a day in the life

i was sitting impatient at the busstop curled up on the bench biting my lip when you pulled over and offered me a ride; i hopped into yr cream-colored volkswagen and petted yr dog and we smoked and you took me to the house offering from the curb a goodbye and a place to stay so i turned back halfway up the stairs to accept; we filled the backseat with my bags, later after burritos we drove for hours around portland glowing orange and foggy in the night, watched planes taking off miraculously lifting their heavy bodies from the pavement and others slowly appearing mystical from the clouds, talked about cities and friends and yr almost-ex-wife and drugs and the past and then nothing, just sat in soft silence with the lights rushing by and the night rushing by till upstairs in yr room where you were flipping coins.

goodbye chicago (for now)
hello portland

free falling

the giddiness of erasure
the adrenaline of breaking yr fall
the headrush that comes from
letting go

close calls

The bus was at the intersection when I stepped out of Broadview, heaved air into my lungs, swung my bag over my shoulder and started sprinting down the block, across the street, straining and kicking to catch up till i was banging on the back window as it pulled away. Luckily, a parking car intervened and the bus driver let me in between stops. and i realized, plopping panting into the slick seat, that man do i love to run. Distances, out jogging by myself, wearing myself out, they sometimes don't appeal so much. But running fast and hard, long enough to get into my stride and my rhythm, legs pounding the ground with lengthening strides till I'm airborne, the back of the girl in front of me as I eat up the space between us; that feels like power. That is me, rejoicing in my body, no room in my head for anything but one foot in front of the other and my heartbeat pulsing through me and the air piercing my throat. It's a wild joyous sort of freedom that fills me up till I expand into me.




So I have this unhealthy new habit, when I'm out riding my bike, of running red lights later and later, relying on the few seconds it takes for the drivers to register the green light in front of them and go go go. And each time they're a little closer but somehow all I want is everything always to be close calls and narrow misses and just-in-times.

suffocate

everywhere i look seems like
another line being drawn
a deadline, an obligation, another
promise i have to keep; it's
days weeks years
boxing me in and
i keep trying to slip out
cuz i can feel the air leaking in
through the holes in the corners
but i tell myself i ought
i ought
i ought to make them happy
i ought not to disappoint
i don't want to let anyone down so i don't
batter through the cardboard walls
surrounding me; instead
i let the papery dryness build up
in my mouth
hide the box cutter in my shoe
decorate my cage with bright colors and
activities to distract me from
my suffocation & that
fresh air i can almost almost taste

night ride

riding my bike through the unusually warm night air dress bunched above my thighs bare legs wonderful in the breeze the day at my back and home somewhere in front but now i'm here here on a dark street whizzing through night always looks to me like a kaleidoscope of lights and haloes and outlines of figures but at the moment it is cool and dark wrapping around me the only things real are the pavement immediately ahead and my legs pumping and the wind on my face and i am unaware and content.