equi.nox

they tamed the squares of grass

weed machines whipping tentacles 

the equinox spoke in shades of green

kid became a turtle. camouflaged

feigning a study of the phone

#katyamills

press mute

there's nothing like the sound

of early birds of spring 

you gotta mute the commercials

to really understand

#katyamills

march 29

we were young 

the wilderness was calling 

ice broke up on the river 

startling the eyes the stars 

the skies       

#katyamills

May 25

The daily life enhancement initiative was set into motion and sprung forward like a tiger, claws retracted for non-violent approach and soft padded manipulation of the microcosm, as opposed to the previous quarter century of claws out technique for random slashing of enemy throats. Said outdated technique had really done a number on the psychosocial sphere, as folks don't like to make friends with sharp claws and cannot see the kind eyes behind them looking softer and aiming to collaborate in a bold italicized continuum.

journal # 22 of april

the sunlight fell and we rose up
 to meet it everyone
 on the street

it burst into constellations
of broken glass
in the road

we stretched into lengths of newfound
lands verdant green were we

thin strips
followin the tracks
out to where grass prospered

here we forgot all those lives
in the newspapers they
stacked up against
 us

the rainy days
we missed them

yes

The quality of life changed, i could sleep at night and stay up all day. i found an exceptional colombian coffee which filled my thermos with a couple spoonfuls of brown sugar and cream, and lasted all day long. i was happily employed in the art of conversation, beneath the surface of dysfunctional meet and greets. spring was coming on strong and every other person with allergies. the cats found entertainment in the yards, after a long winter indoors. i replanted my plant and set it on the windowsill where it prospered. my boyfriend took me for pancakes early mornings, and then we hit the depot for large sacks of mulch, five for ten, and i helped him toss them into the bed of the truck. he took them to the Delta for the orchards.  -KatYa, 2017

journal. march seven

We hung on to the social medias lookin for compadres, someone who got us, who felt what we been through, so we could identify and reclaim our forgotten selves. our standard was downgraded to substandard. we were told our employ of social medias was a worthless trade and destined to further alienate us. why would we let them take us? why then let go, to fall on an easy clawed at chair of fake news? we held on tight, we lashed our wrists to the planks and spun around slow in electric current, just the same. we were hard-headed creatures not easily concussed. our hearts then soft, thawed into spring.

Journal # 05.11.16

I have been troubled. My mind looks at the walls and searches for symmetry. In the paintings and photographs. Everything is off and even the new front door they fit, is off white but I like it. Still my mind rummages around when there's central work to be done. My biggest responsibility may be to silence my mobile phone. Welcome to 2016. The little things. Seems I lost my state of mind to some sorta civil war with every other neuroblast taking sides. Divisive. I demand a united front. Summer is on the way and here's hoping we both get hot.

Sylvia Plath made a bath (a poem)

'Sylvia Plath made a bath'
by KatYa

yes i told a lie
when you wanted one
i told the truth
to no one
who was not
ready

no i do not know
are you ready
for it

oh sure it could be
controlling
ego

yes yes
the judgment

just slow down
oh you thought
i meant speed
up?

oh i forgive you
now disappear
(not forever)

time to breathe
time to formulate the
many ways i
miss you

they call me a dreamer
it is my reality
the nightmare of my
mentality

so i learned to dissolve the
ring around my heart
with heavy chemicals

sylvia plath
made a bath

once the tub
is clean the ring is
emerald green

just like the hills
at height of

spring

Journal # 04.02.15

The onus was on the wind to carry the dandelion seeds to the earth. The onus was on the rain to push the seeds into the soil. The onus was on the earth worms to stir the soil. The onus was on the nutrients in the soil to warm and hatch the dandelion out of its seed. The onus was on the dandelion to make its way to break into light. The onus was on the sun to give the little dandelion the strength to rise up and awaken into a new world.

The onus was on the man to feed his children. The onus was on the woman. The onus was on the town to provide something to do. The man was hired to wake up before dawn on sweltering summer days. He slammed his fist down on the alarm clock on the carpet under the couch. The television was local static. Not even the infomercials were up at this ungodly hour. The blanket had moth holes in it and had not done a good job keeping him warm. The eight bottles of Molson Golden made up the difference. He was still intoxicated. He broke out the Yuban and spilled it out onto the formica. Half of it landed in the coffee filter splayed out like a cotton bleached sunflower. He grabbed it up by its edges and tossed it into the coffee maker. The hard pharmaceutically enhanced, chlorinated tap water blasted into the pot so he almost dropped it into the basin. Seven of his beer bottles were in there. The other was on the coffee table by the couch, half full of warm beer.

Half a pot of coffee brought his buzz back. Worked nicely with the pastry against the lingering effect of alcohol. This would get him through half the morning okay. He fired up the mower then stepped aside for a moment. He took a shallow breath and lit a cigarrette. He looked out across the acre lot ahead of him. The damn thing was like a meadow of gold. Dandelions. Fucking dandelions. He couldn't wait to annihilate them all!

wild (a poem)

'wild'-- by KatYa
(image © words)


i tell you what
there will always be fresh lands
for us

see them out past the tears
past the years
recreate. old memory

the coffeehouse was
a fill-up station for
humans

i accelerated on out of there
and stopped only for
the child

looking
at me

i was a quick study
slowdown
i got down. low down

time disappeared
into a wrinkle in
the sky

i thanked the curious
eye

the little
one

i smiled not too wide
a little. one

to know it's
okay

how to?

mom today. dad today.
little brother on the way

i am emotional
too. i am a child
like you

you are
too

like a child
too

wild
too

me and
you

Journal # 03.31.15

I am happy to see some of the houses in my neighborhood are derelict. They have not been razed. They are accepted. If a community has no neglected homes, you can only imagine what it does to its people. My load of laundry is large and soft. It breaks against my hip. The strap is tight against my shoulder. The birds are rather excited about the Spring. The mercury climbs and the heat is so unlike the winter weather I have been accustomed to. The wooden planks that make the stairwell to my home are cranky. Shifty. They throw off their paint and nails. I look around me for signs of someone I do not need to see. They are nowhere to be seen. Not for some hours. I do not like having satellites. I prefer to be a singular planet, sometimes. Maybe with a dissolving ring. Or a solid one of ice that slices through space. But it seems I have no choice. Some will gravitate toward me. Will they wanna hurt me? Break through my atmosphere? I must not let paranoia rule the day. I wanna believe I attract things that wanna be near to me, maybe dear to me. But not offensive or harmful. Fact: I do not control the universe.

Journal. 'Planted'

Yes. Something is stirring! What? Do I too bud and blossom like the spring? Can this be? I went to shake a man's hand and left him holding flower petals. I left my home and a vine traced my path all the way to the store. I was hoping to buy a quart of milk, stick of butter, and something I forgot? Heavens! I walked out of there with only a twenty pound sack of planting soil and plant food. My vine got chopped off by the electric doors, and it HURT! My fingernail beds were turning green. When I reached the train tracks, still two blocks from home, I stopped dead in my tracks. OH THE SUN! Suddenly filling me with such passion I cannot describe! I turned my head and heart up to face it, and I swear my spine arched like a bow, against the pull! I became lighter. My eyes went blind in the looking! My pores opened and my skin turned to oil. My feet became locked to the earth to keep me from floating away. I could no longer see or hear. I could no longer move! I did not care. I stood there and the sack of soil rolled off my back and broke open at my roots, I mean feet? The plant food I had already digested walking home, I could not wait. Something was rising up my esophagus now, I know not what? I can feel what feels like leaves and things scratching and bending up through the passage. I try to speak but no words come out! Oh my god! What is happening? My thoughts are upon the feeling, only the feeling of warmth of the sun and a wish for rain. Please rain. Please rain. Please rain. OH THE SUN! Oh my god! I am breathing out but it's like the deepest inhalation. How, how, how? I inhaled the toxic shock of your world. It grumbles in my tummy. I give you a purer stream, OH! Is it me? Is it really me? I see you walking by, my friend, but you cannot see me. I try and wave but only rustle in your breeze. PLEASE! See me? I love you. I will always love you. You kick on by, all careless like, and I just watch but not with eyes... and wait, is there? Is there really? The way I know you now, verily so, my love, the way you know me so, my sweet, is by the shade I cast upon to cool your skin... the fresh delightful taste unseen...you drink my blood in air... my heart in misty kelly green i share... inhale me, love, and stay a while... you need not go so soon! Come rest by me, your giving tree, on this the day so fair, breeze lifting through your lightest hair. How wondrous! Shall I never leave this resting place... my home.

Journal .000696 rpms

Everything is lined up perfectly for our success. Yours. Mine. 
The horse is in the barn. The squirrels are in the trees. The mendicants on their knees. 

The world is rotating at .000696 rpms. 
The perfect exposure to the sun, for consciousness to bloom.
Warning to self. Do not let this day slip away! 
As the world turns, let the fat burn. 
Sizzle! 

Give it all away again. 

When the mind's exhaust casts its mist over you, obscuring the perception in pings of many deadly thoughts, be sure to stop where you are and challenge those thoughts. 

Who are you to be envious of another? 
Who are you to be full of anger?
Who are you to wish harm?
Who are you?

Those instincts which once kept us alive, will always haunt us. 
They were burned into our grooves. 

thought life possession montage

Think of what we could have!
he thought with his eraser
our blood all pooled together
finally!

erasing his sketch lead
with a frenzy
all touching!
leaving little bits
of processed rubber
in flecks on paper
reunification!
rubbed to death
finally!

there she goes
washing her hands again
the radio plays Coltrane quintet
someone on the pedal
brace upon the fret
air billowing cheeks
jazz circus
freaks

spring sun showers them like rain
summer fun they
disdain

sitting inside
needing to hide
lacking
needing to name
all alone together
having to judge
god forgotten
all processed out
like seven eleven sandwiches
mystery meat on rye

thinking all the while
are we dead
did we die?
then back to the sketch
back to the eraser the hand washing
routine on the edge of a
razor

thought progression
composed of thoughts
kitchen sink
porcelain
water marks

back to getting lead out
on paper
and thought life
possession

Trane on tenor sax
thought life
progression

back to being dead
under skin
composed of thoughts
only wax