Doll [for lack of a better title]

this performance began with heartbeats and hand claps
tap, slap, clap
shuffle, step
and snip

she sits and stares
reading her surroundings
analyzing, concluding

she thinks too much and acts too little
the words never quite say it, nor are executed in the right way

all the strings are cut
the dance is over
and she crumbles into a pile of limbs

he looks at her staring
her glass eyes roll up
to focus on the lights
and not the wood floors
where her imprints should be

the dark absences absorb the glow
her eyes swallow the endless beams
all she can do is stare

he approaches her and stands next to her heap
the light reflects off her porcelain skin
her arms reach around him
and touch her back

he creates for her
little moments of distraction
she stares and absorbs too much of him

the branches begin where the song (and the strings) left off
slowly, they grow, split and thicken
weaving between her fingers, taking a hold of strands of her hair
they insert themselves beneath her armpits
and as they heighten, she begins to straighten
her limbs configure
she unfolds
until the illusion of standing alone is complete

the woods immerse the doll
they swallow her colors, until only the porcelain
of her face can be seen
the branches continue, enveloping over her head
until they reach the heavens or consume her completely
they will never be satisfied.

[Please give me feedback on this one, I'm not sure if its 'finished', if you want to see the picture that inspired it go to this link:
http://ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/cornell/cornell.bebe-marie.jpg Also if you have suggestions for titles I am down]

anticipation (written to put off studying)

tastes like old coffee and feels like perspirating armpits
the disguisting is delightful
dry, sticky lips

I don't want to be anywhere else but here
perched in a corner, swaying to Fiona
ready to swoop
and to sit with peers at a bar

spiders crawl up my front
while i stare at their legs
familiar faces on strange bodies
nails stretch to inconvient lengths

stale liquids, damp arms
stare into walls


[ek, written on a whim without rewrite]

desire excercise from poetry group

knowledge of the itinerary
is a yarn strand
stretching, reaching
from between my toes
through to the unseen
(frustrating fog)

this is a prayer of immaturity:

remove these necessary planks of wood
they block and fragment my desire

I dare to grasp prematurely
threat of cutting
a shift punch to an early ending

if pressing fast forward were optional
to watch the ribbon reel and spin

instead bow to desire
acknowledge its presence
and then lets run
down the alleyways
pollution caressing our faces
type into technology
and hope that once the first plank is leapt
there will be an exposure of something fitting

Overreacting Ray (my book poem for poetry group)

unread
moments of redemption slip through your fingers
no, of course the violent pulp novel sequels are more interesting
than the hollow, needy codex on the bed
the quicksand cover blending with the spotted sheets

reshaping perspective
black smooth box with lid
regain perspective
three weeks have passed
overreacting ray

my alarm clock is spiteful
chirping at the meeting of exhaustion and rest
pull back and let go
allowing the purple tones to rise
the release is in the violence

builds, presses up against limits,
pushes, pressures

this book of mourning bleeds into conversations
apologetic of pain
understanding ryn
a quarter of a day away

your eyes are pink and glossy
words are able to draw the tears
i’ve wanted for months

but not like this

you hand me a cardboard book
with empty printer pages
and tell me to write