JOURNAL # 05.31.15

corvette summer by Katya

Thoughts passed and flashed like headlights in the night. Searching. Remembering how it was when we were a little younger and times a little bit brighter, or so it seems. Someone was always killing a pack of Menthols a day and didn't care. Someone might have words with you. The colors of the cars will never look that way again, those lead paint jobs are gone forever. Someone really cared and they still do now... only we won't let them act out on it the same way. You could get sued if you try to help. These things are hard to talk about. The way we get to show we care. Hey, isn't it the last day of May? Let's go have coffee and make it up as we go. Paint the town in some of those beautiful old dangerous colors.

your words. my words. our words

So far away we wrote
to one another
you and me so far away

rolling vowels like thunder
off our foamy bows
we crest the whipping seas
of language

we give a try
giving consonants
their wheels in turn
which cast the vowels
in form

i dip my spoon
into the jello mold
amazed how it
slices and cuts so
precise

be careful!
i tell myself
be loving with words!
but most important of all
be honest!

from what was once
water and once solid grains
of language? each letter
sliding down
the sensual sides. the
hourglass

some dashed into the
mull! some lost forever lapping
cross the shores

some protected
held to heart. under cross or buried
by the breast. tucked into
eternity

i must
turn myself inside
out to write another
page with you in mind
because my life is best when
yours

and the poem
you gave me held up
to my lips. life! on a cold
pewter curve


become liquid
again as i close my eyes
and beat my heart!

we made us great
friends
by the by...

your
words become
my words
become
ours

free

cemetery angel by k

 Run away with your love, run across the open sand and into the breakers, run with your dreams, run away with the mind and let it surprise you, arise with the sun and come into your light! We were little boys and girls. We were scared but now we are courage, we are faith, we are tough! The trolls can stomp stomp stomp around and always be trolls. Your daughter tugs your shirt and says Look, Mommy, a troll! We do not stop, no, on we go! Take to the streets with yourself and leave your fingerprints all over, show us who you are and let us hold your hand, you little sunflower, or sunflower seed, with your alternating current kinda creed. Give us some of that, and we will then be able to give back! Some day soon you will see me give the world a book for free.

Journal # 05.28.15

I grew up in New England. If I found a lucky niche for myself within a group of people, I would try and hold on to that belonging with all my might. These were times I fought change. The study halls were quiet except the rustling of papers and scratching of pencils on paper. And the heat pushing from the furnace into the pipes. Some kids wet the paper and pulled the pens apart to shoot spit balls. I showed antisocial tendencies at an early age. I would really be inconsolable over something which happened, and no one could reach me. So I would mutiny for awhile and just be upset and burning, unable to stop burning. There were certain trees I liked to sit under. Certain classrooms would be empty at certain times of the day, where I might go to be alone and do my work. When I was well-liked, I wanted this to last. I did not want myself to change, or the circumstances had coincided to make me whole again. I hoped for a snapshot of the context and to keep it in my pocket with the phone number of some new friend all folded up and handmade. I was troubled by and by.

Journal #05.27

I love you like ice melting pure off the icicle into my mouth underneath, you touch my tongue to speak and all through the week, what with the rolling hills of my expression unfenced and undivided, sprawling all out under your warm regard, you play the card, two of diamonds, which i draw into a hand of deuces and a pair of clubs... i fan myself with royalty on the way to a flush and with you is a rush, the slow developed connect as the sun moves over a screen porch to touch us on the other side and please sun, i don't want to be touched, i say, without my permission today, and i move around to your beside, you and your cadillac margarita and the salt on your tongue, mischief in your eyes... i see your hand, do you not realize... now i know if only i go to the kitchen bare-footed for the freezer trays of blue i crack for you, the cubes of ice so formed  i drop them into a highball, giving the cat and dog my love-flecked call, and etch my bones with your glassy possessive, and click on back in thin thin summer sandals to the underlying praise of the trees and lake, means and ways, where i drop a few cubes in your glass and one down the back of you shirt, yes, and next thing you know i got my flush to lay down by your bright and silver incredulous eyes, you with your hand of deuces... oh what a couple of fools, aces in love we made.

Journal # 05.26.15

I wore a purple shirt and blue jeans. I used black mascara and brown eyeliner. My foundation was liquid and closer to pale than ever before. My mood was fly, like a butterfly could not be captured. Everything about the day was quite fresh other than my faithful if predictable following of schedule. I could watch the sun go up and down a thousand times and still know there was more rebirth going on than dying. Dying was merely a trick of the eye, and god a great magician. One might even take death out of the equation altogether, were it not for the seduction of blood and taste for theatre.

Journal # 05.25.15

Doing the dishes could be delicious, especially around four am. I am easily entertained by chocolate chip cookies on a sunny day with milky clouds and a friend. And fall I fall back into pain like another home in my heart, and feel i feel my way back into life from there. There are some people missing in Texas, flash flooding washed them away on memorial day... pray i pray they will all be okay. Summer is here and wait, i cannot, for the coin in the slot, and the hot delta breeze with a lime-lemon squeeze, and all the tourists give me cameras... say cheese!