gargantuan

unable to think unable 

to speak. mashed and bounced

precisely half ways across the earth

absorbed by some gargantuan feeling

you wrote poems unlike mine 

except they was true. watch 

over me and i over you

#katyamills

22.unknown

you cannot know them 

sealed inside an envelope they

will cut you like paper they

are shredded beyond repair

you wish you could reach them you

wish to have them for tea

locked inside a trauma they

will cut you by accident they

are secretive. precise with words

senseless must they be

alone

#katyamills

a.venue

fires surround this city 

at the cross of two rivers

in this belly

lives a fire

too

crossing of 

artery and vein

#katyamills

11 hearts

today we gave 11 

hearts away

to the fighters

and

a fake smile for the 

disbeliever

#katyamills

hunting dog

walked out a ways i 

discovered a lonesome hunter

lapping water ina clearing in

the forest

warm ashes still left

from the campfire

long floppy ears you 

spoke to me out of hurt pushed

your paws forward down

into the earth

i awoke to your cry

who left you and

why?

#katyamills

con.jure

the ghosts of poets

arise from the marshes they
trudge to their post

abandoned cabins moored to the foggy
coast

portraits peel off
the walls. unread books crestfallen
to the bare floor

how much life was lost

here? to honor the word

may i conjure you now
at your most glorious
to speak?

to help fight this

useless feeling

thank you and i mean you

© KatYa

i am nothing and though this belief
if announced to mom or dad or brother
or aunt or nephew or niece would
get a hurtful or dismissive response
i would imagine for i do not dare
tell them but

i am nothing and when i am nothing
and can feel all my atoms spacing
feel all the roominess in there and
wanna rent it out well

i am nothing what would i do with
money it just collects slowly in my
checking account which i do not
know exists until i swipe a card so
i can get something to eat or to read
or to feed my sprawling head

i am nothing again tonight and only
you only you only you may get it
when it leaves my lips and smile
and touch my clasped hands on the
table between us in the bar in the
library in between all the words we
dare to share

and smile and say
so what do you have for us today
Katya?

cavity

the past is plagued with
misunderstandings

(some poets)
i mean explorers

still wanna listen to you
shouting up from the
darkness

having found
it

fluoride and baking
soda does tar

save us from a family
to feed (the hungry dentist)

the cavities
still somewhere below
the crown

then how i tap upon
the mysterious
hollow

whats inside

let us rediscover!
the land of empty
self

Journal #04.22.15

I cannot stand the sand and how I sink, I have to think and quick or drink the gristly whole wheat farina. All the condiments in the world cannot sweeten the blackheart taste of life that chases me like a demon through both day and night. The way my mind goes wrong on me, envisioning the whole world a few thousand years from now forgetting all of us. We cannot hope to be remembered. So come the tears and sighs and vexations as I rage against my mind. I take an ink-drained ballpoint to the box in my living room. Fifty of my books ready to be signed and sent back out in four directions. Then I fall asleep and dream I am rescuing people from a plane crash. The plane has landed on its belly just outside my door, in a park. It is sitting there steaming, and me and about a half dozen witnesses go about cautiously approaching with the hopes to be helpful. Finally I am inside the plane where all is silent and everyone is alive and belted in and breathing. But all of them are in such a deep stage of shock, they neither move nor speak. I am told we must await the coming out of shock. And I awaken from my own long deep sleep and the creeping thought again of being ultimately forgotten comes pushing into my moment. And gets me to get up. Terror motivates. I confess I want to write a number of bestsellers to guarantee my place in the pantheon of beloved authors who will be remembered for a hundred years or more. From there I can go for half a millenium? I cannot seem to help myself with dead end thinking.

cats guard shipment of books

Ovid 43BC-17AD laughs in my face.
Stilpo 360-280BC spits coffee all over his shirt.
Archimedes 287-212BC high-fives Plutarch 45-120AD.
Thales 624-556BC gives me the most charitable smile.
Solon 6--? - 558BC holds a lottery for anyone who can guess his birthday.

I think I must go. Feed my cats
come out of shock and
forget myself.

fire

be careful
when
playing
with words

you
might
    hurt
  some
   one