Saturday, June 21, 2014


Have you ever heard that saying
If you meet more than three assholes
In a day, then you are probably
The asshole
I am pretty sure
That I am
An asshole.
The sickest part
Of realizing this
Is that I don't mind
Not really.
I sort of mind
That I don't mind.
But it seems
So rude
To pretend.
I can actually
Bite my tongue
For a long time
My mouth will be
Filled with blood
Before I tell you off
(If you're the reason)
But when I do
Blood will
Spatter your face
And I will not
Feel bad
My affection
For people
Or it fades
I am honest
But I choose my battles
Perhaps that is the problem
Maybe I should put up
A fight
Every. Fucking. Time.
Fight every thing
So you never think
I agree with you
When I don't
So you never think
I believe your lies
When I don't
So you never think
I admire you
When I don't
But so much of it
Is made of little things
Trivial things
Why fuss over that
Again and
Again and
It chips away at me
All those little things
And some of them
Are not so little
At all
But why fight?
Why not
Enjoy each other's
There it is!
Do I enjoy your company?
Your humor?
Your kindness?
Your confidence?
Your friendship?
Is it mutual---
This company?
Oh, dear---
I do hope you know the answer.
Most of those in my heart
Know the answer
Because most people
Even assholes
Pay attention
To more than
Their own interests
But if every thing
You pay attention to
Is about you
Only you
Even those things
You're learning/doing/whatever
Are about you
And your friends
Are about you
And why you
Do anything
For anyone
Is about what you like
What you get
What you want
To the point
That even the world
And its problems
Hone in on you
And ruin your good time
Then you
Might want to
Cover your face.
A wise asshole
Once told me
"Don't work at working!"
Framing everything
In nice, inoffensive
Is too much work
Biting my tongue
Has become
Too much work
The results
Don't justify
The effort
I am loosening my tongue
And letting the blood

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

A Wild Thing

Mr. Sendak
I want your heart
I would eat it 
If I could
Even now
I would gulp down
The ashes
Of your rage
And roar a 
Terrible Roar
And manifest
The spikes
Of your sensitivity
Your pain
Your madness
Your aggressive
Of almost
I would 
Impale the world
With my honesty
And the grumbling
Of my love
I would remake you
And hurt through it
As you hurt through it
Hurt every day
I would revel in the pain
To be as strong
As you

Sunday, June 8, 2014


I used to work at a little store in Berkeley
I didn't work there very long
The owner told me to keep a closer eye
On the teenage black girls
In. Fucking. Berkeley.
Right up the street
From Berkeley High
I did what many white girls do
I gaped at him in disbelief
I think I said something about
Teenage girls in general
(No much better a view)
But I needed the work
So I looked for a new job
I got hired
At The Gap
Of all places
And weirdly
The climate was better
I wish I had been a customer
In that other store
Instead of an employee
It would have felt so good
To tell the owner
To fuck off
Go out and tell everybody what he said
But instead
I was hustling
And needing to stay
On his good side
After I left
I did often tell people what he said
"Off the record"
Because I didn't know
How long I might
Need a good reference
From a former employer
Needing a paycheck
Needing a reference
Jesus! I didn't even need it
As bad as some
Just enough to
Bend over
The fucking 99%
Of us
Bend over
In some way
In some shameful way
And it pisses me off
That I actually had it better
Than many
It's what masks
Are made of
I still have a smile
On standby
For bosses like that
Just in case