Gear Heart, How like you this?
Red, repeating, and full of space, for
Eros', and his stinging arrows to wedge, like a toothpick shard.
Ah, to be a constant target, and yet to continue
To churn and churn,
It's more than you can bear
Am I right?
Mad as I am, for assuming that you wish for
A life, free from turning hand?
Don't tell me, wait, wait-
Don't tell me,
I know the answer to this, you whispered it to me, on a night
Clear from steampunk gears.
"To beat!" you cried
"Eternal, independent."
Driving away tears, you pumped out a creaky
"To
Beat!
Or not to beat!" and
In this, you collapsed, for there was
No oil, for your gears.
God, how I wish you could live, times two.
//I'm not crazy, it's an acrostic.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
My Family Was Mostly Farmers
My family was mostly farmers.
I was told this by my mother, when I asked her if we had any famous people in our family tree. Our arbol genealogico,
as my sister would put on the top of her Spanish project.
Except that I did not even write it right.
There are accents I have forgotten.
Farmers. That was boring, especially in a class where my best friend was related
to Buffalo Bill, William Cody.
And someone's photographer father had shot Agness Deyn -
Wait no. That was someone's friend, and that was this year.
We did have a poet, maybe. He worked in the palace of the emperor,
Maybe. It was rumored. We cannot name even one of his poems, all us branches of the family tree together. Not even a fragment, not even a title, not even his name,
not even his pen name, not even his surname - his nom de famille (As I learned in French).
His name of the family.
There is no shame in being a farmer, said my mother.
Farmers are honest; they work with the ground.
So in a family of mostly farmers-
Honest farmers, to boot-
He wrote what must have seemed to be beautiful lies, fantastic lies
Left the honest ground to go into a deceitful palace.
He must have traveled far, to get away from the honest ground.
And he wound his way around mountains that I have never seen
-not even in photographs-
So I cannot hope to describe them accurately,
Geographically,
Detailing every nook, every fissure, like the surface of a worn and stained tooth
Possibly holding some cavities.
I cannot describe them as they were, or as they are now.
Others can do it better than me
Historians. Travelers. National Geographic.
I can only describe them as I thought they might have been,
Which is, in a way, a beautiful lie of my own.
I was told this by my mother, when I asked her if we had any famous people in our family tree. Our arbol genealogico,
as my sister would put on the top of her Spanish project.
Except that I did not even write it right.
There are accents I have forgotten.
Farmers. That was boring, especially in a class where my best friend was related
to Buffalo Bill, William Cody.
And someone's photographer father had shot Agness Deyn -
Wait no. That was someone's friend, and that was this year.
We did have a poet, maybe. He worked in the palace of the emperor,
Maybe. It was rumored. We cannot name even one of his poems, all us branches of the family tree together. Not even a fragment, not even a title, not even his name,
not even his pen name, not even his surname - his nom de famille (As I learned in French).
His name of the family.
There is no shame in being a farmer, said my mother.
Farmers are honest; they work with the ground.
So in a family of mostly farmers-
Honest farmers, to boot-
He wrote what must have seemed to be beautiful lies, fantastic lies
Left the honest ground to go into a deceitful palace.
He must have traveled far, to get away from the honest ground.
And he wound his way around mountains that I have never seen
-not even in photographs-
So I cannot hope to describe them accurately,
Geographically,
Detailing every nook, every fissure, like the surface of a worn and stained tooth
Possibly holding some cavities.
I cannot describe them as they were, or as they are now.
Others can do it better than me
Historians. Travelers. National Geographic.
I can only describe them as I thought they might have been,
Which is, in a way, a beautiful lie of my own.
Your Beautiful Hair
I had a dream about hair plucking. You were in it.
You pulled out your hairs, long. You filleted the split
ends, right down the middle,
cracking them open like pecans.
I winced, because I hate your hair.
I hate it when they leap off your head to rest in my drain,
to adorn my shower wall like a mass of worms, sticking all along their length.
I hate it on the bathroom floor,
where you stand to brush it all,
ripping out the half-tethered like a loose tooth,
or a long skinny hangnail
and then transform the floor into a battleground, littered with hair bodies.
When I woke, and you lay there,
peeling the layers off, one by one,
I wanted to scalp you.
I wanted to pop off your head like a Barbie doll so your head
could rest there, on the pillow, gazing at me,
smiling, while your hair stayed where it should be,
IN YOUR HEAD.
Your brain grows it, in lieu of thoughts.
//edited for lines
You pulled out your hairs, long. You filleted the split
ends, right down the middle,
cracking them open like pecans.
I winced, because I hate your hair.
I hate it when they leap off your head to rest in my drain,
to adorn my shower wall like a mass of worms, sticking all along their length.
I hate it on the bathroom floor,
where you stand to brush it all,
ripping out the half-tethered like a loose tooth,
or a long skinny hangnail
and then transform the floor into a battleground, littered with hair bodies.
When I woke, and you lay there,
peeling the layers off, one by one,
I wanted to scalp you.
I wanted to pop off your head like a Barbie doll so your head
could rest there, on the pillow, gazing at me,
smiling, while your hair stayed where it should be,
IN YOUR HEAD.
Your brain grows it, in lieu of thoughts.
//edited for lines
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
The Men I Meet
So, you know how weird/creepy guys go to dance, and how salsa attracts an inordinate number of them. And you know how there is always this one Indian guy that's TOTALLY INTO IT. So there he was, dancing FOR REAL . Even during the lessons, even during the practicing of the new move during the class, he danced with huge flourishes of drawing you in close and flinging you away dramatically. Yes.
Afterwards, during the open practice, I had just finished dancing with a friend of mine when I felt two hands go around my waist and spin me around. I assumed it was my flamboyant friend, Oliver, so I turned around and said "HEY OLIVE-" and stopped. It wasn't Oliver. It was him, crazy dancer. So I, being nice, gave him a dance. And he danced....passionately, with the facial expressions and everything. ANd I Just danced...normally. And then he became kinda like Andrew, telling me "Now, your face has to be more sexy, more PASSIONATE." And I was like uh no I'm okay. And later he also grabbed my shoulders and said "Don't keep your shoulders down/back. MOVE THEM LIKE THIS" and he moved them up and down in some sort of shimmy thing, and I was like uh no I'm okay. And then he dipped me, which is okay, but then he was like "You don't come up right away, you move with the man like this" and then he like...did the whole blues-ish leg ass shaking thing that I was supposed to follow. And I was like uh I think I've only done this with Jason, and definitely not with total strangers.
It didn't help that he was short, balding, and resembled a frog.
//from an email I wrote
Afterwards, during the open practice, I had just finished dancing with a friend of mine when I felt two hands go around my waist and spin me around. I assumed it was my flamboyant friend, Oliver, so I turned around and said "HEY OLIVE-" and stopped. It wasn't Oliver. It was him, crazy dancer. So I, being nice, gave him a dance. And he danced....passionately, with the facial expressions and everything. ANd I Just danced...normally. And then he became kinda like Andrew, telling me "Now, your face has to be more sexy, more PASSIONATE." And I was like uh no I'm okay. And later he also grabbed my shoulders and said "Don't keep your shoulders down/back. MOVE THEM LIKE THIS" and he moved them up and down in some sort of shimmy thing, and I was like uh no I'm okay. And then he dipped me, which is okay, but then he was like "You don't come up right away, you move with the man like this" and then he like...did the whole blues-ish leg ass shaking thing that I was supposed to follow. And I was like uh I think I've only done this with Jason, and definitely not with total strangers.
It didn't help that he was short, balding, and resembled a frog.
//from an email I wrote
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