Oak Park Library is currently closed and will re-open on Monday, Dec. 18 at 9 a.m.
and so the ideal takes form
shaped by what we think,
by the way we allow ourselves to think
Tomorrow, I will worry about the future.
But today, I wallow in the past.
Tomorrow, I will be 16 and trying to remember
if the derivative of arcsin is one over
square-root-of-one-minus-u-squared
or square-root-of-u-squared-minus-one.
for so long, i’ve crossed the same streets
i’ve smiled and waved to the same people in the hallways
i’ve thought the same thoughts
i’ve loved the same love
but i’ve outgrown my attachment to comfort and my warmth for the familiar sidewalks
I had a dream last night . . .
I had a dream last night . . .
You died!
I studied it for myself
Looked it up even
But couldn’t wrap my head around it
Couldn’t wrap my mind –
real art is dipping myself in paint and throwing myself against the pavement
wow look at that stain
paint
paint
paint
all the feelings away
until you darken the page and there’s nothing left to say.
(darling I miss you
baby baby
Today I am taking down my closet doors.
With my Dad’s old screwdriver, a little elbow grease,
And the sweat that will drip from my pores,
I will welcome the old me to the new one.
you,
taught me how to hide my curls
in a cloak of shame.
told me I should cry every time my eyes
landed on the details carved into my brown face.
constantly reminded me I wasn’t in close enough proximity.
Bittersweetness prevails
As you set off your sails
Where a tumulus sea
once prevailed
Yet, here we are
With merely a scar.
Your breath is lighter
The world – brighter –
Days fly by . . .
You no longer wish to cry.
El Niño
Indescribable, Unfathomable
Warmth.
Simple and mindless.
Basking in the leisure of
relief.
Carried, effortlessly, by the
breezing winds
You exist
only in
My absence.
wet grass
we are living on borrowed time
the green of spring will soon fade to browns
struggling to breathe and blaming it on allergies
blood is pulsing through my veins and my fingertips
this isn’t my bathroom floor this is real life
there is no second chance
the first thing is to wait for the rain
to soften
our skin so that
might easily peel the surface
away
and still the blood stays
clinging in our veins
like the fly to
a horse
pulsing and swaying
to stay the rippling body
veins
and then maybe i can stop breathing in counts of fours,
as the matter in black holes is reduced to nothing but fragments of time, and
impossibly cold remnants of stellar light implode like spiders in the sky.
how is light reduced to remnants?
spectra of light shine in and out of
view a rainbow of emotions envelope the
mind as the music pumps harder and louder and faster
computer static is in my ears like bugs
piercing my eardrum drums faster and harder and louder as tears
fall.
—Begin again,
With an unconscious adoration
For perpetual repetition.
Life in the shape of loops;
Generation after regeneration.
Comfort in conclusion,
Because it is also conception.
Sacred symmetry, familiarity,
Time’s curated conventions.
reverbs of rhythm surround me, and
the aftermath of melodies float – circling my existence.
my thoughts are still, as my fingers
gently pluck the strings of my fender strat.
You waltz by
Zipping through my stratosphere
Leaving almost tangible trails
Streams of fog and particles of water
Falling slowly down to my earth
You come in and out of orbit
Following a reckless collision course
Sometimes I could reach out and touch you
Leaves look up to the rising sun
A bird sings its song, letting anyone hear
Dewy grass drips with sweet sugar water
My eyes gift me this
The clouds know I don’t deserve it
My body was put here and for what?
as the clock strikes the bell tolls
clang
clang
clang
the steeple has never looked as high as it does
when you are standing on the tip
looking down at the cobblestones
there is no room in the temple
for the sinner
who does not repent
the
i watch jellyfish billow on the screen like souls floating across skies, their bells blooming as gracefully as bloodstains in bath water, and i reach through the pixels toward some form of salvation, some return that promises in the next life i’ll be something softer, something expansive, wounds
Turquoise vinyl siding
a green darker than any Carolina marsh.
Twenty steps up to the front door.
Fifteen more to the bedrooms.
Will the luggage make it to its destination?
A Prodigal daughter never returns home
She may enter its walls after her respite,
but is always a guest
to the ghost of her mother’s daughter
something breaks in the frozen night
tearing / you sit up and i stay
right here in these warm sheets
you say i am pretty only because the word beautiful