Natalie O. 2009

I will savor the taste of your lips
as though it were my last meal
I will breathe you in
as though you were my final breath
I will set aside my doubts
as though I were once again a child
I will take you completely
as though I were the only one who could have you

I will do these things
for the smallest of favors from you

Your embrace
Your stroke
Your presence
Your touch …
to have it linger from the gentle speech of your fingers
the softest echo on my skin

And when you leave

I will wait
ever patient

For the complex richness of the beautiful simplicity
that lies in the way
you make me yours.

Bar America 2011

I wanted wisdom
but the filmy eyed bar woman – missing teeth… loosened flesh
gave me a beer

I tipped it back
expecting answers

none came.

Laughter
Cigarettes
Patsy Cline

huh… he likes Patsy Cline

Another bottle emptied
And Willie sings to me

from the jukebox

On the road again

It’s all so sad.
So heart-wrenchingly painful

Going places that I’ve never been

But I swig another
I dance a little
I glance at the tiny grandmother – smiling – calling me a taxi

random thought –

I was not meant for beauty

But I happened to get a taste
For a moment

Seeing things that I may never see again

And it was better than the bottle after bottle
I’ve held to my lips

A stranger pays for my cab
A friend calls me from home
A bed catches my stupor

And all I can think about
is the old woman who handed me a drink
and asked how I was doing

“I’m doing fine.”

as always.

…. And I can’t wait to get on the road again

Random Thoughts of An Insomniac

If I were a dog, I’d be a mutt. A medium sized, wiry haired canine who would constantly knock over the garbage can and sniff through the contents for food. Not all food, just the stuff I had a preference for. Also, I’d lay on the bed and lick my butt on the newly washed sheets. Then after the awesome butt cleaning, I’d jump on your chest to be affectionate and to show you how much I loved you, I’d give you sloppy doggy kisses all over your face. That’s right. Juicy, just licked my asshole clean, I love you so much smooches. By the way, the couch is mine and if you try to shoo me off, I’ll just bare my teeth and growl at you until you eventually get the hint that I’m not freaking moving. Once resigned to sharing your comfy sofa with me, I’ll curl up next to you and warm you with my doggy farts, which will smell especially noxious since I just ate the spoiled ham that I dug out from the kitchen trash.

The otters don’t like the dolphins. The dolphins don’t like the otters. It’s like the Greasers and the Soc’s, man! The dolphins are all arrogant, thinking they’re better than everyone else. The otters are just trying to kick back at the Ottery (not to be confused with the Otter House. The Ottery = a couple Oyster Shooters too many, headache in the morning. Otter House = possible need for antibiotics and a REALLY pissed off significant other), minding their own business when the dolphins (always three. Don’t know why, they just travel in trios.) come waltzing in, trying to jack shit up. However, dolphins should never mess with a group (ten or more) of intoxicated otters. Shit gets real.

And in other dolphin related news, the dolphins at the aquarium… hate you. They’re not catching semi-deflated soccer balls in their mouths as a trick taught to them to entertain you. No. They’re exercising their jaws so that they may crush your inferior skull when they finally rise up to take over the world. The cartoon, The Simpsons, covered this fact and actually, unbeknownst to the writers, delayed the Dolphin Apocalypse. Thinking the humans were wise to their plans, they decided to play stupid for another decade or two. You’ve been warned.

My spirit animal is a stray cat with a chewed up ear and a wonky eye that constantly gets into fights. It may or may not have fleas. But most definitely a wonky eye. And a hairless tail. That’s how my spirit animal rolls. And what.

(Time to stare at the bedroom ceiling and come up with more idiocy.)

Back in ’93 pt. 1

The girls around her seemed confused. Defiant, pre-pubescent, semi-women, almost always sure of themselves, now gazed upon her with direct indecisiveness. Sixteen year-old Ramos felt their eyes boring through. Looking down, she felt her heart fall and rise with each breath the dying animal took. A grey squirrel lie almost still, its bloody entrails scattered and staining the ground around it. Apparently, the girls had scared away its attacker, yet the damage was immense and irreversible. It heaved, trying its hardest to swallow the air which it thought would keep it alive. Ramos stared down at the poor animal, subconsciously aware of her peers.

“I think it’s dead.” said Ramos.
“Nah… it’s still breathing.” Said Jennie.
“Fuck. It’s almost dead.” Said the girl with the braids.

They were only going for a walk. The staff said it was okay. A beautiful day for the girls no one wanted to go for a walk in an out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere place designated by the state for the keeping of such misunderstood, delinquent pseudo-orphans. She had been in places like this before, but was new to this group. She had only been there a week and a half, was still feeling out most of the girls and had no idea what to say and/or do.
Ramos stood long and stared hard at the squirrel. Its innards were disgusting, yet sad. she didn’t know what to make of it… or the current situation surrounding the fragile little creature’s looming demise. All she knew was that she had to come up with an answer.

“Whatcha gonna do?”
The question came from outside. BB had walked up. No one ever talked to her – she, in turn, could care less. Ramos dared to speak.
“They let you out?”
BB snickered. “No. I do what the fuck I want. What, you gonna say something?”

Ramos made the conscious effort to keep her gaze blank as she eyed BB. For all the bouncing around she did, she had never been wary of any of her fellow peers, but this one – this one was different. BB had been in the system since before she could walk. Almost every section of her body had some visible remainder of past abuse from every foster home she had ever been in. Were it not for the scars, some might think she had the prettiest caramel skin they’d ever seen. But the beauty would stop there. One look into her eyes – she had eyes of the deepest darkest pitch and they never looked kind. The only time Ramos thought she ever saw any hint of joy or life in them was when she witnessed BB giving a fellow ward the beat down of her teenage life. With that memory in mind, Ramos didn’t feel the need to deliberate much longer. Her eyes fell back to the agonized animal and she made her decision.

“Does anyone have something heavy?” Ramos asked very quietly.
“What are ya’ gonna do? Smash its head in?” BB asked with a smirk, all the while staring Ramos down. Ramos had never before been in such a situation. The girl with braids, Baby Doll, looked upset to see that the animal might still be alive. But BB – fuck. BB seemed to be completely unaware of the animal. She just seemed to relish the testing of Ramos’ character.

“Yeah.” Her voice came out clear and calm, barely recognizable to herself.

Somewhere near an abandoned barn that happened to be part of the property, Jennie had found a heavy cement block and painstakingly brought it to Ramos. Taking it from the skinny thirteen year-old, she felt its weight, stood square above the animal gasping for breath, and realized she was holding the dying animal’s subconscious death wish. A dose of her Catholic upbringing nudged her into muttering a prayer beneath her breath. She raised it above her head – and ONE, TWO, THREE! She brought the block sharply down upon its head, the sound of a crunch beneath her blow. However, it wasn’t quite dead yet. Panic swelled and the horror of causing the already injured animal more anguish flooded her faltering resolve with all too dangerous emotions. Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat threatening tears, she braced herself. One more time. ONE, TWO, THREE! This time she made sure there was force behind the thrust of the cinder block. The sound of another crunch followed and for a moment, a brief split second of silence came with it.
Jennie was crying somewhere. Ramos heard her. Baby Doll was screaming obscenities. Ramos heard her. BB had already begun to walk away. Ramos heard that too, the soft padding of her feet upon the summer grass slowly fading away. She knew that now, she would have one less adversary to be concerned about. That’s just how things worked with girls in the system.

The one thing Ramos found strange was that her own thoughts were a ghost town, nary a cricket or tumbling ball of thistle. She couldn’t hear a thing. The only sound audible in her head was that of the wind against barren ground, quietly brushing over a lifeless squirrel.

Joe and I

7/14/07

I have these moments
I’m tempted to say yes
I know I shouldn’t

The answer should be no.

But I can’t.

The lure of contentment
starts swallowing at my feet

I am slipping in
Being enveloped by the serene
peace
Of escape

And as each powdered trail
vanishes
– oh you know –

The blurring of reality
Becomes that much more dim

And I read you my poetry
You run your fingers across my bass
Tapping lightly
Squinting against the rising
Of another sun

Discussion of past transgressions
We are falling
But sitting still
Finding ourselves
In each other

The sunlight shocks
Some semblance
of Sense
Into our Self-constructed
Clouded
Sphere

The two high school
sweethearts
Now grown
Alone
And Broken

Pain in your voice
Agony in my heart

Let’s run away again
Down
That
Fuzzy
White
Trail

But the Sun is so bright

And you start to sing

“Beautiful girl…. stay with me…”

The night was long
And fell short

I want to burn bright like the sun.
That won’t happen.

I am already a pile of ash.

not altogether something

Like the clumsy clingy kisses of an ardent amateur lover, I could feel the grotesque stickiness of the summer night fumbling over my exposed limbs. In my car, windows down, my fingers felt the steering wheel going gummy. My poor dilapidated beast of transport’s AC couldn’t even bother to sputter out lukewarm air.

And what the hell was that smell?

Having lost the space to roam in the soft cushiony crevices of my brain, thoughts were crashing haphazardly into the walls of my skull, headache soon to arrive. I almost ran through the red.

Stopped, engine idling, a small horde of hipsters crossed the street. Young, laughing, debating music, art and authors. Attired in mock jadedness and cynicism, the hope of possibility could not be shrouded by such a farce. Their stroll was far too strident, cheeks too rosy, smiles too genuine.

And it occurred to me, I knew this because I envied them. I was jealous of the world being their cliched oyster. Pensive, sweaty and sad, I accepted one of the first of many truths to come. I had lost touch with who I was. Lost sight of who I had wanted to be.

Green means Go.

Tired foot off the brake, I continued my sojourn home. Broke, poor, lonely, lost – I randomly eyed my neighborhood. The place I was conceived and born into. The same place I fled the moment I had the chance. The one and only place to which I returned when nowhere else would have me.

Back to square one. So it would seem.