Currently Reading...

The Guild
(AKA...super cool Christmas present from a friend)

Currently Reading...

Starship Troopers
The Walking Dead, volume 4

chatter

drunk monkey creates havoc
under a war banner of
frustration and technology
and refuses to be shut down

monkey overwhelms the mind
scurrying from room to room
‘monkey, monkey, monkey’

banter grows turbulent
from plagues of speculation
until the only remedy
is to slaughter kinsmen
on the battle field

skin burns under the
syntax of disaster and distraction
but in the aftermath of violence
monkey is not still

Sex Advice From Poets

If The Ezra Pound was a sex position, what would it be?
It would last longer than it should, you’d never know what’s going on, and it would get you thrown in an asylum.

Read more at Nerve.

Rik Mayall Recites Angry Poetry

Probably best known in the States as Drop Dead Fred. He seriously brings the funny.

Katie Loves Star Wars

This is a deviation from the normal postings that appear at Sweet Lozey, but I felt that I needed to share with you this story that tugged at my heart.

This story is about little girl named Katie who is being bullied for bringing a Star Wars water bottle to school. This girl is awesome and she's courageous. She felt like she had to conform to the norms in her school and carry a pink water bottle instead. But, after talking to her mom about what was happening at school, she decided to stand up for herself. Not only did she decide to keep the Star Wars water bottle, but she also rocked her Star Wars t-shirt at school.

I am proud of kiddos who are bold enough to stand up for what they believe in, even if it's the right to be a Star Wars fan. And, I am proud of kiddos who are comfortable with being different and don't give in to group pressure to conform.

Please read Katie's story. And, if you're a Star Wars lovin' chica, please leave a comment on her blog post and let her know. Her mom is letting her read all of the positive feedback so she will get to hear your encouragement.

Katie Loves Star Wars

horizon

boy leads me
     across stones
                  and emptiness
'til we reach
    the place
 where children
     drag the sun
                                down
    until it is drowned
and devoured by wolves

and the screams
           burn me raw

       my knees buckle
and my ribs
                        are crushed

boy flickers in the darkness
            casting apparitions
      against the snow
                  that drill through me

in a symphony of chaos
                and devastation
      that intertwines with my hair
               until i am bound
and blackened
                 and carried off
          into the shadows
 of an angry sky

Family Business

Gracie sat behind the leg of the old birch table and fumbled with her shoe laces. Grandma showed her how to tie them – said something about bunnies and trees. Gracie didn’t like the lace-up shoes. She wanted slip-ons, like Judy’s, pink and sparkly with flowers on the sides. Mama would have let her have the pink shoes. But mama was gone now and grandma said no, said it was time to learn how to tie shoes. Gracie made loops and knots but they didn’t look like bunnies. She wanted to get it right before grandma came home from the market. Grandma would be happy if she could tie her shoes.

Gracie liked living in the old house. She felt close to mama when she slept in the old pink bed with the hand-sewn quilt. She also liked tracing her finger over mama’s initials carved in the kitchen table leg that no one knew about but her. Gracie loved that spot under the table. She spent most of her time there, reading books and whispering secrets to imaginary friends. Mostly, she loved the way the kitchen smelled – especially when Uncle Frank brought in new crops. That’s when the kitchen smelled the strongest, like wet shaggy dog and earth after a heavy rain.

Sometimes Uncle Frank let her help with the harvest. He showed her how to evenly spread out the buds and the shake to stretch the crops a little bit further. He even drew a red line on the scale with a marker so she could help fill the bags. On the line is good. A little under the line is better. Never, ever go over the line. “We ain’t a damn charity, “Uncle Frank said. “Can’t give this shit away for free.” She never went over the line.

He taught her how to tell the difference between good crops and bad crops. Gracie knew the buds sitting on the table above her were really good – green and fat. Not like what Mickey Jones gave to Uncle Frank last week because he owed him money. No, this was a good harvest. Mostly, she could tell by the smell.

Grandma hated the smell. “The table stinks like dirty weeds, Frank,” grandma said. “I gotta drink my coffee and eat my supper on that table.” Uncle Frank reminded her that his dirty weeds paid for the food she ate on that table. Grandma couldn’t work anymore and the bank threatened to take the house. Uncle Frank was making the payments so they wouldn’t have to move.

Grandma never complained about the smell after that. She started drinking her morning coffee on the back porch. She said she liked the fresh air. But Gracie knew it was because grandma didn’t like Uncle Frank’s business, even though she needed the money to buy groceries and lace-up shoes.

painted desert

there is a parallel in the
response my silence
         speaks
           and the bland
words used to maintain
         the civil

failure to ride the rails
keeps you from dangling
off the edge of
           anything

keeps you from
   jumping the train
     heading west and
   fleeing the urgent increase

keeps you from believing the
   systems of tactic in the moment


*this is an older poem from my first chapbook, Idealists on the Funeral Train

post mortem

we stood over the gleam
of stainless steel and
recounted the details

spooky real-deal exploitation
shaken together with
inquest and poured into
used coffins in back-alley
funeral homes

this is what they look like
on the inside
illustrations from the
household guide to dying

lacking the requisite goo factor
for a spoof film autopsy
but still disturbing in
its underlying complexity

at some particular time

unable to resolve the
implications of

nature on the scale of
total emptiness he

enclosed the past
inside the present

nesting time in time like
matroyshka dolls

on loan from the quantum
particles of the universe

each part made up
of something smaller

the work proved more powerful
than what he could maintain

but he remained faithful to
the disappearing matter

bleep bloop bleep

Pipe cleaner art from a training that I went to this weekend.

a million fireflies

the back of his head
felt wet and sticky so
he leaned against the deep
roots of an old tree
cherry blossoms floated
in the breeze

she waited for him
at the entrance leading
down to the canyon
as the large black beast
stalked silently down the road

he didn't know where
he was or how long he'd
been unconscious
the air smelled like
sea salt and rusted metal

sometimes things work
themselves out but sometimes
a duck is just a duck
telling you what
happens next would
ruin the story

everything that goes must start at once

existence leaves
and takes up residence
in the realm of
infinite density

searching for the
single point at the center
where time holds court
begging an audience
for the remedy

but time is wandering
off into the distance
shedding energy and
growing smaller

until it reaches the point
beyond the edge
of singularity
nobody wants it anymore

redacted

nobody remembers
what was omitted
and buried deep
within the substructure
of nothingness
but that’s just the way
it is around here
nobody wants to
carry the questions

five and dime

mama bought alice
at the five and dime
but couldn’t carry her
back home

she paused to catch
the ends of her hair
and ducked into
the back-alley shadows
to set up an ambush

looking for a way to lure
her oh-so-dull lover
into moving her
past third-base
but they were
both clueless

so she went back
to town and
bought the old book
with all the answers
and they studied it
together

chapbook

Just a reminder...

copies of That Sort of Thing and Idealists on the Funeral Train are still available here.

prone to wander

skeletal leaves
      fall down
              fall down
        gently bring yourself
            
  back and
         try again
            grab-bag of topsy-turvy
                               for lease
if you find your mind wandering

do you love my love
            bent and broken
you write the words of
                firm resolve
      maybe we’re
                         some fine dancin’
            scattered stars
     prone to wander

               carry me by
                             and i
stumble into
  supernatural impinged
                          upon natural
    body upon gravity pulled down
              fulfillment of prophecy
       writing with complete conviction
                        the mysteries of
  unwavering determination

Currently Reading...

Scott Pilgrim, Volumes 1-6
Flat Broke With Children

natural forces

we forced the matter
to a resolution
selecting one possibility
over any other
like we already had
all the answers

survival in visions
of hope aligning and
giving rise to a new world
of natural forces
and intelligent beings

produced in collisions
and the vibrational patterns
of extreme light radiating
deeper and deeper below
the level of climate control

fallen

she pierced a hole
in attraction and
caused it to
collapse again
in a collision
of dark matter
slowing down to
space-normal speed

too low for us to observe
at the early stage
of the universe
selecting one possibility
over any other
adapting to survive
by going
deeper and deeper
into the madhouse

church girls

church girls
whisper secrets
stitched together
on the edge
of plausibility
filling in the gaps
of unanswered
questions

wanting to
understand the
benefits of
knowing the
physical properties
of the standard model

something crazy
but incomplete
built on a
framework of
coarse ability
searching for
beauty and truth

surrender

the small flash of light
told me that he was correct
but I was still waiting
for the transformation
to take control
unable to surrender
to save the vessel
alarms start howling
might go berserk
and start shooting
into the vastness
of the dark
until it all starts
collapsing again

gracious like summer

good sister smears
incomplete shadows
against the endless landscape
gracious like summer
singing faintly and falling
on turned branches

leaves struggling in the
moment unnoticed when
familiar bodies stretched low
push against tense skin
healing rapidly for
the glory of a living prize

poetry at work

I work overnight shifts at a youth shelter. Sometimes in my down time in the middle of the night I write poetry on the walls in the dining room.

Wednesday night's poetry included: Claude McKay, Bob Perleman, Rodney Koeneke, and Ron Padgett.

An ecclectic, but fun, mix of poems.

these hands

gracious hands
bring in the
detached wanderer
carrying light through
the saffron memories
of a dripping sun
melted together
with the pageantry
of city and sky

longing stretches
down beside the
familiar pictures
of golden explosions
but nobody wants
to contemplate
the rumbling

ginger sky

dark nectar on
branches brings
scent tingling faintly
upon glazed rain
leaving shadows on
bottomless memories
wax picture colors
stain strange hands
singing in flickers
of tangerine flame
rising the moment
starlings clang
in the ginger sky

Featured Writer: Lillian Short

This is the first of many upcoming featured writer/artist posts. As Sweet Lozey continues to grow, we will be featuring experimental writing and art from many talented women. I am thrilled to present Lillian Short as the first featured writer. Though young in age, Lillian's artistic ability is already recognized within her community. Her passion is painting and drawing but she is a talented writer as well.

Two (short) poems by Lillian Short:

...

delicious starlings are
only red plums

...

heavily red is stretched
among fire trucks where
iceboxes carry green people
across the sky and
endless heads drown

...

morning stroll

Women in Small Press Article

Lynn Alexander writes a monthly column about women in small press for the Literary Mary Newsletter. The June column is about Sweet Lozey (and me). You can read the article here:
Literary Mary Article

Lynn is an impressive lady and someone that I greatly admire. She is involved with many literary projects, including editing Full of Crow. I was really excited when she asked to write an article about Lozey. To learn more about Lynn, click here.

there’s more to the story

girl is moving
at the speed of light
whirled violently
and changes direction

got me to thinking
so i pulled up a box
and wrenched another
peach off the tree

she stared limply at space
speeding toward her
and considered the
possibilities of existence

but this isn’t the real story
it was pitched off
into the distant past
to be stripped away

we couldn’t travel there
she begged me to tell her
the story until there was
nothing left but hunger

what he does, he does well

the slowdown creeps
in the flickering shadows
like the grey fading grin
of rip van winkle

he impetuously packs a
scribbled hurry-up letter in
a box of roman rockets
and slips into the dark

flicker

muscles convulse
the system is perplexed

overcome by the madness
of unrelenting quiet

shouting inequities
across the widening universe

fire crackles like
shattered alabaster doves

in the shadow of
faded celluloid memories

sleep comes easy
but ransacks the soul

interpretations

we discovered truth
late one night
though you might
not remember it

hastily dragged out
and hanged in
the courtyard before
it could be recorded

we were close then
interpreting the prophesies
quietly spoken by the
captain of the guard

his revelations were
profound even if
they were screwed up
from time to time

virtuous women

girl never trusted
the slow
             comfortable
rhythms of
         my schemes

            even when i invented
explanations
              for scandals
               and shifted blame
       to virtuous women

                  girl protected what
           she wanted with
             energy from the
    tips of
                   her toes

she intervened when
               peace was
        torn apart
            and struggled to put it
back together again

A Day at the Beach

A Wrong Turn

      “Will you marry me?” The words echoed through Colleen’s brain as the corridor lights flashed by in a haze. Had she really heard those words? Did that night really happen? She was sure that it hadn’t. It was all a dream and she was going to wake at any moment and not find herself wheeling toward an operating room. Did she say “yes?” It didn’t really matter because it wasn’t real. She tried to convince herself that it wasn’t real.
      The pain in her side felt real. More real than any dream she’d ever had before. She couldn’t wake herself up. What if she admitted that it wasn’t a dream? What if it was real? It would mean he really turned and the car really crashed and he was really…
      No, it’s not real. It can’t be real. Something that starts out so beautifully isn’t allowed to end like this! It was a perfect night. The right spot with the right ring with the right words. Perfection isn’t allowed to end in a nightmare.
      She heard the words again. “Will you marry me?” They echoed through her brain as the anesthesia flooded through her body and she passed out.

I Bit Couch Boy

I am enrolled in a 4-week-long conceptual writing workshop that started this week. So far, some of the exercises have been really fun. I will post some of the more interesting projects on the blog to share with all of you.

There was a discussion on Oulipo this week. I anagrammed the first verse of “Ice, Ice Baby” by Vanilla Ice. Each line has the same number of syllables as it's corresponding line in the song. I also, for the most part, retained the aabbccdd... rhyme structure that occurs in the song. The result is titled "I Bit Couch Boy." The title was created from the left-over letters.

I Bit Couch Boy

Wannabe feel mighty or betrayed
Darling hit hypo lost to a mace babe
Trollop valid lethal spawn crack-head
Liberate the pesthole hotly and wasted
Ill check leeching filth caught in the soul
Kill two geishas and I stroll
The phony is shrinking heavily invented
Yeah negative rep kicked-over, maxed and melted
Months of puking in opium rooms
Down playing loopy on familiar robot tunes
Madhouse looks from a bitchy kiwi rind
Oh I'm putty like weevils with no legit mind
You obeyed yet I'm the only flogger
A legend known to hit home wittier
I'll get ready a vehicle you don't outweigh
No ill solos just an extravagant lay

zero volume

there didn’t seem to be
much point in faithfully
observing the rules
when they realized they
were trapped in a region
of space time on the verge
of gravitational collapse

they were not expected
to survive long enough
to reach the crucial
question about beauty
and the process of
random discovery

frustrated about treasure
visible through peepholes
while securely contained in
shallow theories they
faced the ongoing problem
but limitations resulted in
significant failure

Butterfly Garden

Log Cabin block quilt.  Hand stitched and quilted.

Happily Ever After

      Listen to your mother when she says, "You're not getting any younger, Patty. No man will want you if you’re old. Find someone before it's too late."
     Remind her that you have plenty of time. Pretend that you secretly don't worry that she's right. Convince yourself that life will be good, even if she is. Alone doesn't necessarily mean lonely.

Y Y Y

     Panic slightly when your best friend gets married. Panic even more when she starts having children. Have a complete nervous breakdown when your younger sister gets married and gives birth seven months later. Do the math and realize why she got married.

Y Y Y

     Try not to feel rejected when your friends don’t have time for you because they have plans with their husbands. Convince yourself that you can go to the club alone. Sit at home instead and watch An Affair to Remember. Remind your self that "alone doesn't mean lonely." Question the sanity of the source of that statement. Remember that you are the source.

Y Y Y

     Meet a man at a bar. Decide you could marry him if he changed a few minor things. Is there any way to change his eye color or get rid of the skull tattoo on his forehead? Secretly tell yourself there is no one who could possibly make a worse husband. Openly declare that you love him just the way he is. Register for china and flatware three weeks after you meet him. He’ll learn to agree with your taste once you're married.
     Move in with him. Work two jobs and pay all the bills while he stays home to work on his music career. Believe that he could actually become a famous musician, even if he doesn't play an instrument and the deaf neighbor threatened to call the police if he ever sang again. Listen to your mother when she says, "He won't buy the cow if he can get the milk for free." Wonder if you should be insulted when your mother compares you to a cow.

Y Y Y

     Stay in the dead-end relationship for three years. Worry that you’ll be alone forever if you leave. Keep hoping that one day he’ll get down on one knee with a diamond ring. Realize that the only way you’ll get a ring is if you buy it yourself.
     Decide to not bail your boyfriend out of jail. He claimed that he had nothing to do with the llama and eggplant, but the video contains all the gritty details. Anonymously send the video to the D.A.’s office. Move to a new house and change your phone number.

Y Y Y

     Go through a series of random, meaningless relationships. Freak out if a guy shows any signs of commitment.
      Go to the doctor after vomiting for three weeks straight. Get angry when she suggests the possibility of pregnancy. Refuse to believe the doctor, even after the test comes back positive. Take two more tests. Wonder who the father is.
      Go out to a bar to try and drink away the problem. Feel guilty when the beer bottle brushes against your lips. Put it down and order a soda. Meet a man with the perfect shade of blue-green eyes. Choose not to tell him about the baby. Fall in love. Get your hopes up when he starts talking about marriage and family. Finally tell him about the pregnancy. Try not to be too disappointed when he walks out the door and tells you to never call him again.

Y Y Y

     Hide from your mother for the next four months. Ignore her phone calls, even when she resorts to leaving guilt-ridden voice messages. “Patty, sweetie, this is your mother. Normally I wouldn’t identify myself on the phone but I was worried that you might have forgotten what my voice sounds like. My voice. Your mother’s voice.” Hit delete. “Patty, honey, are you there? I wanted to come see you but you moved again and forgot to tell me. At least, I hope you moved. I met a woman with spiked purple hair at your apartment yesterday. Patty, are you a lesbian now? It’s ok if you are. You just need to tell me so we can fix it.” Hit delete.

Y Y Y

     Accidentally run into your sister at the grocery store. Try to convince her that you’ve just put on some extra weight. Bribe her when she threatens to tell your mom.
     Go home and find your mother sitting on your front porch. Mentally plan how to get back at your sister for giving her your address. Distract your mother with cute baby clothes when she asks who fathered the child.

     Give birth. Give your daughter your last name. Do everything you possibly can to avoid being like your mother. Swear never to compare your daughter to a cow.

Y Y Y

     Console your sister when she discovers that her husband has been cheating with your best friend. Console your best friend’s husband after your sister tells him about the affair. Fend off his advances when he swears that he is going to get back at his slut wife by sleeping with you.
     Do everything possible to keep your sister from self-destructing during a desperate attempt to recapture her youth. Avoid spending time with your sister and friend together. Wonder why your best friend’s ex-husband and your brother-in-law are now living together. Decide that you are better off not knowing.

Y Y Y

     Watch your daughter grow older. Record her first steps, first words, and first date. Attend her high school graduation. Drive over five hundred miles to take her to college. Insist that she call home three times a day. Settle her into the dorms and slowly walk away. Let loose the tears that you’ve been holding inside for years.
     Drive home. Unplug the telephone. Lock the door. Enjoy the quiet. Finally understand that alone really doesn’t necessarily mean lonely.

The End.

YYY

locker stories

the problem with the
skeleton king is that
he always takes over
and then crashes into
the corn field or the
pile of human remains

he gets distracted by
golems telling him
hard, dark secrets about
the farmer drowning
aliens and wearing
their dead, scaly skin

it’s better though
than before when he
sat around all day
ranting about advancing
hordes and spitting
seeds all over the ground

high resolution

i’m still shocked that he
made that jump over
Mango Falls even though
things like that are easy
for him and a first-place
finish was guaranteed

being with him was a
departure from my usual
close-to-home indie party
but he insisted that i
get easy with danger
and run through the
forget-me-nots to find the
king’s missing theory

stepping over paving slabs
scattered by the little girls
who dream of flat-footed
spontaneity i pushed forward
and kicked up dust particles
mixed with dimly lit fireflies

Shadow Poetics

This is an interesting read. All writers, in my opinion, benefit from instruction and mentorship. Even those with the greatest amount of natural talent find discipline with instruction. But the rising cost of university tuition is making college-level study increasingly difficult to attain - leaving more and more students in debt when they graduate. I love the idea of trading jam and publishing services for literature and poetry classes.

Rethinking Poetics on SwoonRocket

I WANT TAHRASH BAAAGS! TAHRASH BAAAGS!

I love The A-Team and I'm really excited about the new movie. This is one of my all-time favorite A-Team scenes:

Just a Job

      “By the ankles?”
      “Yep,” replied Vince. He flicked his cigarette off the deck into the sand below.
      “Off the side of the boat?” She cringed as she pictured him falling into the shark infested waters. Chum for the would-be fishermen. “He didn’t deserve it, ya know.”
      “Didn’t he? He read the contract. He knew the rules.”
      “Yeah, but he was nice.”
      “How do you know? You never talked to him. Right?” Vince stood up and walked over to where she was sitting.
      “It’s just—”
      “Just what?”
      “He…he had kind eyes. I could just see that he was nice. That’s all.” She finished her margarita, the third one in less than an hour. She stared out at the ocean. The water was almost the right shade of blue. It needed just a bit more green.
      “You liked his eyes?” he said, looming over her chaise.
      “And no one’s ever come to you like that before. Usually it’s just a job. Cold. Calculated. He was crying, Vince. He was heartbroken.”
      “He was weak, that’s what he was.”
      “No, look, if you really knew him—”
      “Like you knew him, darling?”

all the basics

the argument started
when he reached across the
dinner table uncomfortably
and handed me a book

one of those glossy how-to
books that replaces
intelligent conversation with
clichéd photography

like a birds and bees manual
with a lot of weirdness
and little significance given
to the power of discovery

(gravity)

if she goes, i will go
not quite sure where
but for now it’s
enough to hope that
gravity will slow the
movement of time
until she realizes the
imprint she leaves
on her surroundings

actual practices

in confidence he told us that
it was acceptable to eliminate
the origins of fate while
moving at termination speed
to avoid coming together

as long as we stayed within the
generally accepted boundaries
established by the architects
of misunderstanding

we struggled to lay down a
framework of self-interest
benefiting our desires to
avoid real relationships

but a strong sense of longing
buried deep under decades of
contact termination made it
impossible to make peace
with the necessary omissions

Morning Coffee

Lucy ran from one machine to the next, pushing buttons, pulling levers, and pouring hot liquids dangerously close to her body.

“Grande, non-fat, vanilla latte,” Aaron called to her, as he shoved a paper cup into her hand.

Think, Lucy, think. Come on. You read the book. You know this one.

Lucy froze. She couldn’t remember. Aaron grabbed the cup and made the drink for her. Lucy grinned sheepishly at the customer who was pounding his fingers on the countertop, waiting impatiently for his coffee. Red hair, black-rimmed glasses, New York Times. Lucy didn’t know his name, but she did know that he was the last customer of the morning rush. He always was. She hadn’t even been there for a week yet, but she was already recognizing the patterns of the regulars. He snatched the drink from her as she handed it over the counter and smiled. She studied the stitching pattern on the back of his loafers as he hurried out the door with his drink in hand.

“I suck at this.”

“Lucy, no. You’re doing fine. It takes time to learn all of this stuff.”

“What was I thinking? I was thinking that I really need a job, that’s what. You and I both know that I have no business working in a coffee shop, Aaron. I’ve never drunk a cup of coffee in my life. I don’t know what any of this stuff is.”

“Well, I’m still glad you’re here. Even if I did have to do both your job and mine this morning.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you know I’ll tell mom if you’re mean and she’ll get mad at you.”

Lucy stuck her tongue out at her brother and blew a raspberry, just as the red-haired guy walked back in.

“You forgot the chocolate sprinkles.”

down on penrose

the whole exchange took place
down on penrose but it
could have happened anywhere

we were desperately looking
for the conditions that led to
the compression of rational thought

but all we found were bodies
collapsing under the weight
of the universe gradually
disappearing into emptiness

unraveled

i get a little paranoid about
listening to unsolicited advice
especially now that
the demons are starting to
emerge from the water

i tried to say someting
about them coming but
it was pointless
people called me crazy

now they are here
pouring their opinions
into the minds of the masses
part of the preliminary plan
to take control of the androids
and meteorites

they will use poisonous clouds
and solar flares to
unravel the stratosphere
and weave it back together
miles under the ocean
in the realm of killer jellyfish
and sea urchins

Other places

Even though I publish most of my work through Sweet Lozey, occasionally I also send stuff out for submission. Shockingly, sometimes it even gets published. Some of my work is published in a couple of other places this month.

Some of my hiking photos are featured in this month's issue of Negative Suck. This is one of my favorite journals. The content is consistently good.

I won first place for my poem, "dry spell" in the Ed Versluis writing contest this year. The poem is currently posted on the Cognito blog. Cognito is managed by students in the writing department at Southern Oregon University - my alma mater.

rain falls down

i have this theory about rain
and the imprint it leaves
on desiccated souls

drops collide against earth
and plants and skin

inciting wet bodies to
slide in grass and mud

teasing pleasure out from
winter hibernation and
reawakening desire

chapter 12

we were affected
by his song and dance

but we had no means
to pay him and no

fundamental criteria
by which to judge

some days it felt
like we were finally

in the vicinity of
progress but still

a long way from
understanding the

consequences of
delicate prodding

fingerprints

we redefined attraction
in the back room of
that little bodega
over on the corner of
park and grand

the clerk asked if we
wanted to buy an audience
with the keepers of
understanding or a 6-pack
of corona on sale for $5.99

but we already found
the answers we were
looking for encoded in the
fingerprints left behind
on reawakened flesh

sabotage

succumbing to the
forces of sabotage
he sent the muses on
a search-and-destroy
mission to capture
the sky and send it
crashing into the depths
of the underworld
leaving the poet
devoid of inspiration

waiting for the rain

rain came in and
took residence in the
back country dancing
crazy with the stars

we took refuge in the
shelter set beneath the
trees and listened
to the melody of a

slow steady jazz song
playing in the dirt
from the safety of a
canvas stronghold

laughing nervously we
ran our fingers through
droplets pooling on the
surface of waterproof skin

we held our breath
and considered the
implications of entering
this place we kind of knew

in the solitude of a
summer night we
burrowed into the
comfort of warm bodies

and fell in with the rhythm
of the rain as we pushed
back the boundaries
of the unexpected cold

This cracks me up.

I love this kid!

Sweet Tea

James flashed his biggest fake grin at the people that swarmed through the aisles. He tried not to cringe as sticky, sweaty hands pawed at the cards and left dirty fingerprints on the glossy surfaces. It made him mad that these people didn’t respect the cards. Even if they were just the cheap ones, they still represented dreams and goals.

He was convinced that Miller put him near the concession stand on purpose. James suspected that Miller asked the food venders to sell cotton candy and chili fries, just so his cards would be ruined. He may have even scheduled the convention in the South just to spite James. Or, it could just be that James hadn’t had any tea all week and he was cranky from caffeine withdrawal. Anything was possible.

Even more than the humidity in the South, James hated that disgusting, syrupy concoction that the locals called tea. He searched every restaurant and coffee shop in town with no luck. Not a single one carried unsweetened tea on the menu. He tried to bribe the owner of the diner across the street to make some up, just for the week. The woman shot him a look that was a cross between amusement and disbelief. She chuckled at him from behind her cigarette and walked off to pour another round of coffee for the morning crowd. James began to wonder if tea leaves were shipped to the South with the sugar already mixed in.

motivation

careful observation
showed that she
was unable to
grasp the magnitude
of the perfidy in her
interpretation of desire

emotion annihilated
by unrelenting reason
after having fallen
a thousand times
and collapsing
into perpetual
transformation

a lifetime of searching
for meaning
left her in a state
of infinite isolation
avoiding attraction
for the sake of survival

the implication of madness

he shrugged his shoulders
and smiled as he told us
that he had calculated new
mechanisms for disaster

we were not in agreement
with the experiment -- convinced
that the outcome would have
no relevance for civilization

he was insensitive to our concerns
desire to be among the greatest
took precedence over the
extreme panic perspective

our fading hope in redemption
vibrated across the galaxy
and we were left with no other
option but to prepare
for unmitigated destruction

Currently Reading...

Eye on the Universe, Gail Gray
The Metaphysics of a Vegetarian Supper, Andrew Taylor
1000th Monkey, Issues 1 and 2

at the center

he leaned back in his
chair and admitted that
he was affected by
indirect adaptations
and h-bomb explosions

but he still intended to
find the root cause of
self-interest and annihilation
human desire has
little meaning to him

he explored time back to
one second after the big bang
but he was unable to
resolve the depth of the issue
and process eventually
took over his need for product

they watch

Paranoia floods the faces of those below. They see the watchers and wonder why they are there. How does someone with OCD enter the building? The cracks are everywhere. Too many to count. Step on a crack and you’ll break your mother’s back.

      “Write about this bobby pin.”

Chaos gently flows back into order. Swirling spirals of flesh mix with the sea.

      "Life is a digression.”

The self-conscious look up at those looking down.

      “There should always be a button you can push to get out of death. You really should be able to change your mind.”
      “The nurse would step in.”

Why is that gorilla wearing a suit?

The bobby pin floats in the tide. It occupies more of the sea and less of the flesh. One more line in the fragmented sea.

      “I have something to tell you.”

A solitary beam of light escapes the alien ship held captive by poles and cables.

      “It needs more lights. Preferably three.”

The guards stand watch. Don’t look them in the eye. Who guards the cables? Who guards the guards?

Follow the swirls. They’ll take you to Oz. Which one leads to Kansas?

The guards are everywhere, watching. Don’t let them see you mix with the sea and the flesh. Don’t let them stop you from following the path that leads towards home.

apparition

i sat with girl under
the stars and we
reminisced about the time
when we constructed
temporary ghosts and
set them loose in
unpredictable frolic

the manifestation was
both fanciful
and frightening
we watched in wonder
as they flashed in front
of us and then
vanished back into the
darkness of empty space

the details of the
ghoulish enchantment
belong only to us and
the creatures who
hear our secrets
whispered in the dark

connection

obeying the sophistication
of danger
a part of each joined
in expression
in marked contrast
to the rigid works of the past

but could be
just as bad
aided in some
shallow stereotype
about following what
went down

for all this time
simply meshed together
but aware of the symbolism
of treating the
feelings as they come

a new course of action

they sat beneath the safety of
fragrant flowers and quietly
discussed the corporate
value of perpetuating
fixed satisfaction following
news reports declaring the
death of the queen

beyond the wall of mourning
masses they spoke of
goodness, beauty, and truth
increased obligations
and the day lucifer fell
thoroughly pondering the
aftermath of the transgression

tomorrow i will take over the world - an epic tale of super villainy, part 3

read part 2 here

part 3

i thought about joining a
super-villain syndicate but then
i read the annals of
mediocre villainy
they don’t make super-villains
like they used to
more like super-kittens
than super-villains

i will start my own corporation
for super-villains
i will build a super secret
lair to use as our head quarters
and we will have an evil handshake
that no one knows but us
and membership cards
laminated to make them official

i will give them nefarious schemes
to carry out to make sure they
are real villains and not just kittens
because i can buy kittens
or steal them
kittens are cuter than villains

i will be the mastermind of this
new organization and the villains
will be my minions who
carry out my dastardly plans
to take over the world

underworld

he violated the rules
in gangland but
justified the transgression
in the telling of
unpleasant truths

he strongly believed he was
saved by connection
from a murderous fate

but common resentment
grew exponentially
and whispers crawled
in the shadows

parentheses

more than
a matter of
summarizing the
value of chosen
vocabulary

the meaning is
only part
of what is
important

a small part of
the debate
enclosed in
fleeting
knowledge

change is
more than
these words

neighborhood

hope carried

she pointed out the direction
of the suicide personnel
though somewhat vague and
we set forth in confidence
to force sacrifice while secretly
hoping for arbitration

obligation resting
on misrepresentation
we waited long enough to see
if hope would be spared or if
the conduct of history would
be maintained

Currently Reading...

Early Trouble and ceilings, by Jeffrey S. Callico
and
Burnside Review, 6.1

Open Mic

I will be at Gypsy Blues open mic on Wednesday night. I might even read a poem or two. Hell, I might even embarrass myself, just for your entertainment. That alone is worth coming out to see.

If you're in the area, come have a pint and enjoy some local entertainment.

Click here for more info.

collapse

they mimic the
light of a
cooling fire
collapsing against
the surface
until it slowly
wastes away

unlucky enough to
know the meaning
of relative permanence
they search for ways
to avoid fading
into a featureless
existence

the elements of breakdown

the design is simple
but we make it complicated
sabotaging the universe
by quantifying everything that
touches us or comes close

we search for the shadows
and the hiding places
to disrupt our basic needs
with fantasies about connection
failing to see what has always
been right in front of us

despite our propensities for
solitude we sometimes find
that mysterious thing that we
didn’t know was lacking
and wonder how we ever
survived before

a whirlwind of events take us
down the rabbit hole
and we are confronted with
a reality that is both
beautiful and strange
and brings us into a
new realm of understanding

tomorrow i will take over the world - an epic tale of super villainy, part 2

read part 1 here

part 2

i asked my friend about
his plan to become
a super hero
he didn’t have one
super heroes are born, he said
or chosen by intergalactic
councils or bitten by
radioactive spiders

but i realized that
anyone can be a villain
as long as you are an
evil genius with an
unlimited budget for
laser beams and
giant robots and a
volcano fortress of doom

yes, i will be a super villain
i will invent dastardly plans
for disaster
with my evil gadgets
and i will save kittens
because they are cute
and because i can
tie laser beams
to their heads and use them
in my plot for
world domination

chicks may dig war, but
hot chicks dig super villains
tonight i will become dr. awful
and women will flock to my
fortress of doom to entertain me
while i devise insidious
schemes to take over the world

(part 3 to follow next week)

natural resources

their bodies were found
lying above the surface
exposed with no clear purpose
it was blatant that we
blundered the formula

arguing that our intervention
would have worked
if we had joined the
independence movement
and had the courage to
go even further
in the depopulated towns

but we were not willing
to stop thinking about
the mortality of exposure
and the likelihood of losing
was frightening

[down]

the mechanism
             evolved
           and now enables the user
to control minds with
              such precision
           as to
  create new figurations
     of reality
a radical attempt at
          outlasting
               post-nuclear doom

               there are no
             confirmed
         connections
    between
this fallout humanity
     and ancient
               corruptions
but the conspiracy theorists
are already
           blogging

new life created
   but not approved
      with a wild aesthetic
barely resembling
             the ancestors
          that once populated
the universe
               the implications
       have yet to be
revealed

             and so we gather
    in the shadows
to watch what happens
             and preserve the
         remains of society
               until the heroes return
to take them down

tomorrow i will take over the world - an epic tale of super villainy, part 1

part 1

my friend told me yesterday
that he wishes he could
be a super hero and
fly around and save people
from burning buildings and
giant monsters like superman
but without the tights

but here is what i think
i would rather be a
super villain and i would
be called dr. awful
i would go to school and
get a PhD in super villainy
and i would be an evil genius

i would be an awful villain
not one who does awful things
but one who does things awfully
i would devise nefarious schemes
to take over the world
and destroy fortresses of good
with giant laser beams
and a maniacal laugh

i would be that genius who creates
master plans but blunders some
small detail and ends up saving kittens
instead of dominating the world
people would cheer for me
and say that i am good
without knowing that next time
my plans will be successful and
i will take over the world

(part 2 to follow later this week)

"that sort of thing" now available for purchase.

"that sort of thing" is now available at the etsy store.
If you don't have an etsy account, you can pay by check or money order. Email me for mailing address: trishacastillo (at) aol (dot) com

Copies are $5.00 each, plus 75 cents for shipping.

First printing. Limited to 50 hand-numbered copies.Printed on 20# light grey paper with dark red cover. Hand bound using a Japanese stab binding technique.

Copies of "Idealists on the Funeral Train" are still available here. Same price, $5.00 each, plus 75 cents for shipping.

Special Deal: purchase both chapbooks for $9.00 w/ shipping included.

evocation

i tried to pin down
that exact moment
when we shifted to
borrowed time and the
world began to move
at a frenetic pace

the flash in his eyes
showed that hope had
not diminished but
i still longed to return
to that point just before
he fell to earth and the
crusades began

he calls my name and
again i am submerged
in the peculiarity of
his brilliance
vivid pictures of existence
dance fleetingly
through my mind

stolen moments of sleep
reveal glimpses of the past
but he circumvented history
to recreate the future and
i no longer remember
where i came from

they speak of implications

unable to find refuge
in the shadows they
shifted toward the
mechanisms emerging from
low frequency vibrations
dependence cannot be broken

precisely the same type of
fixation that underlies
autoeroticism and gives
chronic love momentum to
catch up with moral breakdown
all agreed to blame the
world instead of receiving failure

satisfaction rose slowly to the surface
to be measured definitively for its
ability to generate unconscious desire
cataloged like circumference or
the fear and trembling that comes
at the moment of salvation

conspiracies

it's a little freaky
not unlike having a
mind probe implanted
or realizing that the
illuminati really do exist

one of those things
that can’t be unlearned
(must eat tiger!)
opens up a torrent of
controversy and the
potential for scandal

should have been able
to dodge the issue
by considering the
perspectives of others
but the timing was
villainously unfortunate

New Chapbook

The new chapbook is in the final stages and will be ready to go out soon. Yea! 28 pages of poetry goodness.

Print run is limited to 50 numbered copies. It will be available for purchase starting on May 1st at the Sweet Lozey etsy store for five dollars plus 75 cents for shipping.

About a dozen copies of the second printing of "Idealists on the Funeral Train" are still available here if you haven't picked up a copy yet. More poetry goodness.

archives

a critical look at the
past reveals the
insidious details of
what went down
on the planet
when the aggressors
first made contact

horrendously evil
with an appetite
to move the body
and destroy the soul
they were on a mission to
obtain the origins of man
by any means necessary

we were ordered to
depart from society
to reform and retrench
thousands of miles from
the point of contact
an elite minority set apart
from the domination

fractals

i went back to
get the code but
it wasn’t there
and the experiment
had to be abandoned

chrome tread marks
showed evidence
of crime carried out
by dragons and
quick-tempered kings

not exactly sure how
to get it back again
i put lightning in their
hands and emphasized the
importance of retrieval

but my plea was tucked
away like contraband
in a closet to gather dust
with “old sparky” and a
box of old tin toys

temporal frequency

the temporal forces
destroyed the
last of the light

they hid in the
shadows like the
dying patriarchs of
a royal dynasty

until the pendulum
rocked back in
an arc of infinite
momentum
establishing
an environment
for corruption

the stars vanished
slowly until all we
had left were the
stories to remind us
they used to be there

distortion

they represent uncertainty
like ghosts
intrinsically difficult
to locate and you
wonder how many
really exist

the fuzziness of
what they had in mind
left no means of
gaining control and
the limitation required
them to remain
silent and still

lost in the tunnels and
growing smaller in space
unable to distinguish
who was still there


unable to give definition
to this problem
they allowed themselves to
be pulled into the darkness

zero sum

she has an eye
for fossils but she
is devoid of
reproducible culture
and i had to
stop her from
dissecting
the monkey

i rescued
leonard too
even though he
has regenerative
powers and
did not need to
be saved

she comes from a
series of mad
underground
robots and did not
understand the
implications of
her work

keep moving

i found myself stranded
in the future struggling to
get back to the critical point
in an incomplete timeline
searching for a way to close
the gap between two events
and return to the before
to change the looming after

i exhausted curiosity
and concluded at best that
i could settle in the
in-between and slowly
waste away leaving behind
decayed remains for the
scientists desperate to locate
the time travelers’ skeleton code

some hiking photos

better reason

lost in the middle
of randomness
i couldn’t find
any evidence
that the green hillside
we rolled down
as children
hadn’t been pulled
into a black hole

conjecture only led
to more questions
i brooded over
the enormous amount
of missing information
supposed to be
an expert but i
was beginning to think
i would never
find the answer

wary

i sat down next to
the railroad tracks
beneath the overpass
beds in the shadows
signs to our shame

believers traveled slowly
the younger generation
journey among the poor
poverty poor
not the regular kind

autumn rain reflected on
the concrete and dumpsters
i am very small
a late addition to the
story of brokenness

acquisition

so much like a dream
the luminous neon kind
that randomly changes
color in the darkness
and defies understanding

the scar on my side
makes it true

memories erased but
slowly fading in
like waves pulsing
against the skin
trying to establish
a steady mind

realizing that i was
part of the masses
used for the dirty work
and discarded with no
idea how i got home

they will come again
out of the shadows
slowly driving me mad

encounter

it stood there
staring ahead
seemingly lifeless
i moved toward it
scared to the
point of trembling

head turned slightly
and nodded to
acknowledge my
approach
it screamed until
my ears bled

passing through the
outlines of flickering
luminous light
as if i didn’t
exist anymore and
that is where i
stop remembering

hug us if you care

zombie bunny is coming
run for your life
poor little undead bunny
cute fluffy bunny
wants a hug
wants to eat your brain
double tap – for the win

zombie bunny wants friends
brain eating, leg biting
hideously creepy playmates
but not monkey clowns
they are too menacing
and canadian bunnies are not
good at violent rampage

are you ravenously fluffy
you might be a zombie bunny
carrot-crunching undead
cuddly attack mutant
join the zombie bunny army
if you dare

induction

i found girl
         sitting in the
      shadows
of poorly lit
               brilliance
hands on her knees
    gazing at the
         neat rows of
 wooden patriots

i asked if she
           supported
organized refusal
          when intelligence
    is offset by status
she told me she was
          pondering
    hunger and thirst

other people

but at the last moment
it was obvious
that mutiny
was just another way
of becoming famous

not like an astronaut
or a rock star
only hijacking a temporary
illusion of prestige
to be brought out and
puzzled over

decades later
as a major effort
of non-thinking
reviewing “how bad”
the situation really was

that sort of thing

             girl smiled again
      and told me to
look at the stars

         i considered the
obvious contradiction
                of the situation
    but overall
               the point : the problem
lacked clarity

i tried to use
                the past
          to illuminate
                              this movement
even though i knew
        my dreams were
                  nothing more than
         illusion

                     we stood on
the platform and i
                was exposed
              but hopeful
    that i would regenerate
           from the ashes
                        after she
                 walked away

vignettes

girl moved toward me
    slowly
        as if she understood
                  the division
   of the world

         i wanted to be
                          worthy
     but it was more
complicated than that

     i have a
             weakness for
nonsensical reasoning

     conquest of imagination
                  eerie
                               odd
     girl exemplifies both
                 the natural and given

 i was left
              gasping
     but willing to
                      endure deformity
           for the sake of
                      passion

     struggling to survive
                in vignettes of
mindless exploitation

currently reading...

The Ampersand Review, Vol. 4
The Green Lantern Chronicles, Vol. 1

our daily poverty

the irregularities
within us
confirm what is to
be gained
from the paradox

demands of
life common
prove more expansive
than the people
imagined

negotiations are
lost and meaning is
replaced with
prosperity

invisible lines
are out of place and
we wonder if
they ever existed

nothing we have today
can compare
to the trust
wrung out and lost
by heads of state

though occasionally
rumored to be hiding
in the slums

the catch

we longed for something
               beautiful
that would encourage
         enlightenment
                  confessing that for
               so long we
     trusted misrepresented minds

               the scars of
                      deprivation
increasing confusion
                     in the soul
       grew with
           each shadowy enterprise

we sat in
          celebratory silence
   swaying with thought
         waiting for an idea
to make us feel good

we want to be
              invited in
     to that place
where they keep the
             humble
         and love is
not neglected

                 admission is earned
only by those who
               devote time
      to the system
             of poverty
      a lifetime spent
                hoping the story is true

privilege

           the voices are there
omissions from what
        the rest are taught
                      dominated by
the broad sweep
                 of the past

     we urge them
                to yield
but they are
                   relentless
demanding that the
             false consciousness
    is marked by inequality

           some call it conspiracy
but the minute details
      manipulated by time and space
                  keep us from escaping
   awareness

                  there will be no need
for us
       when depth and understanding
motivate the people
            to restlessness
       and we will fall
                  victim
           to the awakening
of the masses

carpetbaggers

i started thinking about
      how new things
                 become old things
       and how old things
lack wonder and magic

      i asked him if private gain
is an acceptable substitute
                    for wonder
when the heart is really longing
                and the circumstances
       of time
         justifies some terrible fate

he knew the power of
                 planting desire
“some sincerely wanted . . . “
        belief in justice could
                simplify accomplishment

but the rights were
         acquired by the
      dregs of illegitimacy
invoking greed in the process
          and an ideology of violence
     became the norm

Spring

simple reason

later we
     looked up at the
   holes in the sky
and wondered if the
       offenders were brilliant
             or if we were just
    going nuts

        girl pointed at the
distance stretched out
     in front of us
                she wanted me to
      explain the exotic
             with simple reason
but i was nervous and
                    could only make
         small talk

at a loss for
             meaningful remarks
        i stared across the horizon
   hands in the pockets
            and made no mention
   of the inquiry
               or the demolition
                           of relics

walking the corners

             they were
enraged by the
                      accidental touch
        each one able to seize upon
                the belief
                       that desire is to
             be revered
but they chose not to
                        and protest remained
         cut off from encounter
      they courted tradition
                     and boasted largely
          about the
defects of time