local dreamer

start with the building block of all narrative

the mommy blog a central character in her new story

the reverse-chronology scroll dives deeper into prophecy

she finds the mommy blog about echoes her own, perfectly

the mommy blogs find each other, recommend each other

matchmake–

their feedback loops leak into their authors,

who fall in love, obviously

tap on their laptops in matching slouch chairs at the local play cafe

running their fingers up and down their touchpads

push notifications

burielle

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the grand conjunction

a graphic four-pointed throwing star floating just above the horizon

was it spinning slowly or was i?

the videographic of the solar system’s trajectory around the milky way, so many orbital coils

aircondition by oliver laric

sometimes the clouds cover the sunrise and sometimes the light catches their edges just so

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coordinating conjunctions, fanboys is the acronym

for and nor but or yet so

holding hands with my microobsessions

diaeresis in every direction, multiocular o

*

sensational spelling

following my whims seriously, eagerly

looping with them thru the ‘verse

watermelon gazpacho for my family

so tasty

soup for my family

aged newspaper

rubbed by the air

psychic Acorn House bridging worlds

soft rose mushrooms empurpling next to feathers from a hawk fight

nature walk in the backyard

weeping pussywillow

memory tags, silky&shaggy,

the pair of brown cows no longer in the field on the hill across the creek

Mary Oliver everywhere.

Diane DiPrima everywhere,

Audre Lorde in the bestest places;

poetry everywhere,

in the back yard, in the front room

referentiality looping everywhere

ribboning like ribbon diagrams.

my life story is an allegory for your life story,

she said into the camera, uploaded it to youtube,

he told her he liked it a few years later

in the library, always in the library

so many pages young and aged

start writing, the prompt said, so she did

3 poems by kit howard

POEM 1

she smiled at me

as I rounded 

his bed 

I knew 

but

I still didn’t know

or 

I didn’t

      want 

to 

knowing 

would make it 

REAL

and real was the worst thing I could think of

real

would 

put me 

into

a new

“category” 

one of delicacy and kid gloves 

of tuts and too bads 

a category 

I thought I’d spent my 

whole life

preparing for.

a category I was

ready for. 

I wasn’t ready.

how could i be

heat rises

a rising tide hits me square in the jaw.

I can’t compete with the allure of her 

magnetism.

she goes around like a waltz,

an ease pervading the air about her

like it’s coming off her skin,

like she’s doused in a perfume of 

power.

her presence towers over me, pushing me to my 

meekness,

huddling in a corner even though I’m standing in the middle of the room.

my face wrinkles with giddiness and 

insecurity.

I look away.

I want to kiss her and slap her and 

hide her

from everyone else and never look at her again.

the blood in my veins breaks into my brain

creating the sweat that will ultimately become my need to 

leave. 

because I can’t compete with a woman who smells like that.

and if I can’t win, I’ll 

lose her. 

ultradian-rapid-cycling-bipolar2-mixed-features

i shift inside me.

day shift, 

night shift,

lunch shift.

the three of us wrestle, 

tussle,

then come to blows.

every one of us knows

how to fuck with the 

Other.

just another day in the life 

of 

mixed bicycles

colliding 

in opposites

refracting 

or 

retracting 

polar

icecaps

stating the 

obvious 

then 

flying through 

blood red 

clouds filled 

with rain

the damage comes from 

within

without 

my

knowledge 

permission

acceptance

guidance

love

hate

neutrals seldom come from

a brain 

on fire

barbed wire in 

my eyes

constant

hyperdrive 

reprise

of a 

death knell

in hell

the truth won’t make them come

because

from 

any other vantage

we’re fucked.

an unattractive offering no matter how silver the platter.

overidentified and undernourished. 

25 years undiagnosed and

without flourish.

the red brain 

undermining 

the yellow brain

undermining

the blue brain.

cyclical gaslighting.

rinse, repeat.

we have a volcanic experience, 

no,

existence.

roiling, molten lava

spewed into ashes

then hardened into stone.

rinse, repeat.

the red one bursts in

punching,

screaming,

kicking for 

Control,

throwing the papers

in the air,

all devil may care,

it’s about me!

i don’t care!

it’s not fair!

what a dick.

the yellow one is constantly

jarred, disoriented,

too consumed with righting the ship

to keep their grip.

unable to see the pattern 

or the cliff

or even mitigate the impact.

what a chump.

the blue one       longs        for          defeat  .

any reason               to          retreat  .

sweet         release         in        thick        dark         sleep  .

what a coward.

rinse, repeat.

then the math changes

and the variables trade places,

a mix tape featuring 

chaos on the B-side.

an interesting biopic?

only if you don’t have to live it.

there, there, take your meds & do your yoga & write your gratitude’s & you’ll be fine & if you’re not it’s 

Your Fault. 

it must be. 

they don’t know that the 

little blue pill 

does but a little.

it can’t even touch two of us. 

but I’ll swallow one of you whole.

games of chance

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when the rainbow is a window and vice-versa

colorways, dangerous, gorgeous

dangerous window rain, my eyes caught by the sunset caught in the drops

*

another early night i saw the sex lights blue on the horizon’s edge but the wreck it was invisible

the line of red brake lights that snaked the gorge went on forever

and you both slept in the lullaby car

*

glimpses, remembrance, touch-traces

oh how we waited!

we waited together forever, just friendly thumbs circling one another

drawn into the wrong suburban to cross paths with the once-lost local dreamer, his enthusiasm

as he showed me the scar from his broken arm

*

the sweetness of random friendships,

affinities, fan me, fam

(a deleted reference to fanning out your memories like a hand of cards)

deep fam at disco christmas says so much to me

feel your friendship feelings, people person

run your mind’s fingers over those u love

screen test

photocollage of two views of the corner of 5th avenue and 49th street in manhattan, one from a May 2009 googlemaps screencap, overlaid with march 27, 2003, at the end of a protest against the iraq war. a young person in a maroon bucket hat, a t-shirt with a circular crossed out swastika, and platform flip-flops stands on the round aluminum railing of a "free speech zone" cordon and smiles at a news camera from the tbs channel

screen test

pro test

edging up against the more fake and merci-less

more mercy, less fake

real pain for my sham friends and champagne for my real friends again

rebellious girlness is for everybody

bleached reefs versus doomer juggalos, me lazy yearning for new futures, listless

real life, like that lake, exists

simultaneous friends in bar backyards, modern love

sitting in luxurious circles

fairy lights in the branches above

2018’s heavy clouds i mean mistakes like

“do you like him?” squinted at me and

i lied yes to both of us with a dissociative bile-heat body-high (why?)

rushing up from one of my center lines, esophagus

i lied and in paralyzed lying

i failed my friend!

in every end’s beginning is there some other beginning’s end?

new moon longing low mood, that is to say,

is your 2020 a y2k remake with the saturation turned up way too high too?

the suspension bridge wiggling with compound moire?

all my old crutches way too short, limp home mode

nightmares where i’m dragging on the ground froze mode , molasses mode

or cast up into the sky, unable to hold on,

both a wake-up call, flinching away from my dreams

slim liminal window, something about opportunity

dreams live in a little ribbon looping with wavelength and frequency

timing is everything and

location, location, location