last night i dreamed that i was in a strange roadside diner that was basically a mobile home. there was an east indian woman there with her three children and she was looking very sad and desperate. i started to talk to her but she was reluctant, so instead i focused on the children. the boy was about ten, the girl about seven, and the little girl was maybe two. we were sipping sodas and laughing and making faces. i realized i had to get going and was saying goodbye just as two east indian men came into the diner, angry at the mother for something. the children's faces went dark and forlorn. i was reluctant to leave but felt pressed for time - i was driving my van to pick some people up and was going to be late. i felt bad about leaving because an argument was breaking out but i didn't understand the language it was happening in. i walked out of the diner and got into my van, just as the two men came out, one of them holding the infant girl, both of them yelling, and the mother following behind, sobbing and pleading. the two other children emerged just as i was starting the engine and the boy came running to my window. "please take us with you," he said, "please. we can't stay this way." i looked over at the argument - the men each had a hand on the baby girl and were playing a kind of tug-of-war with her; the seven year old girl was climbing into the passenger seat. "i don't know, what about your mother?" i asked. "never mind her," the boy said, angrily, "she isn't good for anything, she neglects us for them," he motioned at the two men. "why are they fighting?" i asked. "they both think they are the baby's father," he replied, "but mother knows that neither of them are." i nodded slowly. the seven year old looked stoically ahead as though simply waiting for me to take them away. i thought for a moment and said to the boy, "okay. get the baby. we will go." he nodded back at me and calmly turned and approached the arguing adults, asking to hold his sister. none of them knew what we'd planned, of course, and were happy to have someone else take responsibility for the crying child while they continued to yell at each other. the boy slowly walked to the van and climbed in to the backseat, holding the baby, who was still crying. i backed out of my parking spot and started to just calmly drive away, the gravel griding under my tires, and the vision of the mother and two men arguing growing smaller in my rearview mirror. only when we'd turned a corner and they were completely out of sight did the seven year old girl climb into the backseat and burst into tears while her older brother held both her and the baby tightly. the boy's face remained blank and dark, he looked out the front window at night falling as i drove them away, not knowing anything about where i'd take them or what i'd do with them; only that i had to rescue them. i didn't even know their names.

2003

i made you something from nothing
i pressed ones and zeroes together
and i used crackling light for glue
everything i made up about you is true

when i live for nothing, it becomes something
and while i live, the air turns blue
you'll never give up what i want you to
everything i made up about you is true.

i wish i was invisible so
you could touch me
and no one would know

~brautigan

leaves thinner than window panes
flicker precariously
on the tip-ends of bleached twigs
each wondering
why life betrayed them
when they did every bit of their parts.
and the stem that held them secure
dries up and blooms a smooth,
dark, hollow
and edges lift, answering:
life is no betrayal, children -
the winter wind must begin her work.

i was in japan with my kids, staying with j in top three floors of a swanky hotel. the entire building was glass and metal, affording us this spectacular view of the city, the sea, other smaller islands on the sea, and mountains in the distance. j.'s son was there, a man just a little younger than me; both of them were tall, dark, gorgeous. i was there in a capacity that included very good friend with benefits (for both j and his son), cook, and support for j's older parents. we were having a fine old time. i was dressing up every day, taking time on my hair and make-up. my kids had free run of the hotel, pretty much; down to the arcade with games you've never seen before, elaborate and jangly; through the restaurants shoving balls of sushi rice into their mouths; playing in the elevators until stiff-collared crusty old japanese business men cussed them out, language barriers be damned. j. was so relaxed, more relaxed than i'd ever seen him, and it added to his charm that he didn't get jealous or angry when his eyes fell on my hand entwined with his son's, or our mouths moving against one another's ears, laughing with our foreheads pressed together. when j. wanted me he would either come to my room in the night after the children (mine and his!) were asleep or at least behind closed doors; or else simply wait until the furor in the hotel suites had calmed down in the mid-afternoon, and pull me over to him while he was seated gazing out the 15 foot high windows or while he was playing on the glossy dark piano. he liked it when he was sitting to have me straddle him. he would put his hands all over me. he would smile a smile so large as my face lowered towards his for kisses. he was so pleased with himself and our situation it seemed to me he was going around drugged. blissed out. i felt much the same. we both wore white or creamy white, every day. i had large golden bangles and when i applied red lipstick to my mouth, looking in the mirror, i saw that my hair was long and blonde again, and my body was as it is now.

one afternoon i went scouting for the children in the hotel arcade, through the zinging and pinging and blasting and loud music and teenagers. a young boy, perhaps a little younger than my own son, was sitting on a motorcycle game talking into a cell phone. as i passed, his conversation was over suddenly, and he leapt off the motorcycle and started running frantically out of the arcade, leaving an enormous amount of change behind on the machine. i shouted after him, "wait! you've forgotten your money!" when he turned around and yelled back, "nevermind about the money! we are supposed to go back to our rooms, now! emergency!" and he tore ass out of there, legs flying, pushing people out of his way. amused, i scooped up all the coins he'd left behind, probably a hundred dollars worth, and shoved it all in my pocket, weighing me down, making me jangly, and continued looking for my kids. just as i found them (on a dance, dance revolution-type machine) it seemed everyone in the arcade had gotten the same kind of phone call as that original kid, and everyone was suddenly clamouring to be let out of the arcade, pushing each other side, shouting, jamming up at the doors. i gathered the kids to me and remembered a service exit i'd seen on the way in and started walking as quickly as i could there, looking nonchalant, before everyone else noticed me and swarmed that way out, too. i pushed on the metal bar of the door and made my exit quickly and smoothly. my pockets were still jangling. the kids asked what was going on and i replied that i wasn't sure, but that if we made our way back to the hotel suites, j. would be able to tell us. the issue now was finding our way around in this white tile maze of back hallways in the hotel. i opened door after door trying to get my bearings or find an elevator and finally we came upon the indoor pool and i knew how to find my way out from there. i pulled the children alongside me through the women's change room, which was empty and filled with the sounds of showers dripping. it was clear the area had been abandoned as quickly as the arcade was - towels, shoes, bags of clothes were left behind, dotting the benches and dangling from half-open lockers. i began to get very alarmed at that point and made my way quickly to the exit into the hotel lobby, which was pandemonium.


in the loud throngs of people i had to pick both children up in my arms and carry them or they would have been lost to me. i tried to make out what people were shouting but it was all in japanese, which added to my own feelings of fear and panic. there was a huge storm of people fighting to get at the elevators and police officers waving them away, pushing them back, wearing helmets and weilding batons, their face shields steaming up with exertion and spittle. laurel had her hands around my neck, liam was wide-eyed and unsettled. i started shouting back at the police officers, "Please let us past, my husband is J! We have to the top three floors. Please let us pass!" but they were not listening to me, they just shook their heads and pushed us back. I felt tears rise in my eyes at the thought of climbing over 35 stories with the children in tow. all for unknown reasons. As I turned away from the elevators and scanned the lobby for the door to the stairway, J's hand fell on my shoulder and he pushed us foreward, foreward, foreward, waving some kind of plastic card in the face of the police officers, who let us pass and get into the open elevator doors. he was still smiling as he always was, calm and slightly bemused by everything.

"j, what is going on?" i demanded. he could see i was near tears and enfolded me in his arms. "it's okay, christa," he said, calmly, "they're asking us to retire to our suites, there's a hurricane coming in."

my throat closed up. "a hurricane? and they want us to go to the 37th floor when they are expecting a hurricane?" i clutched the children even more closely and said, "how can that possibly make any sense?"

j shrugged. "they told me that hurricanes are common here, and they designed this building to withstand them. they say this is the third one this season and it's smaller than the others were. we should be fine."

"but it's all glass! all of it! the whole building!"

the elevator was moving up quickly, faster than elevators in north america go, the lighted numbers flickering so quickly it was more of a blur on the panel. "I know it," he replied, looking up at the numbers, "but they assure me, and i assure you, and everything will be alright, doll. i promise."

i swallowed hard and tried to relax. finally our elevator reached the first floor of our suites and opened directly onto our palour, where j's son and aged parents were already waiting. the windows, 15 feet high, offered a panoramic view out to the ocean, and i could see that the sky was already bruised, dark, and shot through will sickly yellows. j went immediately into the bar/kitchen area and started mixing everyone drinks. his son came near me, put his arms around me and kissed my ear, whispering, "i was very concerned about you. where were you?" i shrugged and looked up into his dark brown eyes. "i had to find the kids. they were in the arcade."

in time we were all seated. i had to resist the urge to cover myself and the children with everything soft i could find. pillows, blankets, mattresses. the sky outside was roiling, blinkering, rushing past at incognizable speeds, and the wind was picking up even further. i had the kids with me on a plush white loveseat, clutching laurel to my chest, trying to control my breathing. j was on the larger sofa, reclining, with his grown son laying next to him on it, each of them propped up on their elbows, sipping at their highballs. j's parents were in seperate armchairs. his father was eating peanuts, his mother was watching the sky as i was, trying to subtley wring her hands. the roar of the wind became almost unbearable and i finally closed my eyes as the building began to shudder. j shouted at me from across the room but i couldn't make out what he was saying. laurel was crying, liam was pressing harder and harder into me. j kept shouting and i finally made out some of the words, "look! look! it's.....amazing! christa!" and i pried my eyes open and the sight beyond the glass of the walls was enormous and terrifying and beautiful. the sky was moving past at a speed that was incomprehensible to anyone who hadn't seen it - it looked like speeded up time lapse photography, where the god above had seen to mix with clouds up with a stir stick, a barista in the starbucks of heaven, swirling mocha syrup through the foam of our atmosphere, faster and faster, assembly line fast. i looked around the room and saw that everyone, everyone, was yelling at the top of their longs, trying to shout down the storm, and i opened my mouth and throat to do the same finding that i did not have to force my voice to work, as the air pressure instead drew it out, and still, the decible levels of the storm were such that i felt mute.

the moment stretched on for a period of time that was unbearable. i felt that my mouth would never shut, the yelling would never stop, my daughter's fingernails would never be pried from my collarbone, my son would never find security in any place other than glued to my hip, clutching at my one free hand, that j and his son would forever be clutching at one another on the expensive white sofa, that his parents would never be without mouths full of liquor and peanuts. we were frozen in time, frozen to our seats, frozen in fear and awe of the sheer power of the storm.

but it finally passed. yes, it passed. the sky cleared to impossible blue. the sea fell to liquid calm, sloshing against the shore playfully, blue and not black, roiling white caps soothed to bubbled foam.

and everyone relaxed and drinks were drank, and people peeled themselves off their seats, and wandered around shellshocked for while. j's mother hovered near the telephone, asking, "is anyone hungry? shall i call for food?" my daughter wouldn't let me out of her immediate vicinity, clinging to my flowing white pants, stumbling over my clicky golden heels as i backed up and walked forward, wandering around the suites, trying to decide how to contact my mother in canada, to tell her i was fine, that we were fine. surely the phone lines were down after that. surely there was no contact with the outside world. surely this ivory tower was an island in what had to be a sea of desperation and suffering below. it seemed no one was able to talk about it. we moved around the hotel rooms silently until nightfall. j's son announced that he was going out to see what was happening below. the phone was dead and he had a japanese girlfriend that he wanted to check on. he held my jeweled hand for a moment as if he were afraid jealousy would spring into my face, but it did not, and he kissed my fingers one at a time, slowly, admiration and gratitude mingled in his eyes, as he said goodbye. i tucked the children into their beds on the second floor of the suites, and came back into the parlour where j was at the piano again, and his parents were shuffling around in slippers and nightgowns and robes, turning out lights, putting dishes into cupboards. they said goodnight and also retired to their rooms, and left j and i alone.

while he played i stood in front of the windows, gazing long out into the city and sea below us. only patches of city lights were visible in the darkness. some areas had power, like ours. others were completely black. i saw fires, small from my perspective but probably fearsome in person. i saw the flickering red and white lights of firetrucks and other emergency vehicles seeking passage through dark streets, but the sounds of their sirens were lost in the altitude and in the thick panes of glass. the music stopped behind me and i turned around to see j moving to a chaise lounge with a magazine in his hand.

"what'll we do?" i asked, walking towards him. "there's no way we can leave the city now. it'll be days, maybe weeks." he laid back in the cushions and dropped the magazine to the marble floor, extending his hand to me, a thick gold chain sliding down his forearm at the motion. i took it and allowed him to pull me onto the chaise with him.

"what matter is it to us? of what consequence?"

his mouth was soft and only a hint of stubble scratched at my cheeks as we kissed. a roar louder than any hurricane grew in my ears, pierced only by the sound of my golden bangles as i moved my hand to his face, his hair. of what consequence. only everything.

at what pained moment did it happen?
that reversal of polarity?
where magnetic hands, once hanging,
clinging,
every unseen moment they had together
instead found force in resistance
and now private moments
are fueled by repulsion.

i miss the attraction,
but i guess there's no backward action,
and in the infinite universal spiderweb
you are a speck
and i am the flea.
you are a speck
on the back of a flea.

when did the wind change direction?
that billowing sail go limp?
where cross breezes, once upflowed to tornadoes,
whirling,
every grey afternoon yellowed with day dreams
instead lay empty-brained
and now the tempest brews
only in my teapot.

i miss the attraction,
but i guess there's no backward action,
and in the infinite universal spiderweb
you are a speck
and i am the flea.
you are a speck
on the back of a flea.

i dreamed that i was in owen wilson's apartment with him and his girlfriend (who looked like, but wasn't, kirsten dunst). it was the holidays, the place was lit up with xmas lights, and they were drunk and being very silly. at one point owen leaned over to pat my leg and spilled his whiskey all over my dress. i was annoyed but tried to laugh it off. he sloppily tried to clean it up with a kleenex until i pushed him away. then he turned on an overhead projector and my poetry appeared in giant-form on his wall opposite it. the kirsten dunst lookalike started to read it out loud. i was very embarrassed. they didn't laugh or anything but it was excrutiating. she read many many poems out loud with no breaks in between. all i could smell was whiskey and my own shame because i did feel like i was being mocked. finally after a long time they shut the projector off and owen turned to me and said, "42 poems and only 14 mistakes. not bad." i was flushed and looking out the window at snow falling down. owen was still drunk and stupid, and he got in my face and said, "so you're a writer, eh? you're a pretty good writer, there, girly," and then he stood in the middle of the room while his girlfriend laughed and he stretched his arms out, slopping his drink everywhere, and in this annoying sing-songy voice he shouted, "YOU OWE! YOU OWE! YOU OWE US ALL ONE NANOWRIMO!"

last night i dreamed i was in this highrise apartment building with a crush i have. we were checking out this one apartment, to see if leon and i would consider buying it, because it was the same highrise [info]freakykitten and [info]a_narchist were living in and we thought it would be fun. anyway, my crush and i spent the afternoon there, and at one point went to lay down on the bed together, where i made my move, but, while he didn't exactly reject me, he didn't really respond in kind nor seem enthusiastic about it, and i was despondant. he left, and a real estate agent showed up. he was very slick. he gave me the grand tour. it was a pretty amazing apartment - we were on the 20th floor and had a great view of the vancouver skyline. the bathroom was huge and boasted double tubs, each of them super deep. it was only 2 bedrooms but the whole place was 1700 square feet with a bigger kitchen than what i have here. the agent was really pressuring me and i finally said, "okay, we'll take it, but only if you offer a two year warranty on all the appliances." he agreed and i signed some forms and that was that - a done deal. i quickly called up lisa and andrew to tell them we'd bought the place and were going to move in asap, and they were excited and wanted us to meet them in their apartment downstairs to have dinner together, once leon was back from work and we'd changed and everything. i have no idea where the kids were. i was still feeling pretty sad about having my crushy feelings left unrequited by this guy but decided to just put it out of my mind. i went to take a bath but leon came in at that moment. i told him i'd signed the papers and the apartment was now ours. he was happy and excited. i told him we were supposed to be at lisa and andrew's for dinner in a few minutes so he better change. he said he'd rather help me get changed. he started to lift my shirt over my head, when all of a sudden this woman burst into the apartment with her four kids. she was short and had dark, curly hair flying off her head like a halo. "what are you doing here?" i demanded, "this is our apartment, we just bought it!" she threw her head back and laughed while her children ran crazily all over the house making noise and mess. "you didn't buy this whole apartment," she said, still laughing, "you bought half of this apartment. i own the other half!" my stomach dropped about a thousand feet to the floor. i shook my head in disbelief. "no, no, you can't be serious. the agent never said anything about that." she kept laughing, "oh, they never do. you try selling half of an apartment. believe me, it's impossible. the only way it happens is by villainy." leon flew into a rage. "there is no way that six children and three adults can live in this space comfortably!" he shouted, "we'll never pay!" she just kept laughing and told us to take it up with the banks. all i could think of was how much i wanted to be back in my scuzzy little innercity townhouse complex. her children were all crammed into a toddler bed even though most of them were over the age of six. they looked afraid of me. i shut their bedroom door and thought of calling my crush and asking him to meet me somewhere else, because that was it for me. i was running away.

the pain is too clean to tell;
they say every dreamer dreams only of herself.
it's under the thunder
under the shackles of her eyes
the flame's too big to tell;
she overshot the wishing well.

swimming all day to keep warm
sometimes the field burrows into the worm
it's wide in the divide
widen the shackles of her eyes
the gaps too narrow to tell
her glad heart is so light it's unwell.

because of this you'll never know
how long or far or which way the breath blows.
it's in losing the light
in losing the ashes of your cigarette
the shackles aren't anything to fear
until the clanking is all you can hear.

sunday room

It is better to linger in a room reflected back to you
By mirrors draped in faded scarves, scented patchouli
And grey pre-dawn light fades fuschia walls to dusty roses.
As your breath falls on the swell of her breast
And your hand trickles through the river of soft tresses,
Her sighs casting spells of fearlessness.
It is better to linger in a room filled with morning,
In a Sunday room swollen with memory.
With a woman alive and in love,
It is better to linger.

the other night just before falling asleep, leon and i made the mistake of discussing and also trying to a capella karaoke the song "detachable penis". remember that one? it was big on college radio when we were both in...well...college.

anyway, i guess it led to the dream i had that night of me going to a weekend long music festival with two friends but leaving him at home. and because i was going to miss him so much, he detached his penis and gave it to me to take along. well, as me and my girlfriend (who shall remain nameless) were sitting on a blanket waiting for the next musical act to come on, i took leon's penis out of my pocket so that we could look at it and i could prove that he really did have a detachable penis. she was at first kind of grossed out but then, i don't know, i guess the drugs kicked in or something, because she picked it up and was admiring it and stuff. i took my eyes off her for a few seconds to watch the band and when i looked back at her, SHE WAS EATING LEON'S PENIS. i mean, AUGH. big meaty chunks. it was almost like an oscar meyer weiner, too, absolutely no blood, just pink flesh. AND SHE WAS LAUGHING. i shrieked at her to stop and yanked what was left of the poor thing away from her. it was all rag-tagged and bite-marked. she was laughing and didn't appear to understand that she just completely ruined my sex life for ever and ever and i was crying. i shoved it deep down into my shirt, between my breasts, still crying and yelling at her for what she'd done and she suddenly seemed very apologetic. she said if i held it in between my breasts for long enough it would regenerate. i took it out to look and she was right, little bits were reforming, slowly; but at that rate it would take days and i was still really mad at her. i was cuddling the torn-up penis like a baby and trying to figure out how i would tell leon what had happened. he was going to be really mad.

then red hot chili peppers came on the stage and i woke up.

in my dream i was in a rambling old plantation-style house, it was my aunt's house, i guess. it was strange to find such a huge house in an urban area. her backyard was small but heaped with dark, rich earth and new plants sprouting in it, a large beautiful food garden, just waiting to blossom and produce fruit. what was odd about the growing plants was that it was an october day, too late in the season for new growth; thanksgiving. we came inside, to sit at a long table on her screened-in porch. the house smelled lovely, but it was cold on the porch. suddenly my grandfather sat at the table across from me, his fork and knife in hand. i said, "grandpa! you're alive!" he shook his head no, but smiled at me. suddenly an eerie wind kicked up, the screens started tearing at their frames and the door was slamming back and forth. my aunt was in the kitchen, i was alone with grandpa, the eaves were rattling, wind was howling through the rain gutters, lights were flickering on and off. i didn't feel afraid even though i knew it was the ghost of my grandmother creating the ruckus. grandpa heard my thoughts and said, "yes. she's jealous that tonight i am corporeal and her turn doesn't come for a long time." i tried to talk to her, to tell her that i would wait for her to appear, too, to not be angry. but she banged around the house still, overturning plates of food, tearing petals off the flowers in the thanksgiving bouquet, unearthing the roots of the food plants in the garden. grandpa just sat and waited for his dinner, looking eager and silly and smiling mischieviously at me.

i liked that time you
snuck in my chill night window
and stole the first kiss.

and when you once said
that all stories were real since
you found out myths matter.

i'll never forget
wet stubble cheek skin scratch
or breath tinged with rain

or how tiny gold
flecks float chocolate iris
a treasure; a lake.

i never thought i'd need so many people

being informed of earth's imminent demise (i don't remember, exactly, something space-related or the sun going nova?) we planned a party, or tried to. everyone came, and met on the street and we couldn't decide where to end up - my place, or yours? who was bringing the food and who was in charge of the music? where would the children play and how do you explain it to them, if at all? i opted to keep my trap shut, though they did ask me a few times why i kept hugging them and crying. if you've only got 12 hours, maximum, and the ending is unexplainable (will there be a big explosion? will a wave of invisible heat pass over and vaporize us? will the earth be knocked out of it's orbit and skitter away like an eightball, pinging against jupiter and pluto on it's way out into the Big Dark?) and you want to get fucked up but also make every moment bittersweet, and run and find everyone you know to tell them everything you should have before the apocolypse, how do you deal? it's a little overwhelming, i tell you. but i ran. i first ran to robyn and grabbed her hand and dragged her out to the street party and made her kiss me. then i gathered all the young famillies i know, and all their children, and i kissed them all, too, every one. and then i got my mom, and lisa and andrew, and asked them to bring everything they had to eat, because we were going to eat it all, and drink it all. stop fretting about your waistlines and bubble butts and flabby bellies, the earth is going to crumble, or sizzle, or explode. in any case, your body is no longer your concern. can you imagine letting that go, for real? could you even do it, for twelve hours? it is like in belly dancing class, when the teacher told us we weren't supposed to "suck it in". eighty percent of the women had to conciously focus their attention on their bellies to relax the muscles enough to let them jiggle. even me.

as evening descended, we gathered at a bandstand with a view of the western horizon, watching the sun sink below the ocean for the last time. the children were playing happily as if this were any day. i felt reluctant to let mine go far from arms reach because the moment anything catastrophic appeared to be happening, i wanted to be holding them, and have leon hold me. but it seemed that things were going to remain calm for a while longer. i got up on the stage and started singing at the top of my voice that old cliche REM song. everyone started laughing and crying at the same time - some of you joined in. no one could remember much of the words beyond the chorus. i started to sob at "and i feel fine." it was such a lie. i felt scared and lonely of what was to come after we all died. chances were good i'd never see any of you again. there may not even be a me, and i was especially sorry to realize i still had so much ego left, even after everything i thought i'd learned in my life. after the impromptu karaoke, we all sat down again and looked at the darkening sky. some people wondered aloud if perhaps there'd been a mistake and the earth was going to make it after all. it seemed so hard to believe - everyone and everything we've ever know, gone. no india, no ozone layer, no dalai lama, no communism, no lemurs or tasiers, no piroshki and beer. no amazon rainforest or burning piles of tires. everything - gone. most of us were philosophical about it. i sat next to abby and shane. somewhere, church bells started to ring and silence fell on us. abby was stroking my arm, and i was trying to look at everyone all at once, feeling that this was my last chance to drink it in. all your beauty and sadness and your lovely bodies and sweet breath and your tiny children with big wet eyes wondering. my children climbed into my lap, leon hugged me tight from behind and we kissed, hard, teeth pinching and drawing blood from our lips, sealing the deal we'd made years ago - if there is an afterlife, we will agree on which one: the summerlands. and we will wait for each other there, whoever goes first, or if we go together, spend eternity finding one another, and gathering our babies and animals, and making it everything we'd been too weak or lazy or tired to make of this life. it was then the rumbling started. great tremors beneath the stage we were all sitting on. people started to make moaning noises and the children looked around wildly, for cues as to how to proceed. no one could tell them. the earth began to shake and suddenly the sky, half-dark half-light, rushed past us, going over our heads at dizzying speeds, peeling back, as if the earth was launching and the clouds, the stars, the milky way were as the patchwork farmlands, the tiny cars, the ant-like people you see as you take off in an airplane. abby's had was still on my arm, only gripping much harder now, and as the breath was pulled from my lungs and never reclaimed, i closed my eyes, smelled my daughter's hair, and waited in the din for the end of days.

a slip of paper with my name on it

a scrap of paper with my name scrawled on it:
this is a treasure lost to my youth,
like the dry detritus of joyful cigarette smoking
week-long tangles with LSD
weightless flirtation,
no heavy consequences,
wings of exhaled passion lifting me
higher.

a slip of paper with my name smeared on it:
something discovered in the bottom of a purse
gritty with crumbs and sand
a summer memory bringing fresh heartbreak to cracking
surface and tears falling
the privilege of over-acting grief
no struggling for survival
just laying in self-pity
alone.

a piece of paper with my name in your handwriting on it:
one more item on a list of things i've yet to hold
and numbered among the things
i have put my palms to are your cheeks, your cats, your hair
your bed and breath, your dishes
your taste in music, your computer screen
and old time photographs,
developed shortly after your
wedding.

a girl my age went off her head

i'm standing in someone else's livingroom. he is in the door, across the way. the place is sparsely decorated in art deco whites and silvers and modern recessed lighting in the walls and ceiling. i make a move to go towards him, and notice my legs are wet and freezing cold up to the knees. i look down to see the room is flooded in water with a thin film of crystal clear ice over it. i am shivering and looking at him questioningly. he looks away, turns, walks away, legs moving up high and crunching and splashing through the ice and water in the hallway. i stand there in the cold room, trembling, clutching my elbows. this is not my beautiful house, i sing-song in a whisper, breath clouding my vision, i am not a beautiful wife.

________________________________________________________________________


it is the moment i am shot by a gun, a random and innocent bystander. i see every grain of dirt imbedded in the pavement. the sound of the shot is louder and sharper than i expect. i smell the person next to me, their fear. all the reds and yellows on the roadside signage are gaudy, brilliant, horrific. the moment is brief. i do not have my life flash before my eyes. i hardly feel anything but the sensation of being pushed, hard, down onto the ground, by an invisible concussive force, and a deep burn in my belly, and all the wind forced from my lungs. there are a lot of people around and at first there's no sound, only smells. no one grabs for me. i sit down hard and watch in fascination as the tires of a car go by. i have to tell you something, i'm trying to form words, but i can't make them come out. i refuse to cover the wound with my hands. i let the hole, the tissue, the burn marks, the blood greet the air. horrible air, horrible life, horrible world, look upon your works, and despair.

in my dream, we moved into a huge, rambling, old mansion in the middle of the city. living there was the murderous ghost of my stepfather, or at least, i thought he was a ghost. but when he came to attack me, i started to bludgeon him with the leg off of an antique sofa, and he fell, and bled, all over the moldering tile of the kitchen floor. then he vanished. that night, all of the rich elite and socialites of the city came to our mansion for a housewarming. everyone knew the history of the place except us. we were newcomers to this world and they weren't shy about letting us know that. outside it was raining violently. when i stood near a chifforobe in the third-floor library, talking to some well-heeled matrons about our plans for restoration of the house, i felt dripping and looked up just in time to see the ceiling swelling and buckling under the pressure of too much water. i stepped out the way just in time to avoid the falling plaster and enormous gush of rain water. everyone turned their eyes away from the scene, embarrassed for me. in a huff, i rushed through the house looking for leon, my skirts clenched up in my tight fists, my stepfather's blood still drying on my forehead and cheeks. leon was standing near the bar on the first floor, smoking a cigar and talking with other men in suits. i smiled at the men and asked if i could excuse leon for a moment, and when we were alone in a corner i told him about the crumbling ceiling and leaking, and he flushed and said he'd forgotten to hire an inspector to tell us the state the building was in before we bought it. we fretted for a few moments about how we could not afford to actually repair anything in the house have the roof replaced, but then the party was still raging on around us, and we had to let it go for the time being.

the house was so large, and on such a small lot, there was virtually no yard around it. the next morning, we woke up and climbed up to the top floor where, at the end of the hallway, there was a small door that opened onto a narrow staircase that led first to the attic, then beyond, to a door that opened onto the flat roof. it was here that we had our gardens and yard. the lawns were bordered at the edge of the roof by wrought iron fencing, and hedges. the sun was shining. i took my coffee there, sitting at a wrought iron table in wrought iron chairs while the children ran through the grass with a man i have never seen before but who in the dream was their uncle, throwing frisbees and balls back and forth. i got up to walk around the enormous roof and look down into the streets. below us was the flood. i wrapped my fingers around the fence, and started calling to the people hiding in doorways that i was sorry and to come here, to come inside. they either did not, or pretended to not hear me.

2 dreams

wayne coyne took a shine to me. at first it started out that i was shy and uncertain and feeling weird about being with him, but he talked soft and kind and spent days warming me up with trips to vegan cafes, to record stores, and toy shops, mechanics to get my motorized bicyle looked at, and kite flying and hand holding. finally it culminated in me giving him very bad oral sex. i was awful and also mortified; i couldn't get him off. but he still loved me even afterwards. i thought that there was no way for him to love me, i was entirely unworthy and a bad lay to boot, but he wouldn't abandon me.



the second dream was filled with birds and islands and ocean. we were on a tour of cortes island's most luxurious and expensive homes. several of them could be launched out to sea. the most interesting one was enormous, like a west vancouver mansion, and when it was time to put it out to sea, it curved down around this long, sloped ramp from the top of a mountain. part of the trip down was through the mountain, like a tunnel. the owner said, "look out the windows to see where all the ducks hide at twilight," and i looked and sure enough there were billions upon billions of mallards all swimming in a panic away from the moving house. finally, the house bumped out onto the open ocean. my mom was with me. we saw there was a dinghy and asked if we could row around in it and the owner said it would be fine. as we are floating further and further away from the houseboat, i saw a bald eagle not too far above us, flying and looking predacious. i saw, "wow, mom, look! i think it is going to dive for a fish!" we watched in awe as it did exactly as i said. it plunged, talons out and menacing, into the ocean only a few yards from our dinghy, and came up soaked and fishless. not discouraged and clearly able to see the fish still swimming, it rose, higher and keening, and plunged again - this time even closer to our boat - it's yellow eyes rolling back into it's head. my mom and i were dumbfounded and could only manage "wow"s and "holy"s. the eagle missed the fish again. at this point it seemed to finally notice us and looked at us menacingly, as though it thought we were to blame for it's failed hunt. instead of flying away, it did something i am quite rationally aware of eagles not being able to do. it folded up it's wings and sat bobbing on the surface of the ocean, then began swimming towards us, eyes huge and wings wet. he even looked a bit muddy or oily. as he got closer, i realized that he was at least the size of my mom. huge. he stared and stared and mom and i began clutching at one another, terrified. his beak was sharp enough to make a mess of our dinghy. the look in his eyes was murderous. we were far, far from the houseboat. but luck was in our favour, or perhaps the eagle changed his mind. he floated past us, not even a few feet away, and continued floating. his eyes were trained on us the whole time, but he made no move to attack. mother and i rowed the dingy to shore, relieved, and then found ourselves unable to make our way back to where we'd started from. lost in a huge, endless, urban-style cement parkade on cortes island, filled with tourists and elevators that made no sense. their buttons said things like, "april 5.5" and "several stories up from the tea party."

revenge

in my anger i moved mountains and stacked them nolens volens onto my roof.
as the beams below creaked and shuddered, i heaved
water-logged limbs up, around, slapping and struggling
over crags and bark
over logs and mulch
and moss dry like wool and
insects vibrating
in the tombs of their ancestors.

the air withered under my breathing, turned sheet ice and lightning in my lungs.
as i passed the summit of one palisade, i felt no relief
only grim determination in anticipation of the ascent of the second peak
and the breath went flat and sharp
in a labouring diaphragm
and arms trembled, agonized
heart murmmering
in protest of my self-made demise.

i climbed and climbed in self-sacrifice; how the atmosphere grew dark
and darker from blue to purple to velvet painting
all shot with stars sharp and clear and cruel, each sing-songing
about universal entropic loss
seas, and the salt of seas, and rocks
dissolving unknown to me and
dark matter groaning
under weight of its own, en masse.

the final butte had no parting words of wisdom in my wake, it only chuckled.
i haughtily flipped my toes from its tip and launched
the mound of mountains collapsed into my old home as i flew off,
determined and predetermined
to pitch battle with light
all my lives and novas
every gas and flares to swallow
that never again would a day dawn on me singularly.


in my anger i flew toward the sun - that judas of all dark, secret things - to swap blows.
heat intractable, furnaces untold, oh nebuchadnezzar lives there
but rage burns brighter, revenge for every morning that bloomed without you
my fists out, and rushing
to plunge the sun, insane.
i'd blister and bruise him,
my mouth open - concious with flame -
to consume, and in the consuming, be consumed.

the butter yellow moon
in some tiny way
fills the void
you left
in the wake
of our embrace.

the fat lemon moon
swells above my eyes
and the stinging -
the fresh tears -
aren't grief
only acetic mist.

don't look at me
that drunken way
anymore.
i am not your
sweet rich lunatic
any longer.

last night it was this:

standing on a beach with leon. it is sand, but there are some huge, barnacle-covered rocks blocking our view of the actual sea, in front of us. leon tells me that he has done something to himself to change himself fundamentally and that he wants me to undergo the same change, so i should trust him, because it will be for the best for all of us. i am willing but nervous. he tells me the first step in achieving said change is to run to the sea. we hold hands and walk around the boulders in our way. i am telling him that i cannot run, not really, because of my knee. he isn't listening, his eyes are eager and focused ahead. i look at what he's looking at and see the tide is out so far, the sand is actually stretching to the horizon. the sky is blazing blue, it is incredibly hot and it looks like a desert wasteland. i tell him, pleadingly, there is no way i can run that far, it is literally miles to the sea from here. he laughs and grips my hand tight and starts to run, dragging me a long beside him. i am stumbling, kicking up clouds of sand, and begging him to slow down, that i can't keep up, that my knee will burst! but he ignores me and ignores me and ignores me and soon i am chugging along beside him as best i can, being half-dragged. he keeps going faster and faster. i suddenly notice he is wearing a long black trenchcoat and boots, and i feel like his from "the matrix" or maybe his a vampire like spike, from buffy the vampire slayer. suddenly i can feel the magic in him. i feel my legs grow lighter and looser and they begin to move in time to his. and then, i ecstatically realize that as we run we are rising off the ground, and the going faster and faster, and higher and higher. and soon we are maybe six feet in the air, and no longer making running motions with our legs, just soaring, soaring so fast, the sandy earth below us is rushing past. i feel terrified and exhilerated. leon lets go of my hand and then i am out over the immense blue/grey sea, and all i can see is water, water, water, and sky, and i'm flying faster and lower than i've ever flown in a dream before. endlessly.


then, this morning:

we are living in a tiny, run-down house in vancouver proper. it is night time. everything in the house is untreated wood. plywood, lumber. nothing is finished. no carpets, no drywall. it has been like this for years and things are looking worse for wear. i complain and leon says that as long as the house remains "unfinished" we don't have to pay taxes on it. but i am getting tired of every drop of food staining the plywood, ever spill of water warping the walls. i get frustrated and take liam out on a walk to a local park where there is some kind of free entertainment. laurel is already asleep so i leave her behind. liam and i have fun at the park. there are firedancers and we watch them intently. it is somewhere downtown, maybe pigeon park? only there is grass, we are sitting on a grassy hill.

suddenly people are screaming and pointing at the sky. i look up to see it too, a huge, hurtling, satellite falling towards the downtown core. it has USA flags painted on it - stars, stripes, blue, red, white all brilliant even in the darkness. it is coming down so fast there is no time to run away. i get up and try to carry liam as far from the point of impact as i can, which isn't far, because the satellite hits the ground only a second later, only a block or two away, behind a couple of office buildings. everyone is screaming, the impact and noise is immense, i can hear glass shattering, buildings roaring as they rain down around our ears, everything is deafening. i push liam to the grass and lay my body over his and realize i'm screaming, too. it goes on for what feels like forever. liam is totally still beneath my body, frozen in terror. screams, screams, crashings, explosions. and then i feel it, against my back, the wave of heat from the explosion. inside i'm terrified, it gets so intensely hot so fast, i think that we might just vaporize, and there's no way to run from that. i wrap my body around liam even harder, and try to roll away from the heat as best i can, shielding him the entire time, but i can feel my clothes melting into my skin, i can feel my skin going tight. this is it, armeggedon, the end of the world, i am going to die and there's no way to save my child.

but i am wrong. soon the screaming tapers off. i hear people calling out to each other, and crying, but no more terror noises. liam is shaken, pallid, white, but unharmed. my whole back is hot still, and i'm sure i have serious burns. i try to get up, to carry him, but can't. we hold hands and begin the slow walk back to our little unfinished shack to check on leon and laurel. when we get there, [info]angelstrange is there with her kids. they are all sitting in the dark livingroom, watching t.v., the light flickering and wavering over their rapt faces. already the footage is there for the seeing. newscasters are raving. leon looks up as i come in, and tells me he knows how to heal me. we have to go to the westernmost seashore. i should pack to leave in the morning, and [info]angelstrange offers to mind the children while we are away. i nod, tuck my son into bed, and wonder what it is at the shore that will soothe all my burns and trauma.

pearly pink pencil erasers extending under your magicks
silky red blooms in the vortex of her cheeks
dull blue fire erupts
in her sleepy-lidded eyes, and lasts weeks.


she stuffed journal entries about you under her mattress
and drew arrow-pierced hearts on the windows collecting steam
and made jokes
out of every one of her most very secret dreams.


you may be tempted to philosophize and theorize every touch, or kiss
or force each blazing feeling into its own dark little cube
but don't be surprised
when the months go by, and you find that you are still love's rube.

there is no why.
it is what it is.

last night i dreamed that [info]romp, [info]ambeaux and i were all getting on a plane together to go somewhere. we were in the airport and i confessed to them that a guy had approached me after i'd bought my ticket asking me to check a package for him onto the flight. when i asked him what was in it, he said, "coffee filters and pot." and i said, "pot pot?" and he nodded. because i am such a sucker and can't say no, apparently, even to dream people i don't know from adam, i said, "welll, okay," but when i told this to ambeaux and romp, they said, "uh, no, you shouldn't do that." but the box had already been checked through and we were about to go through security to get to our gate for boarding. so we panicked and cancelled our trip and ran out of the airport as fast as we could.

when we got back to my house, leon was there with the kids and i had to explain what happened, feeling very stupid and sheepish and bad for ruining our trip to wherever we were going; and also feeling nervous because the drug dogs would surely sniff out that box and my name was associated with it. leon tried to get me to relax with a cup of tea, and romp and ambeaux went for a walk somewhere. as i was dozing, leon was reading a book next to me. suddenly the door to our room was kicked open and two men came in, scary white guys in black suits, pointing guns at me. i shut my eyes and put leon's book over my face and started crying. leon was pleading with them to not hurt me, that i didn't do anything wrong, but the men just yelled at him to shut up or he'd "get it" too. i remember very clearly swallowing very hard, and then BLAM BLAM! two shots right into my skull. it hurt like a very bad migraine. leon was screaming and crying next to me and i laid there waiting to die.

only i didn't die.

in a couple of minutes, i sat up. my head was still aching but there was surprisingly little blood. i was blind in one eye, and couldn't keep my balance. leon was freaking out and heaved me up onto my feet with my arm around his shoulders and started dragging me outside to the van to drive me to the hospital. i couldn't really speak but i started to feel this weird, hot, heavy sensation in the back of my throat, where the nasal passages intersect with it. as i sat in the passenger seat, i started to cough, and blood welled up in my mouth, and i felt a very heavy, hard, hot thing kind of drop from my nasal passages onto the back of my tongue. i opened my mouth and blood came pouring out into my hand and all down my chin. leon was just starting the van and looked over and started hollaring again at the sight of all the blood. i kind of drunkenly leaned over and patted him on the shoulder with my clean hand to try to calm him, and then coughed again and plop, and two little bent, blackened bullets fell out of my mouth into my bloody palm.

"fuckin' crackin'!" i shouted, laughing my ass off.

mudwater rafting

There was only one way for her to get across the murky waters of her river-mind. She set to the difficult and bleedingfingertips task of winding rough fiber to rope to wood she had severed from living trees with only her callouses and pungent leather boots as leverage. Everything she had managed to accomplish in the last five months of her life: the fires of a forge creating fevered feelings, the hard and unwavering beliefs of a zealot converted to love from atheistic longing for nothingness to be truth, the umbrellas she'd held aloft to winds so strong they ripped inside out and shredded and bent metal leaving shattered plastic handles behind in her grasp (to be saved and used later in the building of a raft she never thought she'd need) had been swept away by the churning and silty flow of the unbearable force behind his rejection.

While she worked, she sometimes cried. Other times (most times) she made no noise at all, nor were the two mutually exclusive. She set to the task like a pilgrim woman, a pioneer muscling her way through the hard frozen ground to dig a pit for poles and mortar and fire, the things she felt her body were made of. Her teeth were clenched, grim; her eyes grew hard and dark and glittery as they were sunk into the purpling bruises above her cheeks, below her brow. Sleepless and yet not sleepy, each moment that passed was one more moment she was rushed further downstream from the aching, yellowing memory of everything about him - smells, glances, mouthed propositions while everyone else in the house puttered, slept, prepared cocktails or snacks. Her desire for his lanky frame, her need for his voice pouring frothing honey-juice into the heretofore clogged, waxen holes of her ears, her craving for a bite of his bellyflesh, peppered with wiry black hairs and the skin beneath pale, quivery velvet: all of these things turned rigid and angry and hot in her gut. It wasn't as though she were a stranger to being dumped at the edge of some unfriendly and mud-wallowed riverbank at the end of her usefulness. But this was the first time she felt she hadn't deserved it. This was the first time she had ever felt as though the small of her back was crinkled up from bending backwards. This was the first time her throat hurt from uttering words she never believed she meant until they'd already been said and heard and disregarded. All the other times, all the other people - the tall ones and thick ones and bright ones and sluggish ones; the artists and rugby players and LSD dealers and firewalkers and construction workers and slackers-turned-cafe-royalty - they'd left her too. This river wasn't new. This river had been flowing all along, deep in the caverns of grey and pink matter, not that any of it mattered, so what a funny noun to use.

But his car had seemed safer and warmer than any of the cars before his. The construction worker would leave drywall dust in his seat as he leapt across the front seat at her reclining form. His hardhat would slip off his forehead and mark her own forehead with a deep red crease as he thrust a tool so hard, so cold, so fearless and sure of it self, into her dry and barren box. The LSD dealer threw endless jealous fits while he drove in erratic patterns all over the road, which at the time felt flattering and romantic, but soon became a disease that infected her own addled vision of the world, and turned her into someone who would never trust that she was good enough for you, or anyone - the demons he saw in her face were real, because she saw them in his, too. The rugby player could chew an aluminium beer can up in his mouth without drawing blood as he piloted his dad's caddilac around the suburbs, and the day that he bruised every square inch of skin on her generous breasts was the day she clamped his mouth shut on the metal and watched as he struggled to breathe, then swallow, then laughed when later his bowel movements forced screams from his throat like the ones she'd refused to allow out of her own mouth as he'd brutalized her; and more laughter when he ran from the house, leaving a toilet bowl full of blood because yes, if you are a nasty girl with aching tits, you laugh at gory shit like that. The queen of the cafe had only her height - 6'4" - and a good haircut going for her. Even the minivan she drove, the drugs she took were all stolen or borrowed. She only feigned her love of coke, the creative arts, and women, to play with every hanger-on that needed to be a part of someone's court, and now the pioneer raft-maker knew and could see clearly, how fake every moment with the queen had been. The firewalker, clearly the lover with the most exciting sounding job and who drove a smoke-belching diesel-powered pick-up, was only using fire as a cover. Inside, her spirit was a limpit, a nudibranch, a sea cucumber - impotent, cold, damp as davy jones' locker, without flame at all. Overcompensation at it's finest. And so her disdain and ever-present judgement, even while she was a willing participant, was also her armour in all of these relationships. She didn't deserve these lovers, this love, because she didn't really love them. Her actions, her willingness, they were all nothing but numb motions that kept her barely afloat, barely registering, a somewhat worthwhile human being with what appeared to be interpersonal relationships with others, however dysfunctional. At least, oh, at least she wasn't fucking alone. A death worse than fate, that is. With this thought she chuckled, and the noise that emitted from her raw and infected throat scared her. Her voice was gone, like every other part of her that had been worth anything at all.

She looked deep into the lines of her hands, which had gone blue-ish and numb and cracked from the hard work of binding her feet to the still-green poles meant to brace her above the current of the dirty river before her. All she saw was the blood pulsing underneath. Sometimes death and death-throes would bring bodily fluids like blood, semen, urine, out from their hiding places in the body. She wondered how long she would be able to contain the rest of her. Every other part of herself had been released into the universe already. Breath. The light from her eyes and heart and hair folicles. Gas. Flakes of skin. Parasites, a billion on the tip of each baby fingernail. And that is just the physical. Who knows what was left of her spirit, now, after everything else was gone? Sometimes she felt so empty she forgot that it wasn't always that way. All of those who had come before him, they had seen how full she was and had longed to lay in it, submerge in it, feel it on their skin and over their mouths and through their waggling toes and fingers.

It was at this point in her thoughts her raft was complete, her bindings tightened and secure. No matter what rough breeze, what brute of a wave or current should thrust against her and her wooden brace, she would remain attached. The raft's fate was her fate. Rapids, rocks, storms, she would go to sea in a sieve, just to transverse whatever evil lay beneath the surface, just to fully surrender and know one way or the other what the universe had in wait for her. A test with no grading curve. A dream where the ending was known before sleep's arrival. She used a pole to shove herself away from shore. In the trees and their shadows there, she saw some people, people she maybe knew, rolling their eyes and clicking their tongues. "You don't know the half of it," she thought, trying to ignore their doubt and shame of her as she felt the current pull on the raft's wood under her feet. "This river, flowing so fast and full of mud, is all of my dirt, all of my mess. If I make it across here, intact and still breathing, whether the raft survives the trip or not, will tell me the truth. Am I here to stay or will every moment I glimpse but don't grasp love...I mean, Love, with a capital L, and instead see it float off to take shelter in someone else's harbour, will I drown like a sailor from a poem in my own dirt? In my own currents? In my own self-obsession? Or will I float on green logs and hemp rope and scramble to the other side, untouched, and ready for something new and newer? Will the rough water harden me, or will it wash away hardness? Will I breathe or will I sink?"

Each lick of water, small or large, that heaved over the sides of the raft pressed her clothes to her skin, her hair to her face. Rain came and passed. Oars creaked in their rope casings as she pulled and pushed, her shoulders and back fiery, her head full of mucous and sound, twigs glued with pasty water to her bare feet and cheeks, her ankles bled in their gruff bindings. The river roared, the sand moved, the eyes in the trees kept rolling, and she realized that's all they were capable of. Determined and unwavering, her goal loomed. When you think of her, ask yourself: did she sail into warm, healing goodweatherbliss or did she tumble from the raft into rapid, jagged stonesaltysorrow. It is not yours to know, but it is yours to wonder.

So wonder.

do you think you, boy,
scraped all the joy
out from between my thighs?

climbing over me in the pale
stapler's light through the bars of the jail,
a steeplechase into my pussy.
puncturing two holes in the mire
leaving behind a weak bent wire
the wounds heal, i'm not wussy.

do you think you, boy,
scraped all the joy
out from between my thighs?

"she recovers, that mother,
she uncovers every sister and brother,
exposed in her vast white expanse
developed a new flavour of adulterous underpants."
haha, i bled in them, fresh and stinging
and running through a new field, flinging
off skin and matted hair and dreams
squirting out the used condoms and your creams
scarring and screaming and laughing, away
i've uninvited you to my play.

do you think you, boy,
scraped all the joy
out from between my thighs?

i was sitting on the couch in gramma and grampa's old house in brampton, ontario (9 dorchester drive), watching t.v. with uncle eric and his wife yvonne. uncles robert and mickey were also in the house somewhere, i could hear them talking. everyone else was at the care home. we were all waiting to hear from pallitive care about gramma passing. so you can imagine my surprise when she appeared in the doorway of the t.v. room, peered in, and then moved on. no one else noticed and in my excitement to see her up and about i decided to keep the news to myself because i wanted to have her alone for at least a moment before the whole house realized she had recovered, and had come back. i tried to just casually get up and walk out of the room, and it worked, no one noticed. gramma was standing the hallway, waiting for me. i walked over to her and whispered, "thank you, thank you," and put my arms around her. she seemed so small but that was okay. i hugged her tight and said, "i'm so glad you're here, you're back, you're rehabilitated." and she didn't say anything back, she just shook her head slowly, and i realized that she wasn't really there, that i was having a dream. her eyes were still bright and cheerful, however, so i felt silly getting choked up, but i was. i rubbed my hand up and down her brown, soft, wrinkly forearm. i pressed my face into her grey, pale hair and smelled the du maurier smoke and the unrefined and pungent odor of instant coffee. she was wearing a retro dress, something from the 70s, white with brown and orange and black flowers on it. "i don't care that you're not really here, and i'm not either," i finally said, pressing my palm into hers, feeling her wedding ring dig into the tender joints on my fingers, "i don't care. this is okay. let's not be scared." she took her other hand and put it on my head, still not speaking, and just softly brushed it along the length of my hair, and i leaned my forehead down onto her shoulder, and watched as my tears fell onto her dress, leaving tiny dark spots on one orange flower.

i woke up in the pearly morning light and
my skin had speckled mica in the night
drinking down all that water from all them copper pipes
striped light falls easy on stripped down tights as
my tongue ached against all our silent fights
i'll slice down all your pirate kites with my powdered glass string might.

and this is how to write a song
this is how to right a wrong
this is how to right a wrong
that is how we'll get along.

how hard can it be to be me?
harder than using a sandal to stem the sea
harder than writing a dear john, and harder than to flee
when everything wrinkles under palms sweaty
when you squint your eyes against the clouds for being too sunny
you'll know how hard it is to be me.

and this is how to write a song
this is how to right a wrong
this is how to right a wrong
that is how we'll get along.

my wet glassy spheres roll around in their places
find the glittery dots in my skin and count thirty-six paces
i pass every alley and all them blacked out anime faces
and all costello's detectives throw in the towels on their cases,
while 'round and 'round the memory-dog of you chases
and all the dripping scent markers i left leave no traces.

and this is how to write a song
this is how to right a wrong
this is how to right a wrong
that is how we'll get along

plains of abraham

i had a dream that was really a memory
of drifting along, a long, with you, on the shimmery grasses of the plains of abraham
i had forgotten that day when our hands had yet to touch
and the ocean breezes were like me: teases
and i laid under the swingset and you poured wine between my lips
the whole world ended on the shore
the horizon was an illusion.

up that hill in jericho
lost in a maze of million dollar babies
antique roadsters and the giant front yard trees only the rich keep
shading their excesses from a curb dotted with bins
never touched by can collectors
we were stoned
and laughed harder the more we puffed around cul de sacs
youth and forever were the illusions.

so when i woke up i had to ask you, "was it real?"
and your memory had changed too, you said it was but the baby was there, too
out there on our version of the plains of abraham
maybe he swang in the swing and maybe it was water on my lips
but either way your hands found both my hips
and the isolation was a beautiful illusion.

s/he & me

when i see it happening again,
i see it happening again
and i want to pull out every eyelash
pluck every cumulus cloud
sink every boat-shaped moon
and save you from it all.

she
oh, she
leans so heavily
hard into me

and he
oh, he
slips so deliciously
wet into me

when i see it happening again,
i see it happening again
and i want to yank out both those arms
thrust my fist into every garden
and gnaw through each worn-out smile
just to save you from it all.

she
oh, she
has anger unrighteous
directed unto thee

and he
oh, he
knows every synonym for lightness
when he is with me.

when i see it happening again,
i see it happening again
i want to smell each of your digits individually
press my cheek to your ankle longingly
and tie my legs to all bare branches
just to save you from it all,
yes,
i'll save you from it all.

this is actually from 1993 or something.

Day is over you're alone grab a bottle unplug the phone she's there waiting, anticitpating a sweet speak but you talk dirty when you're drunk and there's no use in faking it
Damaged mind you're the crusher and you can't get past the fact you don't really love her does it matter she already knows you can tell by the way she throws a fit every time day is over
Nighttime runs in rivertime you try to sleep but life is there permeates the air bares its teeth and starts to speak another bit of dregs to swallow rest assured there's more to follow
Damaged mind you're the crusher and you can't get past the fact you don't really lover her does it matter she already knows you can tell by the fit she throws every time day is over
Drink it in, the drug, the fog, the moonbeam fuck, you tell yourself it's typical of your rotten luck you're cursed in the heart you're not totally human something missing in the zodiac on the day of your birth she doesn't care she thinks theres some worth in the damaged mind you're the crusher
Her blood shines bright on your hands you broke the vessle that carried her and now she's dead beside you in bed when you knew all along you didn't really love her
It's not going to happen you tried to say she'd do anything to twist you around and she did with those wide wihite thighs and the dew between to tempt you salty tears in the seas release
Damaged mind can't resist the slutty taste of Venus kiss and the velvet tongue and razor lips and now she's dead that girl you had you had no choice you had to hurt and now she's dead, Crusher.
Crusher.
Crush Her.

last night i dreamed i was staying as a guest on the flaming lips' compound. only instead of it being situated in oklahoma it was in the desert canyons of utah. the dream started with leon and i and the lips and all their friends and hangers-on standing at the precipice of a huge canyon, 1000 feet down, and looking across to the other side, at sunset. across the chasm the desert was on fire. every scrubby bunch of shrub, every cactus, anything that could light on fire, did. and it was spreading, quickly. wayne coyne seemed unperturbed. i asked him if we were really going to be safe or if we should start to pack up and move on. he shrugged and said that if the fire managed to leap across the chasm, he would be very surprised. he didn't seem that interested in talking to me. i got the distinct impression i was a nuisance somehow. i tried to just stay out of his way as a result.

everyone wandered back into the house after the sun went down. the fires across the way kept the light level even. i found my way into a deserted guestroom and lay on a single bed in the gloaming, a mexican-style blanket tucked under my feet. i looked out the window to watch to make sure the fire didn't spread across the canyon to the FLips' property. i was shocked when suddenly a large flame licked up at the window, from directly below me, and jumped down my throat. it didn't hurt. it felt, in fact, kind of nice, though my entire body was immediately dulled and soothed and made slow and incredibly warm. i tried to get up to tell everyone what had just happened, and that i wanted them to check the perimeter of the house to make sure no more rogue flames had appeared, but moving was incredibly difficult. i could feel the fire in my belly, hot and hard and firm, more of a coal than a flame. i managed to open the door to the room i was in and make my way down a long, dark hallway covered in pictures of the FLips from when they were touring. wayne coyne was crossing the hallway from one room to another when he spotted me stumbling along. alarmed, he walked towards me, saying, "hey, hey there, girly. are you alright now?" i was bent over at the waist and the heat from inside me was making sweat drip from my forehead. i had one hand on the wall as i moved, and i accidently knocked picture frames off the wall as he approached me, and i felt embarrassed.

"i think i'm sick," i said. "i swallowed fire." he put one arm around my waist and his other hand on my forehead. "you're burning up," he said, "come on, come with me." he started to lead me down the hallway to a different, more brightly lit room. his wife was there, watching television and chatting with a bunch of other people. i tried to tell them about how i'd see fire right outside the house but every time my mouth opened all that would come out was smoke. as wayne laid me down on his bed, i could see my skin was turning red from the inside out. little splotches of redness would bloom on a the backs of my hands and then spread quickly from one to the other, until i couldn't see normal flesh colour at all. "she has a fever," wayned told everyone, "a real high one. come on, now. let's help her, okay? i'm going to get some medication. michelle, you make her smile or turn the channel, whatever she wants."

michelle, his wife, was a good nurse. she pulled the blankets up around my chin and kept her cool, ringed hand on my forehead and told me funny stories. i could feel my feet turning red, then my legs. as the burning rushed up to my crotch i started to panic a little and writhed. "i'm going to burn from the inside out because i swallowed fire, michelle." she laughed and said, "you're delirious, hun'. just try to relax." the t.v. was flickering and people were smoking cigarettes and pot and i would have given anything for a margarita or a beer or even just water. but it wasn't happening, because i realized that if i opened my mouth, the fire had gotten so big inside me, it would jump out of my throat, desperate for more oxygen, and set everything in the FLips' home on fire. i did not want to be the woman that burned down their house. i kept my lips shut. i started to doze a little, feeling hotter and hotter and unable to keep my eyes open.

finally i was shaken awake by wayne. the room was empty then, and dark, the t.v. off. he was sitting next to me on the bed. he'd opened the curtains on the windows so i could see how the desert across the canyon was completely in flames now, like a great wall of fire, held back from the house only by the chasm. "look," he said. he turned so we were facing the same way, and then held my hand nice and tight in his. "everything is burning," he said quietly, and i felt in love with him suddenly. i wanted to talk to him and tell him this, but i was still afraid flames would come out of my mouth. "it's okay," he said, "we're safe." he leaned in and kissed my forehead. the bliss i felt at his cool lips, the feel of his beard and mustache pressed against my sweaty forehead, was too much, and i opened my mouth to say, "thank you, thank you," and my throat felt raw and dry and no sound came out and no flames did either. i was happy and feverish and turned my face up to meet his, and he put his lips on my cheek, then my mouth. we kissed and it felt hot yet chaste. when we parted, i looked down my legs and the bed to the window again and at the great desert fire. wayne stayed silent next to me. and that was when flames erupted from my toes, under the blanket, and burned through, casting an eerie, flickering light across the room. it didn't hurt. we both stared at my feet, but neither of us seemed particularly amazed or shocked. "i'm burning up," i said, softly, almost to myself.

"that's alright," wayne said, "when it's all over, you'll lay your fertile self down on the ground, and make rich soil, and everything will grow out of you. my sweet volcano."

"this is the worst fever i ever had," i said, watching the fire climb to my ankles and begin to consume my calves.

"the tylenol did nothing," he said, sadly, shaking his head.

as a small girl i was given a sterling silver spoon, miniature, with my three names engraved on its stem. an apparently solemn and priceless keepsake, so tiny and delicate, no one would ever actually use it to feed a baby. i found this spoon recently, while shifting through a steamer trunk that stunk of mildew and yellowed papers and stiffening teen magazines, the only smells remaining from my childhood. i turned it over and over in my hands and rubbed my fingers along the names that aren't mine anymore, then i spun it 'round - the scoop pointed at my solar plexis - and dug in.

it wasn't hard because my entire being has softened somehow in the last ten years: flesh to wet sponge, bone to goo, tendon to sodden strings. so i shouldn't have been surprised to find that it was a simple matter of pushing directly through to a lazily beating heart muscle. and i moved that tiny spoon so delicately and dug a little hole no bigger than the size of a newly-conceived fetus fist only slightly to the side of my apathetic aorta.

i say "apathetic aorta" because anyone who's heart is a normal heart would probably have died if they tried this same thing on themselves: taking a small metal spoon from the early 70's, inserting it into their heart, and removing tiny scoopfuls of pulsing muscle flesh, to deposit at the bottom of their cardboard steamer trunk. but my heart didn't care and well, it was just another day, to that lazy lumpful of lethargic tissue.

i didn't do this just to get all my angst out, either (for that i would have tried trepanation). i did this unthinkable thing because i thought maybe if there were a hole there, gasping and sputtering, there'd be room for you to come along and put your finger in and stop up the emptiness so nothing could continue to pour out of me. i wanted to put those little pieces of soft moist flesh on a plate or pillow to present them to you, a gift from on most high, so you could see truly how much i am willing to fork - or spoon - over.

but you didn't return my call when i left messages, dear. you didn't check your email for a month. you didn't sneak past my bedroom window to peer in through the gauze and check to see if i was being well-used. you didn't wonder, you didn't ponder. you went vegetarian and heart-meat was off the menu.

so i'll just wander around, okay, with this stupid fucking useless spoon hanging out of my chest hole. it catches on everything and hurts sometimes. it's cool at parties to pull off my shirt and show it around, how it gently bobs up and down with each beat. it will know before i do when i'm dead. but mostly everyone just ignores the protruding baby spoon, at best giving it an uncomfortable, cursory glance. all they want to see is my new bra and big tits. which is fine, you know, because the filigree names on the stem haven't been mine since i was just under three, or so. it means nothing. really.

i had a bad dream last night. my family and i were camping. or at least, staying in this kind of run-down old cabin. it was a 20 minute walk from a gorgeous sandy beach. there were tons of people there all the time - a real party atmosphere. everyone was loaded and acting goofy and children were running rampant and i started to feel overwhelmed because i could not go anywhere without there being tons of drunken people around - even in our own cabin. finally i succumbed to the partying and started to get loaded, too. this cute boy i know was sitting on the counter in the kitchen, just swinging his legs back and forth, and asked me to come over to talk to him, so i did. he asked me if i was hot for him and i drunkenly said yes, i was, and i had been for a long time, and was he hot for me? and he said yes, he was, and then gently nudged the toe of his boot into the crotch of my jeans while we were staring into each other's eyes. i thought about how leon had said that if i ever felt i wanted to explore feelings for other people i should but still felt guilty even though it felt good. a bunch of other drunk people burst into the kitchen at that point and i backed away from the cute boy. another guy, a big old bearded biker guy, came up and threw his arm around me and breathed beer fumes on me and said, "hey, christa! hey! how's it goin, you hot slut?" and the cute boy shouted at the top of his lungs, "SHE IS A SLUT! she just came on to me! i stuck my boot up her crotch!" and everyone started laughing and laughing and leon looked over from where he was playing with liam and looked hurt and confused and i ran out of there so fucking fast and still couldn't escape the crowds because the beach was thronging with millions of people and it was like this weird sunny-with-dark-gray-storm-clouds twilight and the sea was roiling and uninviting and i could see children being sucked out by the undertow but no one was paying any mind. and i tried to run but the sand was too deep and i kept hearing my knee clicking and finally i woke up.

mother's day mania

all the mamas with your hair spun round worry and your fingertips rubbed raw from loving!
all the mamas with your feet bound up in pinchy heels as you grace the plate of brunch and
accept all those flowers and wet kisses!
all the mamas with empty arms and swollen hearts!
all the mamas with frazzle-dazzle capabilities,
pulling off dinner parties on two hours sleep and sugary blue and pink birthday parties
where the guests throw grape pop on your carpet and scream into your oblivion headaches!
all the mamas with sore backs from trying eight different slings and wraps
sore knees from bending the wrong way cooing into a vomiting child's ear
sore minds from letting go of all self-absorption except for this one day a year!
i love you because i am you!
put up your weary feet and hang up your sleepy caps and let it all wash over you
just for today.
everything hinges on you and you should be permitted to crack up now and then and when it happens,
shit, girl,
i'm coming with you.

i had this crazy awesome dream last night that leon and i purchased this amazing castle-like home. it had four or five stories, and every floor was like it's own home unto itself. we lay for a while in the "ancient greece" bedroom where there was a bed carved out of white marble and next to the bed was this amazing carving of a tiny garden filled with satyrs and nymphs and if you watched long enough they'd all animate and music would play and they would dance and drink from the fountains and have sex with each other. the room was full of sunlight and there were no ceilings so you could look up and up and see stairs winding around to the top of the house itself and so we decided to explore more of our house. we walked up to the next level and it was designed and decorated like a "gentleman's club". wood paneled walls and a fully stocked bar and big comfy red velvet chairs and stone lion statues and a fire burning. we poured ourselves highballs and leon sat back in one of the chairs and started to try and cajole me into playing chess with him. i said no, that i wanted to go look around some more and i went around a corner and found the bathroom. my stepdad was in there, dressed in a janitor's grey-green jumpsuit, scrubbing the huge shower/tub area. "what are you doing here?!" i shouted at him. he looked up all dejected and said, "you hired me to clean for you, christa." and i was horrified, not so much that i hired him to clean for us, but because he was in my house at all, so i grabbed the hose he was using to spray off the tile walls and told him to take a hike and i would clean it myself.

i'd like to blame every ache i ever had on you
every failing every turn of anguished fate
i'd like to make you own it! me!
hand-me-down and passed around and oh, this bird has flown.
and when your phone stops ringing and all those girls stop singing
would you have me alone?
choking on rubber bands and dipping nipples
in mealy apples and
lifting off the muppet monster mask.
i walked along cedar chip paths and everything was orange rust
the sky, the light, the tight curly haired-calves
the ground, my skin, the state i'm in, every thing burnt umber crust
and it was warm and all of us, we frolicked and the baby cows
followed us until the path did end.
and when i crossed the threshold it was as though orange world had wheels
receded so quickly from my walking abilities it may as well have flown
we turned and faced ice land (not the country)
vin diesel lived in a bungalow basement suite in the house with wrought iron gates
and we laughed at his classless behaviour, so fucking pompous for a millionaire.
then suddenly you, and everyone, all walked ahead
and my knee was crumbling under me
and i couldn't navigate the stairs so caked in ice they were
so i tried to climb the brick and iron
and icicles melted under my hands but fell and penetrated my feet
bleeding ruddy ragged raw bullet holes through the million fragile bones
but so cold i couldn't feel a thing.
and you just kept moving on, around a bend on cobbled streets
and everywhere was snowing, and everywhere everywhere
ice was freezing on my hands and arms
i couldn't move fast enough
i felt the rubber band in my wind pipe
fluttering and sucking and finally inhaled,
that was how i died in all my dreams

ballad of the reluctant stalker

i stood outside the store and knew i wanted more and
worried either way how it would look
either i'm alone in how far gone or you have come along or
maybe we're both crazy, by the book.

i saw your empty face or your overflowing gaze but
ducked behind the corner before you caught me
i breathed in kind of hard and wondered and walked far and
talked myself way down, out in the alley.

what would you have done and could we be alone and
i wonder every moment if i'll lose you
they say "lay it on the line" or "once in a lifetime" but
i need to know you feel the same way i do.

and every single word and all the vows or curses and
how many times a day do i cross your mind?
i know your eyes so well and i look for ways to tell and
i feel i'll always come up short and from behind.

so i stood outside the store and i knew i wanted more but
i couldn't bring myself to wave hello
instead i walked real fast and left my breath upon the glass and
willed my heart to lift, slow, and go.

one afternoon i dreamed i was crouched against a marble wall in a bright white room. i couldn't open my eyes completely because it was so bright. i could hear voices coming through air ducts or vents or long hollow hallways - two people talking. one had a distinctly female sounding voice but the other was so garbled and multi-hued i could not tell if it had a gender, or not. i got on my hands and knees and crawled along the icy marble floors towards the voices. at first what they were saying was indistinguishable. but as i grew closer i could hear more clearly what their words were.

"has she woken yet?"

"not yet."

"she should wake, if she keeps coming so near, we'll have to include her."

"there are other ways."

"i don't believe you. you are always laying around in your deceit. i will try to wake her. she is too small for this."

i kept crawling and crawling, my eyes squinted shut against the light but open enough to make sure i didn't bump into any pillars or walls. i could feel i was naked, the air was frigid. i needed to see these people who were talking. i had the distinct impression they were talking about me.

as i rounded a wide corner i the change in air flow/pressure and the dimming of the echoes told me i'd come upon an enormous chamber, which was where the two were talking and also was the source of the incredible white light. i couldn't summon words to ask, i could barely open my eyes against the brightness, but i looked across as well as i could to see who they were.

"she's not awake. she's here. see there?"

the woman sighed. i could hear her stand up and walk towards me but still could not open my eyes completely, the light was coming in too sharply. i was shivering. i could sense/feel that she was a giantess as she approached me. then her form seemed to tower over me and i was dwarfed in her shadow. i looked up to see the most terrible and beatific face. her body was naked, so enlarged and solid and round. her hips were impossibly wide. her breasts did not dangle at all but were enormous and full as if ready for nursing infants. she did not speak directly to me at first.

"i knew we waited too long. now she has seen."

"there's nothing for it."

she leaned over and looked sternly at me. "you aren't supposed to be in here," she said. i could not form a response to tell her i didn't know how i'd gotten there in the first place. "wake up!" she shouted at me, and while her voice was angry i could hear it was affected, not genuine. she was trying to frighten me, scold me, like a child. i felt like a child. and despite her pseudo-furious demeanor i wanted her to pick me up. to press me against her solid, rolling body. i ducked my head low, trying to show respect, and did not speak. the other voice boomed as he also rose and came close to me. "girl, insolent!" the being shouted. this voice was much more serious and terrible. i didn't want to anger either of them really, but i had to look at the other giant as i had her. i took advantage of being in their engulfing shadows, the light dulled enough to see, and glanced up at the creature quickly. it was part goat. the head and hindquarters of a huge goat with twisted horns spiraling high towards the vaulted ceilings. a torso at once both male and female, with strong hard abdomen but swelling breasts, and muscled arms with deep rich fur. in it's left hand was clutched a gnarled staff of dried ivy wood. it was blaring at me.

"no sanctuary here!" it roared, "no sanctuary!"

this voice terrified me so much, i prostrated myself at their feet. i still could not speak to them to ask why or who or where i was. i felt at once scared out of my wits and desirious of their attention and affection. suddenly, the goat creature banged it's staff against the floor and the sound of the wood contacting the marble was impossibly loud and echoed so deeply through my body i had to cover my ears and curl into a ball and yell, but my voice was drowned out by the noise, and then i woke up.

my family, including my mom, and my friends, were all in japan together. it was the end of our trip. we were lost in the airport and couldn't figure out which gate to go to or when to board because all the signs and announcements were in japanese. then my mom figured it out and that we should have boared like a half hour before, and that the plane was leaving. she totally ditched me and my kids (liam was only about 3, and laurel was an infant) to run on the plane while i was trying to decide if i should wait for leon to come out of the bathroom and my friends to come back from the food court. i spotted one of my friends, and was yelling at him to hurry so that we could all get on the plane, when suddenly the japanese authorities grabbed him and told him he was under arrest for possession of marijuana. they were dragging him away as he was yelling at me to tell his wife where he was and what was happening and i started trying to fight with the cops to let him go but they pushed me just as they were getting in an elevator with him and i fell, holding on to baby laurel. as i lay on the ground, stunned, a strange man came up to us and tossed a little black gadget with different coloured buttons on it and some flashing lights and i realized it was a bomb detonator/device thing. i panicked and threw it as hard as i could away from me, got up, carrying a kid in each arm, and started running for the doors outside. but before i could get out, a huge explosion erupted from the gate where my mom had just got on the plane. i was thrown out through the plate glass windows, just as three more huge explosions rocked the airport. glass and chunks of cement were raining down out of the sky on us. i found myself laying on a cold, rocky beach with sparse patches of snow all around. i was cut on my hands and face and bleeding but my kids were okay. i was terrified that more explosions were going to happen and we'd have nowhere to hide, so i got up and tried to find a good place to cower. there was a rickety wooden boardwalk running along the side of another building near the airport. it was about a foot and a half off the rocky, snowy ground, so i squeezed under there with both kids and lay there, waiting for whatever was going on to pass. i guess i was in shock. i saw lots of people wandering around on the beach, bleeding and crying. i started crying too, as the realization that my mom and my friends and husband were probably all dead now and i was alone with my kids in a foreign country with no idea of where to go for help.

then suddenly i saw leon! he was walking along the beach, totally unscathed, yelling my name. my tears turned from grief to relief and i scootched out from under the boardwalk, yelling for him, too. he saw us and dashed across the beach towards us and picked up both the kids and kissed me a million times. i was so relieved and happy and tearful and upset. leon said that it was no big deal, we'd get to the canadian embassy or consulate or something, and they'd take care of us. we just had to find out how to get there. we saw a public transit bus pull up to a stop near the beach and ran towards it, yelling. the bus driver let us on and before we could even ask where his bus was going, he started pulling away and going up this HUGE mountain road. leon said, "hey man, can you let us off, please? we don't want this bus after all." the driver totally ignored him and kept going up this enormous cold mountain. leon started yelling, "come on! don't take us to the top! this is NOT the way we need to go! we don't want to have to walk all the way back down with our two little kids in this weather!" still the bus driver ignored him. leon went apeshit and started swinging around on the bars and kicking at the windows while i attacked the driver, punching and kicking at him. then i realized he was a crazy japanese android with no emotions or even the capability to discuss anything with us. he took us to the top of the snowy mountain, opened the doors, and ejected us, totally impassionate about it. we all sat down in a snowbank, me still bleeding everywhere, and cried.

boy

boy, would you like to come on my couch?
yes, i bet you would.
and in 25 minutes we could sum up
everything in our lives that is good.

boy, would you like to speak into my hair?
yes, i bet you would.
and in a single afternoon we could smell every smell
every scent, every vapor the heart says we should.

boy, would like to drink wine in my parlour?
yes, i bet you would.
and in a lost weekend we could taste every tannin
in chocolate and berries and the tender flesh of wood.

boy, i'm lost and i don't think you can find me.
no, i guess you can't.
and in less than a week i can rebound and reverberate
every last word, sentiment, every thought you've lent.

i knew as i fell asleep last night listening to the sound of tires shrieking against pavement, and the inevitable, gut turning "WHOMP" and the blasting tinkle of bursting glass afterwards, and then the sirens and crying, that i would dream something strange. it's always strange when leon isn't beside me in bed while i drift off. and it was strange. in it, i was in a bar, and met philip seymour hoffman, and we fell in love. and i went to his house with him, after some drinks, and it was a little crappy mobile home in a vacant lot surrounded by gravel. and i fell across his messy, man-smelling bed and he worshipped me and i loved him intensely and with all my heart. then a gang of teenaged boys ran through the vacant lot, coming for us, to destroy and burn what we had built in the few drunken hours we'd known one another. philip handed me a sword and we fought and killed them all. severed heads and limbs. dragging bodies into the underbrush. hosing blood off our clotheshandsshoes. wondering how we would ever get away with it. and then the sick realization that i couldn't stay with my love. that i had to leave philip to go home to leon and my children. and he cried and touched my cheek and told me he'd never willingly let me go.

somehow, i ended up back at his home several days later, in the daylight, with his sister and friends. he was missing but nothing in his house was gone with him. everyone wanted to know who i was, if i had anything to do with the dead bodies of teenaged boys they'd found buried in the gravel, why i had been there at all, why i brought my big purple-y/brown bowling ball with me that day. it was because philip had told me we were going to go to the ten pin one day, together, when i was ready to be with him.

the tongue the teeth and the lips
the tongue the teeth and the lips
every time you glance at me
the shift of the planet tips
on your tongue, your teeth and your lips.
the ends of each hair, and the ivory feet
the ends of each hair, and the ivory feet
each time you touch me
my pulse matches and meets
the ends of your hair, and your ivory feet.
the voice, the breath and the song
the voice, the breath and the song
when tremors press ear drums
gaia confirms i belong
to your voice, your breath and your song.

a few nights ago i dreamed i was in new orleans with my entire extended maternal family, and someone gave me and my girl cousins a bunch of tabs of quality LSD and we took them even knowing we had to deal with grandmothers and aunts and uncles and our kids and other potentially disapproving people. but we didn't care. and the acid had these really intricate and detailed and beautiful drawings on each tiny tab and i took two and then had to put my kids to bed. things started to get weird there. i don't remember all of it. but one aunt was kind of stuck to the wall in the kids' bedroom, kind of near the ceiling, clearly defying the law of gravity, and she was asking me for help to get her down. and i did. then my cousins and i went to a bar in the french quarter and i was reallly tripping out there. the music was really loud and the bar was really crowded and smoky and i lost sight of my cousins almost right away - they just melted into the crowd. so i decided to move to a higher seating area to have a look out over the hundreds of patrons. and as i walked up the stairs into this balconey area the lights dimmed into a reddish glow and the music softened and then silenced, and although i knew i was still in the bar, i also felt i'd walked slow motion-y into a different realm. because as i looked around at the filled tables i saw it was all women, all beautiful dark-skinned women, and they were all holding these black wooden (or maybe they were gourds?) rattles, and they were all staring at me. and each table i passed, they would all stare at me very languidly and gently shake their rattles. i couldn't tell if they were blessing or cursing me. it was very strange and i either woke up a bit after that or else i don't recall how the dream ended.

the next night i dreamed that i was at a record store (real vinyl records) and i found out that my stepdad had moved into the apartments above the store. the way i found out was this: i was browsing through the record bins and looking at some king crimson and then he was standing right beside me. he was wearing a backpack and i asked him what he was doing there. and he told me. and i told him i thought it was really shitty of him to move back to town without telling me, and also without me saying it was okay for him to come back into my life. and he got mad and walked up the stairs to his apartment. he had a friend with him, a guy i've never actually seen before. this friend was all in my face about how shitty i treated alexander after all he'd done for me thorugh my life. and i got really angry and told the guy to step off because he didn't know what he was talking about. except he didn't. and i was filled with rage so i grabbed at leon's wallet, which for some reason i was carrying, even though leon wasn't with me, which has a long chain on, attached at one end to the wallet and attached at the other end to his large ring of keys. and i began swinging it around above my head like a big old flail and told the guy again to step off. only he didn't and instead said, "so you wanna go?" and i said "yeah, i wanna go," and i whacked him a good one in the face with the keys. he staggered back and i kept swinging my flail round and round, this time to the side of me instead of overhead. i kept coming at him and he whipped out a folding lockblade and started taking swipes at me. i dodged and whipped the flail at him again, hitting him in the cheek. he staggered, then came at me, slashing. he managed to cut me across the belly, then the shoulder, then my face. i kept whipping and whipping but in my dream i just wasn't that good at using the flail. i wanted to wrap it around his knife-hand and force him to drop the blade. he kept diving in for cuts and kept succeeding. i was bleeding from a dozen wounds and my hands were getting slick with blood making it even harder to get a good flail shot in. finally as he jabbed out at me again i dodged the knife and managed to dance around behind him, garroting him with the chain. i wrestled him to the floor, my knees on his shoulder blades, my hands wrapped tight in the chain, criss crossing it at the back of his neck, and slowly strangling him to death. he flopped around under me for a llong long time. and then finally he was still. and everyone in the record store stood around me and his corpse, silent and shocked, and i realized that if i didn't want to deal with cops and courtrooms, my only option was to run like hell for the rest of my life, never seeing leon or my kids again. and that's what i did.

then, last night, i dreamed leon went over to his oldest friend's place. his friend is currently in voluntary recovery for his alcoholism, in real life, and he has been busy with meetings and balancing his new life away from his wife and family and who knows what else. anyway, in my dream, my husband finally got to go hang out with him. we haven't seen him in months and months. so he goes, but then he's gone all night. he doesn't call, he doesn't come home. i try calling over there to see what's going on and there's no answer. i am wondering when it would be fair to freak out and call the police looking for him, right around dawn. six am. i'm standing out on the sidewalk looking down the road for him, and he appears, staggering. i run up to him to see what is wrong, where he is hurt. only he isn't hurt. he is falling down piss-assed drunk and looking damn foolish, too. he throws his arm around me and i have to support his weight almost entirely. i stagger under him and try to guide him home, all the while hollaring at him about going to drink with a recovering alcoholic. and the whole time he's laughing at me and totally incoherent and stumbling, and i'm getting madder and madder. finally we arrive at our doorstep (which isn't our doorstep at all) and there are about 12 stairs leading up to the front door and i can see the back of wayne coyne's head in the livingroom window and i say to leon, "oh great. not only do you only have four hours to sleep this bullshit drunk off, you also have to walk past WAYNE FUCKING COYNE at SIX AM WHILE YOU'RE PISSED OUT OF YOUR MIND!" and leon just laughs and pats me on the back and then i can't support his weight anymore and i let him fall on the grass and he falls and just lays there, unconcious.