Midnight Snack

Fiddlededee days devour the sparks of inspired nights.
Kindling the middle of winter afternoons, end too soon.
Here
and
Now.
Sometimes, it is good.
Ladies linger in the shower, shave their legs but blood is thick.
Paying for the middle of winter afternoons, end too soon.
There
and
How.
Sometimes, it needs enormity.
Yes, yet
Sometimes, it takes too long.
Buts
or
Ands?
Libraries of looks in lieu of winter afternoons, refuse to end too soon.
Libraries of discontent in dirty diaries, dirty living rooms.
Sometimes, it is something.
Whats
or
When's the clean part start?
Sometimes atoms seem enormous as winter afternoons refusing to end too soon.
Showers of sparks scratch bloody demarcations into rickety winter bones.

Sometimes, it is enormously good.

This is a Thought

If I decided to peal paint off the upside-down radiator

for eternity,

I wonder if you would sit beside me  

reading Wallace Stevens.

If I decided to nurse the convent garden bursts of peonies

for eternity,

I wonder if you would smuggle me some

David Bowie tracks.

If I decided to eat only fudge brownies and cherry Starbursts

for eternity,

I wonder if you would google gourmet

recipes for me.

If I decided to paint my own Walden in the Washington wild

for eternity,

I wonder if you would build a nightclub

next to my cabin.

If I decided to leap out airplane hatches and steal rodeo saddles and read my poetry out-loud

for eternity,

I wonder if you would be happily

married in Norway.

A Birthday

But bartenders don't know how to make a sidecar anymore.
Is this what I'm supposed
to do now?
Identities, plastic summaries, explored at the door.
Those little clubs without rules, more like
third grade
than we care to admit.
Smooth, fruity lightning sprints through veins, echoes in eye sockets. All pulses.
Sex and sports and
Smirnoff, culture in cocktails accessible
now.
A bucket of beer and growing older never made us feel so young, so innocent.

Persephone Drinks Hot Cocoa

Mouth
every mouth
every mouth breathes
every mouth breathes autumnal.
Every mouth breathes autumnal investigations.
Every mouth breathes autumnal investigations
     tinged with sepia tones-
Torch trees
live in lazy desperation,
these last cider days
in burrows and blanket caves.
Heat in color - amber, saffron, goldenrod, maize.
Sepia tones
sepia tones tinged
sepia tones tinged with investigations.
Sepia tones tinged with autumnal investigations.
     They see every mouth breathe.

See every mouth.
                Mouths.

You and I (bomb)

promise to fill in the blanks and the stains
on your teeth -
that reckless kind of make-believe.
We'd eat each other if we had to

frame that dirty orgasm or shove
it in
an arbitrary pocket.
We'd eat each other if we had to

wear vital organs on the outside
or choose between burning witches and the books we hate.
We'd eat each other if we had to

dream more words to describe
states of mind
and the juice of a nectarine running down your chin.
We'd eat them if we had to.

The love of being is not enough
to keep you in my bed.
The love of beings is not enough to buy a ticket to Turkmenistan.

I did that thing that everyone with a blog does...

When I started this blog, I promised myself that I'd update it faithfully. Talk is cheap. However, after listening to some friends read their own stuff recently, I'm back on the inspiration wagon. I've written a couple of new things I'd like to share, if anyone still cares even a tiny bit. So here goes.

TRANSIT

Why would I
wear heels on an airplane?
Bathrooms fill with
middle-aged women in tangerine
jackets. Calling Patience and
ordering salads from McDonalds.
I'm not wearing any makeup-
are you disenchanted by the hair
on my upper lip? More hair
than we know what to do with.
Hair
everywhere. Especially
down there. You know the places.
It was the night before I left
forever. Touching breasts
in public places.

Now they're calling daughters in Anchorage and
becoming lactose intolerant.

So many places
to hide. Melting into
corners,
buying shadows from McDonalds.

3 and 1/2 hours, 3 and 1/2 months.
We can only sleep
in transitory places.


JUST TO KILL TIME

Blank journals become
American novels and
pop songs.
Bloody ink commits everything to nothing.

Alone among girls giggling.
I don't want
children.
Those bedtime conversations before I sleep in my sleep.

Nightmare Before
moving words badly organized
come out the mouth
                      mouth
                      mouth and
                      eyes and color
Windy shorthand,
abbrev. days
appetizing crazy
interpreted tattoo
                      And Chinese food.

Walking Home and Not Thinking in Complete Sentences Because Who Really Does That, Anyway?

I'm sick of puddles, just get back to the apartment as quick as you can, it's kind of cold, stop complaining, everything smells wet, good thing I didn't wear those cute little flats today, I don't think that graffiti was there last night, I never know what all those symbols mean, they look stupid, how did I fail to notice my name carved into the concrete of the sidewalk I travel multiple times a day, amazing what you notice when you're looking down, well obviously it's not referring to me, it's some other Mandy, probably a smarter, wittier, prettier Mandy, well, all things considered, you're not that bad, I'm hungry, is there any food in the fridge, the answer to that question is always "no", must trek to Family Dollar soon, the last thing I want to do right now is study for a sociology test, it's weird that all the famous sociologists have beards, facial hair would be really itchy, awkward moment of eye contact as I flash my I.D. to the desk attendant, check, how sad is it that I'm out of breath every time I make it up these stairs, heater, make up your mind, one day it's a bajillion degrees in here, the next, there's icicles hanging from the ceiling, I wonder what it'd be like to live in an igloo, I need chocolate.

Just Another College Drinking Song

VERSE 1

We've got wolf eyes
Without wolf teeth
Pick out chords without words
They speak just the same.
Where we are
Is far, so far
From Tokyo, Amsterdam and Kansas City
But we like to eat Indian food late at night
And we can buy blue vases from thrift stores
To make this house feel like home and
Contemplate this laundry basket life.

VERSE 2

We drink fire
We chew water
We smile harder.
We sleep in
In onion skin
And dream of giving pearl necklaces to the president
We say oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
To fill up empty, awkward spaces in between
Universes that we study
Through telescopes, removed and lost in scientific methods
Doctors' diagnoses: quite unwell, quite unwell
Well, well...

VERSE 3

And when hands are course
When a thousand dishes have been washed
I'll be collecting old medals collecting dust

These knots in
Stomachs, in
Hair and
Tying me to you
We are two
Sparrows in a willow tree.

Finding You (song lyrics)

VERSE 1

I am finding you and you are finding me
Have I been asleep?
Did winter pass, did spring slip in?
You say I'm bleeding

REFRAIN

But all the white inside your operating room,
It makes me dizzy
And I'm frightened of you
A smile and a snarl too
So they say

VERSE 2

If you rode up on a candy-apple motorcycle
Maybe then I'd pay you mind
You slide the fruit between your lips
     when you think I'm not looking
Then offer me the rind

REFRAIN

I can't let you cut me open yet
Because inside, I'm filled with s---
I don't want you to see it

I am finding you (X2)

MONDAY MORNING, 8:47 AM

     The usual order, the usual table, next to the front window—a usual morning. It’s clear, light-jacket weather. And there is a sex goddess in a Led Zeppelin t-shirt across the street.

     I am onboard the U.S.S. Coffee, as usual. They have the best caramel soy lattes and poppy seed muffins around. You just have to ignore the lifesaver-shaped tables, the creepy sea captain statue by the door, eye-patched and giving the thumbs up, the seasonal drinks titled “Don’t Rock the Boat,” or “Ahoy Mateys!” and all the other ridiculous gimmicks. The U.S.S. Coffee is on the corner of Navy Avenue and Harbor Street. Hence, the nautical coffee experience. I live next door. But I might as well live here, surviving on caramel soy lattes and poppy seed muffins. Tina and most of the baristas know my order before I open my mouth. Caramel soy latte and a poppy seed muffin, please. Sometimes I get a double chocolate fudge muffin if I’m feeling restless. Variety is the spice of life.

     Cars and cabs whizz by, multi-colored blurs. I sip my coffee and watch the waves of faces, briefcases, heels and cell phones surge down the sidewalk. They lap against the bricks of the apartment building across the street. The bricks are weathered, the front door painted a deep maroon. The window on the second floor squeaked open a moment ago. The Lois Lane body double is still gazing out and below. Now she turns to the mirror, smoothes her fly-aways, adjusts the baggy Led Zeppelin t-shirt she slept in. She rifles through a few cabinets and peeks in the shower. Not her bathroom? She splashes her face with water, smiles. Her teeth are diamonds.

     I take a bite of my poppy seed muffin. A bit stale today. I knew it felt like a double chocolate fudge day. I can see Clark Kent in the adjacent room, lying in bed, hands clasped behind his head. He’s an action figure, that smirk permanently painted on his lips. His bare chest begs for an entire bottle of oil. He probably inherited his meat-slab jaw line from his father, probably gave a humble Student Body President acceptance speech while silently wondering if the extra responsibility would affect his performance as captain of his high school football team and as Seymour Krelborn in the fall production of “Little Shop of Horrors.” He is the superhero browsing the comedy section at Blockbuster and standing behind you at the check-out counter at Walgreens.

     Lois struts into the bedroom, aglow with sex goddess-dom. Words exchanged, then a tongue-tied giggle. She regains her footing, looks at the bedside clock, plops down on the edge of the bed and scours a pile of rumpled clothes on the floor. She yanks up her nylons, her career-woman skirt. She is late and she says so. She turns her back to search for her I’m-sexy-but-take-me-seriously heels. Clark employs his ninja stealth powers and creeps across the bed, grabs Lois around the waist, hauling her back into bed. A mess of sheets and skin and limbs and smiles like diamonds.

     Last bite of my muffin. A few minutes pass and I should really be going. I take a final peak. Lois has managed to assemble the various pieces of last night’s ensemble, covering the curves of her body in a boxy blazer etched with pink pinstripes. She has tied her hair into a low bun. It doesn’t disguise the love tangles that remain there. Clark shoves empty liquor bottles into a plastic bag.

     Lois hurries out the bedroom door, briefcase in hand, disappears. Clark follows.

     I toss my coffee cup in the trash, still regretting the poppy seed decision. The sea captain winks at me, brisk, street air hits my face. I look up and see Clark in the doorway, skin like caramel against the maroon door. Lois is on the curb, attempting to hail a cab as the waves of faces like hers and briefcases like hers and heels like hers and cell phones like hers buffet her. A yellow and black blur pulls up. She opens the door, glances back. A movie moment, they’re eyes meet. Electricity and butterflies and hearts pounding, one second frozen in time, everything in slow motion. All that stuff.

     Clark lifts a hand to wave goodbye. She gets in and the yellow and black blur speeds down the street. Clark shivers a little, even though he is a superhero. He retreats into the warmth behind the maroon door.  

Band-Aids

SCENE 1

A spotlight illuminates a dining room. ADAM is seated at the far left of the table, surrounded by three empty seats. His eyes are bloodshot. He is disheveled, haggard, slowly eating a bowl of cereal. A spotlight illuminates CORA, sitting cross-legged downstage right. She is about 8, wearing pigtails. She is writing in a diary.

                                   CORA

                         (in a serious tone)

Dear Diary: Today I banged my knee on the monkey bars and had to get a band-aid from Mrs. Hanson. It hurt a lot and Nathan L. said it would scar but Hannah S. said if you put a band-aid on it then it wouldn't scar. She said band-aids make everything better no matter what. She said band-aids have magic powers. The band-aid had butterflies on it, too. I like butterflies. Mrs. Hanson said I could have a band-aid with butterflies on it, or ladybugs. I picked butterflies. Also, Adam came home today. Mom said he's going to live with us, even though he's 26.

(CORA continues to write as SHARON enters with a dishrag. She leans over and kisses the top of ADAM's head, ruffling his hair before moving to clean the table)

                                   ADAM

                         (irritated)

               Mom, please.

                                   SHARON

               What?

                                   ADAM

               I'm not five anymore.

                         (continues eating cereal)

                         (pause)

                                   SHARON

I think Cora's excited to have her big brother back around the house. You should have seen the grin on her face when I told her you were coming home. She's already making big plans for the two of you on her half-birthday. That's Friday. She's got this idea that half-birthdays are just as important as actual birthdays because you're a whole half-year older. "And that's worth celebrating," she told me. She's- she's something else. She wants you to take her to the zoo on Friday. She said she didn't want me or Roger to take her. Just you.

                                  ADAM

                         (biting)

               Yeah, taking my little sister to the zoo is exactly how I'd like to spend my day.

                                   SHARON

               Just think about it, alright? I know it would mean a lot to her... She really does look up to you and-

                                   ADAM

                         (outburst)

Well obviously she needs to find a better role-model, doesn't she? (pause) Mom, next time, will you get Fruit Loops? I can't- this stuff is shit. What is this? Captain Crunch. It's shit, Mom. Will you get Fruit Loops next time? That's usually the only thing I can eat when I'm- after I've just-

                                   SHARON

                         (decisive, ending the conversation)

               I'll get Fruit Loops.

SHARON exists, grabbing the bowl of cereal and the box as she leaves. Lights down.

Lights up on ADAM sprawled on the couch. He aimlessly flips through TV channels and is surrounded by empty chip bags and a box of Fruit Loops. He looks worse than ever.

                                   CORA

Dear Diary: I peeked under the band-aid today. It was still all red under there. Maybe Hannah S. was wrong. It almost fell off when I was chasing Brandon H. at recess. He said it was a scientificial fact that girls can't run as fast as boys. I said it was a scientifical fact that he was a jackass. Adam said it was OK to say that word 'cause it just means "donkey". Adam looked really sad today so I tried to cheer him up with my elephant noises. But he didn't even smile. He always used to smile at my elephant noises. One time at Christmas, he brought this blonde girl named Lisa or Leslie or something like that, and he made me do my elephant noises for her. He laughed really hard that time. But this time he just kept watching TV. He didn't even look at me.

(CORA continues to write as SHARON enters, tidying up the room. She walks in front of the television and gathers up chip bags)

                                  ADAM

               Mom, seriously?

                                  SHARON

               What?

                                  ADAM

                I'm trying to watch.

                          (pause)

                                  SHARON

                          (she can no longer hold it in)

               What were you doing last night?

                           (no answer)

               Last night, in your room. The door was locked. I knocked several times, once at 6:00, once at 

               7:30, once a little after 9:00... What were you doing in there, Adam?

                                   ADAM

               This is ridiculous-

                                   SHARON

                         (losing control)

               What were you doing in there last night, Adam?

                                   ADAM

What do you think I was doing, Mom? Do you think I was doing lines? Is that it? You think I'd lock myself in my room, just down the hall from you and Dad and my little sister and-

                                   (SHARON pulls a big filled with white powder from her pocket)

               Holy shit, Mom. Where did you-

                                   SHARON

               You promised that when you came to live with us-

                                   ADAM

               Why did you go through my stuff?

                                   SHARON

               You promised.

                         (long pause)

(SHARON finishes gathering chip bags and grabs the box of Fruit Loops. She moves to leave)

                                   ADAM

               At least leave the Fruit Loops.

(SHARON looks back, appalled. She exits with the Fruit Loops. ADAM stares at the TV screen)

Lights down.

                                    CORA

Dear Diary: Mom made me change my band-aid today. The new one is brown and boring. I miss the butterflies. When we took it off, the cut had turned into a big scab. It was really gross. But Mom said the scab meant that it was healing. Maybe Hannah S. was right after all. Adam's eyes were all red today, like he hadn't slept in a million bazillion years. I told him he looked like a zombie. Then he looked at me in this scary way like he didn't even see me. He scrunched up his eyes and looked and looked but he still couldn't see me. Mom says he's too sick to take me to the zoo. She says he's making himself sick. Why would Adam want to be sick?

Lights up on ADAM at a bus stop, a duffel bag at his feet. He puts his hands in his pockets, pulls out an envelope. He opens it, pulls a letter out. A pink band-aid falls to the ground. He picks it up, begins to read. CORA's voice is heard)

                                   CORA's voice

Hi Adam. Mom said you were leaving today. I wrote this letter because I like writing letters. I hope that wherever you're going, you won't make yourself sick anymore. I hope you get better soon. And it's OK that we didn't go to the zoo for my half-birthday. It's OK. I hope you like the butterfly band-aid. I asked for another one from Mrs. Hanson. I didn't say it was for you, though. Hannah S. said that band-aids have magic powers and that they make everything better no matter what. I don't know if that's true but maybe it'll help you not be so sick anymore. I hope so. Love, Cora.

ADAM sticks the letter back in his pocket. He continues to wait for the bus. Lights down.  

A Flash

     The park is three blocks from my apartment. It has a playground with a yellow slide and four swings. I walk there every morning from 8:16 AM to 9:02 AM. When the leaves are curling and dying in the grass, I wear my yellow hat. I pretend my head is a sunflower.
     I talk to the squirrels. Sometimes they tell me funny things, strange things. They fluff their tails and nibble scraps, folded up on branches. Then they open their mouths and grin. Their teeth are rotting, yellow fence posts. They tell me to come inside the fence, open the gate and walk in, and they'll give me big piles of blue cotton candy. They say it's pretty and green and warm behind the fence. "It's on your way," they tell me. I really like blue cotton candy.
     Usually, I keep walking.

I'm Sorry, Did You Say Something?

hey
Well hey there
how ya doin?
Pretty good. You?
not too bad. filling out some job applications
Money is rather necessary :)
haha, yeah. whatcha up to?
Not much, relaxing.
relaxing is good
Agreed :)
so... about last night
Haha! Yeah...
yeah
I know it sounds cliche, but I'm not usually like that.
oh really?
Not at all, actually, haha.
i see
I wanted to apologize for the licking incident. Like I said, not really something I do on a regular basis...
haha, no problem
So how are your bruises? Mine are already turning a lovely shade of purple.
i've actually gotta go, ttyl
Oh, ok. See you later.
Nate is offline

*  *  *  *  *

hey what's up?

Hey! Not much, you?

just hanging out

The best :)

so hey, me and my roommates are having a party tomorrow night

Oh yeah?

if you wanna come

No repeats of last time, I promise :)

haha, ok

No more Smirnoff for me, ha

should be a good time

Sounds great! 

So how's the job situation? Any leads?

sorry, i gotta go. see ya tomorrow

Ok. See you then.

Nate is offline

*  *  *  *  *

hey how's your lip?

A jagged, open wound relentlessly spewing blood, haha.

oh ok, haha

No, it's not too bad.

sorry about the shitty night

Oh, it's alright.

i mean, i just thought that after last time you woulda been cool with it

Yeah

idk, sorry

Well, I kind of put myself in that position, so...

yeah, definitely

Did I leave my blue sweater in your room?

don't think so

I wonder where it could be, haha.

i gotta go, we're having another party here next weekend but i think we figured out that's not really your scene, haha

Oh. Yeah, probably for the best.

ttyl

Bye.

Nate is offline

Untitled (song lyrics)

VERSE 1

I've got cinnamon hair
And acid in my brain.
Ask me if I'm feeling tempestuous today
I wish I had that Motown flavor but I
I always make sure to let my phone ring at least three times before I answer

REFRAIN

Let's talk about sex over coffee sometime

CHORUS

And I
I don't like
To lie in my bed some nights
I'd rather lay down on the floor

VERSE 2

I slip a pill into my cereal every morning
And pretend it's a mystery
I blame society
I'm always waiting at a bus stop
At 3 AM I'm gonna head out
To see what I've read about

REFRAIN

Let's talk about God over coffee sometime

CHORUS 2

And I
I don't like
To lie in my bed some nights
I'd rather lay down on the floor
And I
I don't like
Trying to impress you
Aren't you impressed by that?
And I
I don't like
Well I really don't like coffee anyway

Even Pictures

An image, really.
But I've never been to New York.
No cousins or brothers or aunts or lovers or co-workers
or best friends
lost in rubble, fire.
I was in fifth grade,
I still had straight hair.
Overheard panic, like static
held in your hand.
Dad took the telephone call.

The faces plummeting from 128 stories
were like aliens.
Sucking in a last breath of
plastic air-
I will never know you.

Ground Zero, naked
A city crawling with too much, too
much.
And they want to build a Forgiveness garden there.