most days

Most days

Most days I go downstairs,
And find something wonderful to eat
Like buttered toast
And earl grey tea.

I carry it all back upstairs
With the delightful idea of
Stealing a movie from my dad's credit card
And downloading it from itunes.

Sitting on the floor with my tea and my perfect toast,
I look up at the screen and let the Beauty wash over me.

And now a universe has squeezed its way in
Through the little red arteries in my eyes.
And now the dye shows the doctors things that they couldn’t see before.

And we can see the particular cavities
Where imagination and believability swim around and wait
For other people’s ideas to arrive.
And we can see they are squeezed and prodded and swirled around
Until they are adequate for transfer
To the next piece my brain
The piece that controls the pride and the entitlement and the potential of me.

And we can see that
This second chamber of judgment,
Behind my eyes,
Houses a predictable little response who
Turns up its nose at the
Mutilated bits of other people’s universes
That squeezed their way in through my red eyes.
Because the little response has just received
Word from me and I know that we
Could have created a much more perfect work of art.

Sometimes I take my dirty dishes back downstairs
Thinking about what a genius I am

Sometimes I leave my dishes on the floor
And go downstairs empty handed
But always
Thinking about what a genius I am

I smile as I get more toast
More tea
And do it all over again
Knowing all along that I am headed for greatness
And that all my daily habits
Are somehow helping me to get there.

recipe

one and a half teaspoons of hot coco mix.
a bit of heavy whipping cream

put the cream and the coco in a small jar and shake the jar until the liquid does not make any noise or move at all.
then lick with your fingers
or eat with a spoon.

note: if the liquid starts moving and making a noise again you will have chocolate butter.

You

I'm ready for you now.

when i see you
i know not to wait for fireworks.
I'm ready for the silence that will follow
in the rocket's place.

I'm not expecting much.
I'm ready for that too.
ready for who you wont be.

I'm ready to be patient
while i sketch out
the perfect you
and iron it onto your face.

I'm ready to peel away that pattern
and see that-ah-yes-
you've turned out a fine first draft of you.

I'm ready to outline your features and
line by line
to cross-hatch your shadows.

I'm excited for the day
when ill take
my perfect eraser that doesn't smudge
and reveal the highlights where the sun touches your cheeks
and the lights in your eyes

I'm ready for the hard work that you will take.
and I'm ready for the grand unveiling...

ill decide one day that you are
as good as i can imagine you will ever be.

that's the day ill stand before you and view you
with the critical eye that all artists save for their own work.

ill know where you could have been better
and also where you are perfect.
ill feel a bit more perfect myself for having created you.
and also a bite more flawed
because Ive given so much of me to you
and you turned out nothing like i planned you would.

Ill run a finger or the back of a brush
over the lines of you
and smile because i know that all along
you've been painting me too.

I'm ready for you.
I'm waiting for the blank canvas of you with open arms, rinsed brushes and colors
that ive chosen before knowing you
a palette of paints Ive mixed the way i like them.

I'm ready for you now and whenever you re ready we'll begin.

making lists.

I'm making a list
of things to stack
one on top of the other.
stack until they pile high enough
to reach over the wall
of myself.

hand by hand foot by foot
i begin to craw upwards towards the top
of this jumbled decaying compost heap of intention.

the list teeters.
"make a movie" gets pressed into my palms and
"learn to drive" is under my nails.

as i pass my abdomin and reach for a rib. i look down and see
"excersise daily" there on my foot
its coating my footholds in resisue.
what more could i possibly do on that point?
i wonder, panting as i reach
for the next rung on the ladder- collar bone. and
grasp it with all my srength...
this must be good enough to satsify
"daily workout", i assure myself, as i swing there for a moment
i turn back
hoping to check off that fulfilled bit of gooey resalution
that is sticky between my toes.

"just be happy" is hard like diamonds on the inside of my skull.
i scrape it off in thin layers which shatter
as they fall and shower me in crystal dust.
then-crack- im out- blinking in the sunlight
coated in that last bullieted requirement for freedom.

political dreams

Giuliani is tossing a ball
back and forth between his hands and laughing.
the ball is bright and red and shiny as it is flipped
from one small plump hand to the other.

i want to snatch the beautiful toy away from the cackling politician.

all it has done is shine
but the old man cant let it alone.

back and forth it flies and finally he drops it to the floor.
delighted to be free the ball bounces off the podium and rolls away.

i pick it up when it arrives at my feet
i hold it hight above my head and a stadium of people cry and cheer
the ball shines brightly back at them all...
red and pure and audaciously hopeful.

a wormy sensation

a wormy sensation has a hold on me
a crawling tight knawing twist in my gut
tells me that i am dissatisfied with something.

so i crawl into the tightest corner i can find
i wrap myself in my arms and squeeze my ribs together with my elbows.

i try to think of what could possibly be wrong.
why am i crawling and twisted?

maybe, i think, there is not logic at all
and the wormy sensation is just my heart
squeezing iteslf with its elbows
curled up in its own tight corner.
maybe myself has no more idea
of why it must this
then i do.