Tuesday, September 09, 2014

Dear Baleen,

you, the loneliest 200 ton blue black girl 
in the whole world. ripple along 

trusting any song is always 
better than none. 

notice even tempestuous weather ~ 
a punk rock hurricane or pattering globules waltzing ~

has some composer. know the way your food 
sounds like celebrating African women

krill! krill! 
sing! sing! 

even if you canΚΌt see me
I hear you sister! 

your wrong throated depth of 51.57 Hz 
or the difference of 20 hurts 

lower. your power 
seeks a new ear. 

my throat closed. 
I no longer tried

until I heard your sleek cicatrix 
muscled darkness calling

sing! krill! 
krill! sing! 

your own kind can’t hear you 
calling out over twenty years 

competing against  marine noise 
pollution; invalid frequencies; 

forgotten migration paths
swim. your own thing

opens my mouth.

NOTE: Scientists have been observing a Baleen whale who sings at the wrong frequency. She follows no known migratory patterns, can not find other whales and has been singing alone for over 20 years. New York Times article.

Saturday, May 24, 2014

Home Educating & Gardening

home educating and gardening are similar. you get dirty. there's always water involved. the wind is more important than you know. sometimes there's fire. & sometimes that's necessary. not good or bad. 

not everything is about planting seeds. there's bulbs and tubers. there's transplants and cuttings. 

there will always be weeds. not good or bad. sometimes, they come to heal you. sometimes one of your good natural neighbors needs them for food & shelter. they teach judgment and generosity. the ones that are bad will kill everything you love. so, you have to dig them out by the root. sometimes, fire is involved.

there is always repetition.

always check the compost pile. it might offer more than nourishment. it may have next years fruit already growing.

you have to know the plants. nothing ever happens at the same time. not everything will happen in the same year. some skip a year. some you've got to put in year after year, especially if you like them. some come back after winter's rest. some a year. some can kill you. you have to know whether their beauty is worth the risk. some benevolent volunteers, just show up to remind you you don't have to do everything yourself.

some feed your body. some feed your soul. some do both. not one is more important than the other just because of what they do. you, your friends, your family and the Council Of Elders you assemble are the evergreens. make sure you plant those wisely so they don't overshadow.

Thursday, May 15, 2014

Post-Modern Minstrals: White Male Artist Hires A Black Actress To Portray His Fictional Black Woman Artist

real or imagined, lyrical, 
literal, euphemistic, financial 
symbolic and/or metaphysical ~
to pillage and plunder Africa;
steal Black bodies; conquer & command 

~ { [ the elastic soul spark of Black women 
be Pygmalion'ed - extracted & siphoned 
into fragile glass vials - jammed 
into molds~ served like jello, wine or 
fired into reproductive vessels ~ ] }

this has never been problematic for Whites
except when any discussion of their right 
to do so disrupts their center 

or perception of self as perfect. 

Wednesday, April 02, 2014

National Poetry Month...

Thought I'd post something with which I've been toying.

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

August Wilson Center - Symbol Of A Greater Problem For Black Artist

You've met Christiane D. Leach  here on a few years ago. I blogged about The Formiable Christiane D. Leach in 2008 when I was thinking about folks people should know.  Now, here is a story you won't believe.  It's a story about the way gentrification hurts communities of color.  It is a real story.  And this time, it just got up close and personal.  

Meet Christiane D. Leach a respected Pittsburgh artist who is internationally known for cool beats and smooth vocals.  As the Artist Relations Coordinator for The Greater Pittsburgh Arts Council, her purpose is to make Pittsburgh a more viable and sustainable place to live and work as an artist. Part of that viability is being able to purchase a home.  In November of 2013, she planned and implemented HE-HO,one of the most comprehensive conferences for artists to learn about affordable health care and home ownership.

Little did anyone know, during that conference, through no fault of her own, Leach became homeless. Her landlord sold the house she was renting, gave her 30 days to vacate and the closing date on her new home was delayed once again.  Her credit score was good. She had her closing costs in hand.  She had completed all the necessary paper work.  She had done everything in her power to move the deal forward to a successful conclusion.  

She was working with the most logical choice to help her achieve her own dream of home ownership, the FHA. The FHA has successfully helped millions of low to moderate home buyers purchase homes, moving America away from a nation of renters to a nation of home owners.  

The only thing she failed to take into full account is Pittsburgh’s attitude toward Black neighborhoods.  Since1980, Black population in the region has increased, while the Black population in the City Of Pittsburgh has decreased.  From 1990 the Black population in Pittsburgh has dropped from 101,139 to 79,710. 

Gentrification, inability to afford housing and obstacles to obtaining properties in distressed areas have all served to push Black out of the center city.  

After over a year of attempting to purchase a home, Leach was informed today that the only way she will be able to purchase her home in the distressed area of Homewood  is through cash or an owner financed loan.  In essence, unless you have cash, the only way to be a home owner in a distressed neighborhood is to have over $30,000 on hand.  Not many people today - let alone African Americans - have that kind of money sitting in a bank account. 

The dilemma of the August Wilson Center is symbolic of a larger attitude that Black Pittsburghers are incapable of being responsible of property. Here are some action statements for people who want to help. 1) Tweet her note http://tinyurl.com/ocah57y with the hashtag#FHApghredlines or #pghredlines.
2) Or Tweet this blog http://tinyurl.com/m6f438z with the hashtag#FHApghredlines or #pghredlines.
3) Share on Facebook and Google +

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Animating "Electronic Corpse: Poems From A Digital Salon"

As much as I enjoy making and creating my own work, I love being an artist in community.  And sometimes, I can't stand it that not everybody knows about every massively inspiring creation I encounter in my own life.   

It was that same need to create, collaborate and build community that inspired a non-profit, I co-founded and ran with Christiane Leach, Sun Crumbs.  Back in those days, when I encountered incredible artists, the first thing I did was scheme about a way to get them to present in Pittsburgh.  Christiane and I eventually shut down Sun Crumbs because funders were more interested in changing our vision to meet their own objectives and models. 

A few years ago, I decided to stop asking permission to do my art work.  I applied for very few grants. When I did apply, I presented the work as I saw it within, rather than as a list of objectives funders laid out before me.  Needless to say, I went unfunded more than I went funded.  Not surprisingly, my work was more supported abroad than at home in Pittsburgh.  

Living in London, brought about a tremendous inner freedom. My time spent at Historic Royal Palaces, University Of East London and City Lit College made me vibrate due to the positive reinforcement for being honest within my own artwork.  All of these experiences lead me to artist residencies and retreats.  

When I returned home to Pittsburgh, I made a conscious decision to no longer ask permission to create and produce.  I was simply going to do it.  So, I produced my one woman show, "She Diva Died. & Come Again?"  I realized, that changes in technology would free me to pursue my own work in community with other artists.  With all of this in mind, I began The Svaha Paradox Salon which responds with agility to under-exposed artists whose voices are marginalized due to the way in which they are performed in the minds of the dominant culture. And together, we share the results with audiences. 

Svaha Paradox Salon resumes where the Sun Crumbs left off in 2003 to seek out artists whose exceptional work requires support from non-traditional sources. Svaha Paradox Salon provides the encouragement necessary to complete these projects.

In 2012, I noticed M. Ayodele Heath was hosting digital salons on Facebook.   Inspired by the early 20th century French surrealist parlor game, Exquisite Corpse, M Ayodele Heath was offering group poetry writing exercises. (Syllabic Sundays, Metaphoric Mondays, Wildcard Wednesdays, and Free Verse Fridays).   I asked him, how he was archiving these.  He had thought about it.  I (and other participants) encouraged him to do more than think about it.  Then, I asked him if he'd be willing to let The Svaha Paradox Salon make this project our first book.  

To date, over 130 of these exercises have been created by poets of all experiences and geographies – from state poet laureates to the casual journaler; from South Carolina to South Korea to South Africa. We've selected the best.  The poems in Electronic Corpse: Poems From A Digital Salon reflect the way in which social media has transformed the ability of artists to engage with each other regardless of physical constraints or externally driven outcomes. 

It’s a truly unique and layered book.  The anthology has two sections: the collaborative poems and poems from the most frequent contributors.  The reason we are publishing individual poems is our hope that by seeing the individual poem, the determined reader might excavate that poet's voice within the larger voice of the group.  Almost like a soloist in a choral piece.

The most  important part of this anthology is for archival reasons.  Unlike pre-digital artistic communities, there will be no cocktail napkins or scrawled notebook pages to reconstruct the ways in which artistic communities engage.  In regards to social media - entire conversations can be lost if one person deletes their account.  This book archives one digital salon over the period of a year.

Making art and building arts community is truly amazing in the Digital Era.  Some days, I wonder if the same tools had been available in 1998, whether Electronic Corpse: Poems From A Digital Salon would be the twentieth anthology I've produced.  Regardless, I am happy to start somewhere.  This book feels like one of the many reasons I showed up for this life. 

Sunday, January 19, 2014

Typical Conversation About Race In Pittsburgh

[Negro lies on the sidewalk]

Al: Look at that wound!
Be: That's a bleeding wound!
Clear: That's a bleeding wound! open all the way down to the bone!
Dammit: That arm has a bone in it!
Al: Look at the bone!
Be: That's a bone with blood all around it and ripped muscles!
Clear: Are you sure that's not a ligament or tendons?
Dammit: It certainly is something.
Whitey: It could be a movie prosthetic. Are you an actor?
Negro: A little help here? I'm bleeding out.
JC Negro II: (rolls up his sleeves, kneels down and begins holding Negro's wound together.) Anyone got a bandage?
Al: Um, I'm actually just about to use this band-aid.
Be: Here, have this organic sea foam and Indonesian dirt tincture.
Clear: Have you tried yoga?
Dammit: We should get a Hazmet team in to clean up this concrete. It's a biohazard. Think of future generations!
Whitey: I'll write up a report about this polluted concrete right away. Ow! Paper cut!
Negro: (whispers )a little help?
Al: A paper cut! Are you okay?
Be: Omg! White light! White healing light all around you!
Clear: Call an ambulance!
Dammit: Omg! Omg! Omg!
Whitey: Owwwww! I'm dying!
JC Negro II: I got this! (rips off his shirt, tears it into strips of bandage, and wraps Whitey's paper cut. turns and look at Negro) You got this, Negro?
Negro: I got this.

Friday, January 10, 2014

Amiri Baraka

Amiri Baraka | October 7, 1934 / January 9, 2014


"A closed window looks down
on a dirty courtyard, and Black people
call across or scream across or walk across
defying physics in the stream of their will.

Our world is full of sound
Our world is more lovely than anyone's
tho we suffer, and kill each other
and sometimes fail to walk the air.

We are beautiful people
With African imaginations
full of masks and dances and swelling chants
with African eyes, and noses, and arms
tho we sprawl in gray chains in a place
full of winters, when what we want is sun.

We have been captured,
and we labor to make our getaway, into
the ancient image; into a new

Correspondence with ourselves
and our Black family. We need magic
now we need the spells, to raise up
return, destroy,and create. What will be

the sacred word?

Amiri Baraka - October 7, 1934 / January 9, 2014

Thursday, January 09, 2014

Saturday, January 04, 2014

Two Remarkable Girls Take A Stand Against Girl Scout Cookies

I want to talk about something extraordinary.  Two young activists (12 and 10) told me they had written to Michelle Obama and the Girl Scouts to explain why won't be participating in selling cookies this year.  They told me that harvesting palm oil is one of the primary problems creating orangutan habitat loss.  Seven years ago, this was brought to the attention of the Girl Scouts and they made a “pie crust promise” to find a solution. They’d like to see the Girl Scouts make good on their promise.

I’m impressed that two young women decided to commit to taking action about which something the care very deeply.  They cared enough to share their concern with me.  They cared enough to ask for help letting people know about a problem. Together we photoshopped images to get attention for the issue.  And they started a petition on change.org  
In order to understand how extraordinary this is, think back to yourself at age 10 and 12.   The urge to be “part of the group” at that age is strong.  This is the time in most young women’s lives when they are worried about fitting in.  But, this issue is so important to them, that they chose not to do something they feel is ethically wrong just to be part of a group.  

I think we should stand with them so that they will know that they belong to a larger group of people committed to creating a better world.  

Here's what you can do.

  1. Sign their petition.
  2. Share the information so people can make informed decisions. 
  3. Make a donation to the Girl Scouts and let them know you don’t want cookies. If you are a Girl Scout, simply ask for donations to the girl scouts and/or bake your own cookies and give them away as a reward.
  4. Stand in solidarity then write your own letter. If you are a Girl Scout, refuse to sell the cookies as a member or troop and write a letter.

Girl Scouts of the USA
420 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10018-2798

Tuesday, December 31, 2013

thinking about artists and identity politics

(in the wake of the Ani DiFranco fiasco starring Buddy Wakefield, Toshi Reagon and Saul Williams)

ultimately, the product of real artists is our heart and soul.  it hurts when people don't like our work.  it's akin to hearing, 'I don't like you.'  the journey of the artist whose product revolves around identity politics is even harder. we know that the system we challenge is filled with people who don't like us and we are okay ~ even proud of ~ of that.  but, the product we bring to market is also wrapped up in hope. truly, the audiences we have worked so hard to earn demand that our hearts and souls to be stronger ~ wiser ~ smarter.  because we have stood up and said no to a system to which so many of us are still bound.  

our audiences are not like our close friends and family who pardon our frail humanity. those dear ones who know us to be good people even though we fart precisely at three o'clock every morning.  and when we deliver a truly faulty product, they will come at us.  

this is the time for us to rise to the occasion of our higher selves.  this is the time we peel back our rib cages and expose our hearts to their knives.  say, 'see? I am broken also. help me.' and then allow them to put down their knives and stitch the aorta back. for too often, our hearts have grown weary of placing plastic bandages on something that has grown rigid and brittle in the light of market share.  

this is the time we invite them in and allow them to help us become again to them what they have hoped we have tried to remain all along.  this is the time of a true and meaningful repentance. the time for action. the time to to put the match to hope's kindling and let them relight all of us.

Sunday, December 29, 2013

Calling In | From One To Another One

Toshi Reagon responded to the kerfuffle about Ani DiFranco's messy venue selection here.

I am often "the one" and understand that it comes 
with a heavy load of responsibility. regardless 
of your choices, there will be questions, 
assertions, assumptions and name calling 
mixed together with a liberal smattering of self-righteous 

"see? it's /not\ okay." sometimes, the choices 
"the one" are asked to make are difficult 

and painful. too often, the task of "the one" is 
to solder together odd bits and pieces into what might look 
like a hybrid gramophone/ boombox/ ipod hybrid 
so it mimics a flawless rendition of multiple voices 

in time and space. sometimes those voices have 
to be sampled, remixed and accompanied 
live. this is a deep and awkward labor. 

sometimes, the one has to choose the terms of engagement
the way a recovering alcoholic enters a bar. 
if the alcoholic is spiritually fit, they can withstand 
with ease and grace the temptations 
to be drawn back into their illness.  what I hear you saying is ~ 

you see yourself as spiritually fit ~ you are an equal partner in the venture. 
your place is one where you have the ability to co-create the experience, 
direct the programming, define stated objectives, intend 
outcomes ... with equality in revenue sharing. 

if this is the case, if you seek not to improve your position within 
patriarchal White Supremacy and are using this event to dismantle 
it, then I applaud and admire you. 

I will watch closely to learn how you do this. your brand is
unlike your mother's ~ which has always stayed close 
to an indisputable mission to dismantle White Supremacy and patriarchy.

it may just be that you have grown large enough 
to think about being able to walk in her shoes. and I trust 
in her good role-modeling to see you through 
this swamp of thoughtless entitled female White supremacist 

behavior. so, my sister, I am watching carefully 
to see how you do this tender dangerous work.
I have much to learn about the way 
"one" has always been asked to create 
change. and achieves it single-handedly.

Saturday, December 28, 2013

Report From Nottoway Plantation

(site of Ani DiFranco’s "Righteous Retreat in The Big Easy)

them ghosts gonna 
respect no privacy or tenderness.
hobble they tires like runaways.
cut strings like ham.
sing the stillborn song. holler down 

holy hell.  them ghosts gonna
sprinkle glass in they food.
rub fingernails on they larynx.
bite out they tongues. 
break they fingers.  suck marrow 
out they phalanges n metatarsals. 
put brambles on they eyeballs. 

suffocate they. them ghosts gonna
rub on they like they was rubbed on.
play thorns on they eardrums.
yank they pubic hairs out.
brand they tastebuds.
salt paper cuts.
watch they young sold far.
push say please up they nose into they brain.
chop down they money tree.
confetti they money times 

five generations. them ghosts never forget.

just say no.  sign the petition.

Friday, November 29, 2013

A Few Words For Roxanne Jones

without Mother Shaming

Here is an article from Roxanne Jones. She is a founding editor of ESPN The Magazine and a former vice president at ESPN. She is a national lecturer on sports, entertainment and women's topics and a recipient of the 2010 Woman of the Year award from Women in Sports and Events.

Mother Teaches Son To Get A "Sexual Consent" By Text

I could go there.  But, I won't.  Instead, I'll say a little piece of my piece.  Then, I'll go back to the actually incredibly hard and rewarding work of raising a boy to become a good man.

1) A woman can say no at the very last second. Really, she can say no even after she texted yes. 

2) Perhaps sons should be taught to say no to girls who are drunk. Sons should not be taught tricks to get around date rape. If you can't get any from a sober girl, you probably have some inner work to do. 

3) The right kind of preparation for boys is teaching boys that it is not the girl's responsibility to "not get raped." It is the boy's responsibility not to rape. See #2 

4) No court of law would accept this tactic. See #1. 

5) Sending a "confirmation of consent" text to a girl you intend to have no further relationship is creepy at best and abusive at worst. Don't have sex with people you do not plan to have a continued relationship. 

6) If you think your boy is going to be "the all conquering hero," then teach him the dynamics of consensual polyamory.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

A Love Supreme - following bliss.

So, The Win thinks A Love Supreme is his lucky math song.  So, he shared this idea with his teacher at the Afro American Music Institute, Howard Alexander.  After two lessons, this is the result.


There is something to be said for trusting your child to find the right teachers who facilitate and encourage them to follow their bliss.  These days, I spend a lot of time reminding myself that I have raised a child who knows what he is doing. This I think is the hardest part of home educating.

Please like and share! Support quality musical education! If you shop Amazon, you can donate to the Afro American Music Institute by clicking the following link.  http://smile.amazon.com/ch/25-1689025http://smile.amazon.com/ch/25-1689025

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Experiment #2 - Untitled Text

I've done another experiment. I don't care for it as much as the first one.  I think I am trying to push too much.  Or rather, I'm the kid who was given the whole big box of crayons...
with some oil paints...
and some glue...
and some tissue paper.
When I was much better off with two pencils.

The poem was written in the graphics program.  I think lets you view my best attempt at standard text.

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Process - Unlisted Second Steel Performance #3

There is something really fun about looking at different stages of work. Almost like watching a live birth, it's kind of painful, embarrassing and a tad messy.  

But, I'm really glad that the folks at Unlisted: a performance series value the evolving process of art making.  Almost like a parent who has sat through endless rehearsals; cheerfully endured practice at home; and is still moved by the end product.

Here are the first notes which were written during a production meeting. 

The link has the text of the first draft. (As does a previous blog entry.)

Here is the performance (No text. I'll put up video later.)  Below is the final text.  (It will be used as a voice over in my documentation video.  coming later)

The Dirt Only Speaks The Truth In Tongues

there are stories in the dirt.  
everything which has ever drawn 
breath whispers its echoing aches 
and ecstasy back to the dirt... 
the more you break your fingernails. 
sift and dig,  my eyelashes 
spell the words, “I  a m  s t i l l  h e r e.”    

on ribs nsibidi rising on smoke tendrils, 
adrinka blackened grill marked gourds, 
heiroglyph harpists playing cedar plank salmon songs,
curl charred silk mazes between your Maize biting teeth
pattering patois chickens with crimson coal applied like kohl 
to the inside of my eyelids in your fire pits
and backyard barbecues I spell, 
w h y  c a n ' t  you  s e e  me?”

the dirt only speaks the truth in tongues 
that were once in the mouths of others.
to those who see alkali smells 
with river silt scorched mouths. 
it has been speaking… open wide. 

I will pack your orifices with mud and rue laced 
salt. and light golden
seal them shut. 
dry and harden, it will. 
know my keloid lovely memories

these hard imagined futures
like itching amputated limbs ~ now. remember. now. 
goose bump spiculum burn ~ now. feel me. now
tympanic buzz ~ now. remember. now. 
I carry you. can cast you down or out.

dirt grows stories. what we know 
is that nothing stays
the same.  our ancestors 
tell our children their history must be scraped 
from under their parent’s fingernails
lest they become infected 
by scratching off their present
like chickens fattened, baffled, tagged.

Monday, October 21, 2013

New Experiments / Return to Origin

This year has been an amazing journey.  Artistically, it has ben a return to my young aesthetic roots.  Only this time, technology is within reach.  My job is to dance on the learning curve.

So, I've been making poems which look like what my journal used to look like before I stopped writing on paper.

Experiment #1

Monday, September 23, 2013

Notes From Project Meeting: Unlisted:Second Steel

I will be participating in Unlisted: Second Steel on September 28th.  My team's site is in The Hill District.  We will be asking:


Here are some notes from our first full production meeting.

/~/ Beginning /~/

there are stories in the dirt.  everything which has ever drawn 
breath whispers its echoing aches and ecstasy back to the dirt... 
the more I  break my fingernails. sift and dig, 
my eyelashes spell the words, 

"W h e r e  a r e  y o u?    
in crimson coals applied like kohl 
to the inside of my eyelids
W h y  c a n ' t  I  s e e  y o u?"

maybe nsibidi, adrinka, heiroglyphs,
the dirt only speaks the truth
to those who see the smell alkali with river silt scorched mouths. 
it has been speaking… in tongues that were once in the mouths of others.

open wide. I will pack your orifices with mud and rue laced salt. 
light golden
seal them shut. dry and harden, it will. the memory
keloid lovely. like me a hard imagined future memory

~ an amputated limb itching ~ now. remember. now. 
now. feel me. now. remember. I carried you.
dirt grows stories. What we know is that nothing stays

the same.  our ancestors tell our children their history
must be scraped from under their parent’s fingernails
lest they become infected by scratching off the present.

Monday, August 26, 2013

She Diva Died. & Come Again? 

be/he/me (myth) retro/speculative
 multi-medi(v)a motherhood art. 

After 10 years of relative quiet and minimal artistic activity, I'm returning to the Pittsburgh arts scene as both a presenter and performer.  This multi-media performance incorporates text, sound, image and movement to portray the battle between the artist and the mother.  The show particularly examines identity as it relates to raising a Black man.

In 2002, Springer stepped off the Pittsburgh arts community stage to raise my son. Christiane Leach and had been running a non-profit arts organization, Sun Crumbs which produced over 50 programs annually.  This is a taste of more great programming to come.

My CD 1999 CD, "In The Image Of Angels" has sold over 800 copies and is available for free download at www.soundcloud.com/christina_springer. You'll also find teasers and outtakes for "She Diva Died & Come Again."

Tuesday, June 25, 2013


on the day Mandela did not die,
a lawyer declares pavement
to be a weapon. the soles of my father's 
leather church shoes scratch 
yesterday's head. mine shakes.

& gone. all gone. is sense.

Monday, June 24, 2013

this is

robbing. the dead 
are patient. 80 
years. new view. time
to check out.


Monday, October 15, 2012

Right Now, Tell Her You Love Her- Draft

she kept at it until there was herself. 
she peeled away each globule
of fat. thinking of pumpkin

harvest moons and villagers 
moving too tired feet
to crush grapes.

not enough. more and more
she whimpered until it became time
to sever the least necessary 

organs. make good food and music.
she cut, marinated and barbecued hers
as an offering. it was sweet 

when she folded
into a flesh sack of empty
bones with only a heart.

Saturday, October 13, 2012

DRAFT - Dream Sequence

exploding heart 
joy.  me 
with frothy suds, 
bucket, sponge 

and a kitchen 
floor. my working
space to clean. begin 
at the corners,

make nature
spiral infinity
the way they shaved those trees
for me to polish and clean.

I see 
every heart beat
excites me.
my husband watches

me work the floor like graph paper 
I am thrilled
his pencil 
eyes me.

filling in every
square.  like what they called 
him. lean. savory. mechanical 
pencil. perfectly making

a woman on the floor
polishing this belief
we speak
the same strange Negro 

wake up. drift off
I have finished half

of what we need to do together.
naked. polishing hard wood.
frantic to get enough done
to do the knob.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Where i Lose Me

they say 
comes at the end.
naturally I resist

endings. quirky
that will
inserting itself on the edge 
of gyrating cigarette swirls.

death. death. death
intoxicating. patterns
like strippers
who wouldn’t even fuck you that way

no matter how much money you have.
light is the Fort Pitt tunnel
the end. 
urban to country

or vice versa. 
cunt and trees
wide open for
a minivan


making new.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

put your head on, it is morning

(just for Craig Johnson.)

forget easy.  each day begins 

with wake up, put your head on 

properly, right foot then,  news, update, 

eat,  down left foot, bathe, 

dress slowly. the simple day

forget.  really forget

some unwanted days.  don’t wake up

or put your head on.

but you have to until 

they decide.  rest

Is a sad making homecoming

for others. you don’t want blue. 

water the cherished’ one’s eyes

even if you are kind of enamored 

of that idea.  so the head

goes on the neck.

the cheeks push the lips 

into a smile.  the eyes 

wink. carry on.

one foot, then the other

pretending to dance.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

After The Artist Colony, I (draft)

know. I am really home.

go to the grocery store

the cashier says,

“hi, Miss Sweet Lady!

where have you been?"

I notice she is rocking an up-do

with natural colors...

but...I do miss the pink....

and change is a really

powerful energy...and then

we agree I can

take some food

home to my family.

and we check

out smiles.

Wednesday, August 08, 2012

Mom-Fu 10 - The Hiding In Your Car Stance.

Sometimes a mother just needs between 20 and 45 minutes to be all alone. Often, when this time is requested, it doesn’t work out quite the way she wants. To eliminate any objection to having 20 to 45 minutes all alone, resort to

The Hiding In Your Car Stance.

1. Notice some incredibly vital and important item is missing from the house.

2. Announce that all food service, bum wiping services, beverage service or art/science project services must be immediately suspended.

3. Announce loudly, that the world has ended because there is no milk, water colors, broccoli, properly fitted goggles for swimming. You decide.

4. Get your purse.

5. Get your car keys. (Cell phone is at your discretion. Because they will call.)

6. Head towards your car in the mobile variation of “The Yes Position.” (This position combines “The Embrace The Whole World Position” with a slight adjustment to “The Neutral Position.”

7. Shout loudly in a sing song, soothing voice, “I’ll be back before you even know I’m gone. Love you!”

8. Proceed to your car.

9. Get in car.

10. Drive to whatever store you need to procure said item. Procure said item. (Maybe get a mocha if you are truly more than desperate.)

11. Sit in the parking lot drinking your mocha and listening to your favorite radio station. Listen to the whole story. All the way through. With no interruptions.

12. Return home.

13. Announce food service, bum-wiping service, beverage service, room-cleaning service, laundry service has returned because of your massively awesome and spectacular feat.

14. Assume “The Yes Position.” Combine with the “Ebrace The Whole World Position.”

15. Be loved and adored.

16. Restore service in “The Neutral Position.

Tuesday, August 07, 2012

I Speaks Now

I is a tender,

fragile, precious

thing that holds

a lot of resilience and fortitude.

I smiles.

I belly laughs.

even when I ache


always have a grin for you.


opens my soul

doors. says come in!

relax, have a drink.


is fragile

break me?

no. I

Is tender.

precious. cared

for the resilience

of fortitude.

Without Children Underfoot - Dream

He takes me by the hand. Just like he always does. And I trust him to take me anywhere. If his hand signals right, that is where I will go even if a screeching police car is careening around the corner.

He knows. I trust him to know. Because I am his.

But, this time, he takes me down. Down to what my friend’s call the woman cave. Down to the perfect bathroom. Under ground. Our basement. But, I go.

There is no beard hair on the sink. There are no pee stains around the toilet. This is my space. He takes me here. To my space. And undresses me.

Yes, he unhooks my bra. Shimmies down my knickers. Starts the water.

Yes, he tests the water first. Then, puts me in rain. Soft, sweet, with hands firm telling me about every single step.

Yes, he sits me down in the rain. He gets the soap and washes my body. He gets the soap and washes my hair. He scrubs me new.

He shows me my woman and cave. Then, turns the water off. Lifts me. Careful. Careful. Carefully, dries every drop remaining on my body. Then, takes my hand.

Walks me up two flights of stairs. Puts me in clean beddings. Rubs Shea Butter into every aching pore. Kisses me gently.

“Yes, dear, In the mourning, I will give myself to you.”

Wednesday, August 01, 2012

The House That Slack Built

(for A Scarlett Starr)

is full of shells. like hermit crab habitats

we crawl. tender

vulnerable in

and out. suit. needs.

decency. work

with this idea.

the cotton protects

your tender bits.

even sprawled and open

soft, sofa can chafe;

food can burn;

a hot laptop; government

can come

calling. oh yes.

on a tele-commute

with bankers, wear a shirt.

even if they can’t see

you, they know you

free. find

the shell. climb in.

stay. stay

just a short,

short time stay.

then breathe.