holla at me.

I'm gonna be reading "Pills", "Filmstrip", and "Pinup" tonight at the open mic/poetry night at the Ames Progressive office. Come holla at ya girl (and other sweet local poets) if you happen to be in Ames at 'bout 8 with nothing to do and you happen to be wandering near 118 Hayward in the same building as the Scallion.
I promise you I'll shower and take my meds beforehand. I'll maybe even cover the giant zit that's forming on the side of my face.
Poets are just slightly above mimes on the list of most hated artists.
We're full of shit, but come anyway.

-d

possible book idea in its infancy.

I'm going to start thinking seriously about self-publishing a bona-fide poetry book. Complete with images, if the person I want to help me with that is willing to comply...

Thinking of going through a self-publishing site, Lulu.com...I'm going to do some serious editing, designing the layout myself, and maybe setting up reading(s)/book signing(s).

The title: Dress Up Naked

Poems will include (not necessarily in this order or how they're appearing on the blog):
Pawn Shop Boy
Groceries
Addictee
Birth
Bluebird
Crocus (la petite mort)
Filmstrip
Pinup
Sunday Seance
Hexapus
Pills

Possibly including...
Hijack
Winter Room
Man in the Well

Pills--4/2

pill--noun
3. Slang. a tiresomely disagreeable person.

example: "Quit being such a pill, Jordan."
-me, a cold Sunday in late February, 2008.

db.
****************************************

Pills

I was your housewife shuffling through a Vicodin binge
yawning as she sauteed the mushrooms and peppers
and stirred the sighing pile of noodles.

(pop this pill, Mrs. Lonely, and your life will be
just like a movie.)
(I want my life to be
just like a movie.)

You were as white as asprin, unassuming.
You made my blood thin as a first communion veil
and I became transparent, every detail of my pulse revealed.
So when I came near you
a prick of a brooch pin could have made me bloom
a shocking, clumsy stain
enough to make the locker room girls blush.

You were a cornfield raver.
and she raced through your brain on a purple bicycle.
I tried to cut holes in her tires, but she had already
made enough neon paths to spell our her name:
Just as certain you would remember
as quickly as a hit of her blue and pink and green
catalyzed your brain into
yards of burning photographs
it was easy
it seemed so easy.

I tried to be your penicillin
your cure-all girl with yellow bruises on her wrists
but you shot up like a shell-shocked 'Nam vet.
The green in my eyes reminded you too much of the jungle
and how you wanted to lie buried as the forest floor
yielded to your body
punctured by organic poison.

Ever the homemaker, I lay twitching on the cold bathroom tiles
as the teapot screams in the kitchen.