Thursday, April 9, 2015

blue dazed blisters

a fear and recognition
that a power i touch is greater than me. what a machine. oh, this machine.

a fear and healthy fear
of a made-up moment. how to hold onto. how to contain these explosions underneath a waist. from within a waist. how to not waste a life.

i thank you for bleeding and for un-doing your buttons. we've always needed a martyr or someone else to die. to ground us in the fear and recognition that it takes to keep on living.

what a machine i am
to be motivated to motivate. to be shaken of my wheels and still keep rolling. to find a machine that's red and low to the ground who loves me the way a man is still learning to. a woman doesn't have interest in doing. the way it will on its own. its own gurgling way. baking from blisters of a blue and gold heat. a heat of a midday miracle 

Sunday, April 5, 2015


You can't start the day with broken tortillas
Can't squirm out from under the power of purpling Santa Ritas

I am here because I need to be
I am here because of love
I am here because of want and because of the way that dust settles inside dampness to patter down and forge stepping stones of mud


I meet men who wear the sun in their skin
Who've hit the hot dirt foot by foot
Who've found mysticism in their big sky

of tricks

We touch pain everyday here
when cacti land in our fingertips and the sun bleaches our teeth
My palms absorb their too tiny spears
Their lessons
are underneath

and over