Sunday, March 18, 2018

Tired of Dying Ugly Deaths

the / angry ones / who / exact revenge / 

the repentant / who are / so sorry / so sorry /
the quiet type / who can speak / but don't / 

the sad / who step in puddles / for life /

I know them / you know them / first you have to / admit / who we are / admit / who / you are / 

that's why I write / to tell you / I know them / but I / am / alone / and they / will leave us nothing /

so I don't / know anyone / at all /

don't threaten me / "loose lips / sink ships" / 
is a threat / to silence men / into submission / to stop them / from thinking / because thinking / leads to feelings / and feelings / prevent men / from doing / what they're told / when it feels / wrong / 

killing men / a bad / ugly death / does not / make a man / strong / or a people strong / or a nation strong / not for very long /

(it's / slowing us / down / it's /
keepin'us / from / gettin' / outta here! //)

"loose lips / sink ships" / don't threaten me / 
I said / I heard you / years ago / when you said it / to my face / the first time /

but you still / don't get it / do you think / I haven't / gone down / with every crew / who / came before? /

Monday, March 23, 2015

Manufactured History

a roadtrip with my dog
driving through history

fields of wheat
bales of hay
old road signs

a beat-up general store
for the soda i can't open
without a bottle opener

but it's bullshit
a stage set

half the signs dark
the others look like they've been
whipped up on the run
road names in fonts that don't match
city names stuck on like fill-in-the-blanks

then the trees split as i go faster
suddenly i see a different world

a mountaintop removed
workmen and quarries and tractors

then an airplane runway with an
old ford pick-up and a gasline post
to mark the spot

crosses for a tragedy divert my eyes
then another gasline marker
then a cross made out of a gasline marker

keep driving
keep driving

new idyllic pastures
a painting like millais
a landscape called,
Where's Waldo's War?

behind the treeline sits a bomber
loaded up
ready to go

in the barn stands row after row
of germs and chemicals
enough to make Chiang Mai

ebola, e-coli, salmonella,
and some kind of chlorine
that will make us all weeze

i heard the man at the best western
a breakfast business meeting?

he said he couldn't believe they were
for real

they being his friends at the breakfast table
at the best western

he said he had everything
e. coli and salmonella...
he went on and on about how it's kept
its perfect temperature
yada yada

meanwhile, i'm dipping a
serving spoon
into a vat of too-yellow scrambled eggs

breakfast is included


it's not the way i remember my
states looking?
something's new?

something old.

it's a stage set
that folds into a playbill
then transforms into an
oragami paper swan
hanging from the sky
by a string


i was only driving
i never asked if i could see

looking is free


Friday, March 18, 2016

under rain-weighted blankets

roll in;

(i)snuggle up

gentle warrior

whale sinew

dolphin ears

heart of

mourning dove

held to form by

silken mesh


sea foam

starfish touch




Monday, June 20, 2016

Dream It Twice

(From my notebook, 10 Junio, 2016)

I will draw.

I will dance.

I will dream of icicles,
popsicles, dandelions,
sunfish, swordfish,
oceans full of glittering
starlight, and of ham,
ham of the kind in
sandwiches which I shall
never eat of again. I won´t
miss the ham. But the starlight,
I should be sure to dream it twice.

--suzy devere


Tuesday, June 17, 2008


saltless shifting tide
hide the shell from the sunlight
smooth the swell
after the insight
of pain's dark deliveries.

float through the sea
some subscribers of untold loss
kiss courtesy to me
while underlayers toss
essence of brine to top.

it has fallen away
all hazen gloomy grey
but shell still buried deep
ocean's keep.

From the archives, c.1993

Friday, March 16, 2018

Working Title

If one kind life / makes way / for another / and if one day / you find yourself / quite different / from living / kinds / of lives / does one / kind of love / love them / all?

Yes / let it go / but there's too much / too many dyin' deep / and I won't be pretending / when some plazas / have no courtyard / no way / to get fresh air / no way out / because the way you get in / ? / if only you knew.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009


i used to know a whore who wore
only Chanel buttoned up
with gloves everywhere she went

she wore garters and silks to make her coffee
while her rollers heated up her dyed black hair
and powdered forehead

and when she'd drink the coffee the steam coming
up from her mug would
make her foundation sink into the cracks above
her upper lip

she smoked --a lot--but only after the men left
and she never once told a joke
tried to smile
or said goodbye

she was a good whore

she'd do what they asked
but nothing more

i remember her
toilet seat was clear acrylic
with gold coins set inside
and she'd ask me how old i was
before paying me
after every job

her jackets were fur and she
wore red lipstick in the morning

she was the best dressed cunt on Fifth Avenue

what i learned from her
is how important it is to
roll down the hill
tits out
panties off
for free

like the joke's
on you
for once...

she killed herself after one of her regulars got her
pregnant and made her keep it

she didn't leave a note or anything she just threw herself
off the balcony

--Suzy Devere

Sunday, April 26, 2009


i don't know how to tell you there are entire worlds under my skin.  i feel soft, you tell me.  warm, you tell me.  i smell of perfume, soap, and girl you tell me.  although i try to let you in, there's just no way to catch you up on where i've been. i feel like a warrior.  the last of my tribe:  hairbrush machete, toothbrush jackknife, coffee elixir.  oh, all the people i've been...sometimes i play a game called "what / who / where can i forget today?"  i do this so i can try to find room in my flesh to remember you.

Saturday, April 25, 2009


the sun peeks through the sheet shade

new house

old house

new me

still me.

the sun comes barreling though

your back 

your neck

your cheek

i'm awake.

the sun takes the nights

and wraps them in moss

sticks them in the back of my throat

where all the dreams and thoughts and words go

that choke me when i blow out my birthday candles


i never speak of them


i have loved many  people.


Originally posted 2008

MAGIC (a tiny fairytale)

She was to be his concubine; mistress clothing calling to her from a dressing chair; the town whispering in wait for its newest dark sweet. The finery, the wine, and small sparkly things that suggest one is well-cared for adding up about her: Italian linens, silks, cashmeres, and feathers in piles around her nervous feet; never standing too long in one place; oh if she stopped he'd want a kiss.  No slowing down. Forward and back.  Forward, side to side.  A bad ballerina.  An unpleasant dance.  And if you'd seen it, you'd have felt a twinge of guilt for watching, maybe even had a bit of sadness for a girl so lost. But then it would have been of no surprise to you what came next...

One day, while all were out in the town, making preparations for a buona festa, she fled naked, the look of a thousand years in her eyes.

Now she is trapped only by her loneliness.

--Suzy Devere

This Whore’s Flesh ~

Friday, March 2, 2012


i am thinking of magic
it is
a beautiful sound i can taste

lay atop and feel the sound dim
distant like the heavy hungarian crystal hanging overhead
or soft like the flesh between
your thighs
no need to pause in slow motion
it is all
magnification and
backing away



Thursday, March 15, 2018


(Originally posted in 2008 / 2009.)

always there until skittering away / not a kind word out of this / suddenly time to go / too drunk to stand / and the ocean  / we never got there / i'm not sad / just stuck .

a shyte poem / a cross for a grasshopper / twisted wings and harmonicas / dreams that make more sense / than my dreams of you.

dripping sand means nothing / no radio only a payphone / the ultimate lie / and a kiss from the barman / you can't complain / so you never speak again.

Monday, March 28, 2016

All the ones

some stories don't write themselves

some have lists we choose to know

facts we can throw into the blender

make me another 

before the weekend ends

and your parents come home

we had so many couches

parties with people we never knew

wouldn't say i missed you then

(you knew i would

when you met me)

giving up years to take life back

trading borrowed cards for gladiators

swords and sticks of gum

what's it worth if the fight leaves us 

losing blood out one side

can't raise my right leg anymore

won't be running after you

what are we running into?

you were all of them

i knew it that night but it

doesn't write itself 

and i can't explain or tell anyone else

so i wonder 

what's it all for?

since you've been all the one's

who never loved me

but then you saved me 

all for what?

what's it all for?

maybe this night will be the one

i'll forget you


maybe it'll be the one that turns me

in to all the women you've

ever loved

and all the women 

who never 

loved you


Saturday, April 2, 2016


how i feel? i think if you can

push it all aside

i'll make a great wife

never one to drop without

saying goodbye 

you saw me waving from a window?

with some other guy?


but i would never leave.

never leave you for someone else

if you want me to stay

take the cups out 

backyard ballyhoo

me and you

under trees hung with faery lights

tell me the truth

if you really love me

and you saw me waving 

wouldn't you

wonder why?

pasts go in all directions and we can

drink and compare all day

but by tonight i want them to be over

under the lights

throwing rainbows from a disco ball

down in the grass 

me underneath you

by tonight

we need to believe in love

or i need to 

wave goodbye to you



I woke up on the stairs
there was a sound
like  a fog horn
or a ram's horn in Scotland

I realized my thumbs and
third fingers were pressed

then I realized the sound
deeeep loooow
sooo loud
my own


don't tell me there's no
central mind
where we are one


I woke up 

my connection
loud and strong and deep

the sound...

it was my own


Who Makes You Sick

to help you

get well?


it's a very complicated

and very thin


but we have people

with a great deal

of power


























Tuesday, January 5, 2016

morning holding sound

Yesterday I was an upsidedown cloud.

You held me and made me happy,

surrounded me in pale lavender blue.


Saturday, January 9, 2016


sorry i'm never going to
fulfill your terrorist dream

i refuse your intentionally
induced race-to-arms panic spree

instead i'm going to keep on
staring at you

there are questions you aren't
getting out of this time

still so proud?

maybe you need to call someone
with more authority?
get new advice?

a tip: "actionable" and "damages"

go ahead, take your time.

i'll wait...

after all, i have no where
else to go, no house,
no apartment, no family (you saw to
that, remember?) but hey,
if you want life insurance
maybe i can help...

think about it.


Monday, August 25, 2008


my mind wanders to the track.  ontario speedway. drinking coca cola. holding daddy's hand. wearing ditto jeans and a tie dye shirt. ends of my long hair string and fan across my shoulder from dropping in andy's beer when he isn't mix; crash; drivers trapped inside; people cheer. they come to the track to watch them crash, not win, daddy says.  and the ones that finish last are easily replaced, daddy says.  and those that spin? everyone comes to the track to see those, he says.  but not him! we say.

we know he loves cars.  kisses them goodnight before us. builds engines at home from metal we search for on saturdays at the los angeles dump.  me and beth + beth and me + sand the fiberglass bodies smooth and help him paint a racing stripe and lucky number 8.

daddy comes to see them go fast. doesn't care about the winner or the spinner or the last to cross the line. just how fast. that's when i decide i want to be a winner, not a driver trapped inside. but daddy says, not that you asked, but daddy says, pet, seems like no one really ever cares about one of those.

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

Dinner at home.

i just want my home back.

my life back.

i want my bed back.

back before it was all



i went into the grocery store yesterday

and the normalcy that has been stolen

from me---from my life---was so



there it was:


sitting in every box

on every shelf


"would you like to buy me
and take me home?"
is what every product said





i wanted to buy myself food

to make myself ... and my son


dinner at home


Saturday, September 13, 2008


"Are you sure this is the right place?"

The taxi driver gives a perfunctory look at my ticket, nods his head, and speaks a l-o-n-g string of words that sound like German curse words in iambic pentameter.  Dazed by the desolation and dark sky, my body freezes.  Somehow, I manage to gather my own bags from the trunk before he speeds away.  It will be better inside.

Inside is worse.


Planes Overhead
Empty Counters
No One To Laugh At My Fear