I read a book, and the man thinks I cannot see
the wrinkled posture of his son as he is nudged.
He thinks I cannot sense four eyes upon my flesh,
as the father tries to bond with his teenage boy by ogling my breasts.

"a beautiful night, did you see the moon?"
no. i worked.

in your house
there are no stars
and so we lie on your couch
where i can stare at the back of your neck.

#3

i was driving with others
i was thinking of you
i was listening to young neil
i was thinking of you
so i pulled to the side
and watched them drive by
sit here and stare
as stars take to black

#4

(a poem about Faith)
I don't know how to do anytthing [sic]
I am trying to move mountains with words
But I am an ant
I scribble
I drool
I move like a worm
whose world
(words)
encompassed a mile
How do I rise above?
Where will this worm
find wings?
I look in the mirror
and I see filth
Who is that?
Where did The Angel go?
Why is there dirt
staring back at me?
Why is the soil of
incompetence beneath my nails
Why does doubt paint
blue rings
beneath my eyes and
stain my skin
Why does my spine assume failure
Why do my lips
flirt with they sky;
why do I try to lasso
Beauty with such a
pitiful rope?
Where is the hair of Rapunzel
or Samson?
Where is my sling
Where is my stone,
My gun?
Where is the weapon with which
I may fight this apathy
that feels like sleep
in my limbs
that loosens my brother's smile
That kills my neighbor's daughter
This pen is scrawny and hardly
seems able to ink out
or erase this plague that
infests my
Generation
This Giant, This Ogre
This Beast, This Death
that assumes a million faces,
that borrows my own.

#5

home

i do not live in a country
i live on used land
i live on dead land.
(the steel in my lungs, the mechanization of sound- unaware of any god)

stop. start. start.

do you know yourself?
two generations back and i am as lost as this day.
(admit this lovely, admit that this is it)

fuck bob dylan
he does not sing
his name, a current of catchphrase that writers cling to, like sharks to death.

awake generation.
where to stand in a line of fucks and clear white girls?
"i can see through your skin baby, when you dance like that"

the choir has stopped
unsuccessful in the attempt
to bring forth melody to a crowd of dead white .

sTop. ART. start. art

#6

Sun

I
I have blonde hair
I pluck my eyebrows
I have my father's nose
my mother's hands
I have crooked teeth
and green eyes
I play guitar
I used to get sick alot
I like the color of wine
I've cheated on boyfriends
I've owned fake ID
But my hair is still blonde
and my teeth are still crooked
and I probably won't always like
the color of wine

II
I have firm breasts
I have lips that always smile
I have veins that bleed
I laugh when I'm nervous
I feel the pain of others
but cry for no reason
I like open flame
I've been selfish since a child
I'm from Alaska
but hate the cold
I've cheated on diets
I've faked applications
But I still bleed
and my lips still smile
and my breasts won't
always be firm

III
I have strong shoulders
I have olive skin
I have a Swiss face I
borrowed from my grandmother
I have long nails on my right hand
which break regularly
My little toe is strange
I write
I used to make wreaths from dandelions
I brush my hair before bed
I cheated on tests
I faked flirtatious French accents
But I still have gold skin
and my nails still break
and I probably won't always have
strong shoulders
and I may not always write
But maybe I'll start
making wreaths
from dandelions again

#8

I Dream of Vampires

#9

Fallen Man

You were violently screaming
Now you're violently dead
Why can't you be with us
Be alive instead

Never really knew you
Though your voice spoke my pain
A voice that will never
Speak it again

Wherever you've gone
On some kind of plane
Just know that we miss you
Kurt D. Cobain

Answers