flick flick flick flick
as you walk by the iron gate
bars that surround the improbable corner they call a park
in the east village

flick flick flick flick
the sun crashing through the spaces in the bars
landing hard on your eyes
you want to walk by that fence forever
knowing that the light hitting your face
just so...

makes you look beautiful

and its been awhile
since you felt beautiful

and the last time she told you
the light was invading your eyes in a similar way
in the small improbable space they call and apartment
on the lower east side

you were crying
and eyes swollen
and heart breaking
you sat 'indian style' on the floor
she sat across
leaning over to push the hair out of your face
she cocked her head
and asked,
"you look beautiful..."

she says this with the same leftover breath that she used to tell you
that she loves you
but isn't sure if she is still in love with you

the same leftover breath
that just talked about having switched off to you

the same leftover breath where she tells you that
she doesn't have much hope

you don't feel so beautiful now
but you know that the light can play tricks

for just this moment
you want to keep walking around this fence.


dicing history

i couldn't find the right book.
i had a history book which wasn't what i needed for this class
some sort of politics or literature class.
but for a change, i was not showing up for the first time, the day before the exam.
i was late today but i had only missed 1 or 2 classes.
the professor, a young good looking man, approached my desk to tell me that i hadn't missed much and that it would be very easy for me to catch up.
He handed me a packet of papers and seemed unconcerned about the absences.
i took the papers thanked him and went outside to a grassy spot.
i emptied the contents of my bag to see what i had.
i opened the history book that i had but hadn't needed
it seemed outdated.
it was missing pages
lots of them
in a chunk
and they were not torn out
they were exacto'd out.
and purposely.
almost the exact amount of pages that were handed to me
were the amount of pages that were so carefully removed from the history book.


deaf girl

i am finding these bits that are so completely relevant now.
things that i am afraid to lose.
memories that remind me why i am doing this.
today was a good day.
i think maybe we both had some reminders.

deaf girl
i put my hand on the side of your face to pull you closer
with the excuse that i can't hear you
and you should tell me in my ear.

"i think thats my gum on his shoe"

whatever it is its fine
i don't mind that im not kissing you when your face is that close to mine
i like that i can feel how small the space between us is
by how warm your breath feels on my arm/cheek/ear

i love the idea that some day i might not be suprised
when i see the tattoo on your neck.
that i will have traced it so many times with my fingers and tongue
that i know what it feels like as well as i know what it looks like.

so i keep reaching to the other side of your face to guide your mouth to my ear so that i can hear you better.


the man

i went to see the man today.
the man who is supposed to help
he said almost nothing that i didn't know
he told me about spheres
he told me about things that people who have no common sense don't know
without telling me, he told me
to brace myself for the crash in the little car.
because duct tape will not help


it was warm and sunny and we were in tompkin's square park
it was one of those melancholy afternoons that we knew we didn't have much time before she was to leave for another trip.
stealing as much time as we could.
and still dealing with the remnants and slabs of our previous (and her current)life.

where on the west side someone waited at home so they wouldn't be late for the ferry that would take her from me for a few days.
she talked of how she 'tortured' me
lazily drawing pictures of and on me.
paint markers, grass, leaves, cotton
"awww jeeeze!!! I couldn't just leave it as it was!!! I had to keep going over and over it!
i promise I'll make something beautiful of this mess"

she did.
she always did
and always does

i hope.


flora and fauna

the dogs are confused and acting out.
there have been regular peeing incidents, including M peeing in his crate.
I have been trying to make their schedule as consistent as i can.
I'm trying to distract them
like im trying to distract myself.

i go to see the man tomorrow
the man who i am hoping can help us.

i have been pondering karma
and that you reap what you sow.
and as i understand it, there is no statute of lmitations
on fucked up actions.
my romantic karma has not been what could be referred to as "kind"
maybe this is owed to me.

though i have tried to make it up to the universe.
i have been unable to make it up to the person to whom it might mean the most.
and i don't know that i will ever have that chance.

that will not keep me from trying
and trying to give these beasts some consistency
and telling her that i love her
and that i miss her

and the little coleus now has roots

the bed

no matter where i am
dinner with friends
walking the dogs
writing a post
a bookstore
i dread the thought of having to go to bed
i can skitter in there for quick functional things
things like finding socks
or putting my shoes and coat away
i can quickly run in to grab my book
but sleeping on the couch seems to be the option of choice
until i wake at 3 am
feeling like one of those losers who passes out on the couch
and has no one
to gently rock them awake and say "come on sweetie, lets go to bed"

when i do get to the bed i turn to my side and never during the night turn to her side of the bed.
or so i thought.
while making the bed i have started to notice the mascara spots on her pillowcase.
the sort that are only made by crying.
i am crying in my sleep it seems.
while holding her pillow.

i used to sleep with my head tucked between her shoulder and her chest.
my hand on her heart.
my breath falling on her neck

i don't know how to sleep soundly any other way.
im not really dreaming.

the night before we went to see the man
i dreamt that i was driving with a friend in one of those children's car

we were going down a very steep hill in a small beach town that I recognize from other dreams but its not the town i grew up in.
the hill was steep and we hit it and got airborne for a second and then hit the bottom HARD. We landed with a thud but we were fine.
i said,
"we can NOT do that again if we don't reinforce this thing"
"why isn't the roof on this thing?!?!"
and my friend answer was,
"well we can put it on of you want"
and i started duct taping the wheels and corners
that made me feel safer.


i have been avoiding the kitchen except for the most utilitarian of functions.
i havent cooked in there in almost 2 weeks.
i found 3 half glasses of espresso in the fridge.
i dont know how to make it for myself
or i forget to make it just for myself.


dog whisperer

M is different.
and i feel sad for him.
every day when he puts his little feet on my leg, i say,

"i know little boy. i miss her too."

he looks at me as if to say

"what are we going to do?"

and i don't know what to tell him, except for that eventually he will be back with her and Im not so sure.

we went out tonight. for the first time in a few days where i was not crying.
JG said
"put on some makeup. you look like crap"
and i did.
and i felt better.
we went to dinner then out to a little place where i could have my Baily's in peace.
this girl walked in and the "im a lesbo too" thing happened and i got scared.
because she was cute
and as i was leaving i slowly turned around to look and she was staring at me.
i cried as i walked out.
i felt vulnerable and sad and lost.
she was beautiful
and it meant nothing to me
no butterflies
nothing but lonely and sad.
and wishing i had my girl to hold.


rocked to sleep

we were on the subway on our way up to an office we'd never been to
to meet a man that neither of us knew.
she fell asleep with her head on my shoulder and i lightly rubbed her thigh with my hand
"i like how that feels"
and then she fell asleep.
her head started to fall forward in the depth of her sleeping and i used my chin to hold it in place, not wanting her to awake with a start and her head jerking forward.
i kissed her forhead like i have a million times.
being there gave me some comfort i hadn't felt in days.

i was feeling good about the man.
maybe he could help us see our way through what looked like a big pile of tangled wires.
i brought my little metaphorical box with all of the 'good stuff' tucked in it.
all the things we do right.
stuff we could use as lynchpins.

stuff we had had from the first day we met.
stuff that i have held onto tightly when things got out of hand.
stuff that i was afraid of losing along the way
but here it is in this box

so when she says she has almost no hope
i am left sitting here with this box that i don't know what to do with.

my little dowery of us.


scav·enge ( P ) Pronunciation Key (skvnj)
v. scav·enged, scav·eng·ing, scav·eng·es
v. tr.
1. To search through for salvageable material

this is what we are doing
as i am told.

Most plants that have been damaged need at least one or 2 leaves to photosynthesize and regenerate.
Coleus are very simple, primitive plants. they can be pinched and put into water until they root, at which point you can plant them in dirt.

a pinch of the little coleus was stolen from a neighbors garden and it has lived through the winter, something it would never be able to do outside here.
it lived until February when its one little stem was broken and left to die on the floor.
that was the night when i yelled
"if you are so unhappy then you should go"
and she yelled
"maybe we should break up"
and i yelled
"maybe we should"

and i got out of the car
and she drove away

the next day i put the poor little broken coleus in water to see if it would sprout some roots.
i have been waiting
and tending its water
and making sure it has sun
until yesterday
there they were tiny tiny shoots
not nearly enough to plant yet

but if i keep taking care of it
maybe soon


old world meets new world

i found this today while burying the remains of my beloved old blog.


for 4 days i have had a running blog going on and no outlet.

i had a dream last night that i was in egypt.
there were hills of sand and little stones and rocks
of course i was picking them up and in awe of how gorgeous the sparkly ones were
quartz and some other very shiny clean ones.
i had them all in my hand when i noticed this dull sort of peacock colored rock.
it had no shine to it but i was interested in the color.
i pulled it out of the sand and realized that it was actually a sapphire but it wasn't already polished or sparkly like the others.
i put it in my pocket knowing it was going to be a bit more work but much more worth it.
i left the shiny ones in the sand.

what WOULD Dorothy Parker do?

I have just realized the extent to which i have been lost.
because of
"it's been so long, that I forgot that you could write"

our exchanges were manic and passion driven and the moments that we were not together we were furiously and obsessively in contact with eachother by any means necessary.

do you remember the night in the stairwell, that i cried so hard onto your shoulder that your hood and sleeve were soaked with tears and snot?
i said that it was because i was so tired and worn down
the truth is that i was so in love and scared that we wouldn't be able to make it.
now im crying because YOU are scared we wont make it.


pigeon shit

he lives really close to all his stuff. He can probably give you a library listing of the books he owns because he eats breakfast with them every morning.
I wonder at the shapes of the rooms; corners cut where they oughtn't be and rooms broken down into smaller micro-rooms. Not really doing much except to make me feel claustrophobic and panicky.
I cant even pace effectively.
The apartment is in a 'hip' neighborhood. Its stairs leaning as if to say that they are tired and want you to remove yourself from them and 'here let me help'
the bricked up windows of the building next door are emmense piles of pigeonshit rivialing in size, any African ant hill.

i am here to watch the slow breaking of my heart.
i shouldn't be here at all.
i should be home having breakfast.
Kissing the back of her neck.
maybe still slowly rolling around the bed warm and happy.
not here
not with these piles of bird crap in this leaning building with its ugly hallway and irregular rooms.
i want to be home
i want to stop crying
i want to think about something else.
i want to be able to listen to Andrew Bird

i think about "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind"
i weep uncontrollably. sobbing loud and gutterally.
wanting to go backwards.
wanting to fix everything.
wanting to be able to eat without feeling sick.
i want her to believe as much as i do.

salmon at least have schools

I feel like im swimming upstream
Calling the therapists and recounting the story over and over.
maybe i should have made her do it
or at least be here while i did it.
the anger in her voice today, when i asked her about scheduling and was recounting some of my conversations with the dr's, made me nearly furious.
she suggested that maybe we do it
and i would willingly do it in the middle of the night if I had to.
because i love her
maybe more than i have ever loved anyone in my life.
she says we live too differently.
and we should have moved past the differences and worked them out already.

and all i can think is that I love to sneak up behind her when shes making breakfast and kiss the back of her neck.
and that i love to surprise her with little dishes that i have never made before.

and that i try to remember to make sure we have water in the bedroom before we go to bed, because she will invariably ask "do we have water?"

she is particular and protective of her things.
i am messy
i have no love of 'stuff'
i could care less if something of mine breaks, or if it is borrowed without permission.
to me, its just stuff.
to her it is something more
and i am a bull sometimes
i dont mean to be.

it seems to be the makings of a gorgeous old quirky couple.
but she is scared.
i don't want this to be melancholy.
and the 'start as you mean to go on" in me worries that it will be the place where i can write what i feel vs what i think.
and i will.


when there is a chance that you have become a bad person

this is an attempt to recapture what i have lost in the shuffle.
the voice that allows for being scared
the part of me that isn't cranky.
and doesn't have to be 'on' all the time.
i haven't told anyone...sort of.
i mentioned that i might want to do another one.
but not sure it registered or stuck.
sort of an interesting experiment nonetheless.
bon voyage.

i marvel at my own stupidity

how clever are you really?
if you think that they have not been waiting for this.

your very own 'secret' blog.

how quiet are you?
can you keep a 'secret'?

probably not but maybe this is good practice.