hello,
my body is a peace to you
a peace to your Jesus piece
a peace to the broken pieces of every young girl shattered in bathroom corners
peace to the piece hidden in his book bag waiting for the bullet to make peace with his problems
i find the most beautiful people have forgotten that they are beautiful
yesterday, i caught an old woman talking with an oak tree
it was a remarkable conversation about the wind and the grasshoppers
my grandmother talks with the dust
she tells me that her rocking chair is the most peaceful instrument she knows
see all i have is this
hello,
my arms are a musical instrument
when i give a hug to another human being i am harmonizing my spirit with theirs
hear us soar into each other like a collision course jay-z and linkin park weren't ready for
crunched in an auto-tune of cracked corners
here lies the accuser of melodies
take caution dear young-in's
this town has it out for you
has it out to flip your symphonies and turn them into mold
like specs of kansas twirling with the wind
i want to talk to grasshoppers too grandma
hello,
my hands are this bitter earth after john wayne gacy jr.
today i am young
my fingers full of calcium trodden across the carpet
the boys do not want to kiss me
i am his unknown child
heaven only knows the crisp of autumn crackling on the front porch
he would drink often
the trickle of vodka in his beard
his limbs piling in my closet
the things i did to him in the silence
mommy, why is father's day a vacant lot
in the crux of cincinnati during mid-day
hello,
my name is tonya
it is difficult for me to tell my mother that i love her
i believe in suffering to know joy
people are beautifully drawn to me, i find such persons insane
i hate scrubbing sin form my bathroom walls
and i wish i was a voice hearer
i am afraid of the dark
i am afraid of waking up
of never seeing my brothers graduate
of my mother never leaving this town
of sunshine
i want my body to sound like peace
like love
like hope
like smile, you are beautiful
like what sound is more beautiful than being alive
and it should sound just like this
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Max
yesterday my dog curled himself into the shadows of midnight
he howled something quite unusual
like the sound of my grandfather's antiquated Chevy circling the pavement
the creases of the tires embracing the concrete
"max, what is troubling you?"
his eyes, an unusual shade of gray,
were somber
something like
pale
"do you know what happens to dogs when they die, Tonya?"
i could not answer him
"they don't go to heaven as all do suppose
they are collected by the dust
and thrown into the earth
it is a marriage of flesh to dirt
what do you think of that, master?"
i could not answer him
something in his throat was trembling
like the mountains
like that night many years ago
"nothing to say to that?
figures, you human kind are all the same
take for granted the wind chimes
and the hilltops"
his eyes were larger than usual now
still pale
but large
"Tonya, before i leave this earth
to be placed back into it,
can an animal ever know what it means
to love?"
this i tried to answer
"yes, i mean, i guess so"
he chuckled
"very well then,
your mother is in the living room
tell her you are sorry
tell her why it is difficult for you
to tell her you love her
tell her that when it rains you are your most happiest
tell her that this town is too small for her
tell her that your father is a good man
tell her that Cincinnati is calling her home
tell her that the meatloaf wasn't dry
tell her that you stole from her when you were six
tell her to savor the ocean
to collect the tide
to swallow the universe
to train the galaxy
tell her everything
and nothing at all."
i buried him in our backyard
my mother whispered a prayer over his grave
we went inside for coffee
and sat on the front porch
the sun kissing our faces
and i told her
he howled something quite unusual
like the sound of my grandfather's antiquated Chevy circling the pavement
the creases of the tires embracing the concrete
"max, what is troubling you?"
his eyes, an unusual shade of gray,
were somber
something like
pale
"do you know what happens to dogs when they die, Tonya?"
i could not answer him
"they don't go to heaven as all do suppose
they are collected by the dust
and thrown into the earth
it is a marriage of flesh to dirt
what do you think of that, master?"
i could not answer him
something in his throat was trembling
like the mountains
like that night many years ago
"nothing to say to that?
figures, you human kind are all the same
take for granted the wind chimes
and the hilltops"
his eyes were larger than usual now
still pale
but large
"Tonya, before i leave this earth
to be placed back into it,
can an animal ever know what it means
to love?"
this i tried to answer
"yes, i mean, i guess so"
he chuckled
"very well then,
your mother is in the living room
tell her you are sorry
tell her why it is difficult for you
to tell her you love her
tell her that when it rains you are your most happiest
tell her that this town is too small for her
tell her that your father is a good man
tell her that Cincinnati is calling her home
tell her that the meatloaf wasn't dry
tell her that you stole from her when you were six
tell her to savor the ocean
to collect the tide
to swallow the universe
to train the galaxy
tell her everything
and nothing at all."
i buried him in our backyard
my mother whispered a prayer over his grave
we went inside for coffee
and sat on the front porch
the sun kissing our faces
and i told her
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
gold, silver, and midnight
" i wanna be a billionaire so freaking bad/buy all of the things I've never had.." - Bruno Mars
at midnight i count how many galaxies away i am from happiness
according to my calculations i am approximately 300,000 years into the sun
i have accumulated blisters the size of interstellar clouds
i tell myself that there are limited reasons for joy
i found two in the alleyway near the old warehouse
a man wearing vintage spectacles and
meant-for-polka-dancing shoes hands me his arm
tells me to taste the ocean
and then proceeds to toss a penny at my sandals
it is the crux of daylight
i am at the ocean
the high tide embraces my sole
i take the penny out of my pocket
and digest
at midnight i count how many galaxies away i am from happiness
according to my calculations i am approximately 300,000 years into the sun
i have accumulated blisters the size of interstellar clouds
i tell myself that there are limited reasons for joy
i found two in the alleyway near the old warehouse
a man wearing vintage spectacles and
meant-for-polka-dancing shoes hands me his arm
tells me to taste the ocean
and then proceeds to toss a penny at my sandals
it is the crux of daylight
i am at the ocean
the high tide embraces my sole
i take the penny out of my pocket
and digest
if you would've asked her yesterday
what makes her smile
where do the blackbirds go after the dawn
are there miracles in hell
i am not sure if she would have had an answer for you
the last time i saw her teeth
it was nestled securely in a plastic container
beside the metallic pencil sharpener
she tells me that blackbirds aren't meant for flying
blackbirds simply croak
and hell
miracles happen there all the time
most nights she is weaving Virginia
with what she ran away home for
she has regrets
some of which
are myself
what makes her smile
where do the blackbirds go after the dawn
are there miracles in hell
i am not sure if she would have had an answer for you
the last time i saw her teeth
it was nestled securely in a plastic container
beside the metallic pencil sharpener
she tells me that blackbirds aren't meant for flying
blackbirds simply croak
and hell
miracles happen there all the time
most nights she is weaving Virginia
with what she ran away home for
she has regrets
some of which
are myself
Monday, June 14, 2010
there is something oddly beautiful about the insane, the mentally unstable if you will. we take for granted their voice. they do have a voice. whether there are single or multiple of these voices, they are just as important as ours. i can account for them. i come from a lineage of voice hearers. of secret dwellers. of midnight whisperers. they are truly remarkable.
my grandmother is a midnight whisperer. she takes the moon and the stars and the fireflies. she talks to them. i believe they listen to her. they talk about things like the dust and what is hiding in the garage.
she has this interesting feeling that there are bodies in there. my grandfather fought in the vietnam war. he says that combat on foreign territory does not bring you back the same man.
supper at the dining table is unusually silent. there are spider-webs above the china cabinet. i sit alone most days. my grandmother is busy whispering. my grandfather is in the garage.
my grandmother is a midnight whisperer. she takes the moon and the stars and the fireflies. she talks to them. i believe they listen to her. they talk about things like the dust and what is hiding in the garage.
she has this interesting feeling that there are bodies in there. my grandfather fought in the vietnam war. he says that combat on foreign territory does not bring you back the same man.
supper at the dining table is unusually silent. there are spider-webs above the china cabinet. i sit alone most days. my grandmother is busy whispering. my grandfather is in the garage.
after this bitter earth for john wayne gacy jr.
today you are young
your body full of calcium trodden across the carpet
the girls do not want to kiss me
i am mother's boy
playing in the garden in my lonesome
the hush of the wind whispering across my face
it is harmless like the grasshoppers
heaven only knows the crisp of autumn crackling on the front porch
he would drink often
the trickle of vodka in his beard
on the contrary
this town has forgotten me
it is hidden in the textures of my hands
to be seen in the pile of dust i leave behind
heaven only knows the delicate infrastructure of their limbs piling in my closet
the names of them boys
of the things i did to them in the silence
the dawn has a tight grip around their necks
it is a holy binding of skin to skin
your body full of calcium trodden across the carpet
the girls do not want to kiss me
i am mother's boy
playing in the garden in my lonesome
the hush of the wind whispering across my face
it is harmless like the grasshoppers
heaven only knows the crisp of autumn crackling on the front porch
he would drink often
the trickle of vodka in his beard
on the contrary
this town has forgotten me
it is hidden in the textures of my hands
to be seen in the pile of dust i leave behind
heaven only knows the delicate infrastructure of their limbs piling in my closet
the names of them boys
of the things i did to them in the silence
the dawn has a tight grip around their necks
it is a holy binding of skin to skin
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