Maybe if I pull
just
a
bit
harder
it will come off this time.
Finger prints smudging down
my last cheek
remains.
If I just push this skin
a little further
I know it will come off completely.
There!
I saw an eye shift downward;
this must be it.
It's really coming off this time.
Slowly,
slowly,
almost got it...
Wait!
My face can't come off,
that's crazy!
Or this acid is really good.

Scrap Poetry

Thousands of blurry-eyed strangers mill around,

searching for the mediocre refreshments they were promised.

I am from John Deere tractors;

I am from a place that is mine.

How much time will it truly take?

Will deprive school kids?

Pictures follow, even ones without the graduate,

It tells everyone in the house when I'm late.

When Chris Missses Class

When Chris misses class my head swells a little;
my throat gets tight and breathing becomes

like

a

stop-

watch.

When Chris misses class I feel a headache coming on.
I start to get sweaty and my limbs are not themselves.
When Chris misses class nothing gets done,
my work is not special,
and no one pays attention,
When Chris misses class.

When Chris misses class I need a sedative
or coffee that isn't mine.
When Chris misses class I like people less.
I squint my eyes and and cross my arms
when Chris misses class.

When Chris misses class I wish I had too.

Another Version of Me

Hands held high,
with warriors in our throats,
we demand justice.
No amount of sing-song euphemisms
will suffice.
Its personal this time
and 6,000 college students
do not back down.
We will stand and stand
with grass between our toes
at the steps of the White House
because it is our house.
The first amendment in my pocket;
I know what we deserve.
And this time,
hand shakes are not enough.

Dumptruck, semitruck, razzel dazzel rose-
It, gargantuan like heavy night,
settles into slick cement.
Hammocked between innocence and arrogance,
trees sway gently, miles away from here.
Suburban sprawl and the constant hum
of semi trucks,
America is here to stay.

Song and Picture; Dance and Drawing

coming up

our father who art in a penthouse
sits in his 37th floor suite
and swivels to gaze down
at the city he made me in
he allows me to stand and
solicit graffiti until
he needs the land i stand on
i in my darkened threshold
am pawing through my pockets
the receipts, the bus schedules
the matchbook phone numbers
the urgent napkin poems
all of which laundering has rendered
pulpy and strange
loose change and a key
ask me
go ahead, ask me if i care
i got the answer here
i wrote it down somewhere
i just gotta find it
i just gotta find it

somebody and their spray paint got too close
somebody came on too heavy
now look at me made ugly
by the drooling letters
i was better off alone
ain't that the way it is
they don't know the first thing
but you don't know that
until they take the first swing
my fingers are red and swollen from the cold
i'm getting bold in my old age
so go ahead, try the door
it doesn't matter anymore
i know the weakhearted are strongwilled
and we are being kept alive
until we're killed
he's up there the ice
is clinking in his glass
he sends me little pieces of paper
i don't ask
i just empty my pockets and wait
it's not fate
it's just circumstance
i don't fool myself with romance
i just live
phone number to phone number
dusting them against my thighs
in the warmth of my pockets
which whisper history incessantly
asking me
where were you

i lower my eyes
wishing i could cry more
and care less,
yes it's true,
i was trying to love someone again,
i was caught caring,
bearing weight

but i love this city, this state
this country is too large
and whoever's in charge up there
had better take the elevator down
and put more than change in our cup
or else we
are coming
up

God Loves Children Who Hate Fags

Grey Shirt: C'mon Betsy, smile for the camera.
Red Shirt: I don't like cameras.
G: Show those fags your pearly whites.
R: Everybody is angry about something called a faggot.
G: Dad says we can go sledding right after we help Jesus spread the truth.
R: Daddy scares me when he gets like this, but Reverend Richard says we'll go to heaven. I'd rather watch the Little Mermaid.
G: As long as we smile big and wear these cute t-shirts, we can watch the Disney Channel.
R: Next month I will be 5 and have to go to head start. Mommy says Jesus loves me and he'll make sure no fags are around. He hates them, Mommy says so...
G: Mommy also says we'll be first in line for the Rapture.
R: ...But I thought Jesus loved everybody.



Love,

Josie and Chris