GNO

Vodka, champagne

ice bucket,

free drinks on the house

because

we know the club owner. This

is his wife, we are her

privileged friends. We drink

and eat for free and pretend

we mean something

to no one.

Girls, girls, girls,

on fire, out to impress

each other with

shoes and a purse

and nothing to say.

It was q & a for me

“What do I think of a thousand dollar

pair of shoes?”

I had so much to say

and no one who cared to listen

and a few “she’s a writer”

so hence the nods

at my philosophy of designer

shoes and purse

and where is the value

in that? to look good

and panic that someone

stepped on you or spilled their

drink and the world has to stop

because they are alive.

I am ready for the exit

but first I need a few more drinks

to discuss how I prefer to spend

a thousand bucks on books

and you won’t catch me dead

in those

the only way is to buy them for

me

so I told them my stories of how

I feel when I walk

when I talk

and who knew that jealousy

is so ingrained in some souls

that they hate me first

and then such love and compliments

that fakery fuckery has arrived to visit again.

Oh, yes, who cares my phone cracked

life is beautiful, the lights are purple

the women are complimenting each other

and then whispering the truth.

On the drive home, my friend turns

to me and says,

“you’re just an oddity

no one understands

or gets you

so don’t get angry

because they just don’t.

I’ve known you for years

and I get it

but that girl who said

she knew you but never met you

she knew where you lived

she knew all about you

and you, shaking her hands

nice to meet you.

She said, nice to finally meet you.”

I swear the night just got weirder

and stranger

couldn’t wait to get the fuck

out and stop defending

my philosophy

my Nine West shoes

my vegan food

my new hair

my books

my poems

my art

I need to seriously be drunk

to face society girls.

 

 

 

 

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Discussion

I don’t fall into categories

I prefer to create them

make them shine on my skin

so only lovers with no thoughts

can see them. Leave chat groups

that are toxic for the soul and

create an affair with words

you adore. I discussed poetry

and words and how I have always

been writing, only now it has

controlled me, I can’t contain

it in a beer barrel anymore and

put a lock on it for happy hour.

I can’t shut it off and go to sleep.

I wake up with it and walk around

with these words on the tip

of my fingers and my tongue.

Here they are discussing the

way we move in and out of bed,

the way we talk, with respect

and patience. The way you ask

questions and wait for a reply.

No one ever cared for the same

reasons. Discussions of the soul

with no words are the ones

I cherish. The way we communicate

without words

that first brought us together

and will eventually tear us apart.

I can see the story, I can write

it, I can direct it, I can begin

and end it. I know how to

do it all

for I am a dreamer

and so are you.

Featured Image -- 6065

 

 

Too early to wake up

Down the dark highway
no street lights
at Ste-Anne-des-Plaines
far away from the city
houses spread across acres
arenas in between lovers
new development
paper chandelier homes
lights off
brand new McDonald’s
and coffee shops roam
in the middle of the forest
that once used to be free.

My mindful state
plays duets
and their sexy voices
make the dark
blacker-
I welcome the fear
with yellow lines
of brick road
the sky painted an indigo
blue, the crescent moon
smiling at me
wickedly.
Distant Saturday night
in the grips of motherhood
panic on the ice
she talks about sweet sixteens
exam notes
and I reread her essay
pointing out her mistakes
ancient gods and Christianity
there’s more to it than google
Understand what you read
But she says, next time
you’ll read it first.
The other moms stare
clearly them have no idea
I can write, edit,
correct, understand English
like they understand cooking recipes,
I talk to her like a friend,
she shows me
how Facebook accepts files,
and I tell her
that technology
and libraries are polar opposites now.
The moms are more interested in 4:00
appointments at the best nail salons
and I’d rather talk to an eighteen
year old
about education
media
than the latest black nail-polish color
(Aubergine vs. black cherry).

If she only knew how
my shade of black
is as deep
and dark as the highway
coming here
and a poem is building
up in me
at this scene
as my son grabs a pen
to write a birthday card
and then I drop them off
at the party
and they kiss and laugh
like teenagers should
tell me details, I ask
And he tells me how
her zipper on her dress
kept unzipping
and as they danced
Twirled, zipped
over and over.
I laughed
and
I thought
you’re my favorite song is in their eyes.
They fell asleep
in the backseat
and right before
he asks me to find
Yellow Ledbetter
which I play
at two in the morning
chauffeuring love
from town to town
along those yellow lines
and green signs.
Alas,
before I know it,
I fall asleep
and I dream of
coming over
because I miss you
more than you will ever know.