“rolling hills
my tongue fastened in yellow
grass and my fist becoming open
tickling green grass, my feet smiling
in mud, and uh, my toes!
-
push my shaved head deep into
your wasp infested naughty cavern
with your extra tiny fingers on the
tip of your nails, pull my hair
out in patches
-
sept 3rd/11
eating meat on sticks, 3 hours to
get onto highway, not needing to lift up our thumbs, rides just stop. sitting in an RV, people speak of in accents, everyone we’ve talked to.
-
everyone’s writing about love
-
she smiles at me with her yellow teeth, ‘watch her mouth move up and down, forming words into sentences, laughing. her eyes grow bigger with excitement. i wonder where her missing teeth are, if there whereabouts are known only to her, if they are laying in a gutter, stained with coffee and blood. roots cracked and capped. when she sleeps her tongue wonders, her toothless gaps, caressing her sour lonely gums, mothy morning breath and crusted eyes. warm hole emptied beers surrounding us, burned to the end candles.
blinds half drawn and our ladders are full. (ladders?) clothes scattered by holey socks? “
i guess i haven’t updated in awhile. there is a fear of sharing yourself with the internet in such an intimate way maybe. there was a zine fair in wpg this past weekend. i made a zine of when i went to B.C near the end of last summer. most of the zine is illegible so maybe i can translate it into clear enough words on here tumblr. the premise of the zine was to just put all of that silly poetry for whoever wants to read it. most of what i write is trying to achieve something humourous in a poetic depressing way. maybe it’s enjoyable. here is the one of the first texts;
sept.10th/2011
: concrete floors, dirt
open walls; bugs crawling all
over my back & stomach,
my face & my mouth
winks
“the eyes are the nipples of the face”
woken up at 1am to a womyn loading pallets of wood.
what is this? stolen property. tarp made shelter/
i looked across the room with this little devil,
it’s tiny bits just screaming “look at me! look at me!”
i want to feed him a bagel wrapped in cream cheese,
filled with bacon.
tiny pleasures for your tiny bits
jingle, jingle
/i could spend hours in Mcdonalds, the cafe just
asking me ” do you want a deliciouse beverage, to help
you through the day?” listening to insecure parenting
skills, the devils just being themselves, watchful eyes
should be stabbed out and eaten. an appetizer maybe.
my hands are tied and feeling squeezed (?) dry and almost
not together, my partner writing curly little lines, probably
something beautiful.
- Dreams of failed sex acts and terrible bike rides
bikes falling apart
running through tents, smoky, smoky.
- they probably know we are there.
” are you still there?”
speaker phones and talk of fast food, i’m glad we have
right doors
$1.89
brooks, Alberta
a lot of red lights
banks closed early
speaker phones love to be on HIGH volume. :
——
it’s also basically a journal entry sort of thing. i just photocopied my journal into a small compilation. if you want a copy i could send you one, maybe some sort of trade or whatever. penpals are cute. yeah? more to be written out later, maybe near the end i can scan the actual zine to see it in it’s entirety. uh.. stay.. punk?
Jeanette Winterson , Written on the body, pg., 77-78
