Tag Archives: dd



temporary dressings over temporary wounds.
we seek shelter in an abandon garden and
hope that we will take fruit. In a garden we see many faces often,
the father who takes no notice or the mother who stoops over the dandelions,
the friend who coddles the petunias like sisters and the grandmother who sits still.
we hold candles to the dahlias and when it gets cold, we hope they do not burn.
we hide and lick our wounds in the grass, wimpering and withering like pruned hands.

I held on to you because your voice was soft like a suede glove,
and I liked the unnabraisive hair you could brush up to my temples and say the
only way I could have met you was the only way I could have met you, and the way I could have held you was the only way I could have held you, and we would have
spun around in blurred green clusters where the bushes ran off to meet the sky and
sun ran off to meet your eyes, and the way the green houses flitted behind the dark shade of green like the house in the spring
and maybe I could if I stand here.

if I stand here in the green grass in the garden I will remember it as a footpath for soldiers who defend love, keep it in high regard and pay no heed to the
fashion of believing that all we say is trite anyway.

the slow stones are fawn beds for lovers, and the grass is coverlets for milk bodies,
and now and again the firs can pine away for you instead of me.
I may bend over sideways like the arches of a tended forest, my limbs over your limbs or the tree limbs
and patience is a virtue and you are a virtue. But patience is temporary and
burdens are temporary and so was the kiss, the kiss you gave me, too soft and cream, too negligible and sparse, unvaried and smoothing, holding not possessing and static not unstable. I can lie down for hours and notice that you are neither sleeping nor waking, just like the sound of birds flying is not availed to my ears but I trust it is there notwithstanding.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry


The Last Time we Visited the Lake


An old poem I never published; after watching txf episode “mind’s eye”

When we reached the edge of the water
When we reached the edge of the pool
When the clams reached out to pinch my toes
And I think I was thinking of you

I could hear the false note in your consoling voice
The kind of thing you could sense with the sound turned off.
You’d be an angel but your face didn’t match up,
It was feigned, and terribly cold.

I was sure I was dreaming that morning,
Watching you by the dock near the pool
Facing the shoreline of water,
Piled neatly against the blue.

There you stood,
A magician of frugality
Trying to regain your composure,
Looking at me with disappointment
But the fragile, fragrant air was tripping up your movements,
And you paused,
To close your eyes
And erase
All else,
Smelling deeply,

When reached the edge of the water
You said
“This is the place”

I heard the false notes in your voice again, as you released
Sweet smelling words out into the air, to savor
But it was only just for show;
Just to admire their grace

You smiled a meager smile and looked to the water again,
As the boats heaved and creaked in their wooden cages.
We stood together, silent.
I was sure you were feeling some kind of secondhand pity,
But it was usually just a feeling.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

Sequence of Events


Things that happened: I was so caught up in you my heart beat fast on its own
Things that happened: I saw you put your hands on a woman’s back, barely alive
Things that happened: I dreamed you put your hands on my back, I cried
Things that happened: I threw you out of the room, you sick bastard
Things that happened: I remembered you were here to help, you said so yourself
Things that happened: I fell into a dream, slow and soft and mellow
Things that happened: I woke up from a dream, shaky in shock, ashamed
Things that happened: I could not remember the feeling anymore
Things that happened: I had to remember again. But it wasn’t the same as before.
Things that happened: I was high. I was on cloud nine. Drinking you in
Things that happened: I made peace with your not saint or sinner self. my own.
Things that happened: I forgot you.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

The Man with No Heart


so you take from the dirt what you can,
we weepers have a hard time in maine
hard he struck at the dirt with a few words
and he desperately prayed for the rain.

there aren’t that many people with souls left
but you’re after the ones with no heart
and though mother had said it’d be tiring
you can see that’s what sets them apart.

he is walking around with his maker
quiet smiling not saying a word
and you didn’t run off with the baker
though he always made sure you were heard

in the late night the forest was empty
it was nighttime and nobody stirred
but the man with no heart said come with me
i’ve the back of my horse and a bird.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

Gag Reel


what are the odds!
he rolls the dice and the words come out
like the script does!
he’s ready with twenty
comeback lines in his pants pocket

we want an explanation
for the ready made reaction
we want to know how you get it so good
the girls are all dying to know
the boys all want to know how to make a good show

step out with confidence!
he says,
we don’t wanna see any fear in your eyes.
just say it, you know?
be a hero
he cracks up
or you try imitating my grandmother when she
stops taking her zoloft

and the man says hey you did it again
and he says i’m sorry what
and he said you did the thing again
and he said oh im sorry i guess it just comes from my subconscious
and he smiles goofy.

or maybe it’s culture,
or what tv shows you watched as a kid
or what you did in your free time in college
or how late you stayed up reading Nabokov.

try not being so nervous,
he says
it ruins the vibe.
you have to be cool
he says, and makes a funny face.
we all cracked up.
but nobody knows how to do it like him.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry



you become aware
that breath in itself is hypnotic;
anyone can bring you in.

if that’s true,
i shouldn’t cling to your voice
like a charm,
but i do.

it is the same as dreaming.
one moment you are awake
and the next moment you are awake again
but something is missing.

i missed out on nothing
with you,
just the absence of light and
shadow in the absorption of my thoughts.
one mass hallucinogen,
training my thoughts to revolve around you
in a faithful moon orbit.
i saw into the stars for you.

you become aware
that speaking is hypnotic;
tongue tracing the back of the mouth
lazy relaxing
the unfurling of your O’s and the drawing out of your
A’s, i was impassioned by the sound
in any whether.
but to say you’re all i have is a
i have the stars behind me;
they can see everything.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry 



there, it will stop
my bottle feeding:
constant nourishment.

we dance together, playfully.
the old man at the bus stop
sees me (only) and smiles,
because he thinks i’m a carefree girl
he couldn’t be more wrong.
i need to be careful,
if he’s looking.

sundays aren’t good
too much thinking
thinking on ones own leads to drowning.
i write poems about you and
never read them aloud
i think they might be
too personal
for others to figure out.

there, he says
soothe your bottle feeding.
i will check up on you
every couple of hours
i will make sure the nurses
give you drip feeding
and that you have plenty of rest.

i will sit by your bed and
read you bedtime stories,
with my hand over your heart
i swear
i will speak in soothing voices
i will never let go.
this is what i imagined my heart
to tell me, but it quickly turned around.
all i can think of is earthlyness
i cannot know of love.
you become earth bound,
physically possessing what you have not
no emotional desire,
go on lung power,
long as you can breathe.

he says,
i stay here for ever.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry



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



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.
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
“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

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


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


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