clown shoes and warm booze
song’s on repeat and fried food
♫ just a small town girl ♫
Photo by Carl. Words by Fred.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
birth days and days we wait
birth days and days we wait
my mom was born once
a few years ago her daddy waited while her momma felt the pain-joy
of bringing her into the world
Washington DC
last night my sadie waited for a young lady to have a young lady
she held her hand
she was honest and fair and full of love
and then she told me about it
Chicago IL
birth days and days we wait
somewhere someone is pregnant
on a broken street in a broken house with numbers falling from the door
where they are free and broken and alive
there is so much beauty in it, birth
falling in love while orgasming and screaming and thrusting in pain-joy
life
becomes
starts
is
birth days and days we wait
that mother
on that street
in that house
with the numbers
broken
maybe we could hold her hand
Photo by Carl. Words by Dustin.
Monday, March 24, 2014
Rainbow's End Road
Today I
remember
our
home in the Sierras
and the
path we took
to breakfast
at the lodge.
Once,
at daybreak,
I found
your footsteps
in mud.
I traced your gait,
sinking
my boot in your boot
prints,
turning with you
onto
the meadow path.
Your
prints ended at you
kneeled
down, cradling
a
trembling Steller’s Jay
and
cursing the stray—
a
half-breed bobcat, we believed—
that
sat in the duff licking
her
paws. You offered me
the
creature in your palms.
Bird is all you said.
I want you
to describe
twitching
wings against fingers.
Or the stains
of earth you carried
on your
knees the rest of that day.
Or the
clouds of breath—mine,
yours,
the cat’s, even the jay’s,
shuttling
once more a pinch
of
oxygen into its lungs.
I want
you to tell stories
I already
know, slice
your
hand on a knife
in
dishwater, bring
flowerpots
of basil
in from
the rain.
We aren’t
going back
to that
house on Rainbow’s End.
The cat
is probably dead now,
the jay
under a foot of earth
exactly
as we left it.
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