memorial

well, now i just don't
want to write today, these
words that
exist whether i write, or
not.
it's gloomy out, (but
it's a holiday! oh, boo)
and my temporary hideaway
has seem to worn
thin
as certain types of softened
skin. now,
i will do those things,
hold my tongue and
unfurrow my fingers from
one another. because after
all, a gloomy day should
have a little bit of writing,
though,
wouldn't you say?
so paper it is! to
pack away, to blur the
ink, to muddle it's voice.
i guess the words, they
get written somehow,
either way.

(happy. gloomy. holiday.)

~k.

awe

skin
is way too thin
and way too
easy
to get under
nowadays.

~k.

anonymous

"perhaps the most terrible (or wonderful) thing that could happen to an imaginative youth, aside from the curse (or blessing) of imagination itself, is to be exposed without preparation to life outside his or her own sphere - the sudden revelation that there is a there out there."

tom robbins, jitterbug perfume


i think it's best
we never meet,
heroes against heroes
and such.
you talk like you know
me
but i could be anyone ~
annoying.
harsh.
loud.
i'm none of those
things, actually,
and if i'd give me
a second i could
breathe
and remember art imitates life...
hah.
i forgot that
i sold my soul for
a butterfinger in '96
and i forgot
that i had an overbite
the size of
the grand canyon
and i forgot i
told myself that
love
was something you read
on the back of a
milk box...
these verbs i use are not applied
to the life that i
know and use.
i am ~
this.
and this.
and this.
previously mentioned.
indicated, the
present.
welcome to
new york, i
guess.

~k.

oh, smile

i could say
the things that make you smile
cause you know i'm thinking of you at
4:38 am.
i could say the things
that make you smile
cause you know i have 13 minutes
to smoke this cigarette.
i could say the things that make
you smile, cause
you know your smile
hasn't been around, i
could say
the things that make
you smile
cause they're the things
that make you smile,
but i won't, cause
discreetly,
you're smiling, and
i hate it.
you'll never know
my red satin sheets
and
you'll never know
my red satin smile
and you'll
never know my 13 minutes
cause you didn't want to.
and you most likely
didn't ever try.
so draw my face
and write your words
and live your life
without me.
cause
i will never
be that
big
ass
heart
you'd ever love.

~k.

charlotte

sing, sing,
sing...
spotlight dwells on your
nose, your
little mole
perching on your lip;
sing, sing,
sing...
make yourself known,
cause the silence
leads to nothing,
and the solitude leads to
gold;
sing, sing,
sing...
don't forget the
tonka-tots
that pushed you
to the top,
the plastic faces
and boring spaces
made better by
a lop-sided
city view, sparkling
windows and
exposed brick walls
are better dreams than
none, i guess.

sing, sing,
sing,
cause the dance fell
short of the dress.

~k.

firecrackers

oh, burn
you silly little flames,
give me
momentary leave
from your seriousness
"but i have
a cigarette"
just gives me time to
NOT
understand you, it's
all your smoky
mirrors that convince me
to smile this way, an
that...

you can give me
your number
but it doesn't mean
you have to pick up.

shame on me,
cause i came back for seconds.

~k.

grains

i miss you, ocean.
i miss your temperate touch
on my legs, where you
lay your head when
you're sleepy.
i miss you, and
you know i do, it's
why i came back
and why you told me
to.
i miss your embrace
against my back,
eyes closed, nose
filled with your smell-
i only pretended
to nap, i
didn't want to miss
the minutes i had you in
my arms.
i miss your lapping laughs
and your tides washing
over my thighs, and
even though you didn't
say it, i know
you thought my ass
looked great bobbing
in your waves...
i miss you ocean, and
i've known i always have,
and even though i'm
chasing these pavements
i'm still with you, and
i still want to come back
for sunsets and windy
kisses.

~k.

seasons

long days,
cold nights. spring
is here, again.
i feel like
holding on to
the fall, holding
it to my heart,
giving it last
chances til it hurts.
but i guess
no one
can build us out
of weather, no one
can wipe away
the ice... i
have to learn
to let go
of the seasons
as they change.

~k.

to find the key

i will be
a solid stance,
a stone-cold
pillar of
hardened hearts.
i will be
a rock garden,
spread amongst
wishing revelers.
i will be
a guarded cave,
jewels locked
within my walls.
i will be
a treasure chest,
a rusted
tomb of envy.
i will be
all of this, and
pretend like the
summer day is long,
but i will never
be
so good for you
cause the walls
will never be
broken through.

~k.

oh, conflict

directions are so hard.
am i supposed
to count them
on an abacus?
all these you's, with
your pretty lines
and empty flights;
these you's
who
push me through
and let me singe
at your heels...
you should never read
my paper words
cause those are the
ones
that burn the fastest.

~k.

i AM LuCY

she didn't fade, she's
inked on my skin,
like you wrote to me
that time, even
though you didn't
care enough to stick around.
no, lucy is STiLL
here and lucy is STiLL
angry, and mad
for life, the
way she was once
mad for you...
i wonder if LuCY
pops up in everyday
conversation
the way
you do, and don't;
so i am still LuCY
but i think you may be too -

fuck you, LuCY for leaving me.
fuck you, LuCY for not needing me.
i wanna say FuCK YOu
because i still LOVE YOu
no i'm not okay
and i don't know what to do

ugh.
life would be easier
if i could just
wipe the slate
clean.

~k.

elementary

settle in, settle
down, children; know
that detentions are passed out
at the sight of
an untucked shirt or
unruly behavior... hour
by hour with the
dunce cap on your head
til you've learned
(even though mistakes,
however unfortunate,
tend to repeat themselves
at vain and egocentric
children); know that
as you grow up
(whatever that means)
you will have less
and less margin
for those mistakes,
especially when done
to the same person
over and over again...
know that the heroes
you love are also
the villians you hate, which
eventually will translate
into your relationships,
too; know
that age isn't wisdom
and youth isn't innocence,
and the only way to
be immortal is if
people talk about your life
after you're gone.
no, children, your
days here are lucky
and fleeting and
if you manage, you will
one day know all these things
before you have lost
everyone in your world
that means something to you.
in the meantime,
turn to page 357 and read
chapter six, "the
psychological remnants
of abandonment".

~k.

icarus girl

stupid, girl, you
never learn,
you break the wings
and fall in flames,
these pretty things
smash to smithereens.
what masochist hands
build the bricks to lay
bad bridges.

k.

a mouthful of coins

the silence is golden
it's a good color
on you, almost as good
as it looks on me...
so pretty, so
gentle.
all over
so humble.

beautiful muse,
but...
your smoky mirrors
are no match
for mine.
your gold will sooner
cap your teeth
instead of grace
your palms.

k.

blizzard

it's a simple this, a
sleepy little town
somewhere in north carolina,
somewhere under the
pounds of snow, melting
into ice, fingers
playing hooky from
our gloves under coats;
an unexpected this, a
this that can make the
breastbone warp a little, make
it feel wrapped in worn
wool and warmed between
paper-thin walls...
a this that shows
the cracks in the
foundation, but
doesn't itch to be healed
or plead to be saved; it's
getting lost and leaving
light behind, blazing
trails and burning snow
behind us, border to
border, palm
to palm, minute by
minute, taking the
bus to town and
leaving the luggage in
motels, the only
weight, some
change in our pockets.

k.

heady

drop the ropes, VIP
you see,
the bulbs, they flash,
and blind,
and tease; you
pull the cord,
the vest inflates, the
smiles, how they
cooperate.
this world is fake,
and trite, and
true,
and though i'll never
get to you and your
bulldog smile, your
gilded eyes, these
diamond-dripping
fingertips,
at least you'll have
security
that you were never
meant for me, and
barrel on, barrel through,
cause i guess
neither was i meant
for you.

k.

death in the front line

our armies advance, they
do not know
the meaning of
"death in the front line", and
even if they did,
they wouldn't care...
me, up on my
high
horse, gun in it's
holster and knife in
my hand, me
with my shiny medallions
and generals' stars, me
with my hardened heart
and weathered, leather
skin; i
yell to the front line
CHARGE
and they do,
and you,
with your small words
and buttonless vest, you
with your blue-eyed
vacancy and penniless
pockets, you
die by the front lines hands,
trampled by the charge
of a general's chance,
killed by a war
of worlds and circumstance;
and i, in my
fancy blues and
sly smile, i
mask my disappointment
behind the glint
of a blood-soaked sword.
i guess your death
prevents you seeing
my award.

k.

crying wolf

"for everything i
gave up, i
was angry and resentful..."
your words, yours,
which hang heavy, a
mouthful of nails, lips
lined in silver
as the rainclouds
passed over your tongue
and into my mind; worried...
no, you
gave me up,
no one twisted your
wrists, and
called me with words
drenched in apathy,
cancerous cysts...
you walked into my
corner store, smiled
at me in the eyes,
and stole my advice.
here's your cake;
he's your cake,
he's your calories,
he's the hands you
let down with a kiss
that day on the couch.
the tears that streaked
your cheeks
a couple tuesdays ago
are slick with confidence,
now, shiny with
this naive hope
that next time, oh, next time,
there will be a
next time.

that was your
next time.

k.

151 days

i guess it
affected, you.
and that sucks,
that i have to
presume...
five months is
151 days; not
half a year, exactly.
but it's too long
for you to do
so little, so
politely.
i seem shallow, so
transparent, so
selfish.
but it's because
i can't keep reading
the dust jacket
for the next 151 days and
beyond it...
if i can't turn the pages
and i can't turn back clocks
i have to turn back
to me, lost
in music and movement and
more,
more,
more.
i need more.
open palms,
willing eyes, to
turn
letterstowordstosentences
to paragraphs about you and me.

so for now, i guess
i'll wait
and dance and
try to smile.

for the best.


i'm disappointed. it sucks having to come to conclusions and make grown-up decisions. this has most recently translated into me losing friends.

when we're young all we want to do is be an adult. and we scoff at our elders who tell us to enjoy our youth and not try to push the hands.

i always respected it when they said it, figuring they knew what they were giving up upon gaining the numbers to drink legally and fuck whoever you want.

taxes. disrespect. complicated relationships. bills. bills. bills. std's. groceries. dating. hair appointments. chasing dreams. making a living. a compulsive addiction to leather boots.

these things all blow! and they're all why "experience" equals "knowledge" to me. when did this road get so bumpy?

le sigh. chin up, buttercup. the decision was already made up.

k.

the yesterdays

running in puddles
shoes slipping off toes,
nowhere to go but
small alleys between
buildings to catch
our breath, skin
wet from the
outside in;
smiles splashed across
faces that make spaces
for teeth to grin...
it's days like this
i like to live in.

k.