Tag Archives: Poems

Memories Forgot

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Piled under blankets,
pigment greased thick
under fingernails – scrubbed once
or twice – her breath falls soft.

Fast as Nike, she slept.
Night crept darker still;
under what pretense
would light appear but dawn?

An hour forgotten, a day forgotten.
The memories fade and no witness
to bear this breath in or out.
Snow drifts. One hurricane
follows another, falls dark.

Quiet

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the un-decibel.
so silent it hums.
what isn’t.
right before the storm.
that falling, grasping, shhh.
when the mind has slowed.
the breath has caught.
a glacier melting not groaning yet.
not fracturing or breaking.
or crashing.
not sighing or even exhaling.
yet.
what lands between two beats.
goes undetected.
disappears when the foot falls.

Ars Poetica: Homecoming

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So I write madly
ushering the words out of my fingertips
no need for rain like shard of ice outside.
It’s already cold.
I’m already imagining tea
and one of the quilts my grandmother
spotted in the bins at Goodwill
promptly forgot
and spotted again.
An aged mind
not like good wine
but a constant inspiration
about the tragedy of a life long lived.

So I write
consider the consequences
of particular observations
and line break to remind myself
that I was a poet
once.

Whatever this is,
it is reentry
not a flourish.
Surely, I am pleased with myself;
homecomings are a pleasure.

Yo da le la lu the weird version of (Rules for) Living Life on the Lime (989)

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I just think everyone should know that I’m super happy.

Job applications in the works. Let me know if you hear about something in the legal field that doesn’t require a JD: k great thanks.

Also, listen to some Foster the People because it will make you happy. The whole album is the best option.

If someone offers to show you how to do a back flip, do it. Then teach me.

Eat greens.

Then eat ramen and Captain Crunch — the one with colorful stuff is better but might have worse chemical colorings in it.

Free association.

God, bears are cool.

Poems.

Editing. Running.

Oh my gosh and I’m finally reading The Hunger Games. You should read it too. I couldn’t stop and stayed awake until 2:30 am. This means that I made it through half the book and tonight I’m going to get in bed at, like, 9 so that I can finish it before I go to sleep without also preventing myself from getting enough sleep.

Sleep is super great.

I actually kind of like Twitter. Let’s Tweet together. You can follow me.

Now it is time for me to listen to Lonely Boy. RIGHT NOW.

A woman was yodeling the other afternoon at Montana Jack’s (that’s in Dean, MT, — I dare you to find it without asking for directions) and it was cool.

EmPeeTee — I bet you could learn to yodel. It would be hilarious.

Signing off,
the one and only, really truly alive and attempting to write, LIME

serenity, serenity. Oh, I have serenity.

3rd Tibetan School Counselors Conference Pantoum

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A man speaks Tibetan at the 3rd Tibetan School Counselors Conference
where I will present later and my mother,
the clinical psychologist – the professor – feels she is an imposter.
Me? I’m barely a poet.

(Yet I will present later). And my mother
tries to reassure me, but how can she? Because she is
the clinical psychologist. The professor who feels she is an imposter.
Who is the imposter? Who is the coat-tail rider?

Me. I am barely a poet.
Maybe that’s ok. Maybe this is growth. Making connections
I try to reassure myself. But how can I? Because there is
an unavoidable truth; I am misplaced here, aware exactly

who the imposter is, who the coat-tail rider is.
An Unavoidable Truth: I am misplaced here, aware.
Maybe that is ok. Maybe it is growth. Maybe. To connect with
the man who spoke Tibetan at the 3rd Tibetan School Counselors Conference.