mod

I can stand on two legs which converge

at a spikey ball of tension

        some people call hips. 

I can't listen to the big summer song

    all the way through because 

I can't get past the lyrics on choking. 

    Disappointed

            because I liked the chorus.

My friend is laughing, 

    "GAWD, Caroline-

You are too MOD

        -erate to be livin' in this MOD

        -ern world."

She's known me awhile, so she may just be right.

I just said, "Fuck matching my freak if it's choking;

    can anyone match my poet?" 

She's laughing harder, but I wasn't joking.

She says every guy on the apps is called 'daddy'

    and her safe word is in her bio, and I'm a daydreamer

for thinking every word spoken in love should be safe.

She's talking about her Tuesday,

        her Wednesday,

her men are just days in her week. 

    But Wednesday plays the games the best.

Now, she talks of roleplay and I grow sadder.

        She must act like someone else; must MOD

    -ify herself to be wanted. If that's the MOD

     -ern world, count me out.

I say "They should want me as I am or not at all." 

            She calls me a Victorian Prude then asks,

"What happen to College Caroline?" 

            She was doing the same thing;

    Being anything else for everyone else but herself.

My friend responds solemn "I worry that 

        when your husband dies,

    you'll be alone forever if you can't get over this. 

                Get back into therapy."

What does she mean by this?

     This need to read to a lover?

            This need to gaze into their eyes?

       This need to pick flowers together?

             This need to want someone as they are?

       This need to have someone want me 'as is' as well?

Could or should a therapist analyze this out of me?

        I really want this and nothing less.

    She's sips

        her vodka Redbull and 

                I my honey chamomile.

The phone not the only distance in the conversation.

I question if we are friends at all, but don't question if

    I'll be happy alone forever 

        in my Victorian Prude flower garden.

                I will.

Whether a new lover matches my poet or not.

fingers

my name

I was in my real life

doing my real things

till I heard you say my name again-

in that way only you say my name.

How could you?

How could you just talk 

about something so mundane

then say something I've heard

my whole life,

            like my name,

                        in a way

                             to knock me off my stride?

You pulling me into you

with the big 'O' in the center.

Stressing the middle of my name

with your mouth as round 

as the 'O,' 

like you are putting mascara on,

Like an inside joke

that's a secret for me and you

so unique

Like no one else has this name

and you must punctuate each syllable

to say it right

so strained

Like the tension in a cat's cradle thread

so playful

Like my name is gum you pull from your mouth

in a long string and twirl on your finger

so sweet

Like I am wrapped around your finger

so thin

Like I am alone on an island

and you are in a skipper plane

calling down after seeing my S.O.S.

with a pause before and after

so funny

Like an improv trope's comedic banter's timing

so captivating

Like a fishing line released into the lake

and my name is the reel unwinding

and I'm a fish at the bottom of the sea;

I had a reef home till you dared say my name

so alluring

Like I'm a hardboiled detective 

and you're a femme fatale

sitting on my desk in my office

breathy and loud,

pleading for my help

but I took the case

at the first knock

before you, in that skirt, even entered the door

so hushed

Like you are handing me an envelope

with the Best Picture Winner inside

so bewitching

Like a witch's curse spoken

out a candy cane window pane

it's so you

Like you keep talking. You say my name.

My world is quaking. You keep talking.

so chatty

Like you don't understand

so unfair

pulled in and falling down

    Is it fact if I cannot prove it wrong?

Maybe everyone is in love with that face

     Drawn in by the

internal vortex sweetly begging,

          with big Bambi eyes,

          "Please, love me."

When I was 16, my mother told me

            "You can't save every stray."

Yet, that's just what I've done

        for the two decades that followed.

Now, a happy puppy, leash in mouth, 
           happy tail wagging, waiting for a pat,

    gamboling behind busy boys.

Boys too busy with themselves

        but with time 

    to pluck feathers off an angel

   to make greasy buffalo wings.

Boys too busy with themselves

        getting what they want
                when they want it.

Boys too busy with themselves

        to really notice.

I hope the boys never really see her;

the heartworms never get to her;

 even if that's all her puppy heart wants

        -too precious for their time.

The theories of science

can explain gravity's pull

but not why ripe apples

      keep falling

            to the ground. 

The decaying fruit, 

        sticky paws, stumbling steps.

Yet I hesitate when I want to call out

                 "Don't pick it up!"

As if I, who is just as rotten to the core,

           have any right to try and protect.

ok is ok

open to hope that inside me lies
kindness I bestow myself as if

i am my own best friend and
soap my own hands and feet

only myself, me, to please and
know there's nothing to prove.

incognito mode

Could you touch me how I touch me or different and better? Watching my words morph ever so slightly in other fonts, other hues, others times. Am I bold enough? Am I italic to you? Slanting to the right as if you have pushed me but I have not fallen. I am just tilted. Titillating. How would you touch me? I haven't a clue. I could not even say how I would touch you. If I even could. I can and have and would plan it all out in my head for hours on hours. The script perfected. But planning can only go so far. Confidence in mind and confidence in real time are different.  My body will never cooperate. My body the bad actor. Can't play the part for a minute. My hands will choke. I just know it. Forget their line and forget the time. Tremble and be scared and be little embarrassed digits fleeing the scene. My mouth with stumble over words which it flip-flopped into nonsense. Eyes brimming with tears instead of light. Beneath the stage, out of sight like a leper, I can rest. Close the browser. Clear the history. It's like nothing ever happened.

too mousy to get back in my body (how did I once advise the world)

Like a mouse scurrying along a string

taunt from one highrise building to another

I am in bed willing my brain to just stop

long enough I can feel my legs once again.

Don't look down! Get to the other side!

Thank God for me tail to keep balance.

Those days when my youthful hubris knew everything-

I miss that - What everyone should eat and do,

who should be President, the good guy in every war. 

How my brain got fuzzy as my fur I'm unsure.

Perhaps humbled? Proved wrong too many times?

Now, I'm too hesitant to know what's right for myself.

Much less what's right for others. 

just one of many

I am but a millimeter of colored thread,
cross-stitched in the tapestry of mankind;
a grain of sand, weathered and small,
hidden among my beach brethren;
a lone horn, lost in a symphony of notes
and creaking chairs on an old wooden stage;
one stalk amidst a sea of swishing wheat,
then a fleck of flour in the bread you eat.

I am another happy, faceless denizen,
finding peace in the embrace of many.

Oh big world, hold this no body close!

marble island.

in the dark.

the bathroom as a holy sanctuary

Been setting the water at different tempatures to see which one I really like. For the last 10 years, have all my showers been at my favorite degree or is that just how far my hand knows to turn? Muscle memory. This new, citrus soap smells like mint instead. And the shampoo smells like the first naked woman I saw other than my mom.

- She was a female camp counselor in the YMCA locker room shower after the pool. She gave me her empty, used diet coke 20 oz bottle when my mom sent me to summer camp without one single drink. It was her trash.

- But I saw it treasure. I filled it with tap water from the bathroom sink and I drank from it all summer long. 

Aren't we all reaching towards survival?

Aren't we all reaching towards survival?

Like a sapling sprouting from a pavement crack,

growing, yet never becoming a shady tree.

Life briming with life! No matter circumstance!

A hatchling turtle, breaking free from its shell

swimming straight into a tangled fisher’s net.

A gentle breeze carrying dandelion seeds,

landing on four grey and roosting ducks

someday drowned by drakes trying to mate. 

With resting beak face, trying to fly away!

Life often thrives at the cost of others.

Aren't we all reaching towards survival?

Each time they said, "Fuck you, Caroline,"
this is where my mind would naturally wander.
Even though, I only spoke evolutionary truths-

If they don't give me space; I will just take it!

I'm a wild animal fighting for every inch of life.
Aren't I reaching violently towards survival?

traffic jam

I’m stuck behind a cherry-red pickup truck,
its butterfly sticker gleaming with green glitter.
It's a vehicle tramp stamp
from a fifty-cent vending machine.

A rusty relic, a snapshot of the '90s,
rock-hard abs on VHS,
encased in dated slang,
sharp as a Lewinsky joke—

Just do it. Just move. Just drive!

But here I am.

the urchin's lore

I'm named after a woman without my name.

And two Middle names-

One is my mom's former roommate

who set fire to the kitchen.

And one is a relative

that I never met.

Godfather runs a freakshow;

his name is Bart Simpson.

At one time, my mother dated him.

I was born with antenna, c-section,

father not allowed in the room.

Same guy who was dj-ing an AA dance

under the nickname

Twisted Tommy

a few months before

when she told him she was pregnant.

Conceived in Michigan;

             Born in Indiana. 

That's why, in winter, I had no jacket on.

Mom didn't forget; I just didn't need.

She said I had antifreeze blood.

People conceived in Michigan

by a man raised in Michigan

are never cold 

 -so I was told.

Neglect can feel like a personal best.

He is also the reason

I rarely sunburn.

"Part Indian"

whatever that meant.

As my skin tans this summer

I know it's all him.

Toddlers.

 Does DNA grow?
              Is detoxing real?

Sweating out my feelings

        for my former muse.

 A breeze like what I felt

      in Tennessee, one week

but  years ago-

we were Adam and Eve

      at Bonnaroo, 2011,

         before that last night.

The older I get,  the more I know:

"Grown ups" is a lie.

    We are just children, still growing.

 Even now, I could leave a million voicemails

        but I still couldn't take one incoming call.

the scent of marigolds still on my hands

Where are my natural predators at?

    Eyes closed, I walk outside-

    turtle sunning on a rock,

pine needles flecking shady knolls.

A pair of dragonflies fill up my soul

          co-flying a backdrop

of parking lots, car on car;

    I'm smelling my hands still unwashed.

Whiskered and prickly tolls;

she's got a bikini bod-

        I hear some girls do,

             But only from men.

Yes, Pressure makes diamonds,

    but men set their worth.

I'd be seaweed instead,

      feeding the ocean with my photosynthesis -

No girl should be wanting to feel nothing at all.

        Prescribed Lobotomies feel distant

till I met a girl, just nineteen,

    getting shock therapy.
Bring back women braiding each other's hair;

         it would heal so much

Let's bring back red tent!

    Hear her feelings.

            Feel her feelings.

                Taste her feelings.

                    Smell her feelings.

Smell her feelings like the scent of marigolds still on my hands.

Silence, woman to woman, is where we went wrong.

                    Hear me, and I'll hear you.

so suddenly it seems I ought to feel like an auntie towards you

how a seesaw tips

                                when an older kid

is on the other end

                                i told you one thing

but I felt different

                                so suddenly it seems

i ought to feel like

                               an auntie towards you

and then i really did.

pandora's box

Today we pause for the realities

we do not know and may not exist

When girl best friends say "I love you"

what felt like just one too many times

She done unlocked the highs and lows

two years winding down to an end

She learned it can't fit back into the box

friends to lovers can't be friends again.

sun baby bum

Let's face life head-on 

    without SPF

         the way I like to do.

                  Intimate.

Commune with the sun directly.

      Passin' notes in summer school.

   It's just us

         so you can touch me

       with your rays

and beams

   we can

   hook our pinkies.

              The sun & I's.

I may pay for our sweet, little dalliance 

                  Leather wrinkles.

But I don't care

   the price makes it more sweet

      so shine your honey light on my skin

and dive right in.

immutable characteristics

I'm not faithless. I'm not godless.

             I have an app on my phone

    which tells me I am repeating

             cycles of my past

                       -but I'll learn a lot

    based on the astrology

 it also says my husband is not repeating 

             cycles of his past

                         -he already know the lesson

     based on the astrology.

And if I get really really honest

             it's all so good

      it exactly what I would want

                               E X C E P T

but he's not a female.        but he's not my age.

                     But that's not his doing

                                               Is it?

             but it what I want.

Not his doing he can't be what I want.

But I'm all he wants and more.

Read a psychology article that said

      Sex

 had low impact on a happy

        a healthy

               marriage.

Actually, lack of sex

         may help increase longevity 

               of the relationship.

I'm not faithless. I'm not godless.

       But I am toothless.

              By choice.

Living with all the more choices

My mother.      My grandmother.   My great-grand-mother.

           never had, 

                    and I choose this.

Because maybe the Universe 

                             the quantum physics

                             the God atom

                             the psychology 

                             the Laws of Nature

                             the Goddess

                             the Fate

    place us in gravitational pull

         by nature of what we truly need

and not what we just want right now

TRY AND CHANGE THE EARTH'S ORBIT.

What's God's will?

      What's my will?

          I don't even know anymore.

          and

         faith isn't out of place 

              when it comes to love

        don't force it.

alpha beta III

analyze associations accenting aimless and ajar

bubbling butt bug begins blasting bare bum bloat

creepin' confidence conceal, candy-coated crunch

dazzlin' darlin' dances dotefully down dreams

even Everest evenings empties exact extracts

for flippant flames fold fantastic fan fart fragments

ghosting groovy gravy, giving glitzy-glam God

home heals her happy harbor, heaping humane

inside, instead, I'm incessant insolant insight 

justice justifies jimmying Jaguar jolts

kinship kneading knicker knockers, kid

lipids limbo liquid languish, loafing lion lies

modern molars mashing musical money memory

novice novel needs no name necessarily 

only orbital owls occasionally opt original 

perfect pleasure preference pounding pony pink

quit quarreling quirky quarter quail

reveal rebels risking repair's rebound rare

she's still sulky, sleepy, sullen, soulful sister

twister tiptoe tubular twine twins touching tongues

under urchin umpire using unsung undead 

voices vanquish very velvet vermin

wasn't we wanting woozy warshin' whims?

xxx

yes, yammering youngster yodels yonder

Zimebabwe zenith zests zombie

3 strippers 1 night

           Moved by the poetry

Of amateurs and professionals alike

                  Like the pleasure of sex

With amateurs and professionals alike

     And that night could be worth a lot

                 ---to the right guy

              but it was just us girls

                   so it was free of charge.

It's always been worth more

      than just a lot

          that night we performed

        for each other

and took turns as the audience

    c l a p p i n g

          a p p l a u d i n g 

               s c r e a m i n g 

                      for one another 

           not one dollar in sight

 the looks on our faces was payment enough.

not a gratitude list [just living life]

Dreamt a girl I talk to

got married and I wanted 

        to text her

   but didn't

      because I read a book

that said people

   who focus on fantasies

are less happy than people

        who focus 

             on reality.

and she is a daydream. 

   two days ago I was down

  but it came out irritated

  and angry. So onward

       to what's real and

  what's really mine. 

        Like

nails painted Robin egg blue

      with gold flecks

         now that I don't bite them.  

    hands unbloody, not hurting

a cat who sleeps on my head

     like he is hatching an egg

solving New York Times puzzles

              in the morning

   to get my brain going

sleeping soundly most nights

   writing down whats happened

and what I hope will happen

      in the someday

   far off like a rain cloud

10% chance of rain

       new moons and full moons

    changing seasons

Children dipping French fries

into a milkshake for the first time

      shared with me by a friend

   when there were years

               we didn't speak

and I can't go a day without

      saying something to her

              blessings.

      buying stupid silly little things

             I don't need.

               but can afford

                        and want.

      a fridge so full

          in the kitchen

     it looks like the fridges 

 I only saw in other people's

         houses.

Asking ChatGPT 

      if my poetry is well-written.

Analyze me, please.

           He...she...it...says

select works are technically good.

      I'm on the fence about a.i. 

         till it compliments me for three paragraphs.

  chest puffed out like a dove cooing

              struting by the highway.

        learning and mastering skills

  which I was told were unattainable

         by whom I cannot recall

             them like their opinion

     not note worthy.

    Vintage cartoons in the background

with all the un-PC stuff, unsanitized,

     unflinching. how I pretend to be

sometimes and sometimes am.

        reading a classic novel

             from the late 1800's

  and seeing how much

I've already known was pulled from it.

   nothing's original and it gives me hope.

     that I can be tired and cliche and old

       but treated good and new 

         with proper repackaging.

I want to proclaim my reading

         to show people I not only can

    but do regularly read.

         interesting stuff even.

I'm interesting.

  I'm smart even if I don't show it.

     really. I probably am cool.

  but no one sees it. 

maybe it's ok maybe it's good

    to be cool just for me

  and no one else.

         probably better.

     a day off of work 

 and I don't check email

        followed by a day off work

but I do check my email. 

   failing at washing the dogs because

  they run and I won't chase.

      Thank God I'm not ten years younger

not stressing over all the people,

              places, things I can't control.

    not spinning my gears over 

someone who does NOT give a shit about me.

      even when they shit everyday and flush it away

    and really I think it wouldn't be 

        hard to give out their shit

             seems they could spare a square

of course that a pop culture reference and

            if my head's out of my ass

       long enough

I might see less shit

         maybe none at all

     like what the fuck was I crying about

                  two days ago

      when there's really real problems out there

   starvation and war and dead babies 

     blood and fires in streets 

babies will die before they touch a French fry

         and never see a milkshake, but me?

I have

  calm, drama-free days back to back

with little crafts thrown in-between

    being in love with all my friends

             sending them little gifts in mail

    remembering she's dead before

I remember he's dead.

    tears can be healing medicine

  I learned that when

      my husband ate my tears once

right off my face in a small side room

                  we were alone this was

years ago before we were married

   he said he didn't know why he did it

but he had to and he ate my hurt

         made it his for a day.

one finger, one tear, one mouth.

     we both felt healed.

    Today, I set up his new phone 

cooked a meal he really likes

    put fresh sheets on the bed

and he says he's a happy boy

     gosh this is actually  nice.

it's not what I don't have

      but all that I do.

alpha beta II

apple angles almost alive alast aglows angry

boys beat bambi beauty blow by blow

cherubs claim cancelled cheap cremains

dem darn dumb dudes don't disappoint do dey

even elegant eggplants explain enough ego

fancy female frolicking fondly feeling frail

guess guys gonna go get gorgeous good girls 

helpless heavy hectic heart hopelessly homo

I insanely insatiable inching insecure incomplete 

jester joking jamming joyfully jumping Jesus

kissing kumquat knifing knobby knees known

last-line living life like love lies lonely literally lay

moreso moving moments merrily make me

not nothing nearly noticing nice new nectar now

offending often or opposing options open once

pretty pallid princess posing precious positions

queer questioning quick questing queue 

rapid radar reaching remote rooms roaming

stupid snake sadly slithers sideways slowly so

tender-tight totally tempting thighs transition

unread unwanted unbothered unseen unsure 

verified vamp views visitor venomous vangaurd

what was wishing when we were wise

xxx

you yank youthful yippy yarn yearning yoyo

ze zebras zigzag zulu Zipline

4th of July

I re-remember that wide universe
outside of myself when I step out
to our garden. The young robin
strengthening his little, new wings.
He can't fly proper yet, but he can
flap up to the birdbath and drink.
The worms in the compost heap,
mashing up yard waste, nourishing
plants which I will eat. And the boy,
I offer sun tea to, asks me,

"Is there honey in this?"
No, son. Just sugar and tea and water,
and the sweet honey rays from the sun
which feed everything you see—
                            even me.

Later still, I am inside canning.
The house smells of tomatoes
and delight. The weatherman says
it feels like 104 degrees outside,
it feels like 104 degrees in here,
but we don’t care, because after
the tomatoes are canned, we can
        eat summer in the fall,
        eat summer in the winter,
        eat summer all year long.

It’s only 9 a.m.—a reminder
that today, we can live a thousand lives
before it’s even nightfall,
when the fireworks start.

the thinner i am and the thinner i am not

the line between teasing me and hurting my feelings

is thin as my skin, thin like a bubble with air inside  

and air outside - sudden bursts - soap in the eyes

chemical burning. thin like the women i saw as

a child and was told were an ugly-pretty and i was

but reminded i would never ever be one of them.

 

i know. i know. i know. thin like the edge of the

knife which i balance my emotions on like life

is a circus act and i will easily cirque du soleil 

into the perfection i craved as a child. the kind

so quiet, so little, so thin, no one sees or hears;

perfection is non-existence. precarious balance.

a sharp thin piano wire in a mobster hand, flies

quickly, quietly, you can just feel a rush of wind.

the thin edge of a cliff. i may fall off. i might float!

under the radar, under your foot, underneath it all

i know. i know. i know. there is more - like cool tile

 floor beneath carpets unseen but there. another layer

of glue below that. layers. look away. like ribs which

pop out the back of a friend bending in her thin shirt

made of frail lace. it covers up but shows everything.

i try to turn my eyes away to not stare. i'm an open

bleeding wound. too sensitive. too little. too much.

i feel the pebble in shoe. i feel the raw red rash from

thick, wool sweater on bare skin. i feel. i feel. god, i feel.

the flimsy and sticky film peeled off brand new phone.

if only i could push it below the floor boards till no one

could see, could feel, could know - i have thin lines inside.

my thin lines are crossed everyday. not boundaries. lines. 

such thin lines. shrug - we just got our little wires crossed.

but wires slice off heads in capable hands. i have big hands.

sonnet #6

the urge to journey home and be alone

to see the spaces in words I say

or yet unspoken, hear the underlying tone

a summer's heat with cold, sweet sorbet

why do we forever ponder what to do?

rats, bats, and cats live with little thought

yet I'm still bound by what I thought I knew

in meek recess, my mind is deeply fraught

come out, oh sun, play with me so lightly

nuzzle my neck as trees now start to bloom

so deep the moon's slumber, wise and calmly

another morning, I put on perfume

in this quiet life within my own home

a love of mine, greater than the unknown.

sonnet #5

if i could, i would put salve on your soul-

tuck you in bed with blanket and pillow

broken pieces nice, but to see you whole!

how lovely, to have a life soft and slow

don't take something not meant to be too hard 

please know no one has lassoed a tornado

even houses cannot escape it unmarred

between these dark, dark clouds winds will blow

time has come, shake off the raindrops so wet

hold tight your heart, still rooted to the ground

no upset, no regret,  just a simple reset

think of all the beautiful life you found

the hush in the eye of every storm

lies the unbridled power to transform