beware doll, you're bound to fall....

collage won a gold medal from columbia....ahhhhhh this is excitement to the utmost degree. today this piece got some amazing feedback i didn't expect.

life is in fact balloons and butterflies

my prince came roaring through
totting balloons and butterflies
in a pastel pink '87 volvo,
blaring his emo love tunes while headbanging,
losing control and crashing
into my chest.

like the too tight hairband on my wrist
he was turning me a deep shade of purple.

i would awake to blinking red lights
emanating from a digital face
much reminding me of those brown eyelashes
that would blink out morse codes
in response to my restlessly tapping digits.

our messages were composed
of nat king cole slang
and disgustingly sentimental pet names.

we would dance in the style of fred and ginger
to scratched records
and dusty yardsale mixed tapes,
stepping on one another's toes
without moral analysis or apologies.
no time for a time out,
no coach to blow the whistle.
our fourth quarter is still games away.
this is only practice.


in a completely unrelated tidbit......i discovered a new poet and i have fallen head over heels. john ashbery. i loved my new style in the poem my confabulation. reading mr. ashbery's work confirms for me that a disjointed style can work beautifully and is sometimes the best way to convey. so thank you mr. ashbery. i adore you.

i've got to make my bed if i am gonna lay with you, 'cause a disaster's a disaster no matter what christian language you drag it through...

I am still trapped in a state of confusion. I am also evidently oblivious. But hey, what more could you anticipate to hear about me?

orange trees and massive lizards

i am the daughter of a red-haired
japanese man
descended from a preacher's daughter
who broke away from a small town mindset
to find love in the form
of a sailor man
who would sail on a far different ship
years later.

i am the daughter of a red-haired
japanese man
who married a small town girl
when he had tired of traveling the world,
traded the hot california sun rays
and orange trees and massive lizards
for cold winters and mountain ranges
at the age of ten.

i am the daughter of a red-haired
japanese man
who joined a family of town founders,
cherokee indians and handsome men,
blue -eyed mexicans and high-heel throwing
depression survivors.

i am the daughter of a red-haired
japanese man,
searching for my sailor boy
to tie down in a small town
when i've found all my orange trees
and tired of mountain ranges
and decided it's my time
to be more
than the daughter of a red-haired
japanese man.

well, there is a house in new orleans they call the rising sun. and it's been the ruin of many a poor girl. and god, i know i'm one.

so...this sums up where i am at the moment i suppose. i'm loving all my writings at the moment, so i'm embracing this feeling as long as it lasts and sharing my work while i have confidence in its quality.

my confabulation:

someone once bluntly informed me
as i lounged on the cafe's loveseat
that your polo shirts
would never vibe with my tatterdemalion style.

i feel in a sense demented
every time i am caught in a vain wish.

i lust after your button up shirts
like the paparazzi after britney.

if you would only slide down
those ray-bans for a twinkle and behold...


someone once assured me
that vegas mailmen never stray
for they know elvis is just around the corner
in a lime green sanctuary.

it doesn't pose concern that your flavor
will dissolve as quickly as a pack of chiclets.

i am now a child, wearied
from having to color inside the lines for too long an eternity.

tramp on over in your boat shoes.
walk all over me until i'm subdued with seasickness.


someone once politely advised me
as i subtly elided the babbled chaos
that your polo shirts
would never vibe with my tatterdemalion style.