Feeling frustrated, over stimulated, like
too many thoughts and obsessions and
fantasies and perceptions of myself
and what I want to be and what people
think of me
knocking around in my hollow head like
balls in one of those bingo contraptions that
spin around while cute old folks
dream of the possibility of
winning a gift certificate to a mediocre steak house that
serves spumone
at the end of the meal
what a deal, to feel so intensely all the time
to think of old people and ice cream while alone in bars whilst
my soon-to-be-lover is asleep in another state
and i can’t help but to think i’ve been waiting for you, just like
i’m always walking towards the next moment of pleasure
craving success, alcohol, caffeine, sex
music too loud for my damaged ear drums
checking my phone for text messages and snapchats
wondering if someone is thinking of me, indulgently
meddling in the feeling of my own sexiness
eating myself up and breaking myself down
moving feet faster down bumpy roads toward
train tracks that take me to men who can
pleasure me and simultaneously
make me so angry
wanting to be touched, wanting to be alone
being so tense
wanting to let go
so happy and full and content
so fucking sick of
needing something
wondering what’s next
the pressure in my chest
I pretend its not there,
my hair, I wrap myself it in,
lure people in with its cascading effect
hoping they can’t see the beautiful mess beneath the
surface and
luckily, everything is poetry
all my pain
my anger
my anxiety
it belongs nowhere but
on paper
another movement of my sore wrist, another sad wish for enlightenment
another raw recognition that i’m so far from it
with all these carnal desires and blown ear drums and
squid ink paella and bottles of wine and
late night texts to men past midnight
I’m farther away from enlightenment,
but so close to bliss
the smell of my lipstick
the snap of fresh grapes with seeds too big that margo
filled her trunk with at the
end of the day at the jewelry store when
we’re sore from standing but really there’s nothing demanding about
selling thousand dollar jewelry except looking pretty and
pretending you don’t know about the atrocities that happen
beneath the throws of Berkeley society where
the sun shines golden over the bay and I pray
mommy will sail this way someday because
its so much warmer here and
i fucking miss her
If anyone is far away from enlightenment but so close to bliss,
it’s Jennifer Nellis, who picks up rocks on beaches along
the willamette river and loves her daughter
in a way that no one will understand,
she’s a bird watcher
an empathetic sailor
a fucking whole ass human that’s
seeing the light
a tribute to the act of being,
the person who gave me life and
she’s responsible for this night, sitting late in Hoi Polloi
dreaming of perceptions of heaven and hell and
this night, alone in the subway, wearing scuffed boots,
feeling alright about the effort I’ve put toward enlightenment but
better about the moments I’ve existed in bliss
amiss to my feet on cobblestone paths walking towards
still photographs of me going insane but alas
I must board the train, it’s approaching, my hair is blowing in the wind it’s causing
its shoving life through this tiny tunnel
it’s funneling human beings beneath the bay
way down under and my ears pop
when we go down there, but
anything really to be in Frisco
to hang with a man who knows Kerouac and Koffman and Ferlinghetti and
is as bound as I am to say let’s hit the dusty trail, Ayla, let’s go
let’s sail, invite your mom on board
she can fix the engine if we break down,
you see, her friend recently drowned
after falling off the dingy but she’s still clinging to the beauty
that exists beneath the surface and
somehow it always comes back to Jennifer Nellis