Archive for the ‘house of change’ Category

you said that dragonflies only live a day.

that’s bullshit.

they just can’t remember

who they were yesterday

or what they had for breakfast.

when you’ve got legs that long

life is an hour by hour thing–

when you’ve got wings that wide

here comes everybody, with nets and pins.

you said that dragonflies only live a day.

that’s bullshit.

it’s just

they can’t for the life of them remember how they got here,

how to act,

who they can trust,

or what the fuck to do now.

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i’m sweet tea and hemlock,

a little bit of three in the afternoon in my house full of

dust bunnies and dylan cranked to crack the china,

or

i might take a book out to my queenly throne

in the suicide rose garden,

with its au-gust reception line of neighborhood cats

mer-rowing views your type can never quite work out.

i’m an emerald isle

shanty irish

corned beef and semtex kind of girl,

sun dappled, dozing, day late and dollar short diva

too cool for school,

too old for bullshit,

an old molly you’ll never notice enough to describe later to those nice young men

with their notepads and a 5-minute o.k. from the intern who saved your life.

_____

for this one’s for you.

johanna

Posted: 06/01/2014 in house of change

lipsjohanna was a big girl,

my best friend back in seventy-something.

johanna was a funny girl,

could mimic anybody and crack me right up.

johanna had a nice mom–

“she thinks you come over to see her.”

johanna open and parse out the cold pills,

then bang a gong.

sleep well, johanna,

johanna so long.

_____

for Flash 55 at Real Toads, hosted by the super superb Hedgewitch, and also for Mag 222.

red shoes

Posted: 03/09/2014 in house of change

suzie's shoesi wore red heels for you

to that italian place where even the busboys act mobbed-up.

the band sucked hard, and i had haffa mind to walk up to the bandstand,

wearing running red super gloss on my sweetest smile

and coo a request for one of my own songs.

i wanted to see the dumb look i’d get, and share the joke with you.

 

they had those cheesy meshed glass candles on the tables,

like mrs paul had just been there, recycling the nets and whipping out the matches.

when did you stop loving me, babe?

why’d you make me be the one to have to see it,

to have to say it?

 

when i left, it had started to rain

just like in some 40s flick where blondie finally gets a clue.

i waved down a yellow cab and snapped a heel cos the pavement was cracked from winter

and they hadn’t patched it yet.

when i got home, i pitched those shoes in the vestibule;

heartbreaker red, they were, putting a real fine point on it,

like mama does when she lets loose with the i told ya so’s.

 

well fuck you, dagwood, cos i’ve still got my stage boots.

whad’you got except a cheap sinatra raincoat with empty arms

and your crew of phoney buddies?

drop dead,

and by the way,

i took the cannoli.

_____

for real toads. art by Vandy Massey.

written while listening to B.B. King’s “The Thrill Is Gone”, courtesy of Hedgewitch at Verse Escape.

 

1-14 Bree and the Dreamweaver Coat 8 x 10 mixed media on canvas panel..jpg photowe were fucking around, that’s all,

and the tip of john’s jack-knife ended up in my thigh.

it wouldn’t stop bleeding, but i’d rather eat nails than call

mama for a ride, cos she’d bitch and know we’d been high.

 

i said i had to go, and hoofed it home, cos i didn’t want john to see me cry,

but i had to hide those jeans and i’ve still got the scar

to remind me of the night, and the blood, and the stars.

_____

a rhyme royal, more or less, for Grace’s mini challenge at Real Toads.

art at top “Bree and Dreamweaver Coat” by the very groovy Lisa Graham.

saw a friend

and chattered a bit, in front of skip’s bakery

in our serious fash boots,

in the crappy snow.

i never saw it coming:

the flu she gave me,

but it found me like trouble follows a fool.

 

saw a magazine

on a table at the chopping block salon,

and asked judy to pass it my way.

i never saw it coming, but it found me:

the perfume ad stuffed between pages like a toad in a stone,

that set me sneezing

like a snot devil on a hot tin roof.

 

now here you are,

leaning on my kitchen table with your elbows,

talking same as always, but something feels wrong:

i get that leaving feeling,

like I’m gonna lose something fast.

it ain’t allergy,

and it ain’t flu.

it might be me,

but i’m thinking more likely, honey, it’s you.

i like

coffee from a certain mug.

i like

a certain brand,

and i make it while night still fills the windows.

 

i like

the warm familiar way it feels on my lips.

i like

that i have had it before, and before, and before,

as the seasons and the light and the weather change.

 

today you walked out

and i don’t know if we are all right.

i don’t know if you will come back, or

if i will still be here if you do.

 

i don’t know when or how things changed,

but my coffee is gone

though i know there is more in the cupboard

and its aroma still lingers in the air.