RaenSilim

This body wants to be a temple. So, today: religious conflict is to say, "Do not deify California." But church women want gods I want my $9.50 an hour salary on Sunday mornings. I want a warm body. Human things. (the poet, she wants California to be the right hip-bone of North America. This is a more intimate place than the curling feet of Central America; there lies yeyo like road dust. Please. Wash your feet before you come to bed.) North America has a broad chest and the loggers have been shaving man-land-scaping all the ancient chest hairs away. In the great Pacific bathtub, while extracting black from the depths of h

As we speak, a ukulele is being played several floors below, gets me excited. I imagine you just spent ten minutes taking off your jacket. “I am coming up.” “What does that mean?” “Cheerleader, I fly into Seattle Sunday.” (I have your ticket. They spelled your name wrong.) “How’s that?”

Tuesday. The barista asks your name and how old you were on your last birthday. The second question is not entirely out of place; he likes the broach you’re wearing and you tell him it was a birthday gift. He asks if your birthday is soon. Yes. You tell him it was yesterday. Well, happy belated birthday. On your most recent birthday, you were 9teen. Some synesthetes* associate numbers with personality (You have never liked the number 4. She isn’t trust worthy). 9 is slouching and self-conscious. You write it down and it either hunches or leans backward awkwardly. It is either toppling over or falling into itself. 9 always looks u

Walking around downtown, there are so many pious youth with their heads covered in reverence to an unresponsive deity. Hipsters wearing knit hats, cruising from one temple to another, following musicians. Pipers. With all that wool covering their ears, one would think they would be safe. But- These ones, the painfully hip adult children, have no idea about the kind of poetry they're participating in. As an avid reader, I am never alone. And, though warmth and morning render me useless as a linguist, I was sitting with Milan and Antoine over breakfast and we talked about  semantics and the symbolism surrounding hats. Kundera and Exupery ar

I. I am walking through my ninth floor window across the city, down to Elliot Bay. I have not become particularly large but the skyscrapers become stepping-stones. I have acknowledged that reality is subjective and I can defy physics. When I finally make it down to the pier, I look back and the city has flooded. The tide came in so, so far today. The hills of Seattle are islands and people are using boats. The crew team at my university has begun to run a taxi service in the off-season so they can stay in shape while earning a little coin. “Where to ma’am?” A customer tells them someplace. “Alright team, now row!”

I have been looking for so long through my expensive new eye. My cyclops sees in wide angle, in vivid color, and it is sometimes too lazy to use manual focus. And I love looking at the world, but I have been looking for what feels like so long. My eyes are tired, my camera battery is at 30% power. “I will photograph this view,” a friend said on Saturday, “and remember it forever: the night we laid in the grass.” There were cherry blossoms suspended above us and none of us had been inhabitants of this town long enough to know if they were late or not. It was (and continues to be) the beginning of May. The shutter snap wa

I. “New Message!” A tif summarized. Aggressor describes in 160 characters > less II. Holidays have always been for children and banks. Me: Adult child, low funds. (money spent in multiples of $20) III. well, I have always liked sad boys: bitter gaping mouth makes me laugh. Indecent. IV. flickr addiction and depression gone too far. Four hours “exploring” what’s “interesting.”

Expecting to return enlightened some, somehow aged. Adult daughter. instead I offer a tea stained smile, tighter jeans. Mother's crossword puzzle blanks: French words waiting for me.

You can remember the difference between “dessert” and “desert” with mnemonic devices about “S”s. Dessert: I always want seconds. Desert: Let’s go once.