I was wrong

to wonder what sort of a person I am
to make my mom not like me. It's a trick.
I didn't have to skip writers group/sequester myself
afterall.

controllingparents.com and other books

I've got

a little sadness or something
disappointment frust
ration
because my mom doesn't like me (?)
sometimes or says she doesn't know me
or like me
and that I should have a nice life.

What's up? When your own mom says that? When your umbilical cord was so purple and noodle-y and you came out looking like a perfect zombie baby. When you're just trying to live and be happy and are (besides that)?

Is not going to blame oneself on other people

Is not about to cry
Wonders how far around a bandana goes
Laughs at it, a lot, and even sleeps a little

How the hugeness of the capitol hits you sometimes

Remembered about us calling it the Penis of the Prairie, you know, like you do. And how we laughed saying it was spurting blood and sometimes just all-over engorged and glowing red; you know, like it does. And I laughed at myself, remembering, and how I used to think it was so funny or maybe clever or edgy. To say all that. And then realizing

I still kind of think it's funny...

Suddenly, alongside - Do you remember that one walk we went on? And bought a loaf of the day old Jimmy John's bread? Tried to get in the church? Heard the gays went to the capitol at night and so to stay away? ?
****what*****
***what****
*******what*****
what were we doing?

To Nebraskans and travelers alike, the Capitol is often nicknamed to reference frequent interpretations of the tower posing as a phallic symbol. Historically, however, this title of a phallic symbol attached to a Plains object is more appropriately associated with Chimney Rock in the Nebraska Panhandle.

sincerely,

wikipedia

zombies and witches and godly - o my!

When the glass fogs. When the spider's
blood. When the skin
feathers. And metallic
sing of the clutch-in-
shift-out.

Remember when
my arms began to look this way.
And that fall. That godawful
figure. Appearing while slipping
to sleep.

While singing. When the cold
comes. While the capsule creates
its calming effect.

Any plain Any dark
Moving figure.

Couldn't fear
But knew What might to come.


Over grass and rocks and dry and deep.



What fixes. What
combusts.




Can you flush it? Make it
some voided flesh thing?





When your
comfort

can't be manufactured.

The sun (for J. R. F.)

is rising.
Here come the garbage men.

After experiencing the outside world

I don't want to be in this office anymore !
Good thing I waited till 3 to take my lunch break.

sometimes

I feel like Dexter in the sense of wanting to strap
people to a table and ask them some questions
about how they experience interpersonal reactions.
In the workplace, particularly.
And if they're actually interested in what anyone in particular says.
Most conversations are so
cautious. Dull. Safely banal. And even if not, still
A dance. A playing of roles.

Teach me how to play (I won't kill you after!)

Bought

new running shoes and a candle last night
at Kohl's. Watched Mad Men and then got on
all sleepy To dream about zombies Again?

Because of where our fascination with zombies comes from.
And also because of the maze of cubicles and what if they all
were infected with something I couldn't escape.

Isn't everyone always fighting
some sort of infection? Almost.
Some sort of inappropriate reaction.

It's not really the fact that we're all infecting each other
all the time it's just the fact that any interaction can end
in such embarrassment for me that lasts and lasts and lasts

Am I really that inept or just too harsh a judge? I feel inappropriate for all situations, most of the time. There are some glowing moments.

going

to work to
day.

I've been trying

to write down some words for the group
but it's all coming out like each poem
must solve every thing ever troubling
anyone