Listen...

"Both my Grandmothers left my Grandfathers, and my Mother left my Father, and I've never loved a man as much as he loved me.  A man will never leave you unless he's screwing someone else. -You can count on that sugar. But a woman, Ahhh, a woman will leave you to be alone. A woman will leave for herself. To find something, to shake something, to splash life in her face like brisk water. A woman will travel and test and fail and get back up to claim her self. But a man will never leave a home-cooked meal and once-a-week nookie, unless a warm pair of slippers are waiting for him, under other family-room's arm chair."

"People like to say Men are Dogs.  I wish they were. A dog can give you the most honest love you will ever know.  Its not about the wag-tail welcome home they give you every day. Its when you wake up breathless at 3:47 in the morning, and they wake up too. Just to press a wet nose against your cheek and stretch themselves into you.  Never underestimate the warmth of a cold nose."

"If you wake suddenly from a dream that seems like it could have been real, it was. Perception is the only reality. If you believe it, it exists.  Write down every dream you have, be a lucid dreamer, don't come back until you want to. If you can dream of waking from a dream, perhaps you are dreaming still. Write about your dreams until you could close your eyes and walk through them again; until you cant distinguish them from memory. Let the ideas and visions and desires melt together and over flow onto the floor."

"Someone once told me that poetry should be felt upon the pulses, but I can always feel it stick to my ribcage. If it's good poetry, I can feel it trickle down my spine or creep up my neck; raising goosebumps in its wake. You should feel the way writing can throb inside of you like a pulsing, stubbed toe. Promise me you'll find the way it buffets against your chest, and takes you on a spinning tour of Yourself. "

"Remember sweetheart, Yesterday is forever gone and Tomorrow will never be. Revel in Today, because that's all you got sugar."

Once upon a time, 

sweeter than we knew, 

the world was Ours. 

Index

Aphrodisiacs and Afghans, Bollywood and Blow, Cleavage and Chloroform, Diesel and DJs, Einstein and Eyelashes, Fingernails and Fillings, Garter snakes and Guard rails, Hubcaps and Hellos, India ink and Inch worms, Jabberwockies and Jasmine, Kilos and Kebabs, Limeade and Light years, Molasses and Mugshots, Narcissists and Narcs, Oracles and Orgasms, Panties and Paychecks, Quickies and Quebec, Refunds and Revolvers, Stains and Stalemates, Tongues and Tapers, Uvulas and U-turns, Velvet and Vendors, Wheelchairs and Weed, Xerox and Xanax, Yesteryear and You...

Self Portrait of San Diego

How many times has the summer stuck to the back of your thighs 

as you peeled them away from your leather bucket seats,

Clung to you 

with it’s skipping rocks and carpenter bees

and there’s too many dandelions on the lawn. 

How many times has the citrus sucking sunshine 

drifted through your rose-gold Aviators

and touched the crispy skin around the corners of your eyes,

made it crinkle when you laughed. 

Count the times you padded barefoot into the Dairy-mart

just for the AC and the way the linoleum tiles 

felt on your feet

And add that to the number of nights

the whole town smelled like honeysuckle.

Divide by the amount of your pores the humidity clogged, 

And tell me how long it took you 

to kneel in the baby’s breath

to beg for more.  

Yesterday

is only memory.

Tomorrow 

is merely imagination.

Today

is all you have.

Dear Ilana,

Your toes are cold in just slippers

as you stand outside and watch

the ardent orange tongues,

lap up your tangibility. 

They squirm through crevices in your floorboards 

and kiss your clothes to ash. 

They kneed and scream and crack. 

You know you lost. 

Before you can stop it, 

The North Wind cups the fleeting embers in his palm 

and tosses them
into the molasses sky. 

He whips them around tall buildings 

and lets them settle on street signs. 

He nestles ash in old, abandoned, pizza boxes 

and in the fur behind the ear of a stranger's cat. 

And you still standing there, shivering.

with bleach in your diet coke 

and rocks in your pockets.

and I'm scared. 

I wish I were there,

to wash that shirt

you've had on for days,

To braid your hair 

and fix your make-up.

To make sure your still real.

To make sure you don't burst into dust,

and join the fragments of your 

favorite Bob Marley poster

between the cracks of worn-out cobble stones. 

I Am

I am from a big red door

that could have been bigger.

I am from the dust bunny colony

under my bed.

I am from chipped nail polish 

and hastily crimped hair.

From the nine O'clock curfew,

From the first-born throne.

The tripping, wandering, hands-out-in-the-dark, throne. 

I am from the tall grass. 

The kind that has no paths waded through it yet. 

I am from the lost, the loud, the longing.

Knots

I can hear your thunderous eyelashes
pummel that strip of purple above your cheek.

Their echo tags along behind you as you drive
past fleeting lines on the freeway.

But it's her you mourn for,
as you struggle through a knot in my hair.

A sticky smile trickles down your chin
and I can tell you found something familiar.

Your eyes tug at my sleeve,
begging to drop it into my lap.

But that intimate hum we used to keep in our throats
slithered away through the grass

        A long time ago.

So I shake my head slowly, and you know.
She will always be your last.

Remember When We Were Strangers?

I was wearing stale cream lace

that used to be white,

drinking watered-down baileys

with too much ice.

My neck was wrapped in pearls

when I told you;

"Maybe later I'll show you my tattoos"

So you grabbed my wrist

a little too tight,

and let me waste your time.

You swept me to the dance floor

and guided me through

the choreography of our vibes.

You asked me to take my make-up off

and shimmy across your center fold.

So I looked you up

and lay you down 

and happily obliged.