over 10 pins

clown shoes and warm booze 

song’s on repeat and fried food

♫ just a small town girl ♫

Photo by Carl.  Words by Fred.

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.

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.

Photo by Matthew.   Words by Andrew.

blishonesty

"I...I knew where I was going."

"Huh?"

"I just..I needed a reason to talk to you."

"I know."

"Huh?"

"We get off at the same stop."

Photo by Carl.  Words by Fred.  

Softness

In which way did I lose you?

The softness of my thoughts led to the lack of my presence.

Empty dinner conversation with only filled plates,

quiet chews and a sadness slipped into the corner of your eye.

I created the distance we feel.

The space between our bodies on this bed is full.

My mind so knotted, knowing not what to do.

Your body,

Your body tied,  

How can we face each other and have nothing to say?

My anger paces inside my heart walls,

the frustration of having to sit still in your silence,

knowing I brood and holding this quiet tightly.

It's not you, but the way I was built to need your look.

I cannot be rejected.

I cannot not need you.

I would recede any feeling,

dash my ego on the rocks,

and unclinch all words to float lightly on your approval again.

Come back to me, please.

I won't say a word

and I will

try try try

to understand more.

To speak slower.

To cure myself of all heat

and not bother your delicacy

with such abrupt wrestling.

The softness of your back is worth all being wrong.

A thousand times more I will be wrong

to find your neck and the front of you.

 Painting by Nadia.  Words by Jordan.

Puke & Beauty

I could talk about green puke today.  That would be easy.  There are a lot of green liquids floating in, through, and atop this city.  But I won't do that.  I won't ramble about all the drunks and the dye and the "Irish Pride"

.....

Instead I will simply sip my Jameson reminiscing about the summer that I ran the hills in County Donegal with my niece and nephew who understood what it was to celebrate Ireland.  I will toast to them and that moment in time and all the awe and magic of a beautiful country that I can only hope to visit again some day.

Photo by Amanda.  Words by Dustin.  

BLESS

your imperfections,

the berm of pink flesh

they once pulled an appendix through,

the 27 bones in your right hand

and the 27 bones in your left

come together flushing water

from creek—

praise your wild heart

loving what isn’t good for it,

sweet tooth, restless feet,

knees stained in grass and umber,

smell of pin oak, dandelion,

windows left open to rain—

I will sing glory

without good reason.

If there is no one else

I will sing glory

in empty streets, packed

bus stations

in factory towns,

hospital lobbies—

sing glory, glory, glory,

until the word is hot on every tongue.

Photo by Carl.  Words by Andrew.

Unique

You are one of a kind

I remember being told, as a kid, that I was special

Not everyone gets told that

                                      I am grateful

I wanted to see the world and make movies and fall in love.  I wanted to fight against racism and elitism and greed.  I wanted to live in an apartment with a brick wall and a wood floor and ride on trains.  I wanted to drink whiskey and go to the theater.  I wanted to explore and disappear into the night and write poetry.  I wanted to listen to good music.  To have true friends.  To pay attention to the sun sets and sun rises and the rain.  I wanted to jump.  Thank God for keeping me alive.  And jump again.  I wanted to run barefoot on hope and faith.

Maybe I didn't want all of these things at once, but at some point I wanted them.  At some point I put a foot in front of another and shifted my weight.  I fought and scrambled and... got out of bed!  I willed the world to accept me.  I thanked the people and the buildings and Chicago and my artist and if I haven't been thankful enough, I am sorry.


I am grateful.

Please know and remember that you are special 

      Not everyone gets told that 

                                                  You are one of a kind

Photo by Carl.  Words by Dustin

I didn't mean to look up your skirts

I didn't mean to look up your skirts

I simply wanted the sky
The sun
The bright day

What the hell were you two thinking
Running around on the glass

I saw what I saw
And I refuse to blame myself

Also
I made tomato soup and grilled cheese for lunch

It may be awkward now
But join me
If you like

Photo by Amanda.  Words by Dustin.

Man on the Couch

Man, I've read these same verses over and over.

Till the page turned grey

and all the words mushed together

and everything was holy or destroyed

or wrathful or righteous.

It all sounded the same.

And honestly, the life on this TV

is way more exciting than the one here in this body.

Potato me, Couch.

Keep me comforted, you piece of shit.

I need you now more than ever

because Im threatening to believe I could be more

than the fabric sewn to this body.

What if I became unlazy?

Oh shit,

What if I became uncomplaining?

What if I took ownership of the plans

I always wished I made,

the plans I always saw on this here TV

and knew was part of my future.

Or did I just see myself on this here couch

watching the same TV,

thinking,--those stories raise my blood and pound my heart.

Man, I wish it was me.

I wish it was me.

So, shit, back to the verses.

A man of the Wor(l)d .

A man of the TV.

Sit back and make the show.

Photo by Matthew.  Words by Jordan