You still ride that bike without a helmet. July 25, 2010

O how poems spring up out of necessity – from the way people talk, the faiths they believe into, the challenges they assume you can provide, the stranger they imagine you to be.

Acknowledge this form of honesty you seek. Relax. Go on, outshine the sun. Take your time catching that train. Monitor the meanderings of your mind.   

 This hackeneyed exchange has become too terribly convoluted to decode. Now, I want nothing more than to see something new.

bb July 15, 2010

the Lindbergh baby cries

outside your window at

dusk. that baby always

cries for you. he knows

when you pretend to

fall asleep. he feels it

when you steady your

sleepyless breath. he

has no eyes, but still see’s

your toes and their nails curling under the sheets.

RooR Highness July 14, 2010

us now sing the static

arbitrary like ness ly. Uhhm-

mer

i

can! Loves it!?1 And you all

maintain your social (hair) net

working in that media needy(ugh)..

lunch

Lady

LAND. (of the big brave sheep)

delicately hipstermotized, grazing on info

ladies bro’s brosephines – pretty

littlequiverjaw – Fat Free(ly)

some other new(ly) age(d) place to be phree

“Ain’t no reason amercians (whose ceiling eyes ghost me)

Cain’t vote for a nigger.”

Amen

Seeking New Mgmt. July 11, 2010

Name:  Peaches

Age: Barely Legal

Astrological Sign: Capricorn

Favorite Film: Borderglands

Hobbies: Sailing Catamaran’s in the Gulf(pre-BP), lucid dreaming,  eating shrimpy tofu, gesturing SIKE! with my smize.

Best Impressions: Lindsay Lohan (as shown) – Paula Dean – Nancy Grace (by request)

WoW July 10, 2010

permanent poison ivy

localized to the legs
(a)cutest psoriatic oracle
like built in mood rings

sweet small scaleys
pink – red heart
shapes indicate
how pissed off
or stressed out

but its just
desserts
in reverse. raised, thick like braille
leaving pieces of me                        behind
wherever

I                             go    .             ..

in your sheets
and in the back
of your itchy brain
scatt er ed on your carpet
and you will love it.

Crack Jacker July 9, 2010

You, my Drug Store Cowboy, work in dismal retail hawking all kinds of shit. From ‘Hair Mayonnaise’ to infant incontinence meds.

The first time, a slouchy Hello sent my eyes to catch yours. In the same moment, there was a voice from o’erhead shrieking Assistance to beauty please!
An angry lady in a wheelchair, feverishly avoiding her morph into a Velociraptor in the fluorescent light, interrupted your seismic stare. My heart melted when you came from behind the counter to adjust her oxygen tank so a wreath of plastic-filled plastic bags could balance like a sunflare around her chair.

I played a little hide and seek with the voice from above until I spied her behind the counter, arranging cheap perfume. She was a bonita babe with large hooped earrings and a Bump-it even-keeled with a baby bump. Like a vitamin deficient rare bird, I quietly observed her biting her empty nail pits. Then, you waltzed over to her and said in a faux-French accent, “Assistánce?”

“You ever heard of Olive Foil?
“You mean, Olive Oil?”
“Yeeuh, for stretch marks.”
“Sure, it’s used for all sorts of stuff..greasing a gun, home labor, cooking mostly.”
“So, like, you can eat it?”

I could see you squirm, so I came over for a price check on Hair Mayo.
$9.99, she said, then turned to you and asked if she could “eat this too?”

Narrowly escaping that vom-filled conversation, I prayed a self-checkout would be available for my “5 days sooner!” pregnancy test. God answered at least one of my prayers when you said “I can help you over here!”

“Would you care for CrackerJacks? 2 for 1..”

“No, but I wouldn’t mind the prize. Crack and a Jack & Coke, amiright?”

“Robitussin is on sale, the orange flavor..”

“Oh really? A true treat! Do you know if Hair Mayo can be used as an expectorant? Or is it for external use only?”

Medical assistance to the front register, please.

HIGH by DEFINITION

You always said Lovers should be lovers. I knew this was true, because I heard you say it in your sleep. Your sounds were high definition, like you were closer to God with a pipe in your praying hands. Your wheezing set flame to my foot. By the light of your computer screen, I rummaged your desk drawers like a vagabond to find your red inhaler. I was immediately concerned and desperately in love.  My sleeping, wheezing angel had half empty canisters of dizzying depression stashed away in dusty corners. Your wheezing made sense. No use in hiding mine, now.  I wrapped my lips around the nozzle and opened my heart to you. Our sins now in sync, I laid my head on the yellowy pillow next to your sleeping, talking head and listened. I listened to your somniloquy loud and clear like crystal meth.

sale-rdwag-1816138477@craigslist.org June 30, 2010

I was almost a victim of an unfair Travis Country parking ticket. I was so excited to see your post on Craigslist looking for people to tell their stories, as I need this space to finally get it all out! Even if it is to a stranger like you. Because to be totally honest and anonymous, my sorority sisters would exile me if they knew about this indiscretion. The only other person who knows is God, so consider yourself in my trust tree.

It was sometime during March when I was downtown with my sisters. Like a gaggle of over-age Girl Scouts, we sang Alanis Morissette’s “You Oughta Know,” gliding through troughs of 6th Street swine, nary a sober mind.  I may or may not have been featured on Girls Gone Wild, but evidence proves this former America’s Funniest Home videos starlett had become less favorable to God (just this once, I swear!) But hey, that’s what college is all about, no?

Once I lost my lucky wig, I knew it was time to go home but I still couldn’t find my car. I mean, the keys were in my pussy the whole time.  But my Volvo is too big. I knew I should have got the hatchback.

There was a serious moment of clarity somewhere between greasy pizza and a motorboat huddle. That car looks just like mine, Jesus fish and all.
But I didn’t have 3 parking tickets and a smashed back window when I left it there? The moment of clarity turned into a moment of hilarity, in quick succession was heavily drunken calamity. How will I get home now?! I called out to an unresponsive God. The shattered glass crackled around my numb, shoeless feet. I needed chapstick. Not lipgloss… chapstick.

Then, before I had a chance to hail the lone pedi-cab hipster, there was a rotund voice that bounced off the stone street and into my cochlear implant. “If you stick your key in that car, I’ll have to arrest you for drunk driving.”
Does that mean I’ll get to ride in your car? Shotgun! I stuttered, then realized this cop was seated dorsal on an animal. Not a horse. A Steed. This creature made Mr. Ed look like a seahorse.

Let’s just say, it was like giving an Indian sunburn to a whale.

Officer – no shit- Jimmy Dean rolled all 3 of my parking tickets into joints and smoked each one of them as we trotted off sidesaddle into the sunrise- marking my 3rd day in the same set of false lashes and the day I beat the tickets off.  The following week can be archived under SXSW SXS[rest].

don’t look at the camera May 30, 2010