Category Archives: being weird

Suburban Summer

Sprouted from similar boxes
that masked hard work and sacrifice
looks were put together from magazines
books helped them to name their babies.

A syndicated orchestra of the lawn mower contemporary
the comfortable, monotonous hum
competition for neon patches of an outstanding variety
encouraged drama at the community pool.

They said they mayor fell prey to scandal
and City Hall is where the teens taught Safety Town.
His son taught me to drive one night
dodging signs from a rusted truck of whimsy.

We had bonfires to roast our doubts
and celebrate myopic integrity
battling with ideas and singing popular music loudly
to offend the woman with diapers and mace.

She took me to a country club one sunny day
sparkling water and tennis
a rebel against direction that never came
adventure was a cruise ship vacation.

Proper English

Geometric Rooms by Esther Stocker

Phones, the post-modern frontal lobe
I deleted everything from it related to you
except for one voice message, the last one
it reminds me why it was worth all the fuss.

The events and rhythms of a season long revered
bring forth tiding and a sweet nostalgia for
remedy and restoration.

The things that occured to me last night included:

A.) I’d rather not be here
B.) Other superficial things I’d rather not say.

Us women enjoy the ability to jump to conclusions. It’s simple mental storyboarding of an alternate reality based on the perfections we’d prefer to see in any given scenario.

And I’d rather take on the failures of others
than become aware of my own.

but failures and heartbreak
like achievements and love
are badges worn with pride
war wounds defining our identity –
milestones to which we measure growth.

my dream of you in Boston, C
I couldn’t please you
I was never enough.
Only a fool pursues weapons that self-inflict.

it never occurred to us how tough it is
how negative and brusing
tender pieces of fruit are rarely sold
but mornings never mind.

When I was ready to leave
you were here, in my heart
I’m proud of the admittance
of a blissful ignorance in a slighted world.

A is for antidote
B is for benediction
C is for cost

Transitions (Untitled)

Artwork by See-One

Artwork by See-One

daylight peeks through our best plans
twilight seeps in quickly
the monumental times we had are gone
dry toast and a cup of tar coffee.

emotional underpinnings of a bottomless youth
a gap from then until now
games grow weary of our manipulations
reality quietly taps on a door nailed shut.

overgrown with weeds and ill-fated figures
of what we once were, the clock turns back
when comfort kicks in.

The coming hours will be daunting
filled with unknown risks with unwritten rules.
Temporary feelings are gingerly placed
borrowed, tested, perhaps real and true.

The gambling of trust is vague and remote
released with a startling splash
identifying emotions from a more perilous time
Am I good enough?  I’m good enough for what may come.


a smirk or a smile
i decipher it with research and analysis
wondering why not sooner.
or a lot of other things for that matter.

evolution is pushed in natural ways
by the desire to become something greater.

a personal revolution is tough and diligent
fearless and free
which comes first, the method or the practice?

today is a day of observation
the study of people
the time to close a valve and listen to
a strong-armed fear of silence.

Staying out of drug stores in 2012 (phase 1)

infinitesimally twitchy
latching onto news or social nets
waking in untimely intervals
constantly awaiting bad news.

i don’t want to miss it.
i want to be on top of it, inside of it, control it.
we need to be ready to act.

moving with the sun’s light i get out of bed
wash my face, glancing up to notice that
my eyes are changing color
an unidentifiable shade of green.

in traffic and wonder
if something will hit me today.
loud blind spots are a haphazard
my desire to connect in theatrical ways.

[it’s ironic what happened then]

in daylight’s dominance contributions are weighed
worrying about wellness, worrying about u.

there is no need to worry about me,
i’ve forgiven myself and bury things deep.

i want to crawl inside of relationships that never happened
while the thought looms large of what was imaginary –
crumbly non-waitings.

meanwhile come valentines day
i’ll avoid the sweet, fat-filled treats
feeling exempt from dangerous love
a lonely 21st century model.

i was called upon and asked to sing
but the words wouldn’t come. i’m a shithead.
i don’t know when i’ll see him next, if ever
preparing myself for it every time.

he fades in and out of awareness
nailing jokes when he’s awake
i fumble for the correct thing to say
just as we did then.

selfish thoughts of self-imposed disconnect
a glove-less hand needing to extend
i need to give to everyone.

i ask what i can do and
it’s heartbreaking when the phone cuts out.