true crime sediment

a new year

a deeper shade of blue overcomes the other colors

i fear the sediment damaged my

superlative sparkling 

outlook

i head to the lab 

with intention to forge 

a true crime 

filter

#katyamills

potion

dyscolored
in the foamy froth
so recently drained
boiled off

the scientists stand
fatigued
admiring

language lost
in a crowd of
the avowed

pressured by fronts and driven to tears

we are not so unlike clouds in the sky, are we, puffy and bleached turning gray, you can see through us and other times opaque we hide our secrets inside us, coming for us and striking through they do, yet still we remain intrinsically unscarred or untouched, reflecting it all sea to sea and the earth, where we travel we leave the residue our prints passing silently along, forensics loves a cloud, made of water and vapor we are and capable of many forms, evocative of endless feelingstates, containing our own electromagnetic storms we are carried by winds and made by trial and fire, under certain conditions we scatter and the streets become empty and clear like the sky, monotonous, monochromatic we are pressured by fronts and driven to tears

helicopters and obamaphones and you

Life can be pretty strange and you don't know what to make of it, so take it as it comes. Last night I went to bed in our beloved police state and woke up startled at 8pm as a helicopter was flying very low with loudspeakers and searching for a 'suspicious person' near eggplant alley. All the soft edges of the last polite evening have been pushed and shoved and formed into something bigger than the pushes and shoves. We are left this morning with a lot or enough or something more than nothing I guess. A thermos of coffee sweetened with cream and sugar... and I still don't know how things will work out between us, you and me, or if it will continue on and be space harboring satellite transmissions to obamaphones and tower drops. I remember when it was once chemistry. And then it was magic. That lasted quite a while but not long enough. Once you have magic you can get awfully upset when you lose magic. You want anyone who had anything to do with the magic to disappear, because they remind you of the magic you lost. And now I am left peaceful and guarded, cause if you come with your late afternoon talk show dsyfunction a-knockin on my door, I might just have to call the cops.

vasodilating in the heart of an era

Having dressed the walls and my wounds with classical music tonight, my thoughts now alight upon the exclusivity principle rooted to our being. The marrow starts to gel in the bones then vaporizes and shrieks out - a veritable night train whistle, forewarning us of the onslaught of the millenial generations. It's nobody's fault. Life just steams and marches on, stepping carelessly over the carcasses of the formerly treasured, the loved. Some of the more rock-like formations hold out a little longer. Consider the St. Petersburg Conservatory, one of only thousands of imperial-strength monuments in the world which could sing you impossible tales of a century ago, hemmed in at the waist by a sea of concrete.

'Highway#1. Bodega Bay by helicopter' - KatYa, 2016

One cannot have a delicate stomach for change. We must all harden our arteries to the passage of life, for it will divert its path from us and our microcosmic runs, either way; tastes will change, schools will shift, culture will replace itself, rejecting, celebrating, denying, judging, appreciating, dismissing, cherishing, banning, engorging, ridiculing, savoring along. I think the best you can do is love it while you last, participate in the push and pulls, and when your very own consigns you to your residue, the dripping-to-seal wax of human history, you take your place and hold there, never giving up, whilst the populace cartwheels over your back and pushes you deeper down by soft and sure palms, to the world beyond the light-wind-water-fire, into a quiet and dark place inhospitable to your past, where you may again flourish with a nitroglycerin glow, vasodilating in the belly of the heart of an era.

she whose temples were rubbed -vi) ... the final cut)

She was not homicidal, she whose temples were rubbed
Violence was in her nature and yours. Maybe some Aztec. Some worship the sun
Maybe conceived on Mexican soil with a gun

Her parents became decidedly pacifist in the wake of all the bloodsport they boasted, as documented in the ledgers. Nobody read the ledgers. Pacifist was an unconditionally accepted façade

She wanted to live, made that choice early on
This was well-documented. On the cloud
The virtual copy spoke volumes
Real loud

Probably around four or five years
Suicide was dystonic to her and distasteful
She was clear as her favorite drink: one part lemon, one part tonic
She held it to the light like a chemist

To prevent its being corrupted, she drank it quickly
She was hard to figure
Was her finger on the pulse?
Or was it a trigger?

She excited all the men, and half the women
And one third of the royal family
A high figure
Indeed

Strange, how the only one (unseen) in all whom exist
who shakes up their rocks with a twist of her wrist
recovers her balance despite leaning - en list

now give us. 
        give us. now
give us a kiss

When all her luck seemed away from her
our loveless child of gen eXxers
true marinated in grunge
wore cycling reflectors

She drew to her temples
(like the strike of a match)
a guardian to protect her

Who held her down in the chair
where she cursed and she howled
caressing the pulse of her dome
where calm was endowed

The healing was practiced
not random
she could give a damn
about facebook and fandom


Damn! our girl cried
young girl, leaving youth
massaged all the way
-- past gloss and glass
and glitz and glamour --
all the way to the truth
and thereby enamored

The thoughts that once clamored
and crowdsurfed her brow
excised at the temples
the fingertips ploughed

The flying cuts flew
unlocking the locks
all the cuts
from her temples
right down to her socks

A wave of great and invigorate feeling
 this young girl, leaving youth
-once damning found expression-
self-resolved as they say

fresh love welled up
self-propelled
by the way         -- fin