Monthly Archives: January 2016

Role Model

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“can you believe i
occasionally write about
things other than love?
it’s shocking, i know”

she puts down her coffee mug
and looks at me with a
pointed intensity,
then laughs like a witch.
she’s quite frankly frightening.

“i’m too liberal for you, darling
but i fall prey to all the
same vices as you.
a little too much chocolate after a breakup
too much brooding.
we’re all alike, you know”

a few distasteful remarks-
ladies looking inside their shoes,
soles running thin from
stomping on the pavement.

i was brought up in a
mother household,
we ate food from scratch.
now i graze my tv dinners with
distaste,
and i think about how
greg said he’d call but he never called

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

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Finalmente

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now, in this room,
it is all up to you
there are not any rules
but you know what to do-

wink to me
blink to me
tell me that you think to me

i am the observer
you are the observed
i am choosing to be here.
you aren’t. you’re weaker.

wink to me
blink to me
tell me that you think to me

so many times you ask
“why can’t i see you?”
but you do, and you break.
you break-break-break.

wink to me
blink to me
tell me that you think to me

pay close attention:
now you have me all to yourself.
you are the server
i am the reserved

wink to me
blink to me
tell me that you think to me

i cannot console nor advise,
nor am i FDA certified.
take all with precaution
parent supervision supervised-

wink to me
blink to me
tell me that you think to me

I am still in this room
in a wrap, like a womb
and it’s always broad daylight
to see or to swoon

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

Placebo

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on top of me
above my head
there is a space
not air, a perception
that floats, poised,
waiting to be kissed
seized by feeling
or trampled on.
perhaps all three

the sun is not
in me,
but it was.
yet,
i am not the
angry clouds,
i am not
the gentle pindrops
of a starting rain.

i do not know
where to fall from
since the space
on top of me
can be home to catch anything
could be home to catch a placebo.

placebo: A placebo
(/pləˈsiboʊ/ plə-SEE-boh; Latin placēbō,
“I shall please” from placeō, “I please”)
a harmless pill, medicine, or procedure prescribed
more for the psychological benefit to the
patient than for any physiological effect.

i believe the space
is not capable of feeling,
so today I decided to
run an experiment:
i laid out my hands and
struck a deal with the
pavement:
“you run down the street while
I watch,”
he says,
and I think I laughed when he
brought up the whole
“look at that ass go” thing again.
I was getting chills,
but not just because it was
chilly.

the teacher came out the back gate and
asked me if I was alright.
I turned around, flustered
and said yes I’m alright
even though i was going to cry
even though i was sure
i could only see you in my mind’s eye

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

Stream of Consciousness #18

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fate put us together

but he’s still roping the rigs

besides between you and him you know you hate him

the sound of the bathwater the sound of the bath

the sound of the smacking lips the sound of tasting

the sound of everything around him the sound of

cold mountain roads or the highway nothing is real nothing is what it seems he told you

that two years ago two years ago you were in pain now you feel no pain you only feel that

you used to feel pain there is no difference between what he says and what he does it’s

the same thing he’s just here for shows and smiles and you’re the one who does the

talking the floors are all covered with soot, someone’s been smoking someone’s been

sleeping someone left there heart here someone left their liver someone left their small

intestines you’d better pick that up soon mom’s coming you’d better do it hun, all

condescending like that there’s a turnpike but you take it against your better judgement

because all he did was nod and say go there and you were only on the road because the

animals fought there he is in captivity

X X X X X

mush milk maybe he’s just calming down

i miss the days when i was still in magic, when i could hold him in the palm of my hand

and he held me by the palm of my back and it was wholesome and real and i could smell

the nights in the distance and not be afraid or ashamed or sad or upset just real feelings

real good feelings or the feeling of riding down the road without caring without giving a

damn black leather jackets picturesque you’re smiling there is a whole fleet of ciggarettes

there is a whole fleet of automobiles get in we’re going fast

x x x x x

and the start of something new you said

going boldly that’s the statement on a limb again who is the next one

who’s the next to fixate who’s my next target where do i go

why am i stranded is there any escape do i end up making it what does my

self say five years down the road does she just smile sort of or does she think a long time

is she lost in thought i hope not because that would mean she was still thinking about it

how absurd im almost done finished thinking im almost done finished with it altogether

save me jim im dying

Remain Calm

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goaded to go limp
man finds woman clap trap trapped
in her room, sealed shut
found through an open door near
open books (the ones you write on).

there’s an in memoriam we always do
there’s a little song she’d whistle to
so we sang her a song a little hymn,
for a girl a woman for a whim
that, sir, was her balm, her guide.
(it’s him).

we must protect her.
(but i think she’s dead)
there are things i heard she out and said
“they’ve ruined it, they’ve thrown him out
they’ve gone behind my back, i want
the cure, i want
the heart,
i want
the pure command
‘remain all calm’
but how do i go and carry on
when i can’t feel the brush of your hands,
when you’ve gone?”

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

Behind Glass: Double Thick

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you speed up time or
take a seat with it.
anyone he looks at, he likes
you can see how much it gets you turned on–

the straight edge of a ruler
you used to prop yourself against the mirror
trying to see yourself against the marks on the
hallway wall.

he’s walking in the door
i’m walking in school corridor
and the kids all seem stupid
and i’m the only one.

make a mess,
the puddles the old conversations in my
head, the fake lies, the stories i
told myself the new horizon,
butting into conversations with
cocky, uncaring jokes
“he doesn’t like you”
you say, half smiling, lazy
the coffee maker doesn’t work so now you have to
boil the water yourself waking up isn’t easy
your friends all say they’re breaking too
but you don’t know if they are listening.

you sing songs like back in the USSR
you said he’s kind of like that song
you can feel him in every baby in every lyric
that ever goes on the airwaves
and sometimes you feel like doing a full 360
cause the blindness was just like another
blind love,
you realize you blocked it out and you
still wanted every baby to be darling.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

On Becoming What you Seek

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i’ve been told that if i’m
seen with you a few minutes or more
i’ll be on a downward spiral
my arms up in a war

so i’ve blocked out the feeling
like tape on a leaky drain
because the apartment gets to flooding and i
can’t swim in the rain

one time i let you in, you were watching me run
sharing the knowlege of our time-sensitive fun

i frantically ran while you smiled,
you were winning
and in watching me struggle,
you just kept on grinning

“you’ve got to go pick up that plate!
missed that glass!
you know the time’s ticking!
ooh girl, move that ass!”

your movements, love, they’re in me,
jerked, but just so.
how you’d speak, i felt close,
and i knew where to go.

i remembered how your effortless
muscles were moved
and the way your eyes darted around
on a groove.

i felt how the smile worked
and how to be amused
how the lips worked their touch
and the words came pre-used.

i’d shake her hand and
smile in her eye
and say “my friend’s been talking quite a lot about you”
and then i

felt it almost in my gait
and my chest would pound
though my face was straight

and i knew that i
was becoming you
what a silent change
too good to be true.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry