Monday, March 22, 2010

Roommate From Hell

The roommate from hell knocks on doors, whistles loudly.
Shuffled feet, swishy pants fill the wooded hallway.
Knock two times, thrice he opens my door
his woolly hair massing together in a type of Jewish fro.
That breaks my concentration,
my frustration boils over.
Answering his pointless questions with short answers,
as he gallivants forth.
"Hey I never noticed that quilt before," he chatters unaware
that the tops of my arms are shivering, on end hair.
"I don't know where it came from," I answer back,
hoping he'll get the message and GET THE FUCK OUT!

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Charges due

Charges due on that history of journalism class
That droned on and on for three hours
My fingertips aching from typing out odes
To Benjamin Franklin and some guy that died in a snowstorm

To learn history so dryly is a cruel thing
Something no esteemed professor should commit
A crime against our fore fathers
School taken for granted once again

A concrete room with no windows
To gaze out of when the past got tough
Enough to lift my fingers from the keypad
And sit placidly, like a lake bed for mosquitoes
Enough, enough, enough

Charges due on the class I dropped
So easily a fortnight ago
Using my spare time on Wednesday nights
To speak German and write poems
About crimes against humanity
Historically speaking

Charges due later this evening

Monday, March 1, 2010


The dirt between my fingernails is removable
Shaking a keyboard upside down never did anyone any good
Just got food crumbs and dust all over a clean counter top

I wonder how many fingers have touched this keyboard
Dirty fingernails and all
On the third floor of library West

Staring at dual screens dreaming of magnolia trees
That protect my bare feet
And how sometimes I like the sprawl of a suburban city
With its pockets of goodness that are so hard to find
But sweet like a persimmon seed, over too soon

Sometimes I can't decide
What is good for me or not
So I shake my head and scream at my Dad for not understanding
Warum kannst du nicht mich verstehen?!
And I wonder at my German, and if I'm really all that great at it.

If I'm actually destined for greatness, or if it's all just a facade

On a hot Florida day, the mosquitoes even stay away
from an un-screened porch that smokes from the heat
The cloth chairs warming my achy thighs
From biking all those miles

Where the sweet tea bubbles on the mosaic table
The ice has long since melted away
Life seems too good to sit around
And wonder if you're living up to everyone's standards
Wondering if and when, how and where, why and what

Digging around in the dirt
One day I'll clean my fingernails

bruised apple

bruised apple
punctured hole
carried from Tallahassee by a lassie
to remind her of home

of organic gardens
coffee shops tucked away
a perfect bruise makes her want to stay
to remind her that nothing is perfect
except the place
she grew up in

yet she feels the need to face
a different world
unlike her own
although a bruised apple
believes every place is home