Tag Archives: dd

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

Listening to Pop Rock After *******

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what a load,
watch me go
watch me go
I’m ‘a siting on this tree
k i s s i n g
and we played hop
scotch,
by those ponds
and the neighbors said
that girl
she knowd about the birds and bees
she’s all mine and she’s in
deeeeep trouble.

standing by the fence
lean for hours
you know I’m walking by
you know my eyes are on you, baby
you know my eyes are on you.

you twirl around devil things in your
two fingers,
spite the reasons to get lost
spite the reasons no one should be round
after dark.

when along come miss jane
and she’s just clean come out of school
my mary jane, swinging
if she can’t help it
and oh, she can’t but help for
wantin’ you!

I see you,
and it’s the meanin’ of graceless,
but graceless become such an art
that you, baby, you flow so good
and I’m such a fool
for you, I’m such a fool
go, baby, go go go
go, baby, go go go

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

Watching

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“go around the water currents.
feed into the system.
find out who those people were.
quarter the remains of anything
you find .”
(you’re only used to this kind of
talk because you hear it all the time in his mind.
like brushing your teeth, it means nothing)

“you know very well I can’t deal with the
tension that comes with a
stay at one of those viewing rooms!
seeing people die like that
behind glass? I get nauseous!
it’s too painful.”
(it’s too painful because he says it’s too painful.
i think you get off on it.)

then I’m on the couch. the doctor says
“you have to start out at the beginning
back at the place where you first saw her.
then you can remember.”
and you bow your head in solemnity
because you know the memories are in your head
(you only want him to remember because you want to remember
with him)

“well…she’s gleaming, with rays of light dancing on her face…
walking along  houses lined up like toy soldiers…
and she hands me a flower that she…
picked off the freeway…
and she’s so…
beautiful…
some kind of far away old soul but she’s just a child…”
I saw her as a child
but I forgot I knew.
(oh, this is the fiction,
the part you make up yourself. he doesn’t even know who you are)

suddenly I wake up again and it’s all over
and the sheets are a mess and
by some miracle I see her
standing outside the window
with that look on her face again.
(but we all know you only
read into his thoughts to catch them)
(to catch him.)
(that girl by the window is me)

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

False Impression:

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bright lights at night
it’s two in the morning
he gets out of his car
disheveled,
like the spoiled food you
pick up out of the dumpster.
they all believed he was
lost in thought on that
cold windy streetcorner
tracing the words in his mind
to say to the valet:
“get me the spot by the potted palms, chico. make it a five”
it was a double crossing to the
people who thought they knew him.
but it’s always a double crossing
just that some people get it worse than others.

so he walks up to his high-rise apartment and
rings for a scotch and sits down and looks a little sad,
like a lost boy (but you don’t feel pity for him).
the boob tube is on but there is nothing to see,
so he digs something out from the archives
it’s the last thing you think he’d watch,
but then again you knew all about it.

he asked her to come over but she was three days late,
she surprised him by showing up asleep in his
bed when he came in a few hours later to turn on the lights.
that’s when he laughed
(he laughs more in this version).
“you’ve had quite a party by yourself, haven’t you?”
(I don’t know what he says to his
friends. I just conjectured that
he’d use witticisms in any situation)
or he says,
“hey you’re pretty banged up”
and she slowly turns over and she has a bed head and says
“sorry” very groggily and he’s never seen her like this before
but he shrugs it off, he doesn’t care.

his speech pattern somewhat mimics that of the
rebel punks from 1960’s teen films,
cheesy, middle America, scripted.
in the neighborhood where he grew in the streets were lined with
deciduous trees and white wood houses.
but that is also a lie.
he was a little boy in a world of buildings and concrete;
nature was just a sideshow.
no sympathy.
just get on by smell, like an animal,
yet by the doorframe it was like he was made of
empty words, quiet slowdancing;
and I don’t think he was the same person.
“alright”, he says, “you can stay.
but only so long as you tuck me in, sugar”

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

 

Terra

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these are the things I will admit only to myself, and perhaps to someone who is important:

1

I’m in the chamber of
dust, dusk
musk, mist, fog
I am living in a cloud,
and people have to look up to see me,
but the thing is I’m afraid of heights

2

I’m afraid to be home alone
even though there are people around
I’m afraid
when everyone is there but you
you’re in a different house,
the one in your mind,
only no one’s in that one either.

3

I find more and more that
the less extravagant,
the more hearty
the less dainty,
the more buried in the soil
the less drenched and dripping
the more pragmatic
the less ethereal,
makes my blood run and burn.

4

I am grounded, steady
like my sign
repulsed by water and by swimming
by aquiline faces
by fast, clear running words
I’m melding into the rocks
I’m melting into the soils
I’m falling into the flowerbeds
because that’s the only way
I can get
a clearer head;

5

only you
I want to talk to you,
but I’m by myself
oh god

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry

Don’t You Want my Opinion?

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it’s like a piece of meat you could go on chewing forever and
never swallow,
kind of fat but not yielding either.
im stuck here, im wondering about
if there are people around that look like you.
wouldn’t that be nice

i fit perfectly into you like a glove.
enough about metaphors
you don’t spare those.
i typed in “how to stop feeling vaguely sad”
into the search engine and i got
loneliness.

your name is archetypal
smooth like all those biblical fighters
there are a million others named you
but you bring a different stodginess to it
like brown bread,
like the piece of meat i could
go on chewing forever and never swallow.

i am taking into account the fact that
i have never said hello to you,
and that’s fine.
i am fine with living inside a cold apartment in new york
watching you move from within my window
wall to wall, mirror to door
you, getting dressed, putting on an old robe
reading a book,
flipping the set, clenching your jaw like you do

i don’t know if it means anger,
or supression,
or annoyance,
or if it’s just a nervous tick you acquired
waiting for buses, for trains.

i hold your hands, like gloves into my hands
your hands are on my waist
weightless
and i can breathe again.

then i turn on the corner of the street
and i see the cold condensed wind of my breath
and i turn around, remembering it is not really you.

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry

When Waking Up is Not as Good

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half awake daydream
dozing fantasy
half asleep pleasures.

i am tired.

slipping into my dress,
into sleep,
into a void dream
or a mirrored, half-nightmare.

i dream about men i’ll never have
about places i’ve only ever seen in heaven
about my mother, my uncle, my grandmother.

i am on the train.

i dreamed we ran all around the city
adventuring.
and at the end of the dream i was sitting in a dark room
watching the security cam footage
of myself waiting for the train.
i saw him walk over to me
and put his hands lightly around my waist.
i watched in that room,
having no memory of it.
then my hazel eyes
adjusted to the sunlight
and i smiled in the morning,
knowing i had lost a great deal
of something unrecoverable

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry 

Phantom Limb

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in bed, i was

sick
sick
sick
sick
helath
sick

I thought I was immersed in health-that’s wrong-i was immersed in

sick
sick
sick
sick
sick

and I CRIED OUT! I WAS IMMERSED IN

five different blankets of sick, each the different stages of
obsessive illness:
attention,
classification,
concentration,
delirium,
insanity.

“you know what?”i smile,
“it’s not so bad.”
im licking my lips
and i notice the obvious
pounding chest, a bit accelerating
that lasts for minutes and comes back several times for several hours
and i think about the way i always end up seeing the world
through your eyes, pretending you’re observing me
like a comforting  spy.
and anyhow-
sick, getting better, it’s all the same
it’s vital and i need it.
it’s like a pulse:
it’s running high
they say
get her to a doctor they say
there is no doctor for this disease they say,
you go to psychiatrists for that.
no for that they go out into the world
and they see that no one is really like the
people they make up in their minds
and then they get sick again
trying to forget the fact.

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry