all the soft sounds

cat tail swishes

electric lights fizzling out

morning dove

water rush behind the drywall pipes

moths wings

pilot ignition ticking

clocks

dawn holds all the soft sounds premature in its infinite silence

#katyamills

per.suas.ive

when

her lips parted to speak

radio waves flooded the room and

soaked the floral kitchen 

wallpapers

 

the brief winter daylight

lengthened several hours around

her persuasion

we all fell asleep

effortlessly

#katyamills

star lost in space

Vegas was nothing like advertised

a stitch in the fabric and rather small

like a star lost in space

the desert itself was bold

the canyons made the silence 

loud

#katyamills

made american

I was made American. One shoreline will never do, I need two. Life gets better with wind and rain and all the idol rock stars sucked into the muddy banks of sound.

sorry division

the old sound was nothing like the new sound, and the new sound nothing like that which would replace it, but when the music was at its level best, well, you could tell the old lived inside the new,  a candle cased in glass, where all the moths gathered, and world reflections wide came to a collective point, we became one again you and me, before the flame flickered and the wick succumbed, gave way to the sorry division.

real unreal by katya

the serum

there is a discordance
a shaking of foundations
if the color hits the litmus test

and meets other requirements 

unknown

the sound
a hollow tone

- excerpted from 

'Heart Holds A Vacancy' 

(KatYa, 2011)

some of the stuff i like about this life nonstop

The experience i have of living is so precious to me, from the moment I wake up and even while i sleep, and even when i feel controlled or having to wait in line somewhere, someone i might talk to can suddenly make me feel special, seen, even free! the moments i spit angrily upon the gray urban concrete overcast city even they may turn over in a flash when am i awash in spirit filled with color by a song from a window of a high rise, an automobile passing by, the blue notes warping orange and green and fuschia as we comes and go and the distance between us closes or grows... a street artist, a jump rope kid, a skater flipping the board under his feet upon a rail and sliding down in the balance... the bass on a hot summer day spills out a trunk in a traffic jam to meet the heat rising in oil and exhaust, or the decided will of nature pushing up out of a frost until the sprout cracks through somewhere, a sidewalk a tunnel, a floorboard, even through the eye socket of a skull or a broken shell, the inhabitant long since gone on... hell, it warms my heart! an otherwise cold unfeeling is replaced. Life is nonstop. How could I question my freedom after a sight like that?

the cadence is funny and tickles the mind

The cadence was artificially piped into the atmosphere via an alarm clock radio, summer night setting, based off a recording made back in the era when recordings where made on little brown tape, and before then on vinyl frisbee in tiny little grooves, and the cadence of genuine sounds artificially delivered did not succeed in curing my insomnia, rather chopped up my thoughts into small intervals between rubbed legs and wings in a forest I might never encounter in any other way. A young woman ten years my junior, meanwhile, had an analytical trap mind and would never understand my humor.

territory. uncharted

When all was silent in the night
angst took ill and died

the pulse declined to forty-two
i drew a line around my eye

All the soundless longing
 the palette of my mind supplied

No one knew just where I was
least of all did I

- KatYa

so shall it be

i love you more
i love you more

the words
opened windows
opened the
doors

i love you more
carried on across a breezeway
an old Portland
Oregon

musty Victorian
planted home in the rain
and damp

clouded like a broken
amp

being opened
to air out
all of a sudden

segue

french doors pulled apart
by old american arms
still strong from
a million and one
embraces

Florida room windows
pulled up from seated
faces

i love you more
whistles through the screens

our houses
our bodies

the cataracts slippin'
like contacts out
our eyes

i love you
more        2 see
i love you
      more        2 feel
i love you
more and more

and so
shall it
be

short wave breaks, new coke era - ii )

She was strange
with her transistor radio
melting into spaces
in a whirlwind
white noise
 purr

     a lightning rod
    a conduit
she was

selfless by design
addicted to flannel
IQ unknown. a prodigy on
piano

the sound
of sound colliding

what would we do?
death of the transistor radio
boo. hoo

she shook the radio gently
turned the dial shook the static
out her hair

for a moment was she
colloquially. informal
mad mixed with strange and static
electricity. far from normal

she arched her back
crossed her legs
envisioned whole
golden hard-boiled eggs
exploded to the
           to the
       to the

to the
   sound
of sound colliding

source energy fields
filled the gaps in her spine

death of the
transistor radio

short wave break beats
resonate through her
so slow you could catch it
if you just stood still. there
stood still. there
still. there

we would. there
we did. there

oceans of sound = places she reside
with flora and fauna
she washes in on the tide

she's strange
hard to get to know
you must rearrange
to attune with her
so go!

reconfigure your cortex
two firewalls down!
dive into her transistor
ocean of sound!

you may touch into her
if she looks to be found

often hiding in shade
with the lights drawn blue
where her heart and
her secrets lie in wait
for you

(just up the dial
from you know who)

guess what?
she is yours
the breath of god
out her pores
into yours

you are hers
she is yours
guess what?
i am yours

you are mine
i am hers
she is yours
all the hours
time is fine
you are mine
venus furs
world tours
you are mine
i am yours

praying to god on a curb

i must get up
pull this aching forty
and a single
year and a single
month and a couple rocky days
bashing my peace
of mind into jagged
images
      colors
         sounds
             feelings

shine, shine
into the madness of march!
then contract
into its ides

the idle of a two thousand model
corvette i can taste
the sound
yum

the american made
heartbeat
rumbles

all my infinite
imprint exhales into exhaust

skipping and scotch
hopping 2 well-won
thread bare
motor oil cycle of
give into
gravity

fuck my broken down
Volkswagen Gone
                   To
                  Indigo

i can taste her colors
turning chrome somewhere
blue

along with me
synchronized
behind my blue green
algae eyes

turning my wallet inside out
as i shell out atleast all
of my hard-earned money
waiting

stranded in Alameda
praying to god
on a curb

turning me around
myself until i
let go

talking up strangers
on a triple shot latte
experiential trip

unpack me
and fuck my
fear
  like so

coffeehouse puffs my sails
creams my soul
leaving memorable waves
comet tails

Trina she's a chemist
waiting 4 a bus
tells me where cortisol derives
tumbling naturopathic gymnastics
makes me smile
in an artifice of
world

then i expand again
in your expansiveness
engine rumbles and fires up

then i gotta go
contract for safety
with some devil preserving
lifeless serving
portioned out
cultural misfire

please will you cosign
my BS? anyone asks
be subservient to my march
madness? tags of hash

####no takers
##no fakers

we push out on guatemalan
fumes in hopeful
works of faith
you and me
god makes
three

do not dare resist
the persistent
nature

of you