been so long

oh the dawn when all thats wrong

in the world made right

the light come even into the sky

i could stay with you here for ever

and ever. been so long since it rained i

think im gonna cry  #katyamills

stranger than the dawn

off beat
cold and warming

raining upside down

sets the day
in silence

there is nothing
stranger
than
the dawn

dawn came

when dawn came I got myself up and hit the street. you know you're blessed when all what's inside you -- all your thoughts and feelings stirred together into a psychosocial paste -- has the same consistency as a cool and placid sunday morning, touched by sound and light

all in all

all in all
tinge of darkness under
 the eyes
lips the color
of dawn
smile the shade of
sunrise

journal # 08.31.16

all i got this morning is a lot
all i got this morning is enough
all the soft edges of society dissolve like stitches

'precious dawn' by k

the last polite evening has come and gone
august given away by september
fade to dawn

'see' by k

sun.15

 

Released from her obligation
the sun sank into the ocean and slept
until the dawn

k by k. 2016

Process #

What with the predawn birds and Claude Debussy this morning after a vibrant night of dreaming, I am overcome with a fullness of spirit. The milk. The coffee. I was beginning to think I would never finish writing this novella. Oh! The simple wonders of the world. How things may change in an instant!

the child

O wide awake in America, big sky highway hollowing out the ears predawn, cut me like a cookie and may i taste good too, share myself with you and you and you, sweet sugar has me processed in dreams and tumbled out a foamy bed into my own personal despair, sliding down the inner sanctuary of a question mark to collect and drop whole you made of me, sweet sugary period, plastic in my blood, pharmaceuticals in my water, disaster strikes and i lick my lips like you and smile, but no one smiles like we do, upside down or kinda flat, tethered to the mobile phones we kill by our deep sleep, counting ringtones like sheep, shearing and swiping the hell out of an alphabet, on a jazz or classical base as the temperature begins to rise with the sun, another day washing dishes and dusting and cutting boxes the perfect size to ship my ass away to some infernal packaging depot to be fitted with my personal bar code, my very own, which is linear and bold, impervious to black mould, scanned or so I'm told, taped then situated in some draughty unremarkable corner in the cellar of a warehouse to grow old. All i know is no one can erase me even if they try, I am forever etched into your hard drive, America, no matter how the cleaners cleanse, efforts to coat me over bleach me out only leave my prominent lines bubbling up from the cracks and surfacing again with all the gasses, grilling the faces of the masses ordering me around, yet still i stay aloft in my dissociated safe place way up high, finding me in a cut up creatively commoned place looking down, streaming on your horizon, only the light protects us now in our projections. Back out where I belong, some ionic bond, trashing your paint job with my spraypainted flare, exposing your destination to the going nowhere, breaking out the bars when i decode the code, fingering you with my fingerprint, America, until you see your own stars and go black and white again, from Birmingham to Ferguson, up the checker board and Martin Luther King you at the end, redoubled on a chance, green felt absorbs your glance in a healthy tribal casino where all the bad blood is blue, you see, the karmic knot we work it out, massage it real well, strike it with needles until you finally falter, sweet vulnerable America shedding your suit, crying and opening like that before the seamstress. And my lines are out of order, spinning into circular pools fallen stars, and the many shades of blue wash over me and you, when the world forgives and finds a place in the heart for a renewable source, because somehow you were always meant to be pleasant on the eyes, America, and generous though talkative and combative perhaps, you wear out your welcome in a superfluous way, and everyone has a good laugh and pats you on the head, for you are the child and loved just the same. Back to bed now with prayers, and we will see you in the morning, the rubbing of eyes, tumbling down stairs in your nightgown, little one, big sky highway musculature, heavy with some imagined purpose, dreams of carbon and oxygen and coffee churning blue to black in post industrial aftermath, shining oily head to toe, shedding another skin, inspiring us with your renewals. I will be there, my love, somewhere in the corners of your eyes, sucking on Maybelline, about to exit the glistening curve and drop unseen into your wilderness... where i have always belonged.

Journal # 06.15.15

House in Locke

Had some nightmares last night. This is not unusual. I woke up spellbound and made some coffee from scratch for me and a friend. Poured the steaming black brew into some paper cups I saved from the cafe, and outside we walk into the dawn. Same old ragtag crew at the location, a place we go for meditation. Monday feels fresh, especially when you don't have to go to work in the morning. I have had my share of stressful monday mornings commuting to work. Not anymore. Today is my day off. I have the chance to feel my medication while in meditation, and then I read a book.

I don't know why but it happens. The mind makes stuff up and convinces me. Not always. If my mind turns the sky dark and rains fire, I break out my fireproof catsuit. I borrowed it from the spy who loves me. This morning I left it at home. I saw some ember specking the eyes of someone who doesn't care for me. But the fire was on its way out, dying. There's not much to hate about me anymore. My pride got levelled a long time ago. My ego is mostly in check. Life is not so friendly anymore. But it is worth every second breathing. I can float up out of my body and use my spirit as the hammer. Blow the mind up by golden rose in the center of my gray matter. Then approach the day lightly, like my good friend awash with kindness.

get in line

The morning arrived with birds and doors closing in front of people with their dogs and the sound of keys falling into cotton pockets. Out on the streets the recyclers were busy recycling. News choppers churned through the air. Ambulances on their way to the people who could not wake up. I was doing dishes, and watched through my window as another girl made her way out on to the opposing apartment landing, and down the flight of stairs which led to his bedroom. A brunette this time.

These young girls, most of them had a night with him I am sure. Particularly the ones who lit cigarrettes immediately on touching open air. Good for them. This is what it means in the USA these days, to be an empowered woman. You get to get in line!

Journal # 02.25.15

Wednesday. Local sunrise and the global warming. Generic black tea. Thoughts of you hold me together.

I will not see you today. I will not touch you. I will only know you by the blue predawn, you cast upon my blood.

the czech (a poem)

'The Czech'
dedicated to Daniela


She held the whole scene
in macro
nested
in her chopped
disenfranchised
hair

She held the energetics
In a moving
fashionable
current
rush

By land
air
 sea
   dream
      scape

original
choppy
draft copy


the lens
through which she
saw was
the lens
through which we all
saw was
rose

in spring
in fall
in summer
in winter
bloom

a slight
tinge of
homage to
tributary from
homeland

which called
and called
and called
and dialed up
incense

hot
hot
choppy
heat

There she was
cross-legged
in the foreground
my friend
the Czech

Choppy Dialect
wraps of scarves
continuity of thought
provoking
action

There she was
my friend
the Czech
dispossessed
brilliant
provocative

Having traveled so very far
her heart
wrapped in silks
placed
non-chalantly
in my lucky
lost
life

She loved to dance
she could recite a mantra
She enjoyed a vodka
and maybe a smoke

or two
or three
or ten
thousand
never enough

She traveled by Jeep
through tunnels
through lucid dreams

When we got together
when she arrived
i felt the reunification
every time
with all my heart
what was left of it

She would
humbly disown
generously loan
whatever she had
if she could
and did

Still I could never
get enough
of her


We traveled by Jeep
when we could
the fabric
our friendship
around us

And the light
many a dark night
collected around her
and sustained us

The light
what was left of it
collected around us
sustained us
until dawn

the light
collected
sustained
the fabric
my friend
myself
And
threaded
the dawn

-by Katya 09/13