re so pretty
and it would be a shame to see them go
and thank you for recycling paper
because you’re saving us
for just a little while longer

we’ve been on this planet for so long
embedded in the earth
we do have souls, you know
you can hear it in our songs
we cling with our roots
we don’t want to let go

and I said, but I don’t do much,
I don’t do enough
and they said we know
but we’ll take what we can get

IV

and I woke up in a sweat

V

so tell me, Bob Dole
so tell me, Newt Gingrich
so tell me, Pat Bucannan
so tell me, Jesse Helms
if you woke up from that dream
would you be in a sweat, too?

VI

Do you even know why
we should save the rain forest?
Oh preserve the delicate balance,
just tear the whole forest down,
what difference does it make?
Put in some orange groves
so our concentrate orange juice
can be a little cheaper

did you know that medical researchers
have a very, very hard time
trying to come up with synthetic
cures for diseases on their own?
It helps them out a little if they can first
find the substance in nature.
A tree that appears in the rain forest
may be the only one of its species.
Or one like it may be two miles away,
instead of right next to it. I wonder
how many cures we’ve destroyed
to plant more orange groves.
Serves us right.

VII

You know my motives aren’t selfless
I know that these things are worthwhile in my life

I’d like to find a cure to these diseases
before I die of them
and I’m not just a vegetarian
because I think it’s wrong to kill an animal
unless I have to
I also know the excess protein
pulls the calcium away from my bones
and gives me osteoporosis
and the excess fat gives me heart attacks
and I also know that we could be feeding
ten times more people
with the same resources used for meat production

You know, I know you’re looking at me
and calling me an extremist
but I’m sitting here, looking around me
looking at the destruction caused by family values
and thinking the right, moral, non-violent decisions
are also those extreme ones

VIII

everything is linked here
we destroy our animals
so we can be wasteful and violent
we destroy our plants
we destroy our earth
we’re even destroying our air
we wreak havoc on the soil, on the atmosphere
we dump our wastes into our lakes
we pump aerosol cans and exhaust pipes

and you tell me I’m extreme

and these animals and forests keep calling out to me
the oceans, the wind

and I’m beginning to think
that we just keep doing it
because we don’t know how to stop
and deep inside we feel the pain of
all that we’ve killed
and we try to control it by
popping a chemical-filled pain-killer

we live through the guilt
by taking caffeine, nicotine, morphine
and we keep ourselves thin with saccharin
and we keep ourselves sane with our alcohol poisoning
and when that’s not enough
maybe a line of coke

maybe shoot ourselves in the head
in front of the mirror in the master bedroom
or maybe just take some pills
walk into the garage, turn on the car
and just
fall asleep

in the wild
you have no power over anyone else

now that we’re civilized
we create our own wild

maybe when we have all this power
the only choice we have
is to destroy ourselves

and so we do

helping men in public places

so it was new year’s eve
and we were standing on
forty-second street and

the avenue of the americas
we were a few blocks away
but we had just the right

view of times square. and
yes, there was freezing rain
but i didn’t really care, since

i was just in new york for
a few days. it was 10:55, we
still had a long time to wait

standing with i don’t know
how many thousands of other
people, some of them were

climbing up the light poles,
all of us pushing forward
into the street, despite the

police officers on horseback
rushing at us back toward
the sidewalk. and our paper

bag fell apart in the rain, so
i let the glass water bottle fall
to the curb, and our friend told

us he needed to go to the
bathroom real bad, you know,
so i told him to go right here

in the street, no one will see
him. but he didn’t want to
piss on someone’s shoes, so

he asked if i had a bottle, so i
picked up the water bottle from
the curb, and when he finished

his job he closed up the bottle
and put it back on the sidewalk.
god, and you, too, getting on

the train after the ball dropped,
more rain and a bottle of
champagne later, saying you had

to go real bad, too, so i pulled
an empty beer bottle from my
coat pocket, you covered the train

window with your coat and i
blocked your view from the aisle
while you took care of the

matter at hand. i’m amazed that
that bottle didn’t tip over on the
train floor during that hour

commute, our first of the new
year, while i slept on your
shoulder. and i’m amazed that

i ended one year and began
another helping men i know,
in public places, piss into bottles.

i want

i want a big house with filtered central air
and i want a big lawn so i can recreate nature

and i want a big fence so i’ll know what’s mine

and i want the evergreens trimmed into neat little
balls, because it has to look neat. plant everything
in a row.

and i want to spray chemicals on my lawn
to keep the dandelions away

***

and i want a plastic lobster bib
over my fancy dress at the fancy restaurant

and don’t forget the hundred dollar champagne

and i want a big fat car, and i want
someone else to drive it

and i want the two kids, one boy, one girl
and i want a nanny to take care of them for me

i want to be famous
i want everyone to love me

i want it
i want it all

My motherMy motherMy mother

We went to see my mother this weekend. You see,
my mother has cancer, and we decided to go
across the country for a weekend to surprise her
and see how she was doing. it was breast cancer,
so it really was the best case scenario, i suppose,
so i managed to put it out of my mind until we actually
had to fly there

The night before i couldn’t bring myself to pack. it was
two in the morning when i finally pulled my suitcase out
from the pantry shelf.

i kept telling people at work, “well, you see, I have to go
visit my mother because she has cancer, so I have to
miss a few days of work,” but I was always able to
say it so matter-of-factly until I had to actually
visit her

In fact, when my sister told me the diagnosis, it
was right around Christmas time, and there was so much
work to do and I still had presents to wrap and a
meal to prepare and Christmas was supposed to be a
happy time

that I managed to postpone even thinking about it until
we all decided to surprise her for a visit. And then I
had to pack. To decide what to take, what to leave
behind, put my life into a little black box with a handle
and wheels, and go

It shouldn’t be this way, and I knew that, I knew that I
shouldn’t be visiting my mother under these circumstances
and I knew how she never wants to think about bad things
because they always make her cry and this would make her
want to cry and cry because the only reason why we’re
there is because things are bad

But I wasn’t supposed to think that way, things would be
just fine.

So I finished packing at four in the morning and the next
thing I remember is I was on the plane with my sisters,
cracking jokes as we picked up the rental car. and then we
got to mom and dad’s house

and everyone was so happy to see each other, it was
one big family reunion and we were laughing and talking
and trying to figure out where we were all going
to sleep

and the sisters and dad walked into the front room to
see if the couches were good enough to sleep on or if we
would have to get out an air mattress and I was alone
in the den with mom

so I suddenly became serious and sat down next to her
and asked her how she was really doing. And that is when
she started to cry, saying that the cancer spread, but
what she was most concerned with was the fact that she
didn’t want to spoil the time that we came to visit her.
But what I don’t think she understood was that we couldn’t
have come at a better time, and nothing she could do would
spoil our trip.

last before extinction

And for now it can fly to the highest
redwood, look out over the world.
Despise the world, the world that made
him be alone, leaving him alone. Who
will carry his name? Who will care
for him when he is old? Who can he
read bed time stories to?

Now it can feel death creeping upon
him, closer and closer. He wants to
scream. He calls upon nature; the
tides rise, earthquakes shatter homes.
He does not feel vindicated. He has lost.

And for now she can swim to the deepest
darkest cave in the Pacific, hide from
the solitude, swim lower and lower;
can she find where all of the other
animals of dying species hide, can she
find them. There must be others. They
can understand, they can live together,
at the bottom of the earth. Could they
show their pain for their species, share
what is left of their love, create a new race?

Soon they will be no more
and we will be taking their bones,
reassembling them, studying their
form, rebuilding their lives, revering
them more than we ever did
in life. This is what it all becomes.
This is what it all boils down to.
Study the bones. Study the mistakes.
Study the bones.

more than we should have

when i think of him i usually think about the drinking

actually, i never think of him as drinking
come to think of it
i just think of him as drunk
i can’t even remember seeing the drinks in his hand
but his perception of the world is always altered

but someone reminded me tonight
of when he would work outside in the the cold Chicago winters
and he would come back with his moustache frozen
and there would be little icicles hanging
down toward his mouth

and then i thought of
when i waited with him once at the airport
because we were picking up someone
and we sat in the shrimp cocktail lounge
and he drank, and ate, and i waited

and as we left
we tried to pay the expressway toll with pennies
but some of the coins fell onto the street
and we had to throw more change at the machine

we paid more than we should have
i’m sure we did

packing

there are too many times
when i’ve said this before

never thought i’d really leave you
and now i sit here

in this apartment
popcorn bowl on the cocktail table

eleven thirty at night
the television playing static

it looks too clean in here,
not lived in

so i decide to take a trip
get out of this place

into the bedroom, time to start
packing: two dresses, two

pairs of shorts, shirts, loneliness,
anger, make-up, extra socks

it’s amazing how much of your life
you can fit in a single suitcase

Kurt Irons

(it’s just a girl)

according to
police
reports,
Kurt Irons
was
surprised
by the arrest
by the fact
that he was
charged
with
vehicular
homicide

Kurt Irons
was quoted
as saying

“dudes
it’s just a
girl,
man

it’s a girl -
nothing
but a
girl”

philosopher at the blue note

he seemed so interested in
philosophy, which seemed strange,
sitting at a bar at about one-thirty
in the morning, it didn’t seem
the time or place for philosophy.
but i asked questions anyway,
so do you believe in a god, and
if so do you believe in a mono-
or polytheistic religion? and he
answered by saying that everyone
has a god, whether it be their
soul or an icon they pray to
every night before they go to bed.
and that it doesn’t matter what
form the god takes for a person,
because the moral values are
similar in most every religion,
what matters is that we have a god
of one sort or another. that most
people don’t pay attention to
their spirituality, who they are
or what they really want.
no, they don’t, i thought, and was
amazed that this drunk man
was able to formulate cohesive
thoughts at two-thirty in the
morning. but then, of course, he
had to mention something about
sexuality, and then i realized
that it was all one long, drawn-
out come on, then he asked me
for my phone number and i gave
him a fake one, and then he tried
to kiss me, and i pushed him away
and he ended up running out
of the bar. so much for phil-
osophy, i thought, and i went home
once again, alone with my morals,
or values, or whatever the hell
you want to call them, wondering
if there is anyone out there like me.

bizarre sexual stories in the news

She Was a Woman

She was a woman who was strong.
She was a woman who was beautiful.
She was a woman who was beaten down.
She was a woman who was angry.

She was a woman who would walk into a coworker’s office,
stand on a desk and do the twist,
just to relieve corporate boredom.

She was a woman who worked twelve-hour days.
She was a woman who cried at Kleenex commercials.
She was a woman who fought for her rights.
She was a woman who should not have been born.

She was a woman who believed in nothing but herself.
She was a woman who begged to be loved.
She was a woman who deserved more.

She was a woman who picked flowers
from her neighbor’s yards in the middle of the night.

She was a woman who belched out loud.
She was a woman who laughed too hard.
She was a woman who swore too much.
She was a woman who grew up too fast.

She was a woman who would turn up the stereo
and dance alone in her living room.

She was a woman who read philosophy.
She was a woman who needed a reason.
She was a woman who always saw the irony.
She was a woman who demanded perfection.
She was a woman who was always looking for something else.

She was a woman who would jump on hotel beds
every time she travelled and booked a room.
Because it was hers. Because she could.

She was a woman who hated how she looked.
She was a woman who wanted to be better.
She was a woman who hated to lose control.
She was a woman who planned everything.
She was a woman who always had to feel secure.

She was a woman who never played drinking games,
because she never needed an excuse to drink.

She was a woman who showed off her legs.
She was a woman who raised the pitch of her voice
when she was asking for something.
She was a woman who talked to her cat in a baby voice.
She was a woman who could not eat something she could not kill.

She was a woman who wrote letters to the editor.
She was a woman who went to the manager
when the service was bad.
She was a woman who liked making waves.

She was a woman who wrote poetry.
She was a woman who could drink most men under the table.
She was a woman who loved dirty jokes.
She was a woman who seldom crossed her legs.

She was a woman who worked on eight different projects
at once, and still managed to get them all done on time.

She was a woman who never asked for help.
She was a woman who always had the answers.
She was a woman who admired ability.
She was a woman who did everything to extremes.
She was a woman who wanted to be alive.
She was a woman who was never satisfied.

She was a woman who was always trying.
She was a woman who was always.
She was a woman who was.
She was a woman who
She was a woman.
She was a
She was.

the state of the nation

and then he put in a dramatic pause
and said,
but when we said people had
a right to bear arms
we meant to protect themselves
from a government gone wrong
and not so you could kill
and innocent person
for twenty dollars cash
and when we said freedom of
religion we included the separation
of church and state because freedom
of religion could also mean freedom
from religion
and when we said freedom of speech
we had no idea you’d be
burning a flag
or painting pictures of Christ
doused in urine
or photographing people with
whips up their respective anatomies
but hell, I guess we’ve got to
grin and bear it
because if we ban that
the next thing they’ll ban is books
and we can’t have that
and I said, “But there are schools
that have books banned, George.”
And he said Oh.

transcribing dreams 3

Love Has Tendrils

escaped the pull

never strong enough
to pull me in
were you

i keep searching
for those endless arms
to wrap themselves around me

to choke me
to kill me

until I rise yet again
gasping for air

here it goes again

maybe this is what i deserve
this pain
but i can’t let you go

even if there is someone else
on the side
doing the same things to me
you do
i can’t let you go

i need that connection to you
i need that pain
i can’t be alone

even though i’m alone when i’m with you

i guess i feel
like i’m nothing when i’m with you
but then again
i’m nothing without you

so here it goes
here it goes again

i am the woman who loves pain

i am the woman who loves pain

i look for you
and i usually find you

one of you

i know you’ll all do the same things
act the same way
i’ve gotten used to it

they tell me i should find someone
better
that i am settling
that this is not love

but i’ve never felt love
and although this is pain
although i am hurting with you
it is better than hurting alone

i swear it is

run faster

why me
why do I keep doing this to myself
why do I keep coming back

I beg for attention
and I don’t know how to stop
and I don’t know how to be alone

so I keep giving you
one more chance to make it perfect
one more chance to save the damsel

but I’m not a damsel
and I’m not being rescued
and I’m not feeling any better

because even though I hate you
I’ll never let go
so you’ll just have to run faster

sorry flowers

i love “apology candy” as much as i
love “sorry flowers” and people at the
office keep saying i must be a great
girlfriend because i get flowers at the

office but then i tell them that they
are “sorry flowers” and that the
worst kind of flowers are “sorry
flowers” because you’d rather have no

flowers if it meant that you two
were happy all the time. and no one
understands what you’re talking about.
and neither do you. so good-bye.

who you tell your dreams to

we were driving down the freeway
you and me in the pick-up truck
and your girlfriend inbetween
where you could move the gear shift
and it would mean so much to you

and you saw something that you thought
was beautiful, and you said, “look
at the lines, look at how it was made”
and you were inspired by the beauty
of an everyday object no one else noticed

and your girlfriend, riding in the middle
said “that’s him, people think he’s crazy”
and i thought, “no, it just depends on who
you tell your dreams to” but i couldn’t
say it in the truck i wouldn’t say it

never did the same

we’ve put each other through hell, i know
we’ve tried each other’s patience
we’ve goaded each other on
we’ve pissed each other off
we’ve jerked each other around
but i’ve noticed two things, one
is that whenever you were unhappy
i turned on the charm, i tried
to make your day, i tried to
make you laugh, and the other
thing that i noticed is that
you never did the same for me

The Deep End

and jump in

but none of them stay under too long
because they know
even at an early age
when enough is enough

you and me and your girlfriend

had a perfectly lovely time
you and me and your girlfriend
talking about life, catching up
and you suggested that we go out on the balcony

and I thought that would be charming
for you and me and your girlfriend
but we hadn𔄞t paid our bill yet
so your girlfriend told us to go on without her

we stood outside, leaned on the rail
you and me
listened to the water crach on the rocks
below us and we talked

but now it was not about catching up
you and me
it was about ideas, dreams, plans
and before I knew it we were out there

for nearly an hour, and I said,
“what about your girlfriend?”
she was waiting for us all that time
and you said, “oh, yeah” and didn’t move an inch

loved you the most

I heard last week that you died.
I called your office to ask you a question
and the receptionist had to tell me.

Of course I didn’t hear it from your family.
How would they know to call me?
They, who don’t even know my last name
ans think I was a heathen and no good for you.
They, tied to you by blood, never knew
I wished for that tie to you too.
They never knew I put you on a pedastal.
They never knew I made you my god.

I went to your funeral today. I wore a veil
over the brim of my hat and stayed in the back
while they lowered your casket into the ground.
When everyone was at your gravesite
the minister talked about the ones you left behind:
your parents, your brother, your sister.
What he didn’t know was that you left
me behind too. The one that loved you the most.

I knew I could never have you in my life.
But I needed to know you were alive, so I could go on living.
And the minister spoke of how your family would miss you.
And I thought, what about me.
What do I do with nothing to love.

my second marriage

I could catalog these events for you,
I keep records like a scrapbook would

I know how my mother kept dental records for me
when I was an infant
and I know how she kept a file
of all the shots I had, too

it’s like that, I guess
a scrapbook, or a photo album
and I could do that for my marriages

my first marriage was one that I needed.
but hindsight is twenty twenty,
and maybe I needed a counselor
more than I needed a husband.
Forgive me. I was new
at this attachment thing
and this committment thing
(but I know I got it right when I tried)
but maybe it was my fault
that I picked a guy
that I just wasn’t compatible with.
he was a great guy, don’t get me wrong,
and he wanted to learn from me,
and I think he kept me on my toes.
but I think he knew it wouldn’t work out for us,
and so he just waited
until I came to that comclusion too.

I don’t know why I went through
my second marriage.
people think I was crazy for putting up with him,
for tolerating him, for including him,
and I didn’t care, because in my own little way,
he was mine. it was a role reversal for me,
I was used to being the weak one
in a marriage,
but this time, well, this time
I learned my lesson.
I decided when we went out of town,
how much money we would spend,
what bars we would go to,
I think it all boiled down to
me deciding how much fun we would ever have.
And he followed me,
like a puppy dog
who has just found his best friend,
and his tounge would hang out with excitment
when he could roll down the window of the car
and we could just take off.
I think my problem
is that I wanted this marriage to work,
but my puppy dog only
accepted scraps from under my dinner table
and never offered anything in return
and I swear,
I wanted something to work,
I wanted this to work out for me,
and it still pisses me off
in the back of my head
that he wouldn’t think the way I wanted him to
and everything didn’t just
fall into place.

okay, okay, by third marriage. it seems
a bit more stable. I think he is a gut
that balances out the two men
from my first two marriages.
and that kind of scares me.
it makes me wonder
if there is some woman out there
who doesn’t have my pot belly
and has a lot more patience
than me. Makes me wonder.

All These Reminders

Look, over here, in my living room.
You left an empty bottle of beer
on the end table. The cap, too.
And come here, follow me, over here,
in the kitchen, look in here, see,
you left some of your food in the pantry.
A box of spaghetti, some canned
tomatoes. And come here, in the bathroom,
I know you probably won’t notice this,
but here, this towel, it smells like
you, is smells like your shaving cream.
And I could swear my crumpled bed
sheets are still warm from you.

Why did you have to go. Why
does this have to seem so hard.

Okay, look here, the remote for the
television is on the arm of the chair,
where you always leave it. And the cocktail
table, it’s pushed forward on one side
because you’d always rest your feet
on it. Everywhere I look around me,
I see something that you affected.
I look in the kitchen. I look in the
dining room. I look in the mirror.

Why did you do this to me. Why
couldn’t you have made a clean break.

There’s still some of your messages
scribbled on scraps of paper next to
the phone in the kitchen. And look,
the pillow on the couch is bunched
up because you could never get
comfortable with it. And over here,
the phone books are out on the
kitchen counter, you never put them
away, and here they are, still sitting
out, I’ll have to put them back in the
cabinet. and look here, why do I
still have all of your love letters
stuffed into a drawer in my desk.

When you left me, why did you
have to leave me all these reminders.

Number 136

once we had dinner at your place
carry out
and you left a rose waiting for me at the table

you flew across the country to see me
you jokingly said in public
“We don’t care, we share”
even though I knew you never wanted to share me

I remember singing to you in the street
jumping around in a vat of soybeans with you
I remember planning my life with you
you gicing me gemstones and rings
I remember you wanting that

I sang to you at the amphitheatre
you were so infatuated with me
you always thought of me when that song played again

I made you dinner once
and caught you by surprise
by giving the meal to you on a stage

we had champagne on the roof of your house once
and you liked to take me around town
on your dirt bike
I never wanted to tell you that I met you
because I thought your friend was cute

you took time off work and flew to see me
you paid for a hotel
and shot pool with me
in a bar in new orleans like we weren’t tourists

and it’s funny
when I made the effort to see you
you suddenly got bored with me

am I getting my men confused?
who loved me? who did I love?
I guess it’s irrelevant

when your hot chocolate that just got hot
and has a little sprig of mint in it
and can keep you warm in the dead of winter
when you just need something there to savor
after a long hard day of work
and a long commute home in the snow

but I guess it’s irrelevant
when that hot chocolate
or spiced coffee, or fresh tea
or whatever the hell you want
that happens to keep you warn when you need it
it’s irrelevant
when the heat grows cold
and it’s the dead of winter
and you are counting on that warmth
and then it’s gone
just like that

the problem is
I would drive eighteen hours to see you
and you would suddenly be bored

and the problem is
I seem to like men
that live really far away from me
because I’m an idiot

and the problem is
most of the men i dated
really fell for me
and I never tried to do that
I’ve never tried to be a “man magnet”

geez, everyone thinks that
I was just a flirt
but guess it all boils down to
their differences
and how women and men act

but I don’t know what the problems were
and are
all I keep seeing is the ghost of you
telling me that I should have bought a lemon for home
or that I should have brought a shawl
to protect me from the wind
and I look in my room and I see your painting of me

and I can hear your voice now
you’re here in my home
you’re walking from room to room
and you’re telling me
“Why didn’t you let me make it?
What you need to do
is add more cranberry juice.
And the lemon twist is there for more than effect.”

waiting for you (2/13/94)

snow falling out of the sky

star-shaped flakes as big as fingertips

falling onto my face

melting into my skin

touching me sharp and sweet

like your hand on my cheek

in the cold of winter

it almost feels warm

with you (2/18/94)

the birds are singing this morning
the sun is out
it’s warmer than usual

maybe it’s always like this
maybe it’s today

it always seems darker
when you’re further away

watching you (2/18/94)

you brush it behand your ear

you move your head
lean over

it falls again

it curls in just the right way
it makes a perfect tunnel

it directs me
my eyes are drawn
to your beautiful blue eye

The Way You Tease Me

What I think I like the most about you
is the way you roll your sultry deep voice over me
like a wave of heat on a summer afternoon.
You use a pause to tease me with your words
until sweat dances down my hairline and tickles my neck.

What I think I like the most about you
is the way you slide your arms around my waist
and make me just want to collapse in your grasp
and run my hands up and down your back
until I hear you moan and sigh.

What I think I like the most about you
is the way that absence makes the heart grow fonder
and when we touch you say we should take it slow,
take our time, enjoy every moment
and you know, you couldn’t be more right.

What I think I like the most about you
are the things that make me think I have to fight for you
are the things that make me second guess myself
because nothing’s ever easy, not you, not me,
not relationships, not sex, not love.

What I think I like the most about you
is the wondering, is the waiting, is the teasing.
That’s what I like. This high-charged guessing game.
The flirting. The first touch. The first everything.
Thinking about the possibilities. Yeah. That’s what I like.

How Do I Explain It

there are so many times
when I have had so little

hope

and maybe that’s MY problem, not yours
and maybe this is a bad way
to start a poem

so forgive me

but the thing is, people keep trying to tell me
that this is the hard part

and I have been through so much
haven’t I gone through enough?

and I am beginning to think
that well, maybe I DON’T deserve it
and maybe bad things are MEANT to happen to me

and how do I explain that
to the average person?
how do I explain
what I am going through
how do I explain
the way I feel

how do I explain it

II

I mean, I know I am a writer,
so
explaining this all
should not be so hard

but it is

Describe the color blue
to a blind man
and see how you are at a loss
for words

How do you explain this all
with quick wit
and a shark tongue?

III

so they key here for me
is that sometimes good things can happen
when you least expect it

and instead of my griping about it
or feeling sorry for myself

maybe I should just be happy with it

IV

and when people tell me
that the sky looks REALLY blue today
I just think,
well, that is called SCIENCE,
the sky is always blue

and that answer
that comment
is that supposed to make me feel better?

V

and maybe when people tell me
that every cloud has a silver lining
well, maybe I should enjoy the silver lining
every once in a while
and when people complain
that the grass is always greener
on the other side

well, maybe at times like those
i should learn to like the view from this side
because at least I get to see the green grass

well, it’s just a theory

cause maybe this ride ain’t so bad
and maybe this SIDE ain’t so bad
and maybe there is a chance for that other side for me
and maybe i’ve had a taste of
all that good stuff

and you know, it occurred to me
that the good stuff ain’t all that after all
and that maybe there is someone out there like me
and that maybe someone cares about me
and maybe someone respects me
and thinks I’m intelligent
and beautiful

maybe

VI

a couple of days ago
john gave me some roses
an even half dozen, something that
didn’t even need to be wrapped by the florist

well, that’s just my thought on the matter

but john had an answer for me

he told me that he gave me five roses
for the five days he had known me
and the sixth one
well, was just for me

because I deserved it

and those were the words he used
and that is what he said to me
and I have received flowers from other men before
and for all of this
it was different

because he said those words to me
because he thought of me
and that was almost worth more
than the flowers

maybe

VII

and yeah, I could go on and on and on
about the fact that he is taller than me

I can wear high heels
in front of him
and I won’t dwarf him

and when he holds me it feels like
I’m actually being held
and not that I’m about to break
the man I’m hugging
into two pieces
and maybe he was a marine
and can hold his own
and maybe he has travelled
all over the place
and seen different things
and had different chances

and yeah, maybe he carries all my stuff around in my apartment
because it might be too heavy for me

and yeah, I could get angry at that
I could think that I can carry this myself
that I’m not a
poor
helpless
girl
and that I don’t need
no
man

VIII

but for now
for now I’m stuck in this happy mode
remembering what it’s like
where the grass is greener
and enjoying in that silver lining
and well, being happy that
I can almost touch that green grass now

cause I’m sick of hearing
about the four-leaf clovers
and the rainbows
and the pots of gold

and all that other crap
that is supposed to make you happy

IX

and maybe I am just happy that
someone gave me attention

and gives me attention

and that that someone cares about me

I got that attention from someone
who thought I was worth it
from someone I thought was worth it

and when you finally get to this point,
when you think no one else can
understand this feeling

and all the references to growing grass
an bubbles sand sunsets

don’t quite cut it

well, when you get to feel
this way

the way I feel

well,
how do you explain it

A Retired Policeman Talks About Suicides He’s Seen.

odd how things turn out that way.

she shot an officer
wanted
to be left alone

the cop wore a bullet-
proof vest
but the bullet hit his arm

ricocheted off a bone
right into his
heart and killed him dead

ranting

salamander

and at twelve, we were amazed
with this little morsel of knowledge

and wanted to catch
a salamander

so we could pull off its tail
and see for ourselves

and i find it amazing and wonderful
and frightening, and disturbing

that our quest for knowledge
is greater than our compassion

Tall Man

your long shadow stretches across the walls

an occasional glance
I’ll take whatever I can take

a stranger
yet I feel I know you all too well

too much light

and I have seen the light
and I have seen it

what is my choice:

burn in the flame
to burst quickly
to die young
or to slowly slip away
to die slowly
day by day
to let people in darkness
pull me in
inch by inch
until the light
kills me

fighting I can do

I know that I have been raped
and beaten
I know they’ve tried to kill me
and lucky me, I survived

I think I can survive
everything they throw at me

But as time wears on
little pieces of this statue are chipped away
everybody wants something, right?
well, they’ve been taking from me
and taking
and taking
and taking
and my defenses are getting weaker
and I don’t know how much more
fighting
I can do

Til the Fear In Me Subsides

But when a person goes through what you have
Well, you seem to brush it off
Until you come to me crying

They called you Elvira Doe in the hospital
Because they couldn’t find your identity
And your belongings were stuck under the seat

And your family wonders why when you were unconsciuos
They had to remove your clothes
That your family couldn’t find a bra

Hell, I don’t know if they took it or if
You just weren’t wearing one
You can’t remember, either

They called you miracle girl in the hospital
Because no one thought you would live
And just to spite them, you did

Other doctors examined your records
Who didn’t even know you
Just to check on your progress

And you like to brush off everything,
Say that you can do everything
You never let people know when something hurts

You just got contacts for your eyes
The doctors said they fit fine
That is when you told me about your hospital time

Three skull fractures is worse than
Having a broken leg
I’ll break every other bone first

Medical staff watched when your skull reset itself
to make sure your one eye was okay
because one eye could be damaged from it

And you know, I never wanted to tell you this,
But that scared me
And I wanted to know

That the eye doctors now
thought that your eyes were fine

I don’t want to scare you with these details
Because I can’t say I know what you’ve gone through
but, for me, well,

It still scares me to hear the details
And I still want to know when things are okay
And you are that much closer to better

Gerbil

So I’ve got this gerbil
this hampster
this rat

and he’s running around
and he’s trying to get everything done
and he gets distracted
and he has to do something else

and runs somewhere else

it’s like that little fucker
is in one of those circular wheel cages
and he’s running in circles
and he’s getting nowhere

and this is my life, you see
and this is my brain, you see

and this is what I go through
I don’t know how to explain it

that fucking gerbil
that fucking hamster
that rat
is still going in circles
and I can’t stop it
but maybe I should just take my hand
like the judge holding the gavel
and slam that damn thing down
and stop this damn cage circle
and stop this damn cycle
before it goes on any longer

“Type A” Person

    I was in my friend’s car once, and she was driving through the streets of Chicago, and she was letting people in who were getting in the right lane at an intersection when that right lane really should only be used for turning right but they go straight and try to cut off the long line of traffic waiting at the light. Well, as I said, she’s letting these people get in front of her, and she’s stopping at four-way stop intersections and waving other cars to go in front of her, and when she is going she’s going under the speed limit, and I’m thinking, my god, she’s under thirty years old and she’s driving like she’s twice her age and I want to tell her to get going because damnit, I don’t want to die in this car, I’ve got a lot of living to do, I’ve never jumped out of an airplane or made a million dollars or been in a lustful affair with a high-ranking political candidate, and if I am going to go out I surely don’t want to die of boredom while someone else is staying in the most congested lane of traffic when they could just as easily get into the next lane and cut everyone off in front of them when they eventually have to merge, like I would most certainly do.

    And then it occurred to me, and of course it filled me with a complete and utter sense of elation, because I just love being pigeon-holed into stereotypical psychological categories: I really am a Type A person.

    There’s an intersection near my house where from one direction you can either go straight or turn right, and there are two streets that merge into this one, both turning right, so the middle street has a “no turn on red” sign. And usually when I’m on this road I’m on the street that’s going straight, the left-most street, and these two streets are on my right, merging into my street. And I always catch the red light on this street, it’s like the traffic gods are displeased with my constant efforts to circumvent their wrath, so I’m always catching the red light at this street, so I’ve learned a new trick: I turn right, onto the first street on my right, but instead of doing a U-turn I turn left at the next block so I can get on that second street, all so I can turn right onto the street I was on originally before both of the other streets get to go so I can beat every one of those slow bastards to the next intersection.

    I mean, yes, I’m the one that’s yelling and banging the stering wheel of my car when people on the road are idiots. Yes, I’m that person who has to race so that I can slam on my brakes at that next intersection, only 100 feet away, and yes, I am only driving a Saturn SL1, a sedan with about as much power as a 1982 Ford Mustang, but damnit, I won’t go down without a fight, I will be out there cutting everyone off, weaving in and out of traffic; I will be the one getting there before you, trust me, I will.

    And even when I’m tuning the radio while driving, because, you see, I do that and put on my make-up and take notes for work and check over my schedule and if I was the Hindu god BISHNU and had ten arms I’d get a cel phone and send out faxes and eat dinner and write a novel while I was at it, but, as I said, even when I’m tuning the radio while I’m driving I only let the first second-and-a-half of the song play before I’m disgusted and change the dial to the next pre-programmed station, just to instantaneously become disgusted another six times and have to find a tape to play because all those stupid corporate pieces of shit think they should play crap over and over again in order to keep the mindless tuned in.

    Well, not me, thank you very much, I don’t have the patience for that.

    So, needless to say, I’ve discovered that this is a problem of mine, I wish there was some sort of therapy group for this so I could go to my weekly “Type A Anonymous” meetings, but we’d probably all be pushing each other out of the doorway thirty seconds before the meeting is supposed to start, saying, “Get out of my way ass-hole, you should have thought about being late before you tried to cut me off,” and the meetings themselves would probably be filled with people yelling, “Hey, jerk, I think I was talking, what, do you think you’re god or something, show some respect.“

    God, and I know this is a problem of mine, I know this “Type A-ness” transcends into every realm of my life. When I get on the elevator in the morning to get to my office on the eighteenth floor, I try to make the doors close as quickly as possible so no one can get on the elevator with me, because you know, I really do hate all people and surely don’t want to be in a cramped confined space with a bunch of strangers. But when people do get on the same elevator as me, they invariably press the buttons for floors fifteen, sixteen and seventeen, and I start pursing my lips, stopping myself from saying, “Oh, you people couldn’t stand to walk a flight of stairs, you just had to press all of these buttons and stop me from getting to my god-damned floor in a reasonable amount of time.”

    Even walking on the sidewalk in the city, I always get stuck behind someone that’s a full foot shorter than me and a full thirty pounds heavier, someone who labors to walk very, very slowly, someone who actually sways rhythmically when they walk, like a metronome, or like a person standing on the edge of a dance floor, rocking back and forth, back and forth all too afraid to actually ask someone to dance, or else afraid to go out and dance and make a fool of themselves in front of the cool people who have figured out what rhythm really is. And I’m walking behind this person, almost tripping over myself because this walking pace is just unnaturally slow, so to pass the time until there’s an opening on the left side of the sidewalk so I can pass them and walk like a human being again I start to mimick them, swaying with my walk, more for my own entertainment than anyone else’s.

    Yes, more than a human being I’m a human doing, and I hate having to depend on the schedules of others in order to get ahead of them all.

    Yes, I am the person in line at the grocery store with three items, shifting my weight from foot to foot, frantically scanning the other lines, the person who wants to ask the person in front of them, “can’t I get in front of you, I’ve only got three items and you have two full crocery carts full of crap like Cheetos, Pepsi, fish sticks and Haagen Daz Cookie Dough ice cream.” Yes, I am the person who has four different sets of plans for any given evening because if any one event gets too boring I can pick up and say, “Oh, sorry, I’m supposed to be at a meeting by now,” instead of having to tell them that they’re too boring or that I just have no idea whatsoever of how to relax. Yes, I am the person who coasts toward an intersection when I know the timed pattern of the traffic lights, and know that I can manage to get to this intersection without ever having to make a complete stop so when that light does change I can accellerate faster than everyone else, pass everyone by, and have the open road to myself, wide open in front of me.

    I’m already guessing that at my funeral, when the long procession of cars is creeping toward the cemetary, I’ll be opening that casket up and whispering to the driver of the hearse, “hey, what do you say we floor it and blow everyone off in line? We could probably grab a beer at the corner bar and still be able to beat everyone to the grave site,” because, as I said, I’m a “Type A” person, and I’m going to make damn sure I do as much living as I possibly can, I’m not going down without a fight, and wherever that god-damned goal line is, I swear, I’ll beat everyone to it.

The One At Mardi Gras

i was at mardi gras last weekend
and i got a bunch of beads from parades
(no, i didn’t lift my shirt for them) -

and a friend of mine had a balcony
on bourbon street, and so we were on it
on friday night, and the swarms

of people stretched for over a mile. it was
a mob, no one could walk and the crowd
just kind of carried them along. and all

the men expected women to get naked
for them for beads, and from my balcony
i would see every few minutes a series of

flash pops, coupled with a roar from the
crowd, and i knew a woman lifted her shirt
for the screaming masses. i refused, however,

to strip for drunk strangers, when i knew
they all expected me to, being on a balcony
and all. so men would look up at me and stretch

out their arms, looking up inquisitively, as
if to ask either for me to give them beads
or for me to strip. and since i wasn’t stripping

and had plenty of my own beads, i decided
to turn the tables and see if men would accept
the same conditions they asked of these women.

when they looked up at me for something,
i would say, “drop your pants.” they would look up
at me, confused, because the women are the

ones that are supposed to be stripping, but
in general i got two responses from the men:
either they would look at me like i was

crazy and walk away, or they would shrug,
as if to say, “okay,” and then they would
start unzipping their pants. then they would

make a gesture to turn around, as if to ask,
“do you want to see my butt?” and that’s when i’d
yell, “the front,” and then they’d turn back

around, with their pants and their underwear
at their knees, and start moving their hips
(which i never asked for, by the way).

so over the course of the evening i
managed to get at least twenty men to
strip like this for me, and i was amazed

that there was this society, this micro-
cosm of society, that allowed this kind
of debauchery in the streets, a sort of

prostitution-for-plastic-beads form of
capitalism. so i was reveling in this bizarre
annual ritual when this man, average to

everyone else, wearing grey and minding
his own business, decided to look up at me. so
i asked him to drop his pants, and instead of

disgustedly leaving or willingly obliging
he crossed both hands on his chest and looked
up at me, as if to ask, “you want to me do

what? you naughty, naughty girl.” and he
smiled and looked up at me, and it occurred
to me that i finally found someone in this

massive crowd that thinks they way i do.
now, new orleans has a population, from what i
hear, of about one million, but during mardi gras

there are about nine or ten million people, and
all i could think was that of all these people
here, i finally found someone who wouldn’t

blindly do what i asked, but at the same time
wouldn’t think i was crazy for asking.
of course as i looked at him i also happened

to think that he was stunning, by far the best-
looking man i had seen that entire night, he
looked like he had style, like he was self-

confident, but then again, i’m near-sighted
and was on a balcony drunk at mardi gras.
we hit an impasse when he wouldn’t strip

and neither would i, so his attention was
eventually diverted to other balconies. but i
noticed for that next half-hour that he never left

from under my balcony, and every once in a while
he would still turn around and look up at me. oh,
boy, i was thinking the entire time, i know

this is no way to start a relationship, hell,
i’m sure this guy lives nowhere near me, and
i haven’t even had a real conversation with him,

but he’s damn near perfect. and all that time we
were screaming and partying at mardi gras,
he would still occasionally turn around and

make sure i was still there. and finally he
looked at me, signalling that he had to move
on with his friends, and i held up my index

finger to make him wait and then i threw
a bunch of beads at him. part of me threw
them because he was a good sport, putting

up with my taunting and still not giving in,
but a part of me threw them because i
saw in him the strong values and the sense

of self-worth, the sheer love of life, the
desire to be alive, that i possessed all along
and have always longed for in someone else.

Burn It In

I too have my recorders.
I burn these things into my brain,
I burn these things onto pages.
I pick and choose what needs to be said,
what needs to be remembered.

Every year, at the end of the year
I used to write in a journal
recall the things that happened to me
log in all of the memories I needed to keep
because that was what kept me sane
that was what kept me alive.

When I first went to college
I was studying to be a computer science
engineer, I wanted to make a lot of money
I wanted to beat everyone else
because burned in my brain were the taunts
of kids who were in cliques
so others could do the thinking for them
because burned in my brain were the evenings
of the high school dances I never went to
because burned in my brain were the people
I knew I was better than
who thought they were better than me.
Well, yes, I wanted to make a lot of money
I wanted to beat everyone else
but I hated what I was doing
I hated what I saw around me
hated all the pain people put each other through
and all of these memories just kept flooding me
so in my spare time
to keep me sane, to keep me alive
I wrote down the things I could not say
that was how I recorded things.

When I looked around me, and saw friends
raping my friends
I wrote, I burned into these nightmares with a pen
and yes, I have this recorded
I have all of this recorded.

What did you think I was doing
when I was stuffing hand-written notes into my pockets
or typing long hours into the night?
In college, I had two roommates
who in their spare time would watch movies in our living room
and cross-stitch. I never understood this.
In my spare time, I was not watching other’s stories
or weaving thread to keep my hands busy
I was sitting in the corner of a cafe
scribbling into my notebook.
I was sitting in the university computer lab
slamming my hands, my fingers against the keyboard
because there were too many atrocities in the world
too many injustices that I had witnessed
too many people who had wronged me

and I had a lot of work to do.
There had to be a record of what you’ve done.

Did you think your crimes would go unpunished?
And did you think that you could come back, years later,
slap me on the back with a friendly hello
and think I wouldn’t remember?
You see, that’s what I have my poems for
so there will always be a record
of what you have done
I have defiled many pages
in your honor, you who swung
your battle ax high above your head
and thought no one would remember in the end.
Well, I made a point to remember.
Yes, I have defiled many pages
and have you defiled many women?
You, the man who rapes my friends?
You, the man who rapes my sisters?
You, the man who rapes me?
Is this what makes you a strong man?

you want to know why I do the things I do

I had to record these things
that is what kept me together
when people were dying
that is what kept me together
when my friends went off to war
that is what kept me together
when my friends were raped
and left for dead
that is what kept me together
when no one bothered to notice this
or change this
or care about this
these recordings kept me together

I need to record these things
to remind myself
of where I came from
I need to record these things
to remind myself
that there are things to value
and things to hate
I need to record these things
to remind myself
that there are things worth fighting for
worth dying for
I need to record these things
to remind myself
that I am alive

Freedom just past the Fence

After working for the Army
for years on repairing jet engines
I ended up being stationed
in Pennsylvania one summer
repairing air conditioners
and refrigerators.
I’d only do a little work
and then have nothing to do
for a day or two.
But the thing I remember
is that at the time Cubans
were defecting to the United States
by boat.
They’d sail to Florida,
most of then dehydrated
and all of them malnourished.
The U.S. government
didn’t want them spreading diseases
in our country,
so when the Cubans would appear
off the coast of Miami,
the military would be waiting
to make sure they were healthy.
Well, all I knew
was that they got all these Cubans
into trucks we called ‘cattle cars’
with only a few benches
and trucked them up to Pennsylvania,
where I was,
and the military gave them some shots
to make sure they weren’t dying.
So these people, after
escaping their country
in a shoddy wooden boat
were taken by the U.S. military,
herded into a boxed-in truck
and shipped up the country
so they could be given shots
and detained.
These Cubans,
who came here wanting freedom,
now had to wait
in a fenced-in area
until they were tested
and given food.
And it was my job
to make sure that
their fridge and
air conditioner was working.
So I sat there for
a day or two at a time,
drinking cans of beer,
and looking out my window.
I had a view of the razor wire fence
and all I remember
was seeing all of these Cubans
leaning on the chain-link fence,
wondering if this was what it was like
to be free,
holding on to the metal,
looking out to what they were sure
was freedom.

Supposed To Be Done

At twenty-eight, I tried to die

At twenty-eight, I tried to die
And get back, back to you

I thought even the bones would do

Feel So Much

There are some points where
you just have to stop caring about things

Well, maybe I care about too much stuff
and that is why I have to stop myself

Sometimes you just have to draw a line
to separate yourself from other people
because you can care too much
and sometimes others don’t care enough

It’s hard to draw that line, you know
because to say that you don’t care any more
is like killing a part of yourself

Well, I’ve been doing that for years
am I dead yet

Does it seem cruel to want to kill
a part of yourself
    Maybe
But
does it seem cruel to feel so much

Someone Give Me the Answers

I don’t think I can respect
people Can anyone give me
the answers I’ve been looking
and looking, and none of the
solutions are coming to me

Have I been taught to be so different
from the rest of the world
Maybe I have been Maybe I’m the
one with the different answers,
and maybe I don’t know where to begin.
And maybe no one can help me through this

My dictionary is older than my schooling
and my encyclopedia set is older than I am

I’ve been looking for answers to what
I thought were simple questions and the
people who are supposed to be smarter
than I am never have the answers for me

I’ve talked to a lot of people in my
lifetime, and with each day that passes I
lose more respect for the people I’ve known

This doesn’t seem like a fair thing for me
to admit

I mean, to hear a woman complain
about how awful everyone else is isn’t
nice, fair or reasonable

Maybe I’ve just had some bad breaks
I don’t
know what my excuses are, or what my reasons
are--but the problem is that I don’t think anyone
has a reason for the majority of the actions
they engage in

Or should I say commit instead of engage in

I can’t even finish a sentence and I’m
expecting finished sentences and sense and
answers from all of the people I’ve already
lost so much faith in

But that’s enough about me
I’ll get back to a more
interesting subject right away

I was recently in the hospital for 6 weeks
When
I regained consciousness,
I was given the same meal three
times a day
Most every day I slept in the hospital,
I was physically strapped to my bed so that I would
stay in my bed all night

This is not meant as my defense against anyone’s
actions, my own or others

This was not an
uncommon occurrance for my treatment
I don’t
know how anyone else was treated,
but I am guessing
I was one of at least 20 patients in the same institution,
in the same ward,with the same teachers

Take from this what you will

Sometimes the answers don’t come easy
The
answers haven’t come to me for quite a while
not
since my accident, or since my hospital visits

Not since most of my school days
or since a lot of
my friendships

Maybe the events in my life haven’t
given me the answers
but maybe the events in
everyone’s life also have missing answers.

I don’t know where the answers are
I don’t know where
my answers were
I’ll try to find the answers one day,
and if anyone can help me, let me know

Making Sense Out Of The Insane

There are many things that I have needed
And there are things that other people call mere wants
But to me they are the same thing

I have had too many things happen to me
And I am supposed to take the good with the bad
And I am supposed to see the silver lining for every cloud

And sometimes I can’t see the silver lining
Sometimes I only get to see the dripping blood from
The wounds that were cut poorly

And haven’t had a chance to heal

That’s one of the things about modern life
Sometimes there is no happy ending
And sometimes you can look and look, but you can’t find it

And sometimes making sense out of the insane is pointless
Because sometimes the insane starts to make sense
Maybe you can’t understand that

Maybe you can’t understand that because you haven’t done what I have
And you haven’t gone through what I have
And you haven’t learned how to bottle up all the hate

I don’t know where the silver lining is supposed to be and
I don’t know where to look for the things
that are supposed to make me happy

Because I’m getting pretty tired of looking

I’ve changed all my goals in life
The short term ones and the long term ones too
And after a while that has an effect on you

After a while you start to feel like a prisoner who
Is just getting the life kicked out of you
By a bunch of other prisoners who for the moment have the edge

While all the other guards are paid to look away
It’s funny how the prisoners get the coin from their

Drug deals to pay all the good guys off

When you start to see that
And when you start to feel like that
the line between sanity and insanity becomes blurred

Isn’t it Amazing

Isn’t it amazing how much easier it is to destroy something
than to fight for it. Isn’t it amazing. Isn’t it amazing how
willing we are to give up our chances at happiness. Isn’t it
amazing how afraid we are of life. Isn’t it funny how we
don’t want to embarrass ourselves. Quick. Take out the trash.
Hopefully no one will see you in your bathrobe as you make
your way to the end of your driveway. All you have to do
is turn around and leave it there. Someone else will clean up
the mess. Someone else will pick up the pieces. This is
what we do, in America. This is how we avoid hurt. This is
how we stay ahead. Now look who has egg on their face.

Isn’t it amazing how much easier it is to destroy something
than to fight for it. Once you’ve made that decision, once you
know that you’re going to be the one holding the aces, you can
watch the rest of the world squirm. If only those fools knew
better, you think. If only they knew what you know. It’s
emotion that gets them in trouble. Just don’t cross that line.
Isn’t it amazing how much easier it is to destroy something
than to fight for it. It seems the obvious choice. Isn’t it amazing.

Burning Building

so I will rescue myself this time again
and I will wonder if I should stop trying
and allow myself to perish in the flames
now all I have to do is sit and wait
for another disaster to consume me
and sitting in silence is exactly what I’ll do

Why do you tell me one thing and do another?
Why do you run away when I need you most?
I’m stepping over the wooden beams now,
and the flames are all around me. Here, look
at the blood dripping from my arms. Here,
smell my flesh burning. This is what you do.

I do not walk away unscathed. I never do.
But now that I wait for my next burning building
I know I will never allow myself to enter it.
Why can’t it be easier to perish? I try and try,
and every time at the last minute, my figure
steps over the the charred remains and saves me.

If only there were no more burning buildings.
If only I didn’t have to save myself all the time.
If only I could feel free, just this once.
If only I could feel safe with you, just this once.
If only your words weren’t empty promises.
If only your words were not the burning building.

in the air

Over Las Vegas with my family, my sister
and myself in one row, my parents in the
other across the way. We’re nearing the end
of our flight; mother tells me to sit in her
seat and look out the window as we fly
over the Hoover dam. Sitting next to father,
I watch him lean out the window saying,
just think of all that concrete.
I look over his shoulder, the dam
no larger than a thumbnail, the water,
like cracks in a sidewalk, like the
wrinkles in the palm of my hand.

Over Phoenix, preparing for another
descent at 8:50 p.m., but it’s usually fifteen
minutes late, as it is now, I’m getting
used to the schedule now. The mountains look
like the little mountains you see on
topographically correct globes, little ridges,
as if they’re made of sand, if you just lean
your head down a little bit, your exhaling
can make them all blow away in the
breeze. And I know that what I’m looking for
is out there, somewhere, I think this is
where it is, I better not be wrong, I just
have to search a little harder and find it.
I love the city lights from above at night.
Have you ever thought of how much power
it takes to light all those buildings?
All that energy. And every time I look,
look out that little window with rounded corners,
i see a string of yellow Italian Christmas
lights strung across the ground.

And little Champaign, Illinois, and
those little airplanes that 25 people
fit in. The airport there is really nice,
actually, it’s made for a bigger city, a city
of dreams and tall buildings, that’s what I
think. The roar of the planes are so loud, though,
not like those 747’s where you can sleep
during the flight. But they fly low enough
so that I can see the building I live in
from the sky. And where I work. There’s the
store. Neil Street. Assembly Hall. The bars.

Over Fort Myers, the city always looks
different from any other place, all those
palm trees, the marshes. Like you’ve just
landed somewhere foreign, and pretty soon
the big tour will begin. You can feel the
heat, the humidity sticking your shirt to
your back between your shoulder blades,
and your neck, sticking to your neck too,
from inside your cabin, before you even land.

Chicago looks grand from the sky
with this huge expanse of lake
next to it, like civilization crept up
as far as it could but finally had to stop.
The power of nature stopping the power
of man kind, for once. And I cannot
decide which one looks more evil.
The lake does, looks evil i mean, at least
at night, at night it looks like two spheres:
a string of lights and a huge void. Daylight,
and the snow on the ground looks dirty, too
many cars have splashed mud on it as they
drove by. And the sky always matches the
shade of grey of the snow: fitting for the
city of the Blues. Maybe the snow is already
that color, that perfect shade of grey,
when it falls from the sky in this city.

Part Two

Have you ever noticed that the air
isn’t normal air in an airplane? I mean,
I know they have to pump in the air,
and pressurize it and all in order to
keep us alive up there, but there’s just
something about the air in the cabin
that’s different. It’s got a smell to it,
that’s the only way I can describe it.
A smell of all these people, going
places, running to something, or
running away from it.

When I go on vacation and I promise
people I’ll write, I usually write from the
plane, just so I don’t have to worry about
it for the rest of my trip. And I write their
letter on an airsick bag. It’s more
interesting than paper.

I like the window seat, I like to look
out the window. Clouds look like
cotton balls when you’re above them,
and when you’re landing cars look like
little ants, on a mission, bringing food
back to their hill. Little soldiers, back
and forth, back and forth. And the
streets look like veins, capillaries in some
massive, monstrous body. And the
farmland looks like little squares of colors.
I wonder why each plot of land is a
different color, what’s growing there
that makes them different. Or maybe it’s
that some of them are turning shades of red
and brown because some of them dying.

Once I was bumped from my flight,
but on the next available flight they gave
me first class. And I sat there, feeling
underdressed. And afraid to order a drink.

And it always seems that you’re stuck
sitting next to someone that is either
too wide for their seat, or is a businessman
with his newspaper stretched out
and his lap top computer on his little
fold out table. Once, when I was on a
flight back from D. C., a flight attendant
walked by, stack of magazines in her
hand, Time, Newsweek, Businessweek,
and I stopped her, asking what magazines
she had. And she replied, “Oh, these
magazines are for men.” This is a true
story. And I asked her again what she
had. I had already read Time, so I took
Newsweek.

what it felt like

that makes it sound like a blanket
but a blanket can only be warm for so long
and it never is long enough to cover you
and the cold air is always getting in
and you can feel the breeze
from where the blanket fails you

no, what i have felt before,
what i am sure i have touched before
is giving, and soft, and warm
but it doesn’t give too much
or it would disappear

it is kind of like cat’s fur
have you ever felt cat’s fur before?
when you glide you hand along a cat with the fur
it is like silk, it is very,
well, how do you describe it

don’t rub that cat fur the wrong way, though
because that’s when it fights againsty you

it does not hurt you or give way too easily
it satiates you into feeling that life is good again
and when nothing seems to do that for you
sometimes all you’ve got is love,
i mean, that feeling of warmth and softness

do you know what i am talking abot
i am sure i have felt that feeling before
i must have

Wedding Lost

all too bright, and the rain seems
all too loud, like the thunder of
soldiers running across a field to

war, swept with the drunken feeling
of patriotism, charging toward their
unknown enemy. And so it happened

that night, the lights got brighter,
the car started to spin, and then
she started to dream.

And she sees herself at the
end of the church, the bridesmaids
have just walked down the

aisle, the music changes for her.
She feels swept with the euphoria
of love, and she begins to walk,

but she falls, the bouquet falling
from her hand. And in slow motion,
white roses and lilies

scatter along the aisle. And she
looks up, and the groom is gone,
and the ground is the ashes

of the house they bought together
after they were married. She
sits up, and she’s at the desk at the

bank, trying to get the loan for the
house. His job is secure, we’re young,
nothing could go wrong. Good thing

he wore the blue tie to the bank, and
not the red one. And she sees herself
waking up from sleep, the oxygen

pipe still under her nose, her husband
there, tie in hand, asking if she’d like
to hold their baby. But she

could have sworn she heard the
baby stop crying. And she panics.
And then she wakes up, her head is bobbing,

but now she’s back, back at the
hospital, looking at the tubes running
out of her fiance’s arm.

I’m not sick but I’m not well

I’m not sick but I’m not well
the doctors find nothing wrong with me
and believe me, they’ve taken the x-rays
they’ve striped me down
and made me wear one of those awful paper robes
and they’ve felt me up
and checked me out
and found what they were looking for
but didn’t find anything I was looking for

I’m not sick but I’m not well
and I can’t help but think
that everything I’m doing to make things better
might only be making things worse
so I don’t want to listen to what
you have to say anymore
and I want this IV out of my arm
and I want this oxygen tube out from my nose
and I want this suppository out of my ass
and I want you to get that scalpel away from me
because I want everything I’ve got

I’m not sick but I’m not well
and they want me if they can keep me in line
and they want me if they can cut me open
and take out my insides
and suck out the fat
and suck out the life
and make me generic
and make me dependent
make me unreal
make me not whole
and i’ve walked that line with all you doctors
and I want all my parts back
and I want to be healthy

no, I’m not sick and maybe I’m not well
but you’re only making me worse
I don’t have the answers but neither do you
so instead of tearing me apart
and dissecting me
and studying the bones
let me just stay together for a while
until I figure it all out

True Happiness in the New Millennium

I’m here to usher in a whole new millennium
I’m the new savior the savior of science
the savior of strength the savior of survival
survival of the fittest survival of the best
and I’m here to tell you we’re starting anew
so fasten your seat belts hang on to your hats
place your seat trays in their upright and locked position
for it’s a bumpy ride, and I’ll tell you why

I’m here to usher in a whole new millennium
the millennium of reason and logic and strength
and I don’t want to hear about your self-destruction
I don’t want to hear your whining, psychosis,
your depression, suicide, alcohol and drugs
and just what made you think that playing with needles
and escape would make things better somehow
God, I’ve always hated needles anyway
what is it with you people

well, you need a leader and I’m stepping up to the plate
you keep asking for a big brother and I’m here to set you straight
you want someone to wipe your noses for you
well, pick up the damn tissue and do it yourself
because when you give up your rights, you take away mine
and we’re not having any of that

I’m here to usher in a whole new millennium
and you say to me you need crystal meth
so you can stay awake through work
and you say to me that you don’t need to drink,
that you just like the taste
and you say to me that with all your escapism
you still don’t feel any better
and you say to me that sometimes suicide
is the only answer

I’m here to usher in a whole new millennium
I’m here to usher in a whole new generation
so stop asking for things and start working for things
because X is for ecstacy as long as it’s fast
and X is for extra but there’s always a cost
and ecstacy doesn’t come without extra work
no matter how many corners you cut
and you know, X is for X-Ray and I see right through that

they say that Eve ate from the tree from knowledge
but you know, she shouldn’t have stopped just then
cause the loggers are raping the trees of knowledge
the loggers are raping the forests of talent
the forests of ability the forests of reason
of skill of logic preserverance and life
we’re letting them rape the forests of excellence
and you know it’s now time to take it all back
because I’m here to usher in a whole new millennium
and I’m here to tell you how it’s going to be done

you’re looking for peace in all the wrong places
you’re asking your leaders to save you from yourself
but your leaders are losers and they’re worse off than you

I’m here to usher in a whole new millennium
where it’s time to take charge and it’s time fess up
only you can deliver you from your own sins
but first you must know what sin really is

it’s time to make choices and it’s time to lay claim
to everything we’ve been blindly giving away
because I’m here to usher in a whole new millennium
take charge of yourself, and I’ll take charge of me
I’m my leader, not yours, so wipe your own noses

take it in to your hands, people, mold your own tools
this is the new millennium, and this is your chance
because no one should be showing us how to fail
people mastered that feat a millennia ago
so set your own rules and do something fast
cause it’s time to take charge and it’s time to be alive

I’m here to usher in a whole new millennium
And I’m waiting for you to usher in yours
Because true happiness this way lies, my friend
and I won’t wait long if you lag behind
cause I’m setting my rules so step out of my way

I’m here to tell you there’s a new sensation
and I’m here to tell you there’s a new salvation
and that true happiness this way lies

farmer

right to the edge of his land. And
at that university there is a man
studying plant biology, he wants to

do research in food genetics, create
the perfect ear of corn. And the farmer
knows this.

All he wanted
was to be able to make a
living, maybe save up enough
so his kid could walk over to campus

every morning, maybe meet some new
kids. The government assistance has
run out, the state wants to push the

school south an extra mile, put up
a research lab, another dormitory. The
drought has done nothing good for his

field anyway. And the doctors say the
lump under his shoulder is from the sun.
All of these years

he would wake up early Sundays
to work, and he would find tire tracks
from souped up cars digging in his

property edge. Kids leaving beer cans,
junk food wrappers, condoms. And he
would pick up what he could.

In the upcoming years, would his
little boy do this to someone else?
And this was his labor:

he had sewn the seeds; the plants
running, hurdling the rolling hills,
sprinters uniform in a marathon.

And all the way to the street at the
edge of his property, the green sign
reading &$147;1800 S”, all the way to the

end is his life, his little earth,
in straight rows, like the peas
on his son’s plate when he plays

with his food. And now the rows of
corn are less straight, as if in recent
years he didn’t care. This year it’s the

worst yet, he didn’t bother with the
right chemicals, and there are weeds
in between the rows. The grass next to

his house is almost up to his waist.
And he’s awake now, it’s four
in the morning, and he’s wandering out

in it all, and he’s almost crazy. The grass
waves, almost staggers, like him. And he
thinks:

let the weeds grow.

What We Are Supposed To Do

maybe those pointed feet said something
about how women are always
supposed to stand on their toes
to make their legs look better for men
to make it harder for them to walk

I mean, how are you supposed
to go around in your life
always walking around on your tows?

maybe those pointed feet said something
about how being short is a bad thing
and being taller
like a man
is a better thing

maybe those plastic breasts said something
about plastic surgery
and how women should be better
how men want women with bigger breasts
how they want something they can look at
and odjectify
something to make them novel
and something less than a man

maybe those plastic breasts said something
about how breasts should be perky
and never sag
like having breasts actually do, if you have them
I mean, Barbies never had bras
because they never needed them
because well, they had eternally perky plastic breasts

and plastic skin
and a plastic head that was hollow in side
and a plastic everything

I can take a Barbis doll now
and squeeze her head
and it just crunches like well,
a big piece of plastic
because well, there’s nothing in there

I mean, aren’t girls not supposed to have brains anyway?

This was how we were trained
This is what we are supposed to do
and they still teach this

and I don’t know how to fight against
all these years of a slanted view
of how men view women
and how women view women

I can look at Barbies
and think that there is nothing inside of them
there is nothing real to them
and it is not the Barbie that bothers me
it is all of the ideas that come with it

Children, Churches, and Daddies

And the little girl said to me,
“I thought only daddies drank
beer.” And I found myself

trying to make excuses for the can
in my hand. I remember being
in the church, a guest at a

wedding of two people
I didn’t know. My date pointed
out two little boys

walking to their seats in
front of us. In little suits and
cowboy boots, this is what

is central Illinois. And my date
said he was sure those boys
would grow up to be gay. And

the worst part was their father
was the coach of the high school
football team. I think I

laughed, but I hesitated.
I remember being in the
church, it was Christmas

Eve, my date’s family went up
for communion, and all I could think
was that singing the hymns was

hard enough, I don’t know the
words, what am I doing here,
what am I supposed to do? And I

stayed seated, and everyone else
slowly walked to the front of the
church. Little soldiers in a

little line, the little children
in their little dresses walking
behind their mommies and

daddies. And the little girl
said, “I thought only daddies
drank beer.” And I found myself

trying to make excuses.

Lambs to Heaven’s Gate

People will believe anything if you
tell it to them the right way. Give them a few
tokens and they’ll create icons out of you.
But not everyone can guide, can lead the lost.
Give themselves to the followers who need them,
with nothing in return. Like the stars,
which seem so small, so meek from here
yet are unfathomable, uncontrollable.
Like the shepherd, quietly guiding his flock
but holding a stick all the while. I’m the one
who guides them, who guides them to their destiny.

Whether or Not It Is From Religion

“I’m ambidexterous. The nuns would hit my left hand
when I wrote because I was supposed to use my right hand.
When my right hand got tired when I
wrote a paper at home, I would just switch hands.”

Things are supposed to be a certain way,
aren’t they?
There can’t be anything different from the norm
you’ll have to abide by our rules

“who’s rules?” ours.
“I thought I was listening to God’s rules.”
We have interpreted God’s rules. It is for your own good.
“Doesn’t the Bible state that YOUR bahavior
and your changing the Bible
is wrong?”

That is when the child was shut up again.
Quickly.

Sometimes rules are needed to be instilled
They didn’t care how the rules would be enforced
even though they preferred swiftly
cunningly
and angrily.

B.

“She beat me because I spilled some milk.
She was showing me what Jesus would do.”

It is strange how people choose to instill the word of Christ
It is amazing how people get a “power trip”
by putting a ruler to someone’s hands

when you let someone else tell you that you can’t be married
when you let someone else tell you that you can’t have children
when you let someone else tell you that you can’t have sex
(well, isn’t that why they molest little boys?)
when you let someone else tell you that you can’t drink
when you let someone else tell you that you can’t have any fun
when you let someone else tell you that you can’t have your life back

wouldn’t you do your damnedest
to take a little bit of life away from everyone else

well, that is probably what they did
they will take every power trip they can get

C.

“But when they go to a private school
they have better manners
than kids who went through a public school.
Kids just need that strict direction in their life.”

I knew a woman who went to a Catholic school
and she wore a ton of make-up
and she smoked and drank
and she screwed anything she could

I knew a woman who went to a public high school
and she was an honor student
and she was in a sport
and she never drank, and she never smoked
and she never did anything wrong
and she never went to church

maybe it is not religion
that keeps them in line
it could be that strictness
coming from anyone, like the parents, religions, or friends

it could be being raised with rules
or morals
or values
or standards

whether or not is is from religion
is irrelevant

You Would Know If You Were Here

Maybe it is because I remember too much
And maybe I want things to be different
And maybe you know the difference

Maybe you would know if you were here

I bought these wine glasses recently
After you died
Because they lookined like the glasses we
Almost got
When you came to visit me
And you took a day off of work

And no, you have never been around with me
To drink from this glass
With me
But I still think of it as ours

And I toasted to you with this glass

I said to you in this toast,
This is for all that almost happened
And this is for all the things that
Could have happened, and would have happened

And here is to all that you have taught me

Because I have been through a lot, you know
And I didn’t think you would add to my misery
Or my joy

And here I am
Thinking about it all

And I am mixing red wine with beer
Half and half
In one of these glasses
And I am all alone
In my apartment
Wondering what it would have been like
If you were here
And I had a different set of battles to fight

But
But now I’ve got a different set of battles to fight
And a different set of battles to win
And oddly enough, with all that we have gone through
You have helped me though this

I would never wish what happened to you
To happen to someone else
And you would tell me that
If you were here

You would be angry at me
because I would think that drinking through my problems
Would be the easiest solution
You would be angry at me
For my giving up my hope
And you would remind me
That I am a worthwhile human being
And that I am talented, and strong
And that I am a fighter

And it is fitting, in a way,
That I am toasting to you with a combination
Of cheap wine and cheaper beer
But it is the way that would live
If you were here

You would live every minute to the fullest
You would celebrate everything
And you would toast to it

the measuring scale

Here’s an addition for your
degrading terminology
of women list. In the
construction field they
(men) have devised another
form of measurement.
When something is being
lowered or fitted into place
they will often refer
to an inch or so as:
up or down about a cunt hair.
They have gone so far
as to determine that blonde
pubic hair is the smallest
increment and at the other
end of the measuring scale
is black pubic hair.

Pam, via the internet

if we’re talking about
measuring scales, what about
the scale that defines the way
you treat us:
on one end is the minor stuff,
calling us "baby" and "sugar,"
whistling as we walk by, but
then move along the scale, get to
the blonde jokes, yes, they’re so
funny, then how about a pinch
in the rear at the office,
well, that’s harmless enough
and while you’re at it, porn
movies and magazines, what harm
do they do, and hey, women
have always worked at home,
so you should have all the jobs
and get the better pay anyway
and since we’re just your pro-
perty, fuck us whenever you
want, i mean, hey, you’re doing
it already in every other aspect
of our repressed, oppressed lives
so rape us, smack us around
knock us down a flight of stairs
that’s what we’re here for

god, i don’t even know how to
measure these things any more

in their homes or in the streets

some women are raped
in their homes or in the streets
by men whom we call “strangers”

some women are raped
in their homes or in the streets
by men we call psychiatrists,
doctors, college professors,
friends, lovers,
husbands and fathers

and some women are raped
in the streets or in offices
by men who merely sit there
and commit rape with looks
with smirks
with insults
with threats
Bob Lamm, 1976

have you ever felt
that everything you did
from the clothes you chose to wear
to the way you styled your hair
to the way you walked down the street
to the way you sat at your desk

to whether you looked at people
as they passed you in the grocery store
when you picked up the food for the family

have you ever felt
that everything you did
was under the scrutiny
of half the world

that a stare could haunt you
if you looked too confident
or your eyes wandered for too long
and actually caught someone’s gaze

or your skirt was too short
or you didn’t cross your legs

or if you ate a banana
or happened to lick your lips

have you felt it
well, you’re not a woman

most accurate metaphors

rape is one of the most savage
one of the most accurate
metaphors for how men
relate to women in this society

it is a political crime
committed by men
as a class
against women
as a class

rape is an attempt by men
to keep all women in line

Bob Lamm, 1976

now there’s two ways
this can happen, little girl
you can keep fighting me,
and if that’s the case, i’ll
have to keep my hand
over your mouth and
this knife at your neck,
or you can relax, enjoy
yourself, make this easier
on the both of us

you know you want this
so stop fighting it

i saw the way you were
looking at me earlier,
the way you stared at me
the way you were dressed
i know what you were thinking
so don’t say a word

did you think those drinks
were free

how long did you think
i could wait
it’s my turn now
you owe it to me

just do as i say
and no one gets hurt

my father, shooting an animal

onto the patio, the
expanse of concrete that
led to the pool, fenced

away from the ravine.
Father had a dislocated
shoulder, his arm was

in a sling. He had
a friend’s shotgun, some
sort of instrument

and he looked out
the window, sister and I
behind him, looking

over his shoulder.
And then he saw a small
squirrel, walking

along the edge of the
patio, and father opened the
sliding glass doors

propped his gun
over his dislocated shoulder,
tried to look

through the sight and
keep the gun balanced. He
usually didn’t use

guns, he seldom
borrowed them. And here he
stood, in his own

house, aiming at the
animal at the edge of our
property, with one

good arm. And then
he shot. We all looked; the
animal, hit, stumbled

into a nearby hole.
He hit the animal, despite all
his trouble, all his pain.

People wonder why
he shot the animal. I wonder
how. Could I do it, even

with two good arms.
Could I see through the sight,
could I aim well, strike.

pop a pill

poam: a conversation with Jimbo Breen

dedicated to Steve, a marine

we sat at the poolside together;

you asking me about how I’ve been

as the sun beat down

and we talked about nuclear war.

You said you didn’t believe in it,

and I strained to understand

why: for you, the man of war, the

man whose body is his temple,

the man who will fight to the

death. You loved the thought of

victory, the thought of war, of pain,

of triumphancy. And I sat there

in the swimming pool while you sat

on the edge. I paused. Then it

occurred to me: you would want

a method of fighting more direct,

slower, more painful, more personal,

than a nuclear war. You’d want to

fight them one on one, man to

man, with your fists. And your eyes

lit up. I was beginning to understand,

now, only years later. I’ll remember

you with the American flag in front of

your house, and your love of battle.

russians at a garage sale

they were from the russian neighborhood
they could barely speak english

they would pick up an iron. “how much?”
“four dollars.” “fifty cents?" “no.”

it was a warm indian summer day
we were all clad in shorts and sunglasses

they would point at the iron, a toaster,
a blender. “all for a dollar?” “no.”

and all the old couples wore raincoats
and scarves wrapped around their heads

they would pick up a wine glass. “how much?”
“twenty-five cents.” “how about ten?”

There I Sit

there I sit

I sit alone
separated
isolated
away from my only love
my obsession

I pull out
a fountain pen
I look
at the lines
the contours
of his face

defining
the piercing
eyes
the pointed
nose
the tender
lips

I feverishly
draw
I sketch
I capture
his image

I stare
I gaze
I memorize his every detail
but he never looks back

so I will draw
until my
fountain pen
runs dry

precinct fourteen

margaritas until two in the morning,
but of course we then decided that the
best thing to do would be to go out

and so off to the blue note we went,
found some interesting people to talk
to, closed the bar, i think that was the

first time i ever did that, closed a late-
night bar, i mean, and at four-thirty you
drove me home down milwaukee ave

and i know it angles, and you can see
the traffic light for oncoming traffic
as easily as you can see your own light,

but i’m sure the light was green, and not
red like the cops said, when they pulled
you over. you could have been in big

trouble that night, no insurance, no city
registration sticker, a michigan driver’s
license when you’d lived in illinois for

over a year now, a cracked windshield,
running a red light, probably intoxicated.
so they brought us to the station at five a.m.,

and all they did was write you a ticket,
and they gave me a business card, said if we
had any problems to give them a call.

you drove me home, and the cops met
us there, too, hitting on me again, and
although we both agreed that the night

was a lot of fun, even with the involvement
of the fourteenth precinct, i still believe
that damn light wasn’t even red.

grab the other’s neck

These feelings seem to come rushing up to me
And I don’t seem to have any control over them

And I hate myself for this
And I’m not supposed to be having these urges
And I hate myself for thinking that you may want me too

You know, I don’t know much of anything about you
And I guess you don’t know much about me
But I like what I know
Because in some respects you seem like me
Yes, I like what I know
That you work too much
And have too much drive
And you have a wild side
And you do your best to keep your wild side in check

And I still want to
Be able to straddle you
Take off your glasses
Mess up your hair
So you get strands falling around your eye
touching your cheek
And touching you
To remind you of me
And grab the hair at the back of your head
And cock your head back
Just so I can see your mouth starting to open
Because God, I want to see that
And it would make me know I’m right
And it makes me know that you want me too
And I’d let your hair go
And you would stare at me
And give me a look I just can’t explain
And can’t argue with
And have to submit to

And when I want this
I would wonder
Who would grab the other’s neck
For the kiss

I still don’t know who would make that move
Or who could make that move
So I’m begging you to start this cycle
I’m pleading you
I don’t want to be the only one with these fantasies

Tell these stories to me
Tell me you’ve thought these things too
Tell me you know that we’re both stuck
Because you know there’s nothing we can do

And I know this too

But I’d like to hear you say it
To validate my fantasies, in a way,
Because I’d love to hear you talk that way to me

I’m a sucker for that, you know

But tell me I’m not alone in this
So I’m begging you
I’m pleading you
Tell me I’m not insane for thinking about you
Tell me you have these fantasies too

Because There’s Nothing To Tell

and this week you’ve found a new way with me
and this is how i die

I’m tired of being so much like you
and I’m tired of having
so many differences with you
and I’m tired of seeing with each day
which part of me has to die
to keep things alive with us

you should know me by now
and you should know what I’m asking
when I ask a question

don’t you know me by now?

so thank you for point out
that the answer is always "no"
and thank you for killing just another little part of me

people do that to mne all the time anyway

you wonder what is wrong
when I seem unhappy
and I tell you "nothing"
and I dont mean "nothing"
but I tell you nothing
because there’s nothing to tell
because I’m almost dead anyway

I was just getting used to this "me" thing
and now there’s this "us" thing
which really boils down to this "you" thing
because, Hell, there’s no "me" anymore

isn’t that what you wanted anyway

people have been killing me all this time
and maybe they won

because this what we do

and we make sure we’re dressed well,
but not too well
enough to impress,
but not enough to be over-dressed
you can’t overdo it
you have to look good, you know
but not like you tried to

and we don’t talk to anyone we don’t know
and we make sure our gaze
doesn’t wander for too long
because we have enough friends and lovers
and we don’t need you

and as soon as the party is starting to decline
we make our way to a bar,
bring a few friends with us
because we can’t stay in one place too long
because we have other places to go
we must move on to bigger and better things
we must get out of here

this is how we keep our friends
and this is how we keep our social standing
because this is the way it is
because this what we do