Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Semper Fi

"Is there any such thing as too fresh? I know something can be too rare or underdone. But no one ever says, "This salad is too fresh." Do you know what I mean?" asked Natalie.

"I was at an audition once and I overhead the casting director say some chick was too fresh. So yeah I do think there's such a thing. Are you coming along for the ride or what?" Paul looked askance at her.

"Am I fresh?"

"Yes Natalie."

"Are you annoyed at me?"

"Why would I be annoyed?"

"You're just acting like you are."

"I'm actually in a good mood. Why are you having a hard day and you want to take it out on me?"

"No. You seem like something's wrong."

"Now something is wrong because you keep asking me. Please shut up."

"Shut up? You told me to shut up? Do you have any idea how offensive that is?"

"See I knew you wanted to start something. I'm not in the mood."

"Um, hello, YOU told me to shut up."

"Shut up."

"Oh my God, who are you? I don't even know you."

"Shut up."

"I'm seriously leaving if you say that again and I won't be back."

"Shut up."

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

The answer is//

The answer is//

He's a runner of stairs
He's a buyer of merchandise
He's a collector
He's a poet

Low tones register

At least I’m not ignorant and ungrateful
He’s dignified and it shows, you’ll be treated with dignity too
The elements he’s mastered extend to the people he meets
If you take the gifts for granted you’ll feel the burn

The all-seeing-eye
The core of it’s bright, not dead at all
The goal is the ultimate
We don’t stop and we don’t stop

Deep blue depth that is you, once I mistook you for blackness
Hollow me out and come inside to rest
The golden rice I borrowed bought me two times the white rise
To borrow you I’ve got to get a contract

There’s this guy who might want a contract with me, but no marriage
When I was missed the most was when the moon eclipsed
Or is it that when the moon eclipsed - I appeared more brightly - and you missed me
Or was it the moon wasn’t eclipsed at all it was on vacation?

Polished Rose Quartz

If I were going to make a prediction: I would say:
The next president will be Republican.
He will be a maverick.
He will have an attitude and style that people are shocked by
He’ll take away our freedom of choice.

The next president is going to smash outdated precepts
He’s entrenched in the entertainment industry
He’s been through more than you can imagine
He was homeless for a while
When I met him he told me he would be the next president and I believed him

The science of prayer, like the mind of a demon
“Let it develop” 
“It needs development”
By the light of the dark dark mmmmooooon

It was thoughtless of her to deny the crude and banal notice

It was his eyes that were warm like a tanned woman’s back

It was the cross they bore together that made it ok

It was the demon king’s alibi

It was the saint’s way of saying - “Pardon me.”

Give me the name of one person you will never see again

Borrow me for a while, but return me in one piece

I lamented the woods

The dry tinder sparked into a million colors

Grow branches before me

Hide the invisible one in your best location

The one you never promised to forget

He told me to tell you to be aware of him

In so many words

The namaste inside you

The green embroidery covered the table like a cloak of moss

My antennae is short

Your arms are long and keep you still - in one location

We’re all spread out, hiding in our caves, waiting for you


Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Xerox It

Xerox It

The reason why Marc couldn't get the song out of his head was the lyric: When I'm without you I'm cold inside, borrow me again tomorrow. That combined with the hook:
I'm in love, but when I'm jealous my eyes turn green
I'm in love, but when I'm jealous my eyes turn green.

The tempo was fast enough it got him spinning. Spinning in a good way. And he lost himself for a minute, he moved so fast, so far away. But then he came back again and looked at the report in front of him.

The reports were coming in. A white female in her thirties saw a black Beemer with tinted windows cruising down the street real slow. She was taking video and she caught his tags. Later that night an Asian man in his fifties who was raking his lawn saw a man jump out of the moving car.

Ten minutes later the car was found abandoned in the middle of a crosswalk on 28th St. It was equipped with illegal self driving equipment and it was mounted with cameras giving a steady feed of 360 degree footage.

One of the parts that concerned him was that the woman who turned in the footage was actually a well known civilian in the department. Apparently she kept dying and coming back to life. And lately the heat had been on her. The surveillance pictures were stacking up, stacks of HD cards. So it seemed odd that she just happened to have that footage. The truth was that he also wanted a piece of her. And this was his opportunity. He decided he would inject himself into the situation a little further.

He called round and asked to speak to Heather McMillan. Could he have an interview with her? Today would be best. Yes, the local bakery on Pearl, the Greek one. He wanted to talk to her over baklava and hot sweet coffee. He wanted to see what it looked like when she ate. He wanted to coolly watch all her mannerisms. He wanted to find her tells. He wanted in.

He spent the rest of his day honing his routine. He needed to be prepared for this. He needed to be on his game. Better, harder, faster, stronger. He looked in the mirror and studied himself. He worked out on his home equipment and really took it to the next level. He admired his flexed arm, his flat sculpted hairless stomach, his jawline. He was always considered handsome in a very classical way. He had the square jaw and the even proportions of a movie star, except with the caveat of not having been overexposed. Yeah Brad Pitt was hot, but he wasn't a fresh face. And he wasn't Clint Eastwood. His jaw wasn't overly prominent, it was just cut, so he wasn't in any danger of having a double chin. This was important to him as he viewed people with double chins as inferior and he was used to relying on his good lucks to dominate women. He would make subtle criticisms to his dates about "watching your waistline" and "oh it looks like you've been too busy to work out." Then later he would drop hints that he could make things go a lot easier for them. The kind of ideas he had weren't calculated, they stemmed from larger issues in his life. He didn't set out to make promises he couldn't keep, but then again he didn't view them as promises, just previews of what could be in store for a lucky lady in the future.

It wasn't like he was promising them lear jets and horses in Aspen. It wasn't like he bragged about himself to anyone who would listen, maybe to turn them off actually. It wasn't like he had anything to hide. The skeletons in his closet had been swept up recently and discarded. He was given a new shot at life by the department. The department was his life. He loved it. There were people who were there who wanted to get away and he viewed them as traitors. He and his group of friends regularly hazed newcomers and they had been there ten years. The people who do the hazing are considered assets to the dept. Some of them are better at it than others. Sometimes the hazing is essentially torture for psychopaths and sociopaths to feed off of. The department is filled with sociopaths. The psychopaths are limited to two floors, because no one can stand them. He was considered a shoe-in, a rising star, a sure thing. He was powerful. Women did whatever he wanted and let him do whatever he wanted. Men aspired to be him. Everything had gone right. There was no abuse in his family. He was stable, he had a IQ of 190, he was in perfect physical condition, even slightly underweight, and his teeth were white and pleasantly shaped and his breath was fresh. So when he promised new women a hand up, he meant they could ride his coattails, because it made him feel good. He was a star, but he loved em and left em. No attachments right now in his career at the dept. They told him, programmed him, taught him who he was and who he needed to be. His TV stations were limited to eleven and each one was wired to program him for a different thing. He knew about it, but he didn't understand it and he was programmed not to anyway.

It was kind of sad actually. There was a hole in his heart and it hurt. He kept trying to fill the hole, but the scar tissue made it tight and constricted. He thought if he only matched up and was successful enough...if he could catch some kidnappers and save a little girl with blonde hair and find his wife and have his kids...then he would be okay. What about right now? He asked himself in an uncharacteristic stab at the heart of it. Was he okay now? No! And he wanted people to take care of him and coddle him, because it wasn't ok. And people did that and while they were at it they took chunks of him with them. They were like wraiths coming down and sucking off his life force, because he was weak and he wasn't okay despite every effort and every convenience. So it was with this desperate energy and a high sex drive that he arrived down the block from the "bakery." He actually thought this place was stupid and now that he was thinking about it baklava was fattening and he didn't want to look like a pig to Heather. He almost forgot about Heather, because he was so busy thinking about his bright future, but the mic in his ear came on. "She's walking up now. South side of the street."

"I've got a line of sight."

"Good luck man, we'll be here with you through it."

"Ten four."

The thing is when he saw her something took over. He knew he was right about this. This felt right. She looked a little like a modern Barbie doll. God he wished her hair was longer. It was so short! It made him feel weird. It was brown. The truth was he liked brunettes better than blondes. For him blondes were bimbos, well maybe not natural blondes, but those were hard to come by. He never liked red heads. He always felt he would fall in love with a woman with long straight brown hair like Demi Moore. Oh and she would have big tits. And she was smart and could help him. And she could give him what he needed to feel emotionally supported, physically met, and mentally challenged. But the woman standing in front of him inside the glass smudged doors wasn't that woman. Heather was the one that got away. But it wasn't over and he was going to get her. He was.

When he opened the door he saw her watching him in the mirror in front of her. Right he had thought that since her back was facing him he could get in closer, surprising her, pushing her off kilter. But he did the same thing all the time. He stared at any reflective surface instead of looking directly at things. Well when he was working, but who was he kidding, he was doing that all the time. At the dept. there was never a day off. Not at the level he was on.


She turned around and looked at him for a moment as if this was the beginning of her profile on him. He knew this was the face she would remember when he was old. And it was because of this face that she would make some last few moves before retiring on his behalf. But the look she cast on him was calm and even a bit cold. She wasn't a psychopath, but he had been warned about her. He had to be very careful with her because the goal wasn't to blow her cover, but after so many years they had to get closer to her. God after what happened a few days ago with her he felt protective. He heard that she made a bold move while she was in a veritable spotlight of scrutiny and no one knew if she knew they were watching. It seemed like she might know, but they all told themselves they were being silly.


"How are you?" Already he felt stupid. He said it in an overly friendly tone like a stranger with candy he thought. And he immediately regretted it and started obsessing about how much he hated child molesters. Then he tried not to think about that and casually looked at the menu. No espresso machine?

"Do you really want to stay here?" she asked. She looked dubious.

And then he felt relief and he didn't know where it came from. But he was looking at her face and it was like it was radiating light. And he noticed she smelled good and her face was nice looking and her lips were full like a doll's, and her shirt was tight and she looked strong. And then she did the strangest thing. She quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him outside like she was saving him.

"Let's go for a walk."

Outside cold air brought his senses back, but not completely, because she had touched him. And something happened, there was familiarity between them now and so quickly that he was caught off guard. He wanted to touch her again. They walked up the street.

In his earpiece he heard, "What are you guys doing?"

"Heather, I have no idea."


"I have no idea what we're doing."

"Do you always have to have a plan?" She put him on the spot.

He pulled back. But then he saw her legs in those tight pants and he couldn't be mad at her, actually now that he noticed she looked upset.

He turned the attention back to her. "Are you sure you're okay?" He was doing what the people in the dept. did to him. And he knew for a fact she wasn't ok. So he did it a little viciously. If she wanted to play with the big boys she was going to get it just like everyone else. No special passes little missy. He wanted to be cruel, because he felt intimidated by her, but then he remembered how she died. Hm, he thought, I should definitely take the soft approach with her.

And for a minute they walked silently while she tried not to cry. He witnessed her win that battle, but the reality was that he had actually won, because if he ever saw her break down and truly cry she would be in his soft spot. Also because he needed to cry too and he wouldn't have to if she did it when things got tense. He realized he was thinking about her with an intensity that wasn't warranted by how well he knew her. And when she cried he would feel okay and in charge. Because they all knew how delicate she really was. Her mental health was very unstable. Yes, he thought he could help her. His mission changed from help himself to help her.

Then he realized it was happening too fast. What was this?

"Heather do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"That's why I'm here isn't it?"

"That footage you turned in. Do you know why we're looking for the car? Did anyone tell you?" That wasn't what he thought he was going to ask.

"No, they found me off the traffic camera. Can you tell me why they wanted my footage and called me in when they have cameras up everywhere anyway?"

He had thought about that. He knew it was just a ruse to interview her. Maybe. Actually he hated to admit it, but he didn't know what was going on anymore. A long time ago he thought he used to know. Not anymore. Oh well. C'est la vie. Quick sendoff. "The team that analyzed the footage thought your angle on the car might reveal something better than what we had."

She put her sunglasses on and grabbed his arm again and pointed across the street at some graffiti. Again he felt like he was dragged into her world when she touched him. She was warm.

All his prepared questions dropped away. He was brought back to the fact that they were undoubtably being viewed at the office on a big screen. A lot of people were watching them and he briefly felt overwhelmed by the pressure to perform.

"What were you filming when you caught the car on camera?"

"I was filming the traffic."

He was caught off guard by her honesty. "Why were you filming the traffic?"

"I don't know."

"Ok. Did you see anything that might help us?"

"Nothing that you don't already know. The car caught my attention because it was going so slow."

"If you don't mind me long have you lived here?"

"Long enough to be a local now. Plus I grew up in Colorado."

"Fair enough."

Then she looked at him in the eyes, his brown eyes, and she said, "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?"

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you more." And she smiled sweetly at him.

"Are you saying goodbye to me?"

"I have some more stuff to do today and I'm sure you want to get on with your interviews."

He frowned, but quickly covered it. She was still there, but he could feel her moving away. He felt like he had lost her again. It made him mad. He wanted to hold her as improbable as that was.

"Yeah I guess I should get back to the office."

"Have a nice day." She quickly took his hand and squeezed it. She smiled and then she rushed off down the sidewalk.

He stood there in shock. It was as though the meeting had never taken place already - as heavily documented as it was. His mind felt like it was getting a sweeping with a broom.

"Well, I guess that's it folks."

"Ok come back to the van, we have to ask you some questions..."

"I think it'll be more natural if I take my car. You have to remember how many randoms there are following people around." He said. He called the shots not them. They needed to know their place. When he got back in his car he popped a couple Xanax and chugged a bottled water. He had something for everything. But the meeting felt like it went wrong and it was an anti-climax.  Heather was there one minute, gone the next. He remembered a moment when he was talking to her and he caught a young guy on a skateboard looking at her. He wanted to see her again, but he wasn't sure if he could make it happen. That's what he realistically thought, it was too risky.

While he waited for the Xanax to kick in he turned on NPR and listened to Lakshmi Singh talk about the middle east. Forget it. He was going to treat himself to some steak and pomme frites and a glass of red wine at that restaurant down the street that had organic meat. Usually he would have called one of his stand by women, but this time he went alone. He was being watched by both teams. His own team and the "other" team. But it might have been his lucky day that he didn't go back to the van and that he didn't just drive home.

"You have never once given me what I want." He heard the voice of his ex girlfriend. His first long term girlfriend. It was one of those moments that haunted him. He felt like after a certain age some people just give up and start nodding and agreeing to everything, and then doing whatever they please. It was true if he had nodded and agreed with her she would've been docile in a moment. Handling. Handling.

He ordered a Scotch. He took another Xanax. He looked up and saw a beautiful Asian woman looking at him. A Japanese woman. He looked her in the eyes and nodded ever so slightly in approval. People in the restaurant took notice of him. He felt they were in agreement that he was a powerful successful man with no identity crises.

The meeting with Heather drifted into the background. He pulled out his phone and drew up a list of photos. Here she was dragging a recycling bin with an earflap hat on. Here she was standing in the wind at a crosswalk. Here she was standing next to a homeless man. Standing, walking, running, but not sitting all that often. At least publicly. He wanted to be here with her. Watching her. He wanted to watch her in person. The video kept getting corrupted anyway. If he could watch her maybe he could unlock the mystery. He was feeling all gooey when he left and crossed to his car. He really shouldn't have been driving but he did anyway. He did it occasionally. Point A to Point B. He got in his car and bent down to adjust the floor mat when a car cruised by. A Datson. He straightened up and took off. The guy in the Datson smiled and spun around to follow Marc. Marc's fogged mind kept him from looking in his rear view. He blissfully drove home with the red car close behind.

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

semper eadem

semper eadem
pauci minor differentiae
plerumque eodem
amor in calore ad finem frigidissmus ducet
probatur iniuria


It happens all the time
     our cells signal each other

Saturday, August 1, 2015

Free Fall

I saw her fall in a free fall
She landed on a ledge
There is more distance to fall
I am scared for her
But I know she will be okay
I see so many wonderful experiences in her future
More than she even imagines and she's amazing
I someone, a father, who protected the seed with hard armor so it could survive
He catapulted it away from him so he could watch it grow
It did, into a tall tall flower
The stem is so long it exceeds expectations in the final affair
This is not me
I grow underground now, because I'm roots
I will never have a stem like a wine glass
I grow in silence and bright lights
I grow in crowds and back alleyways
How do you grow?

In the free fall
We can either open or close
Did you open or close?
I don't know
I'm talking to you from the other side
The other side of what?
I don't know
I'm somewhere small forever, inside myself
I'm confined by strict laws and limitations
I'm a preserved species of the fourth kind
Welcome to Noah's arc
I won't say anything people.
Under the sea they open vessels and fill them with artifacts
They're working together
The Panterra and the Scion
It's a beautiful thing to see
I'm in love, I go in love, and I leave in love

Thursday, July 16, 2015

The Road to Nowhere

"This is the road to nowhere my dear."
Once I went down the wrong road and I kept going.
The wrong road is always open in my mind.
I can climb those prickly slopes.

"But this is the road to nowhere."
When I look outside I can see where I need to go.
But I don't want to travel in one dimension.
I swear I can do it again, I can overcome myself again.

"This road leads nowhere."
At least if I go nowhere there is less confusion and mixed up ingredients.
The ingredients are mostly people.
On the road to nowhere I will find my heart.

"You are traveling a road to nowhere."
I am walking as quickly as I can to go nowhere and I'm exhausted.
I don't want to rest or sleep because I might never get there.
I can't close my eyes, because "they" will overtake me.

"The road is going nowhere."
I haven't uncovered the truth how can I stop?
On the road to nowhere I find myself wretched and discouraged.
But on the road to nowhere I know I am at home.

"This is the road to nowhere."
I miss my friends! I miss my mom!
I only find myself on the road to somewhere.
I don't care about nowhere.

"The road is going nowhere."
How can I be going nowhere?
Am I no one?
No one going nowhere.

"Your road is nowhere."
I am going nowhere no matter where I go.
I am no longer in charge or someone who needs to be someone.
I can be no one who is on the road to nowhere.

Friday, July 10, 2015

Hot Violet Light

I haven't been taken...yet...and I never hide
I've been shown corridors to unsteady, unsafe places and my blind spots hit me in the side
But I shook my head and covered my eyes when I deemed it right
I stood up and I walked away into the hot violet light

Instead of drowning the way I felt I could, my lungs filled with sweet salt water
And I bought a small shirt for my future daughter
I've seen her in the pet store and heard her laugh
At some preposterous, silly gaff

I don't know if I will marry, or later if it will break me down
I do feel the edge of sanity sharp across my tongue and thick about my gown
To be young and running, fleet and fair
I came across this expanse wanting pure, fresh air

My skull is hardening as I age
I peel back another sticky page
If I falter it's because I know the stakes
And if I pause it doesn't always mean I put on the brakes

I'm squandering the time I have to tell you what I do
I make sinister thoughts passages to higher ladders to you
I break what isn't broken if it has a sick seed inside
And I make myself a token of love and lousy lust beyond the divide

Grope me up and feel my pain
Cut me down and it will rain
Hold me under the soft summer sun
Because when I run I run and run

I drink alien tonic the color of reptilian blood
I curse the lies I see seeping like a flood
I wander inside of myself and when I step outside I find the counterpart I won
I am early, I am late, I am the precursor to your pun

If the radical elements combined at once
I will jump to attention just like a dunce
If I released the burden too soon I felt it fall back on my joints, my tender swollen reddish points
To be given the chance again and again and to find it barely, hardly anoints

Is like the bread I found in the pan
The bread that was given to me by a clever man
Sop the dark oil up
And push it into the soft pink warm cup

Standard greeting for him or her
Engineered brilliance for the gold one to confer
Lines crossing my heart on the electric current
The shocking truth is one deterrent

In the hot violent violet light
The realizations come fully formed and bright
Toady recognition in full flight
I lost once but now I'm too tight

To be confused is obstreperous and feels banal
But in that mix there's a mighty mighty howl
If I ponder the words too much I might falter
If I break I could permanently wear a halter

Tomorrow he will know something he thought he knew today
But today there was no way, there was no way
Once he knows what I think I know now
He will turn in a circle and gently sit down and bow

The only reason I was saved tonight from another kick in the face
Was I reclined and I stuttered in the dynamic race
However you watch me like a man with no dice
My mother worries I've given without getting the rice

In truth the worship I experienced from you was so steadfast and hard
That I have certainty in my heart, though not on my lips, of that card
If I ever squander you please let me go
You deserve what you came for, you deserve to loudly crow

I see the tall man who makes it look so easy, but I know it's not
I think he's looking for a friend to make his mate but that's not what he got
He can have it for sure and I think he's treading the path in the right direction
I'm not making vague references to myself, to make a correction

I have never dreamed much of getting married for life
I have only gone from one point to the next like I might get cut by a knife
Your amber eyes are spies to me
And in the end I will finally flee

The only opening where the purple agenda is true
Is not with the one I could ever outdo
I'm wrapped in Indian braided hair
And I only compare to the vast wide open tear

Please bring me a tonic made of rose petals and water
Wash me in salts and anoint me in oils when I grow hotter
But leave me in fabric burnished with quicksilver
A pill in my reach, an arrow in my quiver

Friday, July 3, 2015

tacked to the wall

he wrapped the silver cord around my wrists and ankles, and then nailed me to the wall - brass tacks
the wall inside a box - his collection
I became so small, and yet for him it meant so much more
than when I was walking around in real life

he never said he wanted me for his collection, but I knew it
someone with dark eyes warned me that if I gave in to him I would become an old maid
someone else warned me that he was a psycho - a freak
they told me these things in double entendre, but I didn't listen

for a person who can suck you dry he sure does it with finesse and it is - enjoyable in all the right places ~
but as for the warnings...
I knew anyone could warn me the same of those two

in fact if I am any observer of real life I will become old - I will age - I will gray - but maybe not wither
I always pictured myself growing old in France
reclaiming our family chateau and living with a medium-sized dog - a dog the color of baked clay

and some day I'll look back, no, I won't
I was going to say I would look back on this day and remember my shirt
of all the details to remember it's a shirt and the fact that people like to mountain bike here
I won't look back on this day

I'll just remember what it felt like to be tacked onto a wall
I thought I was trying to photograph myself with butterflies
but I was the one being photographed
he liked the purple color of my sordid lips

I know how to be contemptible
I used to crush people with my vanity - sometimes
now I'm just viewing it all from my wall
another man once threatened to hang me by the skin of my back - that's what I heard

I need nectar to live off of and I can't procure it myself
he feeds me from a dropper
only the best poison - succulent flowers
to be a perfume - I must be a perfume

the only way I have now is to be young and breathless and kind and quiet
to be sweet and soft and pliant
the only way I have now is to stay in one place and not break away
because I cannot - I could not - I would not

if I cry he gets mad
it makes him feel helpless and he would bring the whole world to my wall so I could see it again
so if I shed even one tear it should be against every bone in my body
my bones are ivory trespasses

it feels like sugary frosting on my tongue to be finally helpless but safe
and it feels like forever - a forever place
it feels like an Alice moment that's frozen - freeze frame
he scrolls down the list - there are more compartments to fill

Saturday, June 20, 2015

"Green Maples" by Anna Contessa edited by Mike Boylan

Writer Michael Boylan asked me if I would mind him editing one of my poems. Curious, I agreed. It is a short poem called "Green Maples." Here are the results.

Boylan's edit:

The definitive stamps in the treetops.
Stamps like handprints across the sky.
Summer is the season of brilliant green tempests.
Tempestuous in its smooth, silken shudders.
Moss and mushrooms relish the cool space.
Where bare feet touch forgiving earth.
Tiny creatures and wisps of tree's seeds.
Explore the vacant, still sky in this eternal shade.
I long to lay down below and slumber.
Rather than wilt outside of the protection.
In the safety I could bask unasked.

Growing together like old friends.

The original:

The definitive stamps in the treetops.
Stamps like handprints across the sky.
Summer is the season of brilliant green tempests.
Tempestuous in its smooth, silken shudders.
I long to lay down below and slumber, rather than wilt outside of the protection.
In the safety I could bask unasked.

Growing together like old friends.

So I like what Boylan did. He fleshed the short poem out and I think it's an improvement. Thank you so much Mike!

Mike Boylan is a yoga teacher who lives in Boulder, CO.


It's when you no longer have what you had.
It's when your life is robbed of the cherished.
Desertion is like the desert.
How can I walk in this barren landscape?
When I am confronted by friends I soon find that they are all the same.

My friends are working for the enemy.
Any friend I have is there on purpose.
Or rather, the great actors of the world are found in common people.
So, I am glad that I never trusted a soul.
But what happens when the selfish takes you.

I am selfish, I am irresponsible, I am a disaster.
Your desertion makes sense entirely.
What doesn't make sense is the betrayal of the wise.
I would think that smart people would remain true.
Matter of fact, we have all betrayed.

I keep telling myself that there is a reason for everything that happens.
And then I suffer and try to let go.
If the price I paid for what I got was low, then so was the result.
Life is about showing results, being successful, a great person.
I must have paid a low price, because I am classified by society as worthless.

I have been denied and discredited at every turn by everyone I know.
I am the ultimate outcast, because it's not allowed.
I feel I can't think what I think, I feel I cannot move.
No matter which way I turn it is the wrong way.
Or are the obstruction.

I am glad that you're going.
And I can be free.
I am glad that you're flying into the ether without me.
You once said that I shouldn't get involved, because it was too much.
That was the guidance I should have taken.

It's a misfortune that you are lost in your darkness and obsession.
If I was ever obsessed with you it's over.
And I was never obsessed the way you are.
Am I really your worst enemy?
Or are you afraid that I will ruin the life that you created just as I ruin material things?

It's not a light matter.
And I die every day.
With nothing to show.
Yet I don't blame you, because I know, I know.
I was the one, I took the bait.

I imagine you planning even my birth and waiting to meet me.
Your creation, because you are my God?
Then why do you want to destroy me?
God doesn't want that and sometimes neither do you.
Despite what I'm thinking people are warning me from L.A.

I only came back because you were in pain.
Now I am the one that's hurting and it's all the same.
I'm down and you're up.
I'm your slave and you are the Master.
Because you've worked so much harder and have more years under your belt.

I forgot that women should always be treated as chattel.
I misremember so many things.
I seem so subservient and willing.
Do you know what I am thinking?
I wouldn't tell you even if you asked.

My friends are all compromised and my family too.
But more and more people know that it's true.
There is something at work here, that much is clear.
I am unworthy, I am undear.
Victory is inevitable with this amount of fear.

If I become a victor I will be locked down first.
I won't have a place to hide or stray.
I will be released into the world, but I'll never be myself again.
Because I once was untamable and I once was free.
If I wanted to be .001% of the population would you let me be?

The exception to the rule is often misjudged.
And I am sick and tired of the impossible tasks.
There are certain things that no one can accomplish and I am not ready.
No money involved, except for the miser...hoarding away and punishing for fun.
Please go ahead and retaliate I am done.

Your emissaries who spy all look alike.
And it's obvious who's setting me up.
Setting me up and putting me down.
Keep her weak, let her drown.
Supposing I don't really care?

I do what I do because I can.
It's not that great an effort.
The hard part was watching my people all turn.
Paranoid that's me and I am the best.
The best at playing the part of the fool.

Or perhaps they are only doing what you want them to for my sake.
Because you wouldn't care about them without me.
And am I that alluring, am I that enticing?
I have had my share of rejection.
Anyone who has been rejected a bunch knows how that feels.

I let you in closer and if I behave you act nice.
But when you conquer me you turn on a whim.
You go to so much trouble, it's trouble for him.
And if I am an inconvenience then why keep having me back?
Am I forcing you in a direction that you'd rather not take?

I fear that I am making you into someone you hate.
You loved yourself when you were the best at being the worst.
Even in the beginning you knew that you would end up working for me.
That was the price and that is the choice.
Either you let me go, your addiction, or you become the second in command.

Because people don't listen to you the way that I do.
And they don't try to mend you.
Because you are so cruel.
Why would anyone want to fix someone so unkind?
That's what I get: the worse it is the less help and attention.

Unless you're valuable, have information, and wow the crowd with your looks.
Even the checkers at the supermarket know my name and I have never met them before.
Is it credit to you that I am treated like a treasure.
Maybe you made me that way, but you treat me like trash.
Wait a minute, you have always abused me.

You have always hurt me in a way that I can't even fathom.
Your deeds and your actions are beyond the conceivable.
And yet you tell me to write like a middle class American chick writing some book.
I have the guts to challenge you next door.
That's what you like and you always wanted more.

We challenged and challenged and rose to great heights.
But there's nothing to show, because neither of us will sell out.
I would rather die then give them my soul.
You said it was yours, but you are so wrong.
My soul is with God and you are his mechanism.

Does it hurt you to know that you are only acting on behalf of the population?
It's called The Purge and you are going strong.
But I smell it on you and sense it in your sinew.
I know when you've done it and I can't bear the weight on my chest.
You don't seem to mind if I separate myself, because in the end you do care for me.

You always tried to warn me and to let me get away.
But it never happened.
Despite the warnings and the concern you took what you wanted and the rest will burn.
If I hear sirens now I know they are not coming for me.
Although at a restaurant I once heard a man say, "Oh, she's here, better call 911"

That's because I bring calamity in my wake.
Although it's slowed down.
Because the older you get the less you are inclined.
And your friends call you pussy whipped, because they know you're weak and it's their time to climb.
I have no choice I will sit and watch you go down.

Because despite all your bullshit, without me I know you are going down.
I did my work while everyone criticized my decisions.
I worked harder than anyone I know.
But I never got any credit and no one will ever know.
When I get my accolades my work will be easy.

I won't have to play 10 different parts at once.
I won't have to save people.
I won't be the last choice anymore.
It is reversing as we speak.
I am in front and you are the only one who can keep.

Keep on protecting the one that you sought.
Keep on promoting the one that you've got.
Because in the end you are loyal, hardworking, and fast.
If I am an actress then I am not last.
You are no demon, although I try to paint you that way.

It's just the energy you bring back, because you're doing the dirt.
I am the clean one, the way you wanted me to be.
I am alone and yet I am free.
Remember the statue in the court that no one could defile?
It was priceless, invaluable, but surrounded by fear.

No one came close, because they knew what was near.
If I am the statue and you are my guard, then won't you always resent me for making you take on that task.
That's why you'll leave me when I am no longer the stunning one that I am.
And finally in my heart I give you permission, because I understand.
Just remember that throughout my middle and late years I will always worship you and wonder where you are.

I don't believe that you can die.
I think you're immutable, from another place.
One where the laws that govern our world don't exist.
And somehow I have been privileged with a glimpse into that space.
Please remember me not as the disaster, but rather as the one that was worthy of love.

If anyone has ever told you that you don't know what love is (and I suspect that they have) just know that they're blind and I'm sorry I won't sing that song.
I was once a person who stopped by snowy woods, but I did not want hours, hours to sleep.
I am drowning in this pressure, I am drowning in this flux.
Yet I am never allowed to give up.

I was told I am completely not self sufficient.
I don't wonder why.
If you were thwarted at every turn you might stop being so callous.
Should I thwart you more?
It seems like that's what you're asking for.

I know I can't do that so instead I take what I get.
And it's mostly all controlled, it's mostly filled with regret.
Every time you face me and I'm gone you're happy.
It's because secretly you hate me, because you don't like anyone to win.
And we both know I was smarter, although you may be steps ahead.

You are steps ahead because you're older, but closer to death.
And despite all the difference you will die first.
And your legacy will be silent.
You who don't exist.
That's the contradiction.

Let me spell it out in a delusional way.
I will be famous and you will be you.
You are the nobody and you knew it all this time.
Because you can't seek recognition for your career.
Perhaps you'll be jealous of me and mine, but in the end you'll covet it.

If I mock you it's only because you're so arrogant and unkind.
It's not about me ever, it's always about you.
And you only realize it afterwards so maybe I am a day ahead of you.
Plus, let me tell you I don't believe shit that you say.
Your schemes are just schemes and it's a stupid way to play.

If I was dumber, then you would have finished me.
Because that's what you do when no one stops you.
In truth you are searching for someone who can make you quit.
Because you're sick of the unclean feeling and the showers you take to wash it away.
You're bored with the stupidity and the lack of concern.

It's hard to be concerned when shock is in place.
It happens so fast that I can't do a thing.
I wouldn't anyway, because I took the brunt.
I took the beating and I've taken it for far too long.
If I am not moving up, then I am definitely gone.

And by gone I don't mean that I'll fly to an island.
Instead I will turn and lower my standards.
Something I never wanted to do.
But you are so happy when I mentioned lowering myself.
Because all this time I have remained barely compromised.

Nothing would suit you better than to see me go down.
Then you would feel comfortable and sickened in a way that makes you feel good.
Then you could dismiss me and continue in your way set in concrete.
That's what many older people do.
They forget how to bend and to change and to fly.

There are others who shift and they know it's okay.
Change is not the enemy, but past conceptions are.
Tomorrow don't expect me to act the same way.
I know what you know and I would not have it any other way
You may think that when you mock me and berate me to my face that I am submissive.

What you don't know is that you are acting selfish and your plans are unkind.
I am living for the moment, because I know what's ahead.
It's not what you're telling me and it's not what you even think.
As much as you would like to you don't know everything.
I know I don't either, but I can see what's happening.

If you really move into that dirty, crappy space it will be the shock of my life.
And more and more people are realizing how many times I got it right.
When I was the only one who thought what I thought it was easy to control.
But a large number of people who tend to agree may make you change your position.
You are always begrudging except when I'm weak.

You'll love me for different reasons when I am no longer obscured.
But you'll never love me more than you love yourself.
In the end you are not co-dependent, you are the ultimate narcissist.
People are warning me (yes I repeat it again) that L.A. is unsafe for me or for them.
There is potentially no where I could ever hide.

I am monitored straight from the inside.
If my heart stops beating people will know.
And what I don't remember is something I would rather not know.
So, if you've been on the receiving end of one of my tirades count yourself lucky.
By the way, he hates women a lot, I mean the man I thought was good to them.

How can I say this in a cryptic way?
He hates women, he wants to see them down...six feet underground.
But when they survive, even with wounds, he has a newfound appreciation, and may even protect what he once wanted to destroy, because he sees the life force and that's what he needs.
If you were inundated by death and it spread like a virus wouldn't you test and cling to the ones who can overpower death, put their head to a gun and walk away clean?
If I worked for the CIA I wouldn't have to kill, because I am not generous and there is nothing that I can give.

Oh, lost one writing in the night, why don't you sleep?
I will be sleeping soon enough.
And I am leaving tomorrow.
I will go somewhere else since I cause you so much sorrow.
And then you can experience what I have been protecting you from.

You are not as unspoiled as you think you are.
And when you get what's coming based on your plan.
I guarantee you it won't be what you thought.
Either that or it was all bullshit, but I kind of think not.
This time I won't be back, because I can't take the abuse.

I am not coming back again.
You took advantage of me and made me feel that it was you who was wronged.
Manipulation and deceit aways go wrong.
I've covered all my bases and fair is fair.
Either you let me go or I get what I deserve.

I know there are stipulations and time issues here.
But the longer you wait the more that I accomplish.
I am not rushing you, go ahead and take your time.
Honestly I feel aggressive, I am not fine.
You might wonder why I feel this way.

It's been 8 years and I still have to play.
When I quit it's not over, when I fight it's a war.
I do not want you to know that I don't believe what you say.
My comprehension is good and I know what you play.
You're so angry and dangerous and cruel.

I try to see the best in you, but you make me feel like a fool.
That's not all there is, but from my side it's skewed.
Should I have left you alone?
I showered love on you, because I thought it was the only way I could survive.
And in the end it changed something in your essence, but the rest is still there.

So, am I willing to accept this minor shift.
I say you're in charge, but I don't think it's true.
I know how long I have been dictating you.
I know you better than you think I do.
You're more obvious than you thought.

It's not taunting.
Or maybe it is, because I am on fire.
From all you did.
It wasn't exactly your place since you were a stranger.
But you saw something you liked, by chance.

If you look at who's more powerful-then decide-where you got your money and your wealth.
Who led you to the power and the intelligence and the stealth?
The old man who takes out the trash is not concerned with me, but with the only person left who may protect him as he enters the pit.
I am not stupid enough to think he was there to see me through those miles. 
I know you were in trouble, but even when I came you acted the same.

If I ever wanted to die I think you might want to die more.
But you haven't been able to find the right one.
The one to outwit you and make you really run.
It seems that things are changing, because I am linked to that person.
That's what you wanted, that's what you got.

That sounds like a strange story your confidantes say to you.
That doesn't sound right, that doesn't sound true.
It's exactly how you thought it would be.
It's similar to you and how you operate at any given time.
That's why you think your rival might be similar to yourself

In the end none of these words matter.
Some people say that writing is like magic, it has power.
Writing is nothing but organized letters that dictate your thought process.
Interpreted by you however you read them from your perspective.
What I mean is not entirely lost on an intuitive audience.

But I've been told by an expert that my simple, nostalgic work is the best.
How about the advanced, complicated, nuanced, highly charged writing?
Is that too modern and extreme for you?
Why don't you read "Maker" again or another poem I wrote about missing someone I love.
The tenacity to write poetry that is not iambic or considered "typical" poetry is a little too far in the future for some people.

The people or individuals who break new ground are always lost on a wide audience. 
A few people discover that something new is happening, something cutting edge and they start to become fixated on it.
They have to have their fix every day and when there is no material or material that is disappointing to them they lose interest
If the artists or writers are popular everyone jumps on the boat, and if the work is good people keep riding it.
There is an instinct in humanity that tells us when to listen and when to distract.

You know when you're talking about something fervently and it means a lot to you, and then the person listening does something like realize they suddenly have to water a plant or order another shot of Patron which interrupts your intense flow of passion?
That is an example of what I call "cutting off."
It's existential.
It's the person stopping you from unleashing - or garnering the attention for themselves.
You are not able to stop someone from stopping you unless you are rude and just continue to speak through the other person's interruption.

As a woman it is suggested that I sit back and let the men handle the majority of everything. Especially since I am exceptionally beautiful (this works to my disadvantage).
I have no money and I can't even get a job cleaning houses, because people look at me and assume that I am in a different position. Although I do find myself cleaning frequently...for free...for food and water.
It's so hard being beautiful! (since I might need to clarify this is my sense of humor)
Actually it could be, because beautiful people with no depth of experience with deep pain and suffering are treated like paper dolls.

I have been treated like a doll and it almost broke me, because I was so dismayed.
I would sacrifice my looks anytime to get into a good strategic position.
I shaved my head and not like Spears, I shaved it because I was playing with the boys.
When a woman has game like a man, but is clearly not a lesbian, interesting things happen.
I am being taught how to act like a proper achievable female.

Cause how do you catch a woman who knows how to play a man's game and yet retains the innocence of a child?
How do you fight someone who is not afraid of being raped?
The fear of rape drives many people.
I have the mental ability to mind-fuck any rapist.
You have to decide is it an emotional, mental, or physical battle?

In the physical realm the big guys obviously have the upper hand, but on the other hand disabling someone could be as easy as a quick injection with the right animal tranquilizer.
If I worked for the CIA they would never even tell me.
Later they would analyze the remnants that I left behind.
A scrap of paper "He is here."
No one can follow what I do, because they are too far behind.

I am not saying I worked with the FBI or CIA, because if I did I would be more robotic and never be able to write like this.
I got out of that opportunity by misbehaving.
Once I thought that was what I wanted, to be covert, but then I realized that they are an organization (both of them) that is underfunded because all the money is going to foreign affairs since we're trying to build bridges to save our country from the greed and waste that the Bush administration exemplified.
Obama is playing a dangerous game.
And he's hitching rides in the trunks of "safe" cars. Do you really think that all those police processions are safe? There are officers who would like to see him dead. If the odds are against him he's better off in the trunk of my Honda.

Now that I'm in the hands of someone special that doesn't mean I can relax.
I met a musician that I used to know tonight, but he wasn't the man I remembered.


To be Continued...

Thursday, February 26, 2015

L'Étoile du Nord

À rôder autour Lac de Pose
Où les chats sont
Voir les arbres de peuplier faux-tremble
Secour et quake

La cascade qui riante
Villes en métal
Planchers de Pierre
Diversité liée par l’égalité

Fournisseur officiel de l’art
Le chemin de la lumière
Bordée de pratique et de la foi

Entouré d’eau bleu clair

Anna Contessa

Saturday, February 21, 2015

Respect the Lines

As I begin to understand respect...
Correct that: I am bringing my attention back to being respectful
As each circumstance arises, again and again
If you would like to question me...

Because you took offense
Probably to something I said to you
I apologize for being straightforward
Which is different than being disrespectful

Perhaps I should stop myself from saying what I really think
But all of you will try to get it out of me anyway
In fact you press me harder when I dance
So your wounded pride at my honesty is not disrespect on my part

I won't get into the intricacies of respect
There are lines that can be crossed
If I cross a line I don't have clearance to cross...
There are consequences

Only the worst masochist crosses banned lines over and over
There are warnings in place for a reason
To heed them is to survive
I crissed and crossed those lines for quite some time and lessons rained on me

Today I heard the road is slick and sad
Oh a short trip down to the corner store
No! It's bad, it's really bad
The risks are there, steer clear, steer clear

Saturday, February 7, 2015


I ran out without lines
I knew it was actually important
Unlike the regular posturing
I went without a smile
My teeth were hidden

I saw it
It is the source
Of information
It tells me what to do
It is holding deep suffering

I don't care what you do
But I am helping it
Until I die
It is safe inside me
The great suffering

Come back I am not the same
And imprinted in my mind
Is the moment I actually saw it
I traveled quickly, for such a short time
I feel deeply honored

I got a life in this deal
The amount of work is nothing
Compared to the ancient tenderness
Of this entity
And I am prostrate

Such a gift
I will call you Mir
And together we will run
And to not have known about you
Was such a lonely curse

In every moment of suffering
I am with you
In every defect I am golden
Remember the lineage he had
Of dark haired women?

You can take me away every day
Take me away to the place I saw
Have me there and really see me
I offer myself to thee
I can meet you halfway

Inside my rhymes
I also heard from Delaware
He tested the frequency
I did not enjoy his commentary
The bad advice has a lot of usefulness

> Into clarity >
And out of rebellion
They want me to say things
I don't want to say
They want me to do what I don't desire

All I ever wanted
All I ever brought
Everything but The Long Way Down
Marrow in the bone
How strange is the show?

In your eyes I see me
Mir come and rest
With me you can relax
When you need to trigger me go ahead
You won me and I am your servant

I devised a plan that's bound to work
The organization was done in a coma
A living coma
The more sense you onlookers make of me
The more disorganization you can expect

I lost a feeling
Until I lost them all
And Mir came to see
Unbreakable bring me sawdust
So I cannot hide

Insignificant - is ok
Underestimated is where I thrive
Raw and dangerous crying
Dear God where have you gone?
I will be dressed like Mir

It's possible to be unrecognizable
To be drained to one last drop
To be under the stars and Mars
Yes to only one
And I don't know

Friday, February 6, 2015

Obsessions Become a Job

To be frank...
I am not pointing a finger at anyone.
I am warning people who don't know...
I can easily point the finger at myself.

I do not feel like I always want to talk
All about myself
I have observations about other people
Which may not always be right

But I watch everyone even when I am...
Not looking in their eyes.
Or looking at their physical form.
I am bragging, but I keep track of people...

But this is not about me
People begin to understand how deeply...
I can see inside of souls
And I am a spotlight they want to go away

This is not about me
To the point...
Some of you are lightly picking up heavy obsessions

They look so small...even cute maybe...
And you may even find yourselves reorganizing your life around them
and hardly noticing

At a certain point it isn't fun
At another point you may realize you are only having fun
because you are traumatized

Because if you really look at what you are doing that is so fun
and you still have some sanity
you will see how far out you are and I am

And when you find yourself doing these things again and again
you will slowly realize it was a trap
and here no one has rights to leave

I am not setting you up
other people have been using me
for their devices for years and years and years

So if you met me this summer
you are out of your depth
and I am not taunting you
with excommunication

If you see me coming

Friday, January 30, 2015

Sparkle Me

Glossy, shiny, brilliant lacquer
Black, bold, stained like ink
Smooth alabaster, live like a statue
Blue, brown, green, hazel, gray, violet

Smooth, golden, brown, black or white
Crisp cuts of fabric
Balance on toes, strut
Blank canvas; your thoughts extraneous

Glitter, translucent, dynamic soul
Reminders of class, status, acts
Calm, cool, low whisper
Disembark for stages

Replace a theory of otherness
With momentum and collide
Aeronaut of the skies
He flies, she flies, he flies

Triangle power - risky business
Quadrangle - dealings how human
Sexuality soaring
This is how we survive

A conquest with a different person each time
Never the same woman
Draw me back and I'll turn myself into Saturn
The night is a good time to cry.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

"The Soul's Bright Home" available on Amazon sometime next year...

On 1/19/15 I received an email from Melanie M. Eyth asking me for confirmation that she could publish a poem I submitted to her last year. My poem 'forget me not' will be published in a compilation called "The Soul's Bright Home" next year (it will be available on Amazon for about $10).

Melanie also published my poem 'love left' on her blog:

I would like to thank her for her inspiration. There are a lot of amazing poems on her website. Check it out if you get a chance.



Thursday, January 15, 2015

In Another Word For Blue

The day went away
I was sure it wouldn't come back
I make the time lying awake
To think about tomorrow
Last night I got two names
Both are different men
One outpaced me
The other is sorry

But you, you always surprise me
With your audacity and the confidence
Of a thousand men
You order me around
And I act like I enjoy it
Sometimes I do
You haven't changed
Enigma that you are

Makes me sure I'll go far
There are so many amazing people
In my life
I have some rotten hatred
For Cleopatra the star
I need to pull it out and place it somewhere
I have help
I should just be relieved I made the cut

I jumped over a vast ravine
From the inferno, to purgatorio
And here I am in a strange place
Between two worlds
And I can walk back and forth
With the right people
I don't know where I'm going
But I can never go back

Lucky for me you went first
Like the man you are
You wouldn't tell me to do
Anything I really shouldn't
Or anything you wouldn't do yourself
If you were me and I will be you
There is really nothing we can't do
But you know that's true

And I know you're out there
Working with silent determination
I am a replication
There is unbounded joy
Ancient colors
Boldness in another word for blue...luz...

Saturday, January 10, 2015

When you asked me to please leave
I felt like a part of me died
I had to pull myself away
And not to understand at all
I don't understand my life

When I set my good intentions
I feel like life immediately checks me
Can confusion vibrate to the bone?
My amelioration is so total
I do not know where I begin

I know my past, but don't dare to repeat it
I feel a deep pain mixed in with my love
There's a part of me begging to go
And there's a part of me that has no hope
And anger and disappointment and fear

And maybe I am right about a few things
And dust deflowers me
And people hate me for existing
And they are enraged I can die
And I do not love all of that

In fact on the surface of my face
There is a calm which doesn't exist inside
To pour the poison out I have to be alone
To take the poison in I need only breath
I thought someone said war

As an artist I use war for ugly creations
And as long as I have hands I will write
Even without instruments I can mark
My mind with thought
Etched into one of my fixations

And to all of you who lived with me
It was always I who lived with you
And I remember the totality
And the lack of hesitation
And to stare as the castles fall

I have holes in my back
What kind of material am I made of?
I heard Lady Gaga is made of plastic.
I have ideas
People don't like

This was going to be about my hatred inside
Actually it was going to be about desolation Angels
If I come willingly may I be guaranteed last place?

Friday, January 9, 2015


The cortex is thin
The cortex splits
The cortex is like a ligature
Around my neck

Or a cortex spirals
Or it looks like DNA
Or a cortex is tightening
Up inside my belly

I'm involved with a debate
You can see me out there
In the great beyond
Beyond my short blonde hair

I was sure I would be dead by now
Sometimes I wonder if I am -
Am I a ghost writing?
Or a cat come to play

It's my cerebral cortex
I was avoiding it
Whatever that means
I thought I knew something.

To write something evocative
I become overwhelmed
My body fills with intense emotion
And I am filled with fear.

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Art Form #127643.01

started drawing or painting and with each mistake try to make it into something. Mostly abstract with cartoonish aspects. Color

Thursday, January 1, 2015

2 RiverView

Radiation sickness
the hurt swells red in a ball of fire around my cranium
my tongue thickens and i expect
black tar to seep out through my taste buds
I grow hot, cold, hot, cold
flames freeze me and I wonder