50

50 states 150+ years 

free from ground war combat

in the gooey center of 

global decay

#katyamills

trouble

was my middle
name. i used to think you oughta

stir shit up. now i know

anarchy is over
rated

revolution will
occur naturally now and
then

do not provocate

just because you see a change

before it comes

be the change. educate

peace is a precious
metal

fabrique

in the street one day
 years after the war

a soundless middle ground
cast solid between them
 did resound

would we ever
refabricate and share our
common scars

or simply freeze
to death

sunday comes again

sunday comes again
in a cup of tea in a winter storm silently approaching

in red
in blue in white
world
at war

agents chew the thread
out like blistering metal music with teeth
and fuck up the spider web

how the world comes together
gathering all intel
2 penetrate islamic state

4 vengeance
4 the innocent dead
4 the bloodshed

sunday comes again
and i tell you it's out in the open

furious mad
it's terrible bad
gonna take lives 4 lives
without hesitation

refugee passports pulled
in the name of the innocent dead

hunting
for
the ones

i loved
you loved
we loved

sunday comes a deafening sound
 a bomb dropped off a drone
feeling kinda painful
alone

sunday comes again and god help us
raising our children
shelving our dreams

world peace is so much smaller than
this and some have gone away
never to return

sunday comes on fire
sunday comes with rain
sunday comes
sunday comes

again

atomically bombed

atomically bombed
Posted on October 21, 2014 by KatYa

Today i saw a man hold a cat in his arms, loving it like a child. Today i got so very tight in the chest that it hurt.An unfortunate dispute with a toxic young woman, whose touch like unconscious betrayal. Yet close to my years on this earth.

The warmth vibrating for almost hours, before the body, dehydrate. The cold-blooded toxicity poured freely into my vessel. I swear i tried to dam her! But unimpeded rhythms are to live by. And i need to know how you really feel.

And we could have been sisters.
And we could have been brothers.
Maybe, some day, we could have been lovers.

No use. All i could do was hold myself high and separate, in the end. For feeling all my feelings to the end. Even the most celebrated among us, shy away from great pain. I will be the conduit of all the worlds triumphs and tragedies.I will take it on and let it all go. I will be forced on my knees, to find some disparate peace.

We all earned our place on this pounded round earth. With our gods. We run around circles, figure eights. Atomically bombed.

immune

The attacking poison would pay dearly. 
She activated her immune response via
subtle movements, CNS defined. 

The battlefield she oversaw,
 expanded over time.

The poison wept in amber waves of  
venom tears, for hours (felt like years). 

For fallen was to be its fate. 
And stained, the back, with civil war. 
Her flesh inscribed and sore.

The platelet ranks advanced some more. 
Expounding all the while, the triumphant cries of war. 
She counted blood cells to her sleep, 
to battle, single file.

The morning came all fog and wet,
 in sheets white where she lay. 
She felt dissension in the ranks, 
cerebral moored in clay.

The immune victorious had taken ground,
 far beyond her reach. 
She could not stop the growing fervor
now burning up her breast. 
Far beyond good and evil, 
comme Nietzsche.

She wrapped her all in white flag sheets,
 to call off her directive.
In streaks red across the spine and limbs, 
her system, unselective. 

The overcompensate immune, 
in hanging heat of noon.

She had to rise above the madness, 
so summoned the divine.
Her salve was god, prayer and rest. 
And irrigation, calamine. 

the black flowers

About a month ago, I was riding my bike alongside the American River, looking for a place to stop and catch a breath. The mercury was in triple digit heat. I had been riding all day, and my ass was on fire. I found a spot to rest near the train tracks, north of Sacramento, and lay down my bike on a small embankment. The grass was lush green, and the wifi signal was strong and free.  I may as well have struck gold. I broke out my chromebook and started typing. Hallelujah.

In ten minutes time, I had found the zone.  That wonderful place where everything falls away including the mind, and the blessed divine channels right through me. I no longer cared that my ass was on fire. I was no longer distracted by pedestrians and cars. I forgot that I was thirsty. The sun, moon, stars, and sky all faded to black. I stopped worrying about the half-empty battery icon. I just sat there on that embankment, typing away.

Three black sprinklerheads rose out of the ground, almost to the second I fell into my zone. They were strategically placed around my bike, and the water shot out like liquid petals from black flowers. I was worried, but then smiled in a flash. Siddhartha could not have done better himself! The streams of water were washing my black chromoly frame in all the right places. And though my bike was beside me, the water was safely a half foot or more away. I settled back into my zone.

Five minutes passed and my spokes were glistening in the sun, baby! The wifi signal was busting out four bars or more. An invigorating signal. The sun was in the west, and my screen was well-situated facing the east. Glare-free. The conditions were optimal, and my zone was waxing something proper. God bless america.

That's when the black flowers subsided, back into the earth, beneath the lush green grasses around me. And all seemed well until four or more flowers rose up beside me and knocked me out the box. A vicious attack! I had to drop and roll to the right, to keep my chromebook from getting soaked. I was rattled. I lost my zone.

I stood up and looked all around me. I thought for sure somebody was remotely controlling these black flowers. It was close to April Fool's Day. Maybe some belated joke on me? Some city-payrolled slacker, with nothing better to do? But I could see no one. I had to sit my ass back down and try to get it back.

In five minutes time, the black flowers subsided. Clockwork. Not likely a plot against me. I glanced over to where they had been, irreverently, and caught a little rainbow in the air. Before the water fell out the sky. Then boom! A phalanx of flowers rose up and jacked me! Unbelievable. My keyboard got hit. My screen was shot up bad. All systems down, all systems, power down! I jumped to my feet and ran for safety. I wiped my baby down with the ends of my t-shirt, before I powered her back up.

I had to regroup. Not let it get to me. I situated myself in the demilitarized zone. On the sidewalk. The black flowers were ruthless. They popped up and sprayed me from the edge of the grass. I was stunned. I fell back into traffic. The horns sounded. Some bitch in a Charger sniped at me. Obviously she had never been up against the black flowers!

Clearly this was too good to be true. This oasis of internet and lush green grasses was a trap! The black flowers, they infiltrated the neutral area, shamelessly. I had to pack up and retreat. Then I looked back and saw my bike lying there. In the heart of the madness. I took a deep breath and charged in, the spray cutting across my ankles. I grabbed the bike by the horns and wheeled her about and out.

Soon the whole incident was behind me. It took me time before I could laugh about it. Atleast ten minutes. The shock wore off like lottery ticket scratchcover. My rims and spokes were shining beneath the weight of me, and I was back to cruising the riverside. My course was true as my wheels. Wind and steel and woman, united. Flawless!

And this, my carefully dried  and edited correspondence...from a post I once abandoned, water-logged. At the height of the mad rush of black flowers all around me. At the height of such madness I survived, one day, along the banks of the American River.