He believes in nothing
What a coincidence:
I believe in everything.
The random writings and photos of me, a little romantic, eyes wide open since birth.
Oh protector of softer flesh,
Roughness in contrast to silk elsewhere
You remind me of time,
Repetition and work
The work of hands, eyes and heart together.
Coils of buttery linoleum
And knotty wood
This world of my own
On paper and fabric
You are subjected to forces
Of my, not your, choosing
And are wrought in the
friction of my hair-on-fire
Or even the leaden striking
of my brain against graphite and paper
Hoping for a spark
Just a spark.
All afternoon the birds dreamed they were a kaleidoscope of colors
The blue jay was a crow, iridescent in the right light
With an earthy
Caw caw caw.
He lived in October,
Among pumpkin orange, mauve and saturated yellow
All the absence of chlorophyll.
The robin was a starling
Glittering in the sun.
He lived in June
With a nest of crying babies.
The peacock was a raven,
Deep deep blue next to a geyser.
He lived in October too,
But one of soft snow
And pearl grey.
Warm steam turning to cool condensation.
Wading with sieve-legs
Through the dark mire
Skin shrugging off
Star Stickers and steak knives alike
Nihilism but lighter
A mind of single unfocus
Hazy eyesight filtering
Unbiased hands weighing
Viewpoints crystalline and static
Infusing internal illumination
In each glass bead
Dip toes in different waters
Dry off, repeat in various temperatures
All come from the same source.
I feel on fire, my brain incapable of quieting in the dark, my body exhausted.
I feel trapped, hurtling towards a middle, but at the same time in forced repose; nothing
more to prepare.
I feel relieved, dismayed I have wasted much vitamin B on stress.
I feel empty, critique is over, but I am inert, a body at rest. I should be busying.
I feel procrastinatory, reading with fervor in order to forget my upcoming-now-past
The summer solstice isn’t the only thing;
Intense, moody shoegaze
Not just a record of
a thrashier sound.
for the love of litter
Leaves her children to
Evaluate students who cannot take
an assemblage of Random sheets
Looking at them in every situation,
Traditionally the benefits
richly evocative of
protected forest floors
Under the flames, someone is trimming a hedge
the same as in previous years
An empty bull
Of leaves has
Impacted the system
To look at each student as a whole
In a time full of uncertainty
(From the October Slug Magazine and a USU campus newspaper)
kamikaze chapstick, phone and knife.
Oh fuck is my period coming today?
Wore a pad for three days of non-bleeding
Hiked two miles out with cramps, but hey, didn’t cry.
None of my bras fit my body like a glove
Grab my boobs and squash them,
or make them look grapefruit big.
If I wear a skirt is he going to think I like him in that way?
I was feeling Spring today, and my feather skirt goes
nicely with rain.
Me and all that share my life
-I’m talking about bacteria-
We have more bacterial cells in us
More busy little independents
Living their own lives
Than dutiful citizens.
Not that they, bacteria,
Are lesser for this.
They are contributing denizens,
But maybe they have a streak of independence:
Spray painting the streets in self-expression,
Planting radical gardens
at intersections of the road,
Gathering their own communities around them
Rather than dutifully attending Sunday church.
When I say we,
I acknowledge us
-Me and my bacteria.
We went on a walk this weekend
And we spoke with our sisters
We felt part of them somehow
Words floating through the air
To absorb into their bark
Us and the sun, the sun is us.
This super senior took three intro classes her final semester. Didn't realize that until today. Paradoxical? Ironic? Evidence of procrastination? Perhaps all three. But I don't regret it.
I got to do ceramics, real ceramics, for the first time, with firings, glazing, throwing wheels and everything. I made at least one truly hideous mug, but I'm really proud of three of my mugs, with at least one bowl being pretty cool. None of my Six 6 inch cylinders reached 6 inches, of course, but their uneven amateurishness is somewhat charming. The process of glazing and then firing is truly fascinating, the transformation of a bisque fired and then dipped cup going through a final firing felt like Christmas.
I got to learn more about poetry, though I admit I'm much less in love with my words now than I was as a yearning and lonely teenager. Some of that poetry still stands out to me, though I understand if it doesn't appeal at all to anyone else. It was fantastic to submit my poetry to peer reviews, something I've not had access to before. I hope it has emerged better than before.
Finally, I got a formal and official introduction to rock climbing. I've been around rockclimbing as far back as I can remember. My dad and uncles used to climb up Logan canyon, and I remember accompanying them, though I don't remember ever getting harnessed and helmeted up myself, as a four-year-old. My sister got into climbing from a class at Snow College, and between her and my good friend, I learned how to climb and belay during my own time at Snow College. It still took me forever to confront my fear of heights. I appreciated the formal atmosphere of a climbing class, it helped cement protocol such as Pull, Break, Under, Slide, and the initiating words of a climb into my mind. I feel more comfortable sportclimbing, falling, and being lowered down, though bouldering, ironically, is still my first love.
I think taking intro classes my last semester here at USU kept me in a state of beginner's mind this semester. Not a bad way to exit school.