Prose Thing

  Once, I quit smoking. Close

to a dozen times. Once, I shaved

my head. I was in love. I walked.
Once, I was a poet. I tried to 

move the world inside me with 

words, with song. I became a 

mover of images, professor of 

hypocrisies. I watched a raccoon

die on impact, and I improvised

punk rock blues for its offspring.
Once, I lead spontaneous 

ceremonies for the cold and 

hungry and poor. Once, I cooked

for outcasts. I prayed. I cried. 

I've forced catharsis. I tried. 

      Once I was a victim. A villain.
I was a confessor. 

      Once I burned my right calf.

Two years later I burned my left

thigh. I haven't done such

grand things, but my body feels 

like it houses sagas. I once 

loved a man who loved a woman

who told him he spoke like Rumi 

in bed. He did. I once loved a 

man who told me every time 

in bed that I he saw me beautiful 

and he loved me so much. He did. 

Once, I loved a man who loved 

many women who told him he 

had THE biggest dick. He did. 

      The sun felt different every day. 

Once, in the 5th grade, I criticized 

a movie about children who lived

in a world without sunlight. They

spent time under UV lights every 

day, and through the course of the 

film they ran outside in the breaking 

sky for ten whole minutes. 

 I thought it was an obvious metaphor. 

Once, I stole food when I was hungry. 

The good stuff. I stole it when I wasn't, 

just wanted some good stuff. I did

things to shock people, like scream, take

food off empty tables, not break 

eye contact, cross before the light 

turns, stand on memorials. I have 

played songs, read poems, shamefully. 

      I have applied gloss, shadow, salve, 

smudges, sticks, polish, stain. I have

smeared it, cleaned it, left it for days 

or til morning. I have decided 

against using the condom. I have

held a mirror to my vagina. I threw

too much cash at a woman for a 

hacked up wax job, in humiliation. 

I have shit my pants. 

      I've waited in lines with 

drug addicts, shit-out-of-luckers, children, 

prostitutes, backpackers and schizophrenics

for bread, pasta and green beans. 

      I have not met the eyes of 

young mothers. I have shamed men.
I have taken off my jewelry. I have 

declined gifts. I have had

my reasons. 

      I have taken advantage of others'

opportunities and successes. I have 

whined. I have been a coward. 

I have missed the point. 

Once, I wore a mask. A real mask. 

and harassed people, felt solace

in the mass of faces on mine. I 

have derived sexual power and pleasure

from exposing people's vulnerabilities. 

Once I told it like it is. Once I 

lied. I heard the phone ring and 

pretended I hadn't. I drank the

last of the milk. I left a thigh

exposed in preparation for passing men. 

I drove my sister around blasting

pop music. I told my sister 

mainstream pop music would make 

her dumb. I told my sister to leave 

a necklace out on the full moon. 

I told my sister to question everything

and call me about drugs or sex or 

quitting school. I quit school. I 

sat in the glade with poets and 

despised them. I sat in the glade

with flies and revered them. I 

held my piss. 

I've seen aspen leaves quiver in 

four colors. I have observed 

only the green aspen shimmers. 

I lied to god and was laughed at. 

I have laughed at "those less fortunate."

I have not yet met someone 

more fortunate. This, I feel is unfair 

to me. I have littered in at least 

eight states. I have been issued one 

official warning and one court summons.

Both for trespassing. More often, police

officers have woken me up or driven

me to the county line. I have prepared

and guzzled Underworld Broth with the 

help of five domestic radicals. They

love Prince. I used men, women and 

children as crutches. I have been a 

bandage. I have siphoned out poison 

and swallowed it. 

I have remembered everyone's eye color

whose name I also remember. 

I walked through florida for four 

days. I built a fort in the woods, 

high off low temp laughing fits.
I have shared a sleeping bag on concrete for months

and loved every second of it. I have 

covered up my pubic hair, popped out

my boob and fucked in public places. 

Sometimes I live exclusively in public places. 

I have infected my environment. 

I have breathed cobweb. I have 

filled pages and regretted my words. 

I have tried too hard.