a metaphor, mostly

being a parent
is pretty much like, "hey kid,
eat this thing i hate."

the merits of post math rock

this is how it happens
the same old familiar songs on the stereo
the tickticktick of the oven
and the gluggluglug of tequila
the purr of cards shuffling
and the flick of cards snapping onto the table
"you're waiting for one in particular, aren't you ?"

this is how we get old.

inflammation !

the worst part about

having iritis is you

can't wear an eye patch.

honestly, the whole 

eventual blindness thing 

sucks pretty bad, too.

an interesting drug

your head is nestled

in the crook created by

my elbow and breast.

we both sigh relief

as oxytocin seeps from

my brain to my heart,

bringing with it the

memories of you ripping

through me, bursting forth

in savage splendor;

a wide-eyed, magnificent

new force in this world.

oops.

i'm coming clean and
admitting that i had a
mother's day meltdown.

on aging

"I have 3 fake teeth."
"Mark my words : I'm going blind."
"Well, my bladder's shit."

when we play the game
"whose body's decaying fastest"
there is no winner.

in the shadow of a small tyrant

ice clatters glass in
melting cocktails that tip in
tired victory.

A.M. comedy

you took my picture
and then showed me right away
(bless technology).

I saw it and laughed
because I've aged a decade
in the past six months.

"Jesus, if I look
this bad NOW, what will I look
like in ten more years ?"

you narrow your eyes
and correctly estimate
"twenty-two and blond."

i'm a fucking genius, folks.

today's brilliant
idea : deciding to give
my dog a haircut.

her contribution :
walking through the little pile
of curls on the floor.

our dirty roommate

when you love a dog
it doesn't matter that their
breath smells like garbage

or they have cornflakes
coming out of their eyes or
dreads on their tuchus

a new mother cries at the drop of a hat

we watch each other
in the wavy mirror and
you see that i am

crying warm spring rain
tears and so you laugh and laugh
and then i laugh too.

our ritual

each morning we cut
perfectly cooked medium
boiled eggs into

quarters, sprinkle them
with coarse salt (sometimes pepper)
and eat them with toast.

the fly

you won't believe this,
but here goes : i'd been trying
to kill the fucker

for three days, at least.
his relentless buzzing left
me delirious

and had my cats on
sleepless high-alert. so,,,
he landed beside

the sink, on the rim
of a recently washed glass.
fucking brazen, right ?

"you fucking piece of
shit. you torture me for days
and now this ? marring

my stemware with your
fucking filthy feet ? are you
fucking kidding me ?"

i watched him clean his
mandibles with his legs, not
a care in the world.

what could i do ? i'd
been bested. it was time to
'let go, and let God.'

now for the fun part.
i came back to the kitchen
five minutes later,

and what do i find ?
a shiny green buoy in
my coffee. Amen !

as it is

you were in my dreams
before you came. to be clear,
it was a portrait,

not YOU in the flesh.
because in the dream, you were
grown and gone, and i

was old and lonely.
you sat, smiling that chipmunk
grin of yours, your cheeks

full, your hair a blend
of ash and umber. and your
eyes -- deep and dark, like

Flow Blue china plates.
what struck me, though, was your teeth.
tiny white chicles,

cutting through your gums.
such a detail is often
missed in my dreams, but

there they were, peaking
through that perfect smile, above
that morsel of chin.

and here they are now,
biting my finger, as you
squeal and kick your feet.

yay !

having one of those
days where everyone/thing
is pissing me off.

up

i watch him run cold
water over martini
glasses. "remember

when we used to store
them in the freezer ?" i said.
"... we were so fancy."

"yeah !" he replied as
he poured, "but you're forgetting
how many we broke."

bullshit pets

I'M JUST CURIOUS --
DOES ANYONE HAVE CATS THEY
ACTUALLY LIKE ?

time only moves forward.

our magical
angel from space was born five
months ago today.

just a thought

he says, "i'm so sick
of seeing fuckin tight pants";
i think maybe you

should put the 'fuckin'
before the 'pants' instead ? but,
i'm drunk so who knows.

mistakes were made.

donuts : the breakfast
you can taste all day. churros :
get ready to barf.

your one redeeming quality tonight

that tasty bit of
hairy sweetness that peeks out
from beneath your shirt

wax and wane

sequins stitched just
perfectly onto little
fingers that dig just

perfectly into
my skin. i clip and collect
them, marveling at

their tininess, shape,
and color -- crescent moons in
the palm of my hand

rattling around my brain tonight

a vague memory
of Mom bugging Dad about
staining the club house.

things i say all the time TO MY DOG

"NO." "DOWN." "OFF." "OWN BED."
"HOKIE POKIE." "ROLL OVER."
"OKAY, TAKE IT GIRL !"

things i like to talk about

dino-pets, rules, how
grades (and school in general)
are (is) shite, rum drinks,

tequila drinks, bills,
what's for dinner, dental work,
tricks i've taught my dog,

the harm principle,
bees, some kinds of math, and my
technophobia.

the jig is up.

you know that box of
50 banana popsicles
in the bulk freezer

aisle that makes you think
'who in the fuck buys this shit ?'
me. i buy that shit.

digits

it's other worldly.
skin so soft, it is not of
this Earth -- alien.

fingerprints so fine
they are velvet and alive
as they search my breast.

welcome, future.

talkin bout cruisin
sans seatbelt in a soft top
moon rover TONIGHT.

and she's smart to boot

have i ever told
you about my dog ? picture
a curly black deer

wearing a Guy Fawkes
mask, some jazzy leg warmers,
and an afro wig.

the plastic surgeon

and there was this time
when i leaked breast milk onto
a handsome doctor.

my sweaty hands, inept
with technology, texted
the only woman

who would understand.
"he probs liked it" she wrote back.
i think she was right.

no, i'm sorry.

and we fought about
fighting again. we used shit
logic and words like

"ALWAYS" and "NEVER"
and painted ourselves into
opposite corners

and crossed our arms
in a huff. we knew it was
farcical, and yet

we carried on for
well over an hour because
that's just how we do.

he's a real asshole, that cat.

so the black cat's on
hunger strike again; says he
doesn't like this new kind

of kibbles -- maybe
because they are triangles ?
the old ones were square.

he recognizes
shapes now, eh ? joke's on him 'cause
i don't give a shit.

mystery solved.

just bit my nail and
tasted a strange taste. kinda
medicinal, but

not at all minty.
foreign, pleasant. lanolin ? no.
a-ha ! it's perfume.

it's that moment when
your gums stop quivering at
my breast, and you thrust

yourself into a
perfect back bend, while kneading
my thigh with your toes.

baptism

tonight i'll tilt my
head back and let the liquor
wash away my sins.