Inconsistent Cutlery

The unending

pile of silverware

lying in front of me

is not there.

But I wanted to be the new Meriwether Lewis and William Clark…

But Baby, With you I wanted to be the new Meriwether Lewis and William Clark,

and cross this place with desirous eyes

and have our conversations

as we welcome dawn into another day,

Yes, Baby,  I wanted to set this world on fire

with your brilliance and conquer

the world with this thing, 

this thing we have-

they call 

embracing one another-

and here we are, in empty terrain

with a whole new canvas spread out in front of us

for us

but,

when I see you, I begin to shake

uncontrollably

as

with faltering eye contact

in the distance, you

wave your body to one side, 

and make no error

to continue on your way

and there is nothing

to stop this shaking

or this moment

or this insanity

that was meant to be so much more romantic

than this 16oz cup of water

and all these things

scattered near my table

that are not mine

these things were meant to be so much more romantic

than 

that faltering

eyelid caught in the storm

that was meant to pass

as we set out to a new frontier

they call 

love

Simple. Love. Poem.

We need more than THAT

to get us through this terrain,

to find our way out of the small caves

of rural america

in the middle of a political dream

scapegoat

and we need more than THAT

to keep us together

we need more than this

bowl of cereal 

moist with cold water

that i’m holding while i dream of you

we need more that THAT

eight second conversation

that ends with “if it didn’t feel so”

we need more than THAT, love-

We need more

to keep us together.

Ain’t got much, Kid.

“Emily Owens!

Ain’t a damn thing to shout about for Emily Owens!”

THE OFFICERS OF THE INSTITUTION

put their noses into some t\rue

ameri-mexican burritos

and began to dribble

the remnants

down their chests

“OH HER, yeah nothing she says is going to change a dime

just 800 adjectives to things she can’t describe

a pack of cigarettes

some ceaseless obsessions

and a ridiculous infatuation

with trout.”

Can’t keep it down

can’t stand up to it

can’t put it away

can’t think

can’t dream

can’t sleep

but oh how you’re trying

tossing and turning in there

making noises 

exhibiting pains

there’s  a whole world in your mind

coming through the shutters of your closed eyelids

attempts to find place

set stone across river

paint against canvas

the museum in there is closed

and the gallery changing

but the bland color choice of recent

makes the words you say slur out sadly

wincing over what once was recognition

you had it kid

but you couldn’t put that down

put that away

be the poet you are

let go

let go

open the shutter 

in your mind

bring on sunlight

god

sleep

 

 

you know its there

i’ve seen it on the walls.

Little birdie falls over

watching the universe spin in and on its side

the world has collapsed

the sounds emerge

the egg

cracks

and the quiet is replaced

with some new siren

inside the mind

begging for adventure

begging for something to say

a sight his own

lo

behold

the waking birdie speaks

his tongue tired from things

he can’t remember seeing

wonders where the world

he’d known had gone.

Take the highest moment

call her anything

replace the lightbulbs

empty out the cupboard

jump.shout.

i think i had something i needed to say

about the quietness of this terrain

here in this small village

where everyone knows her name

when she screams and cries they run opposite

when she laughs, giggles, clowns

the crowd amasses around for daily bread

and question all the saints in her head

but no one listened to the words that were said

so she jumped ship

emptied those cupboards

broke the lightbulbs

smashed them into a beautiful arrangement

on the carpet

“Your feet beware” she said calmly

as she closed the door

and walked away

into some mid-day sun street in the middle of manhattan traffic

were no one could recall ever seeing her before

and no one approached the moon

but simply walked under it quickly judging transportation

the hesitation binding their wallets

and shouting “Glory Glory” on sunday mornings

in the muslim streets and Caribbean supermarkets

all out of ham, all out of franks, all out of that.

The sun set too quick and when night full came

the morning would rise again

and when the morning came

thick air arose and it was time to go again

and she set her sights on a new plan

to hide elsewhere, within the loud walls of 

conversations and miscalculations

drinking away evenings under thick nostalgia

and uncontemplated attempts at be-every-man-woman-child-be-every-want-every-see-every-conquer

and variables began as they passed around the table

and again,

the sun began to rise,

morning again,

and time to go from the bed on the floor

to the bed within the door

and on goes

and comes again

and standing, tall, abrupt

as the crowd grows, dangling to small conversations,

she says

“I’m sorry, but I really had something to do”

and the rules were written

and the puppets unstringed

and tra-la-la

the variables sing

and the wind moves

and the sun sets

and the morning rises

and here you are

again

anew.

  There’s too many leaves and trees and buzzing things going unseen. 

 

Portland.

Something about me is under the impression that I am, at this moment, completely invincible. I can smoke thirty cigarettes a day, drink a half a bottle of wine in one hour without even the glimpse of inebriation, dance to old school hip hop without looking like a fool, and last, but certainly not least, live off of white bread, extra crunchy peanut butter and coffee, while never having to obtain a job, residence or general direction of where my life will inevitably lead me. Awesome. I am in the perfect setting of a stage of denial in my early twenties that will, in six months make me look back fondly on the days while I sit in my kitchen, alone and wondering why I am still on a diet of peanut butter and bread with a toxic stomach ache that never ceases. In three months, a slightly closer date, I will be questioning why I speak to my best friend, and ex-lover every other night using a screen and keypad instead of sitting next to him watching the discovery channel or laughing at the newscasters when they slip up a word and make it sound like they never passed grade school, much less were ever actually capable of landing a job with NBC. I have not had the motivation to step outside since I got here. Portland, Oregon, the city that “works.” I’ve wanted to be in this city for two years now, constantly idealizing it as the one place in the world where I will come to peace with myself and truly blossom in my talents as a young actress with a pen and very little talent in ethnic accents. No, maybe a seamstress. Maybe, the lead singer of a four-part folk band. I’ll wear an adorable bear hat and everyone will only know my first name and that I enjoy the pleasures of coca-cola out of an aluminum can. Somehow, I am going to rise to the top of my outcast brothers and sisters and sing the gospel of difference from a socially accepted norm. But, as I referred to earlier, I have arrived with not the glimpse of anticipation to the happenings beyond the porch of this not so heavily trafficked street. There isn’t much on this street, really. Just a market two corners down run by a man who is under the belief that I walk everywhere, and that foreigners would find the hardest time being accepted in New York due to language barriers. Yeah right, if I were a foreign speaking person I’d go to New York in a instant. Its the only place in America where you’ll find someone who comes from the exact same street in a small town in say, Israel, as you do. Yesterday, this man, the Happy Market attendant, helped me to realize what has sadly, been upon the largest wake-up calls since I got here. That is, I spend an average of three dollars on M&M’s and Dr. Pepper daily. Two days ago I was losing sleep over the calculation of my wallet, searching for the answer as to how I managed to lose one hundred dollars. And then, as he rings me up and the little LED screen comes out with the total, “3.27” I slump into my wallet, and bam, flash of light, it’s all the M&M’s with their not too delicious, but certainly enticing enough, peanuts laying so wonderfully encased about chocolate and a hard shell of meltable sugar. Damn. I really could have used that money. That would have funded about one extra week of my invincible lifestyle thats really not going to be able to stick around much longer. In New York, I had energy. Every morning I’d get up and be completely prepared to leave and wander into the great big nauseating setting of my birth- the intoxicating lights and sounds and objects and people talking constantly around you. You had to be awake, constantly on guard, ready, there wasn’t a moment that you didn’t know what was happening around you, because if you didn’t, you’d feel scared- and typically it was an attempt to avoid that emotion entirely. The second I arrived in Oregon, all fear dissolved, like a slow motion setting for a seventies movie taking place in an airport, when the criminal, loaded on unspeakable amounts of cocaine, steps out of the airport terminal and into sunshine-y california with all the gorgeous women and well-kept automobiles; freedom, exhilaration in a mellow form, breath-and Johnny Depp’s smooth Kerouac-influenced narration in the background- “We arrived on time, every fear, paranoia, dissolved- here we are, we are now here.”