Precocious

On Mother's Day, I left the house to go write for a few hours and when I came home, Clara and Daddy were deep in the Playdoh.  My favorite object d'art of theirs is below.  According to David, Clara asked him to make "mommy's car and put Clara, Diego and Daddy in it.  Then let's  go to the Apple store and fix your computer."  Clara has been with Daddy to the Apple store more times than I can count these days, because Daddy's Powerbook has been broke broke broke.  None of the geniuses seem able to fix it for good.

I miss Thursday due to granite growing

from my right rib, cragged and grey the way

some rocks are, sharp and bearded, tres

Godly -- like I used to think God rolled.

Boulders crush my dreams consistently:

Rock v. Mouse since 1993.

Wasps and butterflies, my audience,

Float and sting and make me question Chance.

And overall it's difficult, agreed?

Strangled into life repeatedly,

Some of us grow stronger, some retract.

Baby hearts in NICU flash erractic

Measures on the monitors.  Nurses

gather close and pray to end this curse.

On Sunday, we drove to Egypt,

ate watermelon, fought sleep.

On Monday, we drug the cat out,

sat our asses on grey heaps.

On Tuesday, a headache drove home

water lilies rooting deep

through waters of my unconscious,

strategizing beyond keep.

 

Olives, Cash Flow Projections and Me

coffee cup sidled newly by, orange pen

the pharmalady gave me when I went

in for Nystatin for my son who is scratchin

like his life maybe depended on it.  

I put my arms around him and tell the itch

you can go now, he won't worry anymore,

be gone itch.  But itchin just be itchin

for a while longer, until we file our gander

under the goosedown, until we flower 

under the bride grown, until we hunger

beneath that black doom.  Bridegroom.

You motherfuckers, you

You give me back my caps.

You motherfuckers, you

You Give Me Back My Caps.

Write fast. Don't think.  Get it out before it shrinks

under the gun that shatters the windows, under 

the oven that delivers the buns, clad in diapers,

shitting milk duds, pharmaceuticals, ancestral traces,

elemental retards choking the very heir they breathe

through.  Me, too.  Me, too. Me, too.

My eye

started twitching

the day my father died.

It's been 9 months now, 

twitch, twitch, twitch, twitch, 

twitch, twitch, twitch, twitch, twitch.

To whom -- to which -- shall I apply

my eye? Now that he's gone

down deep inside?

To whom? What? Who? Where?

There, just there, deeper,

beyond despair.

I Is Fine, 2

I don't even understand what I'm thinking anymore.  Everything is strange.

I Is Fine

My eye!  No nefarious activity behind these lids.  Thank god.

Here is my list for the day as written in pencil in my notebook:

Cancel Hollywood Video Value Pass

Dry Cleaning

Spacetaker grants

Ford

IAG Required Materials

Contact Writers for Artist Saloon

Best Fit

Call Zach Scott Theater is Austin

Do you keep daily lists?  What's yours?

Life is Heaven, Too

I am misanthropic again, this time seasoned to taste with anxiety bordering on panic and depression.  LOVELY.

Yesterday, I had a needle stuck into my eye.

My eyelid; nevertheless it's still the eye.

I had a "growth" on my left eyelid, which I found on Christmas Eve while putting makeup on using my mother's magnifying make-up mirror.  I thought the bump might be an allergic reaction to the seven year old MAC eyeshadow I'd been using, and using a lot of. I now go nearly goth when going to a party. Why not? Life is hell.  Anyway the growth was removed yesterday with a pair of scissors and now I have this small red dot that David says looks like a popped pimple.  The growth is at pathology. 

I am working on my anger issues.  

Ceremony fills the void.  

Speaking of ceremony, a lot of my old colleagues will be standing on it in NYC this coming week at AWP, the Writer's Conference of America. Some of them will be reading and presenting their work.  I wish them well.  I hope they all break legs.