An 11th Grade Poem

I don't know what to write about anymore.

Everything has been sucked dry

The marrow from the bone

It's all smoke and mirrors

Life is vapor

Transparent

And recycled.

Pony Camp

I had a real sweet progression of images planned for this post and it all went out the window because I'm impatient and bad with technology. But the very wreckage that is left of my original idea only serves to better tell the story.

My thoughts are very jumbled right now. I'm about to go to Pony Camp for work. I'll be in the middle of the woods for a week with a bunch of screaming kids. It's the most relaxing week of my life.

In bed by 9:00, out of bed by 9:00. I walk the kids to the Pony Corral and then spend the rest of the day reading in trees or doing crafts.

2 Hour Night swims. Delicious food. Banana boats.

It's all very restorative. I'm hoping that I'll return more lucid.

I'm taking about 4 books, a roll of film, and my sketchbook. No one will be able to contact me.

I've just got so many ideas for pieces for the gallery, I'm working on the manifesto, I have no money, I'm going back to school in a month, and I'm booked solid up until the day I move in.

I don't know why people think they can live the way they do. Slow down.

And I Quote...

"I HOPE THERE'S AN EPISODE OF
WIFE SWAP ON THAT I HAVEN'T SEEN. 
BUT THAT'S ONLY HAPPENED ONCE, 
SO I WON'T GET MY HOPES UP."


-MOM, 10 SECONDS AGO

Glossolalia Atelier

I need more space.

I'm so sick of frontiers.

WHY?

Someone outbid me on the set of Felix the Cat POGS I was willing to pay top dollar for on ebay. The success of this whole project hinged on those lovely cartoon milkcap game pieces.

When I'm old, I'll remember how I feel right now, and no matter how full of a life I will have lived at the point, the waves of misery that froth to the surface from years of dormancy will break the axis that my circadian rhythm dances around and I'll croak.

Worst. 

Day.

Ever.

Fruition

Picking berries
Sun warming our faces
The sting of the nettles
Swollen and scratched legs
Like the prick of many needles
Whose venom surfaces
Like ghost limbs
Lost at war
The harvest reaped
Makes for puckered lips
Tingling,
Bittersweet

Waking Up

Hearing the birds now
Waking as I am
Calling out to one another
Rejoicing in the cool clarity
Offered in abundance
By the yellowy strands of
Day that sit like dew on the
Front lawn,
I reach down to the soft,
Damp soil of the garden
Rich with minerals, seeds,
Life and I feel--I know--
The absolute goodness of the
Day set before me. A marveling
So irresistible that I take off my
Shoes to feel my toes sift the
Loose earth and I rub the palms of my hands
For the very air and light there
Is enough to make a blind man see.

Last Day of Vacation//Going Home

Salt on my skin

And sand in my Sperry's.

The skin on my forehead

Pulled taut from sun:

Darker and more freckled.

Napping under a sea of down comforter

Sun through the balcony

Summer.

 

I want to sit in my garden again
Coaxing the scent from the mint plant

With my lazy fingertips.

Shapes of leaves dance on my face
Creating shade for
My eyes. Seeing things bigger

Than they used to

Because I've given more

Boundary away

To Abba God

The Painter, the Poet,

the Father.

A Valley (Unfinished)

I lift my eyes

   to the hills

To remind myself
that this is no plateau.