small things

small things open up
other universes
of life

when you get lost
in the construction of a word

its architecture suddenly
becomes woody
or grained

it doesnt look right any more
it grows branches

or the forest of your eyelashes
when they are fluttering

my wild oblivion

in your every



black as your heart
and drip coffee

you said

but your heart was red
a real red mush
pulped dread

and feeling everything
you had no

shiny coating no
outer skin to protect you

had no shield

black as your heart
and drip coffee
you said

but everything

made you

in the knees


i've been to america
a few times now

and i have to say

it is very pretty

but its also kind of
a lonely place

they have really nice hills there
and pretty good signage
and wonderful deserts

there are
and a lot of people
who seem to be wandering



or maybe it was just that one mall
i was at



sometimes we tell secrets to ourselves
sometimes we tell them to friends

i prefer
to tell my darkest secrets
to absolute

and then laugh
as i see them
float into the wind

i like talking to strangers
becuase they have something
nice about them and
tabla rasa

often means
you get away
with being really funny

i don't know
maybe it is just because of the movies
and the idea of how two people meet

and the blossoming of friendship

like this morning
when i found myself face to face
with a complete stranger
hunched over the ground
in the center of the city street

his own



i am going to pretend
i am this lady today

and my name will be lulu
or coco or something

i will mainly lay on the beach
and watch the young boys
lap up the waves with their
vanilla arms

i will likely brush my long locks
a lot

and sip ever so subtly from my
eternal martini

i think this evening i will wear
the long gown
you gave me, you know
the silk one

and remove my polka dot bikini
for the day

i will possibly be thinking about sergio
and rudolfo
and my darling new handbag
and, well, everything maybe

but only for split


pink laundry

we used to go to this place
called the pink laundry

and i secretly wished
that meant

all our clothes would become
that malnutritioned red

we used to drive there
in your station wagon

i love brown
station wagons

that hold all that remote
beauty of memory

in their every



when i was a 5

i wanted to be a pirate

maybe not a blood-thirsty
killing kind of pirate but

more of a swashbuckling
snappy dresser daredevil kind

i would wear a leather satchel
strapped diagonally
across my chest and just my

i never got as far as the eye-patch
but i was quite handy with a plastic sword

i am not sure
what got me hooked on pirates but

now that i think of it

i am sure it had something to do with
pippi longstocking

and to this day
i think part of me still resembles her

but maybe it is just

the teeth


i suppose some days
you feel much cleaner than others


and then some days
it is like
your whole soul has been dragged
through the grime

and there is no way to extricate
yourself from the slime

i am winding my way through this now

unfettered by chance

or anything remotely

which is the part

that bores me

the most


i am ready
for amazing things
to happen to me

i am wide open to luck
and sizzling beauty

i want to have magical powers
and treat people
with a kind of dignity
that changes
how they feel

about themselves

i want my luck to be viral

and to leave a trail of great things

i want all my interactions to transform me
at the molecular level

and all my anxieties to find a home
in the trash

i am ready