Daily notes (Rated R)
there is no urgency to write anymore, dried fruit. I’m an addict? My psychiatrist recommended over eaters anonymous— my weight is becoming an issue, apparently— so I stopped taking abilify because I...
View ArticleFlowers for Dahlia
There is a rose bush growing here where I live, the contrast where poverty meets beauty is paramount, like the effect of sweet vanilla pink, nearly silk on filth— I picked one of the flowers for my...
View ArticleThorazine
Yesterday was an orange bottle— sat paralyzed in my chair for hours in pain, because of this or that unemployable reason— when I was on Thorazine I thought. Breath. Line Break. Breath. Air. Space.
View ArticleCaveat
I wanted to write a note to you, the audience: some of these poems are a work of fiction, names and places and events may have been altered… that’s what it says at the beginning of all my books of...
View ArticleThe drought
Growing up my parents would order tubs of water— I would wait with my mother usually, when the truck barreled in the driveway, a man carrying two clear jugs of clean water, so heavy that precious...
View ArticleTitus
I read a really lovely essay this morning on wordpress — of a personal experience of someone with Bipolar disorder. It was beautifully written and very clear/easy and understandable to read. I fear...
View ArticleBook Review: “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”
“Why Sylvia Plath Haunts Us,” reads in the June issue of the Atlantic Monthly. On page thirty-four of the Atlantic Monthly by James Parker is like opening a sealed envelope, marked Confidential....
View Articlereinstated
congested with pain— goes the stormy stomach-ache of anxiety, twisting headaches with depressed eyes— this is what I know of despair—the moon of depression— (face of the moon!) I too am pockmarked— a...
View ArticleFlowers in the Mail
he sent flowers with love, so it said— A yellow rose, and green like the flower shop just a block from my old apartment—when i was pregnant. The back bay—gleaming glamorous—and the contrast of love in...
View Articlecactus plant
Why am I not perfect like all the others— and attempt to write when no one will publish me—why do I keep doing this— writing verse, etc., etc., it’s like my christmas cactus in my room, which...
View Articledaily dose
My voice lost its edge— i used to be so bold but now I am boring and tidy, my voice coherent to most— that’s one of the perks of slipping into psychosis: everything is insensible, but completely...
View Articlerevoked
In the old world you had to have a poetic license to use a metaphor— (to the ego, the force of the voice is by nature spirit- less) nor do I ask you for approval any more—
View Articlefarming on funeral grounds
even the silk is tough the cotton not worn the farm is bountiful with a meadow of clean glass, shards of the cows and pig whiskers can no longer spell, and the old farmer is digging up the hill— the...
View ArticleDay Treatment #3
I will not self-destruct and one and one and one breath i’m a strong individual and unique, par don the missing love and two and breath and breath now breathe, I hate meditation be cause it makes me...
View ArticleThe Witch Stone
The body tethered to the wheel of crank and notch, the stretched torso with sounds of slow spinal pop and hiss — go now — gather the wood. I am a tar baby with kettles to cover me, goose down let some...
View ArticleRoxbury, Massachusetts
Today is I have a dream — however close MLK’s birthday is, to us “today,” the calendars soar it is something of King’s Month—it’s a month dedicated to spirit—dignity —sitting at Dudley station, in...
View ArticlePurple in Dickinson
Poem by Emily Dickinson, painting by Kate Purple is fashionable twice— This season of the year, And when a soul perceives itself To be an Emperor.
View ArticleOn Caesar’s watch
Time is of seconds— and seconds tick, to minutes, minutes until an hour— and hours to bla—bla—bla— but history doesn’t wait— and eras were once a day— where as dates are a lifetime—
View Article