Old Freewrites I Found in the Closet
May 12th, 2007 at 1:05 pm (Freewrite, Poetry)
I found these old freewrites today & want to post them. Hopefully, they will inspire me to write everyday as I approach my last day of work next week and will need to fill my days in the write way.
April 6, 2001
Souffle day in the middle sinking
Off to a chocolate start a freedom
Day the lemon knocks on the door
To bring a basket of sour friendly
Stop-over I suddenly cry and am tired
The money is big in your head shrinking
After phone calls blackout did I freak
Them out? Whose problem is it the rent
Is late you will pay me less after agreeing
To something else siamese uncomfortable
With that I am uncomfortable with that
What makes you comfortable with that
Now I am uncomfortable with what makes
You comfortable I am uncomfortable you
Are comfortable seesaw a balance never
Really agreed upon never really agreed
Upon, a greed a pawn.
************
Writing is the only It when there is nothing
Else you can do for yourself no one else you
Can bite the ear off who cares you can talk to
Yourself or you can rattle the ears off the keys
Who don’t roll their eyes or sigh in boredom
Who never listen fully this is the only way
You write it all away I procrastinate with you
You are safe no talking to the landlord no more
Excuses the burn what eats me up dissolves
When I write you antacid words my page
Of ginger root you ease me and it took me
So long to give in to you. I am into you.
************
Tired numb like the day your toe
Stubs itself in the rolling spokes
Hurting cramping pinching bleeding
Painful stubbing and after howling
And limping and curling the pain away
You are numb and have an amazing new
Toe you don’t feel it is big and perfect
And brand new and numb the heal of itself
Becoming new again I stare blurry unfocused
Unblinking yet focused in an unfocused way
Numb and unfeeling but putting the feeling down
In a new amazing way.
April 3, 2001
Cocktail citrus in my brain
Sunshine a second day of walking
Eyes drink coffee in need of walking
Upright a hush of kerchief thumb
Nail stings in the cuticle quick corners
A daft lemon footsteps friends on planes
Crisscrossing coasts the onion taste
Lingers on my tongue like a struck match
Back itches a hog finds a wooden slat to
Rub against gongs in an ancient country
Ring vinegar in my ears getting tricky
Hard focus anti-dream state you prove
To me your every weakness a clown
Smiles as the gong rings.
March 29, 2001
Circle pushing buttons make light go away
Your hassles sit on paper like a wax fish melting
Into newsprint you joke about your aptitudes
In the morning blush you stain away the best
Overkill at dawn refreshing the ice long eel
Revamping your style in a modern deplore
The whole tilt of your tile in disguise a master
Of pen tips scrammering through hummus
Residue on between lines not everything so
Brilliant a fear lights your face a predawn
Sunflake in your eyes forgetting the senseless
Steps to take failing on Miller
You drive right along
Inside the tumult a fruit basket
Sways on the porch light.
March 28, 2001
Press snooze on your life after
Thoughts a glimpse of bird tickling
Our neighbor what does he do?
A hummus nose rapture folded silk
Purple keys asbestos lingers like canon
Smoke my brains misty this morning
Chewing nail stripping away little dentine
Not thinking thinking too much a sea
Salt tomato seeds whirling business come on
Over high heels and voices tapping on slate
Drum walking on finesse discover offshoot
A growing mortgage get something done
At last in denial hypocrite of immense salmon
Dirt groveling with paychecks not so beautiful
A cuticle in the side wing vacant from despair
Heaviness in the corner morning slips down
It’s secret tube.
March 22, 2001
Wine quenched candlestick solid
Waxy pudding pop you always talk
About food the vacuum hums up
Stairs the bobwhite coos its peas
Alright song slow lazy with fat
White breast it rests its birdy neck
On a palm branch nearby gray
And colder than other days
Recently the fridge vibrates hummus
Garlic creeps up my throat
My arm is tired already writing only
9:00 AM wow it’s late and early together
dishes piled like old spaghetti factory
candy factory homemade fudge white
chocolate fudge baked in the kitchen
of Luray Caverns.
March, 2001
Salmon-colored veins sticking
Through glass you have this way
Of sinister rehashing all the old
Books lately ten times through
A chalk wall you filter loose
Groovings celestial figurines
Ant seeing on non-stop sky blue
Glass bigger than veins reflecting
Waves of the table just south of Hillandale
An ambulance lolls past quietly
For a change white shiny doors
Inspect serene trees cribbing by
Her head aches perhaps from all
The salt but it is sea salt isn’t that
Somehow better for you? Dried
On the decks of ships sweet
California sun fried crystalline
Brine glistening quartz pebbles
On the roughed wood of the boat.
How do you wash the salt?
Maybe you don’t. It goes directly
Into fancy cans with Italian insignia
Sold to restaurant supply stores I
Lick my lips over the crust of rock
Salt gathered in the corner of my mouth my
Eyes squinting in brisk shade her head
Rests on the wooden farmer’s table
The mint green arm of her sweater moves
Frantically like an EKG pattern on the surface
Red speckles wax mar the necks of candles
Having the urge to write in Thai squiggles
And dots an Indian I mean Native American
Shorthand correcting myself in the politically
Correct morning stupor.
March, 2001
Silly moon quintessential custard of gloom
Glow you throw it all down front and center
From the get-go shallow passage
Mammoth lens of shock.
Harvest Gargoyle (October 31, 2000)
Is there a fresh pumpkin in the bin?
A pumpkin whose tender flesh clings
To the rind in stringy clumps a smiling
Jack-crackled face burning eyes triangles
Of heat a hollowed gourd haunting treats
Will you be mashed against a window
Or a tree? Melted crayon salty seeds
From the oven two-layer cheesecake
You hide between the crust in the batter
You are everywhere nestled in the straw
Your companions short squat round fat
Rolling heads waiting in the waxlight
Your grin, harvest gargoyle.
October 31, 2001
Halloween afternoon new notebook small coffee with vanilla damp hair gray fuzzy sweater with long arms over wrists an hour left of sunlight. People gulp coffee hungrily night energy needed. I really want a coconut chocolate macaroon all bunched in a cozy cake helicopter buzzes through. Thinly drawn blond Duran Duran boys suck cheekbones inward blow smoke out crooked poised lips. A tap-dancing heavy metal rocks by a young Chinese couple stroll by tight bellbottom corduroys. A tattooed tall one ambles in with brown fleshy patched dog flattening his ears like batwing. Owner disappears inside. Dreadlocks green as aged moss in eight Medusa snakes sprouting his head. Orange tank T-shirt ornate skin art. Doggy hides behind green tree. Duran boy called Monica on his cell. I hold warm coffee cup to my cheeks chilled. I am missing a cell in my life. Private talks in the middle of the world. Dog looks worried for owner who appears with lymon dreads. The Samuel L. Jackson clone chomping gum stares at Medusa head I see his brain thinking freakdom day of freaks. But it is Halloween. Duran asks how the other person on the end of the cell’s day is. Same here. Body builders in thin white muscle T’s puff cigarettes. Wind picks up and I am freezing. Duran talks about last night’s episode. He is gay. Wants to see Requiem For A Dream. Body builder turns to look at Medusa and laughs. Sun glistens off bus and blinds me while I’m sketching my own finger. I feel Duran sees me listening to him. What if he takes my notebook? He wants to have brunch this Sunday with someone. I remember when I dreaded Sunday. But now it is my favorite day of the weekend. My ears ache in the wind.