full moon eclipsing in sagittarius

it’s a full moon eclipse
a good time to write intentions for the next six months
corinne tells me

(with a little manifestation on the side)

to find the forest within and beyond
to press hands to coolwet moss
to drop body into glaciermelt river water
to camp under the reaching of tree limbs
clothes infused with fire smoke
to rediscover stars, whole skyspills of them

to see projects/creations through with intention, focus and direction
to submit manuscripts which will be chosen for publication
to submit applications for residencies for which i will be chosen
to know/breathe/believe that i am capable

to unplug

to zoom in/out, orbiting around self and place in order to gain perspective

to speak spanish
to learn spanish
to explore language(s)
with determination the color of glitter

to build family up around me in san diego

to land in my body
to move in it
to connect through it
to sing
to fill whole rooms, buildings, cities, oceans with laughter
to become molten and contagious
to become a vessel of joy

to restore and build sanctuary

to release all struggles over being in only one place at one time
to release all struggles

to tour
perform
re-connect
re-ground
with radical queer (and allies) community

sky blue (sky) / capital-A Adventure

1. orangesliced and
peanut butter banana
this morning i am quiet and close
to earth
edges of self curling in like a dry leaf
internal
one might call it
kate
it pulls me close to
how in handwriting
you talked about approach/avoidance
sometimes
it is what we must do
to keep sanctuary

2. entering mexico
past the guards with the sniffing dog
and then
a button i am asked to press again
that turns a light green

neither of us have seen that one before
and don’t know the logic behind it
though maybe
it is a very advanced clicker
that keeps track
of numbers
you say

3. you (i) know
you’ve (i’ve) been in the u.s. too long
when you (i) wrap my head around the fact that
you (i) can just stand in this one spot on the sidewalk
unmarked by busstop signs
and sure enough
the bus to las playas
will zoom by
barely stopping
and open its doors to you (me)
and any other person
that knows

4. you
in the window seat
which means when we talk
i get to make eye contact
and soak in the textured city
frame by frame (bus window as framing device)
bike shop BICICLETA sign in cheapblue peeling on solid white
and the cemetary
white headstones like teeth
poking up along one of few green swaths

5. sidewalksleeping dog
small pile of goldbrown
almost deflated
in noon sun
from here
i cannot see it breathing
from here
something redmaroon like blood
past ear along face
upon approach
the redmaroon disappears mirage-style
and the risefall chest shows itself

6. in terms of romance
besides alleyways, text and going steady with the farmers market
i have had to import it

7. ana teresa fernandez
in a black dress and heels
ana teresa fernandez
in a black dress and heels climbing a ladder
ana teresa fernandez
in a black dress and heels climbing a ladder which has been secured into sand and angled up against the posts of the mexico / u.s. border at las playas de tijuana weilding a paint power-sprayer
first the primer
then the sky blue (sky)

8. i apologize
for the almonds
an account of their
staleness
and continue to eat them in small handfuls

9. sand sunwarmed on top layer
black grains gathering under nails and the places
where skin folds from bending (like knuckles)

10. when someone approaches saying
from a distance, i thought a part of the fence was gone
i couldn’t see it!
that is the moment
i understand
the brilliance
of disappearing a section of the fence
even if it is only an optical illusion
even if the paint will be eaten away in oceansalt wind in less than a week
how it might lift our collective psyche
to believe that for a moment
part of the wall
has fallen

11.  there are animal parts in that truck
i say
though i can not be sure
i thought i recognized the smell
from the corner where the green bay bus pulled around the smallest of three slaughterhouses
whose appearance was masked by a trailer park
and how i could not believe
that some people
lived pushed up against the smell of death
seven days a week

12. two gringos
walk along the freeway shoulder
towards the border
well, at least we’re not the only ones walking
i reference the fruit, water and what was that statue i walked past sunk low on the grass?
turtle? vendors

13. it’s a lot like this
i explain
(it meaning jury duty
and this meaning the line to get into the u.s.
where we wait
move forward
and wait
and move forward
and wait some more
[etc])
only there are chairs and maybe a magazine

14. first
you tell me about white cars
and then we pass names back and forth
names like opi
riva
maryeta

15. in the kitchen
while the curried vegetables simmer
a sonic loop cycles me back one year
summer soundtrack 2010
how i almost expect to look up out that greasy kitchen back door to find your face pressed up to the screen
me flour-handed and wrapped around you for a one-minute hug and neck inhalation

when are you coming home?

since we’re talking nests
i might as well use bird language
she says
migration

it’s like you are rearranging furniture
she says
when you speak in languages you don’t know well

and then there’s the zoloft tag-line:
zoloft; better than dying
which may sound horrible/insensitive
to the large world
but between us
it’s a way of slicing up a bad deal
and rearranging it into something
we can at least laugh at

like chamomile and i

1. determined to unkink a crimped neck
i roll out a teal yoga mat
as if yoga mat were red carpet
as if red carpet led the way to the musclemelt
of a dry sauna on a tuesday night in a forest of portland rain

2. kinda canyon that smells like chamomile and i still
don’t know the name of those yellow daisy-like wildflowers
scrambling uphill is often easier than running down
cool air curving over shoulders slips in under shirt sleeves soothes neck
it is only two miles
but two miles is more than none

3. seems a bit quiet in here for a saturday
i say
speak for yourself
he says back

4. sometimes your whiskey is my water
and not all thunderstorms happen in the sky

5. wrapped in grandma’s greenpurplepink afghan
student papers piled on pillow/desk
how the quiet in the house
is more quiet
when there are more of us in it

6. i take vanilla rooibos tea with my spanish quizwords
but this gutknot
a little like foodpoison
feels a little like a fever in my hands

7. message deficit
means
the mail carrier only came by
once today

 

religiosity

1. i ask kaya to teach me about the soymilk maker
tossing in a cup of almonds and brown rice
i want to make smoothies
i say
oooh! i love it when  you’re not in school!
she responds

2. that purple flowering tree is called a jacaranda
and this one with the fluffy pink flowers is called a mimosa
and star jasmine is the stuff growing between the houses
i tell todd
as we climb the landis hill
towards 30th
sun and cool air on our skin

3. lester says
the zoo is definitely very animaly
lester says
what happeend to my frequent flyer program?
(while searching for his coffee punch card)
lester says
i love those pants
outside the cinema
about the woman’s cotton not baggy, not tight elastic waisted mostly white pants
which end somewhere between mid-calf and ankle
detailed with a parsian print (courtyard cafe’s, etc)
i used to have a pair of pants like that in fifth grade
i say
only they had flowers
not paris
on them

4. too much religiosity
the woman says
which
in my naivete
thought she was being naive
by using a word that’s not ‘really’ a word
(whatever that means anyway)
turns out though
there is no squiggle auto-correct line under that word
which is to say
it really is certified as an actual non-offending word

5. there was a whole field of sunflowers in that movie
do you know
kate?
do you know what that means?
i’ve been missing you for years
and now it is us
turning our heavy flower heads
to follow the sun as it carves its east-to west path
across the arc of june sky
(and you
the sun
the sun is you.)

6. i take a flipphone photo of
three light blue squares
painted on cream wall
just outside the elevator doors
then i take a photo
with jp and lester
in front of those squares
lester’s hair doing
some kind of poofy imposter
on camera

7. too many ‘moments
jp says
before a 24hour drive back to texas
so we have a non-moment on the
mp3 floor of the parking garage

8. it takes two cars
pulling out in front of me
before i finally yell at the third
though it is not clear
due to rolled up windows
and possible friday night jams blasting
whether or not they heard me
and this
san diego
is one reason
why i hate you
and this
san diego
is also one reason
why i walk most of the way home
boot-strutting down university
wheeling clyde beside me
which is one reason
i was able to have this
charged sly eye contact
with the young butch
in a pink? polo
who crossed my path
face metal glinting in night dark street light

9. (which is to say
it’s not even like i hate you consistently
san diego
or all the time
or even say the word ‘hate’ about you
often
because it’s not the case
but tonight
you pissed me off hard)

lemon cucumber

1. hilarious / ridiculous
that a neighbor would ask the workers two doors down to turn their
radio down
while the workers pound jackhammers to split concrete

2. dirt dug back and
lemon cucumber starts
lowered in
earth re-folded and
patted down

3. teeth split purplered skin
plum drips
onto hardwood floor
skin sour
fruit sweet