100 Things

Inspired by Summer Pierre...

100 THINGS TO DO BEFORE I CROSS THE FINISH LINE:

1. Meet Jenny Lewis
2. Go to Australia/New Zealand
3. Make a pie made with local ingredients
4. Run a 5K for a worthy cause
5. Donate an abortion
6. Travel to Hawaii
7. Perform at First Ave Mainroom
8. Hear my music on The Current
9. Reacquaint myself with Spanish
10. Witness child birth
11. Record and release an album
12. Buy original art
13. Publish a book
14. Take a dance class
15. Sew a fabulous dress or blouse
16. Sell something on Etsy
17. Go on another cross country road trip
18. Have a garden
19. Move to a new city
20. Open for an artist I admire
21. Dye/highlight my hair
22. Get to know myself through meditation
23. Write a spec script for a show I love
24. Go to the Harry Potter theme park
25. Write 100 songs (at least)
26. Make a thriving living from my creativity
27. Adopt an adorable dog
28. Drive through Monument Valley while listening to Rabbit Fur Coat 
29. Take a drawing or painting class
30. Live with integrity
31. Take a trip with Riley
32. Go to the BWCA
33. Take a class at the Loft Literary Center
34. Have a spectacular off beat wedding to the man of my dreams
35. Busk in an NYC Subway
36. Patron a music festival


...

I wish to be a tiny bird
so I could fly around inside your mind

Headache

H.E.A.D.A.C.H.E.

Shut your mouth

Shut your mouth, we'll get right to it
Shut your mouth, and we'll get right to it.

You're Not Sleeping With Sheets Anymore

You've been sniffing malt powder
and downing it with Jameson
Stole your roommates' money
Just like Zeus

While at your ex's place,
sex and grilling steaks
Just like when a garden gnome
returns to it's place

I want to quit my job.
I'd rather suck on a rotten log
then go back tomorrow.

Limits

The limits run through their veins
at an even-keeled pace

They hide from the mirror,
from seeing their own face.

Aller-gees

Swiss cheese on my knees

The bird bath is empty, would you please

get off of the floor and carry these

ramshackled Canadian geese?

Fresh eyes
French fries

I am pissed off today.

The pangs first tickle
like a suppressed sneeze.
Then it ruptures, tumbles and falls,
saturating
like a piano falling down a staircase

They've not allowed us to learn to deal with our anger,
a hot potato, we throw up and up and up
eventually our palms are red with blisters
burned by our own vexations

Limerick

There once was a girl who made a blog

Her scrambled mind she hoped to unclog

But when she'd get home

She'd never write a poem

So she shrugs and says she's a pollywog

Truth

Cotton nipple

Cardinal sins

The cardinal repeatedly flies into our window,
she thinks she sees a mate.

We think she's brain dead.

My first day

Her mother had secretly thrown away the letters that her True Love had sent, she told me. He was a sailor. On the other side of the phone, the Minnesota white snow surrounded me with the bright blandness of white rice. She was in Rhode Island, where I'd like to imagine the sky being bluer and where "R"s fall off at the end of each word. She paused to catch her breath. I could hear a suppressed sob in the back of her throat. After she'd married someone else ("a real jerk"), her True Love showed up at her "front doah" and asked her to run away with him to Muskegon, Michigan. I don't remember why she didn't go, but she said she never saw him again. "I'd much prefah the Midwest dry cold to this. It's damp and get into yah bones."