I want to be a chicken,
doing 5 things only, in life:
Microscopic seeing,
peck at my poop,
wipe my beak on the ground by my poop,
sleep on a warm encased bedding
also full of my poop.
My neighbors
think I'm crazy,
living out here in
nowhere
where everyone has chickens
to disregard.
I want to carry around a video camera
to capture the constant nostalgia of life that makes us feel
good
in movies.
In good movies.
I want to carry around a video camera to show how many
life options I look at a day
on a screen that's not living.
3:30pm
and I just wanna get home and watch some fucking
mumblecore.

Is it a womyn's question only

to find the balance between giving,

and being given.

The transitions are swift,

like the white tips of waves

and your body tumbling under them.

You are too young,

and maybe you are?

You cannot love.

And maybe you cannot.

You push your nose through 

their beard hairs, maybe not for love

but for hunger.

To find hidden food.

Waking up next to a warm body,

two mules pulling along a heavy weight,

two mules who wouldn't pull such weight without

the trust of its partner.

So,

I am too young,

I am not in love,

I am,

just a mule drowning in the ocean?

Mornings.

There is a gentle fold beneath the mountain fog
I walk the dogs in every morning.
There is a self containing bubble
where I poke and prod
at the outsides
of acceptable social activity.
Instead,
I need rest
and to sit on the two white chairs
of my neighbors decrepit house,
with the caving in
of damp wooden floors now covered in acorns,
waiting to be cracked.

Puppy Poem

I  my made my showers so hot, they scalded me.
Trying to trace the side of my body on the
foggy glass with my fingers to define my own lines.
So that is what I really look like? I'd think.
The puppy howls
and its loud and shrill and sad
because he has never had to been alone before tonight.
And I feel dirty for having to listen.
It is not cruel to keep animals this way,
I'm told,
they must learn isolation as training
but our own private times are
shied away from.
The cries wake me,
because my body traced
is not my true shape
but that puppy,
is truly in the dark till he learns
to not bark.

Heading to our first wwoofing farm and seeing living walls murals with frendssss.

Cemeteries, computers mounted on the walls and mr. J. Lennon

Dream home.  Barts friends here sometimes live in magical places.

America is a weird place. Gatlinburg is basically a beach town in the mountains thus...no beach but weirdly lots of beach stores. Last night we camped out by james river about two miles into a night hike. Met a very cool couple who passed the time with us playing with barts new camera. They recently bought land and are in the process of beginning their own sustainable farm. Inspiring and fun to compare notes and just to have such good trip and trail magic on our first night. After pushing through gatlinburg traffic and getting in on a quick free wine tasting we headed into the smokey mountains to camp but realized no dogs on trail and a large storm is coming. Eating lukewarm pasta and standing in the pouring rain for dinner somehow didnt really phase me too much. Decided to push on straight through to dahlonega and hopefully find a couch to sleep on. Driving through intense mountain views along the way makes me remember how diverse america is and reminds me of my colorado days. I could probably drive through mountains for a very long, long time.

Click clang squish. Orange fungi the color of construction cones. The mountain sweats, a mossy drip off it like a goats stringy beard.

Buena vista

First magic

Scoobie snacks and directions from cool strangers already and only an hour into driving!

http://www.esquire.com/_mobile/features/the-crack-up-2

Fitz crack in up

"Are are most disgraceful moments always the most revealing ones?"
--Giles harvey

"I'm with this big dog every day. She has a big bark also. People are afraid she is going to eat them so they stay outside the front door. If only they knew how much of a spoiled girl this dog actually is. Seriously if you're not a log or a orange cone you have nothing at all to worry about, unless you are worried about loosing your spot under the covers. 
Love this dog!"

-Bart

Raw meat

There is an enveloped pouch between where fat cradles my vaginal lips and where my adult coat of fur gets silently snipped away.
This place is unsafe but made holy to let occasional love in.
I want to hold you closer to my chest, but my throat fights dirtier, without the fears of cancer or threat of holes for speaking.
Will you let me hold you forever, for as long as we can,
between bosom and breath
where I can feel your whispers leak
softly into my neck.

Thank you new yorker for entertaining me always and thank you boyfriend for knowing me so.

Did I make myself quiet?
And watched from outside
as I
coo'ed
and
caw'ed
the musician of my vocal chords.

I watched videos of myself
too much,
the same noises now as
when I was a little girl
hogging the camera and putting on lipstick
to smack around the lens.

Did I make myself quiet?
Hoping that others would know
through my inabilities,
while shouting "Viva la revolution!",
to just hold me till I felt OK again.

And when you finally do hold me,
and it feels nice,
does it feel nice?
I suddenly don't feel very independent anymore,

and the worst part is
I make myself that way.

I asked you to make me feel
quiet,
so do I make myself this way?

Touch, touch, baby!
Tickle, tickle.
He puts my scarf in his mouth,
just the fringe
and I grab it from him
to shove the soft material
up my nose.
Getting the same satisfaction
I did
when I too,
was only 6 months old.

http://whitmanarchive.org/multimedia/image115.html?sort=year&order=ascending&page=9

naked whitman?

There is always a fear in being around happy people.
The ones who don't need distractions to live
or see beauty in the actual forms in front of them.
It's a worry,
that I am using you,
my contented friends,
to see if I can succumb
my mind into you.
Because when I'm with you I am irreparably
one giant distraction,
not grace,
and not my should be isolation.
I am not comfortable here
because I don't see these things
as roses.
But I can't keep crying all the time.

I distrust the public,
I don't believe in what you do.

Any of you.