Sunday, March 17, 2013



(class) effect, a theory which is the sensitive dependence on initial conditions, where a small trigger-- of a biochemical reaction pattern, or more superficially, an emotion-- in a deterministic nonlinear system can result in large “abnormal” or “crazy” reaction in a later state and or situation.
today i cried over ketchup
ketchup no long in bottles,
ketchup no longer in plenty
today i cried over ketchup
condiment of poor –
ketchup

i wanted some good clean meat
elk. like what we had growing up in the mountains.
now i find i am losing my appetite and crying over
the class effect of  ketchup
ketchup.

ketchup dressed up in Pearls.
little (fucking) fancy silver
not-too-much (fucking) container
(singular)
ketchup.

earlier, as i drove my friends borrowed car,
i drove in the appearance of money, as i drove through
a neighborhood, traditionally red lined, and was followed by teen eyes
i clinched the shame i felt inside, when they looked through the windshield
i felt their eyes on my internalized class shame call Imposter!
i lowered my eyes, drove on,
only to park at the foot of homeless youths tuppence containers

i wanted to tell you
i tried to tell you
about how i felt about barbara moving in
and i broke down over (fucking) ketchup
how i feel about barbara moving in is

embarrassed—

the-dry-wall-is-cracking. the-trim-ain’t done. the-east-wall ain’t-sided-to-match-the-rest. i-don’t-have-a-shower-curtain. the-back-forty-is-covered-in-moldy-dump-shit. like the way white trash keep it. you-have-to-be-careful-in-the-room-you-move-into-don’t-walk-in-the-NW-corner-you-may-fall-through. the-shower-leaks. the-floor-is-only-held-by-grout. the-back-door-don’t-shut-unless-you-dead-bolt-it. the-front-door-handle-doesn’t-turn. leave-your-door-open-otherwise-heat-won’t-get-in. i eat ketchup…a lot—

embarrassed

but most of all
i feel shame ---
so i duck and turn my head,
lose my appetite for
what  and where i came from,
and cry over ketchup served
in the Pearl District
in a fancy silver not-too-much
ketchup container.

where are the bottles?

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

we took it – deeper 
then we’ve gone – for a while

i dipped into pockets
created nearly 16 months ago
mustering the bravery required to
cup vulnerability in palms
-- shallow breathing. rapid.
shifting-searching-- contact.

extending, i hand you fistfuls of – me,
the way we experienced pain,
opened tangled fingers of interpretations
i cried everything of
distanced, protected, defeated elements of – me
in you.
as night turn to day in the
memories of our devotion
i told you –passionate love making can be tiring
what i miss the most of our intimacy, our love making
is the feeling just after
the feeling of deep soulful peace, comfort, familiarity,
the feeling i would get as i lay my head on your chest
as i would breath in
                             home.
at this the seas, the seas seemed to--

the seas gathered and fell in assembly
from the cliffs (of cheekbones)
lingering and pooling at lips and dips
saturating shores with the salted holy water of our eyes
humble offerings of our tired redemption

‘nothing is forgotten—‘