Dumps and Whistles

They might think
Pushing my face to the dirt will squeeze out
A cry
I don't aim to please no one but myself
The legs I have don't lift to piss
I would rather squat and go on quietly
With this Gregorian chant

Plucked Strings

I don't understand where we go from me making a decision for my life for the next season to one of my friends deciding to delete me. I just don't understand it and I am not into tolerating it either so.
For the record... if you decide to be immature and delete me without a valid notice... then I am not going to seek you out later. I usually don't make it a habit of deleting and throwing friends away at the drop of a hat. It just isn't my way. Yet if you do it to me... it triggers my abandonment strings and the tune that comes out isn't too pretty.

Records Skipping

He has gone and done it again. Marked up the walls. Thrown down the sheets. I was just sitting in the corner watching the beast. What to do when it is almost all over? I just stayed quiet. Tried to stay quiet. Then he got up on the stage again. "Look at me I am hurting" he said. I looked and I remain quiet. As he marks up the walls and throws down the sheets. Repeat. Marks up the walls and throws down the sheet. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat... like a broken record. Repeat. . . and I just unplugged the cord for the 7th time. It gets easier every time. I don't like that it has become easier I just sort through my lists and colors of "I don't know what to do now." Except really I do.

Not Even 1 Year

So I am suppose to just be quiet and watch in amazement as you unfold the dirty laundry and press it between the flower linen? I realize that there is much about you that I don't know anything about. We made a deal at the beginning of the year. We were going to draw close. Be honest. Say what we felt. You went back on that promise so now I place my feelings in a file. I smile on the outside and cringe on the inside. I think of mom and hold my breath. I think of mom and contain myself. I think of mom and stretch out my phony arms for a hug and pretend that everything is alright because I simply can't hurt myself over this, anymore. I miss my mom.

Taste Test

Two masks in your back pocket dallied for me

My love invested in you has run away from home

The deal was for a gold plated cultivation

With lasting harmony

Deals can go wrong now I am told

Pens run out of ink

Papers get wet and stuck together

The foundation was a house

Built on mutual learning cards

Oh the things a girl can believe

The trust that extends like strong branches

The stomach lining scratched from the inside out

Moth eaten possibilities did nothing but make holes

It’s not that I was blind

It’s not that I didn’t know what was in the cake

I saw all the ingredients on the counter ready to mix

No matter how allergic I am

I sliced the cake

Part took in the mass of:

Trust

Admiration and love

Only to be swallowed up and spit out of the hole

Of mask number 2

Limited Supply Revisted

Why I attract the aimless butterfly I do not know.
Full to the brim with tolerance, that I am.
I don't have the strength to listen to you try.
I just don't have time.
I don't have the means to be a doormat,
Or to be lied to
Or patronized by someone who should of known better.
When my mom died,
my tolerance dried up and left me with limited supply
And I only want to share it with
My real friends.

Realized

From the start I should of known not to trust you.

The Permission

There was 12 pages left in the chapter of this book
With every paragraph
I endure the tragic reminders
Faint pulse and punctured hope
Traces of sobbing dirt
The plucked sterling rose grandma changed her mind about
Last minute

At the end of every page
Questions stated and answers ignored
The Laws of Lamentation
Floating to the surface
Only to be set apart and sifted like a gift on Christmas

The Holy Trinity of the soup
Four basic food groups to follow
Disasters waiting with anticipation
Meeting the past with current
Your permission
Never making the difference
Facts made with dents
This self assurance being robbed by hollow gun point
Is only heat for a lemon meringue pie gone wrong

And running in place never felt so good

TATTOOIST Briza Camacho(((Art .05)))

I was fortunate enough to have met Briza Camacho about 9 years ago when moving to Silver Lake in Los Angeles. She was my next door neighbor, now my best friend.
Briza was apprenticing at the time and over the past 9 years I have been lucky enough
to witness her amazing growth as an artist/tattooist.

What I would always think about prior to getting work done was "Where do I get a tattoo? This is my skin after all, I don't want just anybody drawing on me." My inking took place about 8 years ago. If I ever wear a shirt where the back is exposed I am always stopped on the streets or at parties and asked "What a great tattoo, Who did your work?”

While living in Los Angeles Briza worked at American Electric Tattoo Co. in Silver Lake with owner/tattooist Craig Jackman, extraordinaire. http://americanelectrictattoo.com/

Presently, Briza lives and works in Austin, Texas at Rock of Ages with owner/tattooist Jason Brooks. If you want amazing work done by a super fantastic talented woman, look her up you won’t be disappointed.
ROCK OF AGES TATTOO 2310 S. Lamar #105 Austin, TX. 78704 (512)804-1213
http://www.rockofagestattoo.com

Limited Supply

Why I attract the aimless butterfly I do not know. Why they cry a river on my couch, I do not know. Full to the brim with tolerance, that I am. I don't have the strength to listen to you try and swim yourself back up stream. I served him a plate of possibilities but the plate on my table he chooses to eat from is the back pocket sermon regurgitation from a year ago. I wanted to tell him "Please take your plate elsewhere, Go find another place to not figure it out." Until I can see with my own eyes that your structure is viable for me to walk through barefoot, I just don't have time. I don't have the means to be a doormat, or walk on eggshells or be a guilty punching bag anymore. When my mom died, my tolerance dried up and left me with limited supply.

Formula

As we made our way through the zoo I could feel anticipation throbbing in my body with every step I took. Outside the baby polar bear exhibit, I felt a suffocation rise up over my head. My friend is happy like Christmas watching the bears swim from one end to the other. She turns to me and says "That one right there, I just love the look on his face". Looking the bears over I could see that all their faces were wet and sad. I couldn't connect with any of them enough to say that I loved the look on their face, in fact, the look on their face brought on a pressing feeling below my sternum. She gazed at the bears like she was amazed with the 5th wonder of the world while vertigo rose up in my throat. Everything about this experience made me sway and sweat like chili on the skin. I wandered away from her to make a safe distance and came to a quiet corner. I looked into the pool of water and slowly a white presence lifted from the water. It was a white Hunchback Whale and he tread the water while opening his mouth letting something kind of vapor out. I was intrigued and a little afraid yet I listened for I felt that she had something to say. My feet moved in both directions as I turned away. Something was expected of me.

The meaning of such a dream stirs me this morning. To dream of a white whale would have something to do with wisdom, purity or ancient feeling. Energetically to dream of a whale symbolizes protection, love, gentleness, sensitivity and creativity.Water creatures weigh more on a emotional level. Whale dreams can symbolize that one can be entering a peaceful time in life. It could mean that you have become in touch with your intuition. It can also mean that an awakening of creative depth has surfaced. It's an examination of the creative self. Formula.

The Big Regret

Suffocation of a look in the eyes
Her excitement for some reason
Misunderstood by my esteem
At 36 I should really learn how to say no

(((Art by Mel Kadel http://www.melkadel.com/ )))

Grandfather Follies

Let's think about it
If your loved one died
You might loose your mind
For 7 years you try to live with that kind of loss
A 63 year old estate
Before you take your big breath for the 8th year
Your daughter dies
The only one that was left to take care of you
No one planned for this kinda grief

You have always been a strong pillar of sugar
In your granddaughters eyes
you are a strength they look to in the heavy wind

Now you blow over
Your heart is broken
You feel the betrayal of the universe
You are 89 going on 97 fast
You can't stop it
Things that made sense make no sense anymore
The love your girls bestow on you weekly
Mistaken for suffocation

So you lie
Hide
Pretend
Cover truths
Forget
Manipulate
Take for granted
Just like we did once upon a time

(((Art .02)))

I've been intrigued by the art of Miss Van for a while now.
Her juicy girls win me over. Her line work intoxicating.
Nothing is more sexier then a woman who does graffiti.
Nothing is more exciting when she crosses it over into the
galleries. Yeah Miss Van.
http://www.flickr.com/groups/missvan/
http://www.missvan.com

Sandlewood Rising

I could almost find you in the dark
Set up as a protection barrier
Amongst the stained paper pile
That's how much I feel you still
While making a mark

Morning awakens the drum
In a lifting attempt
I beckon you with demanding strides
I emboss a request
Drink lemons from an old lady's garden

Closing my eyes I can see 3 branches in your hand
One for yesterday
One for tomorrow
One for now
As my kiss on the side of your neck
Rides side saddle
Igniting dried lavender
Behind the knees
To warm these hands

From The Old Chapter Of Me

If you had been a real writer of words, I would of taken your sorted letters by date and wrapped them up with a red ribbon. There would of been a place in my blue suitcase for you but there is not. In my mail box exists 2 years of conversation and evidence of you and I. Writing and talking to you was a delight I had exposed myself to. Now you have become a spotted poisoned leaf falling. I try hard to think of the good things. The wonderful you. In the end of that process I am left feeling forsaken and guilty. Which brings me to thinking only of surface superficial reasons to let you nest in my heart. I want nothing more then to just forget about you and your talents. For you too have hurt me . Your mistrust and misconstrued ideas of me leave me speechless and pining for acceptance, that I am so much more deserving of. Yet in your sadistic manner you get off in denying me. I have given you every chance in the world yet you can not make simple time for me. To listen. To stretch of yourself. To think beyond your circle... to see that I have a piece in this aching pie. You could never see it because no one ever taught you how to love this way and the one that could teach you, that taught, me has passed away.

During the discovery of how fucked up you really are, my heart strings pulled in different directions as I actually thought I could save you. To think I thought that. No one could save you only you can. Knowing who I am and what I was willing to be or do for you, I can never go to sleep thinking that I didn't try. Sometimes I wonder why you don't want anything to do with me, anymore. You mask it in these games that you said you never wanted to make or play so that way I don't scratch beneath the surface. I could but I don't, for I know better.

The development of you and I was suppose to be a beautiful thing. Traces left for others to be jealous of. Now all they do is feel sorry for me and push me to give up. Which you know was something that I could never do but fathom the possibility now. I just wanted to be close to you.

To start the healing process you meant a lot to me. I will state that as I bask in your silence. I see that giving up on you is ok for me now. Maybe not for your family but for me it is like washing the sugar down with water to flush you out. It just goes back to an old saying from one of my old chapters. "Don't hold on when no one is holding back". Amen.

The Braids

Summer Solstice began this ritual of me and you
I sit quietly on the edge of
My long black hair separates in wet strands
The heat raises suffocating reason
Slowly I fold you into my hair
Twist and turn
Closing you in the narrow of this thought
Making a weapon for you later
My movement andante
With the meditation of you
It is mid-day afternoon
Climbing upon your tight sheet entrance
This door is closed for the day
Mine left open
My body making a dent in the pillows

I pull my hair
Remembering your loyalties
Wrap my tangle in your drunken whisper
I fall over into you
Pressing into myself
Where only I can reach and you warm
From a distance