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Why I Didn’t
Of course.
I was going to, you know.
Or maybe you didn’t.
Already my mouth gone soft
when you kissed me good night
and let me go.
But instead of love
there was only an old sleeping bag
you tossed at me and three
flea bites on my belly
the next morning.
You didn’t know that,
did you?
I didn’t think so.
Nor your name I stole
and took with me
all the way from San Antonio
to Puerto Escondido.
And today when I waited
for your pickup to appear,
I’ll be right back, and left me there
on your porch full of suitcases and
crates and saws and cedar,
I went into your room
and lay down on your bed
just to see if it’d suit me.
The sheets were cool
and a fine talc of dust lay everywhere
the way some men who live alone
are used to living.
Oh I’m scared all right
Haven’t you noticed, I’m
only shy when I like a man.
And to tell the truth
I’m not sure love is worth
the risk of losing friendship.
It would’ve been easy.
I could’ve claimed
I was afraid of the dark.
I am, you know. Afraid I mean.
But there was that plane
to catch the next morning.
And you had to go to work.
Besides, I was sleepy.
And love, that fish too old to get away,
will be there the next morning. And if not,
there are other mornings, other fish.
-Sandra Cisneros
Oh love you’re so crazy…
-Cara
Neal Cassady and Jack Kerouac
“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”
– On the Road, Jack Keroac
See.
— Cara Reynolds
Sandra Cisneros
I found this book, ‘Loose Woman‘, by Sandra Cisneros when I was searching for something good to read in the Strand the other night and I think she is way fresh! I read, ‘Woman Hollering Creek: And Other Stories‘ by her, but that was like 1000 years ago and didn’t realize it till I wrote this entry. Life…
Love Poem For The Non-Believer
Because I miss
you I run my hand
along the flat of my thigh
curve of the hip
mango of the ass Imagine
it your hand across
the thrum of ribs
arpeggio of the breasts
collarbones you adore
that I don’t
My neck is thin
You could cup
it with one hand
Yank the life from me
if you wanted
I’ve cut my hair
You can’t tug
my hair anymore
A jet of black
through the fingers now
Your hands cool
along the jaw
skin of the eyelids
nape of the neck
soft as a mouth
And when we open like apple
split each other in half and
have seen the heart
of the heart
of the heart that part
you don’t I don’t
show anyone the part
we want to reel
back as soon as it
is suddenly unreeled like silk
flag or the prayer call
of a Mohammed we won’t
have a word for this except
perhaps religion
– Sandra Cisneros
A friend at work gave me this poem today. She thought I would like it and I did.
-Cara
Paper Clip Guy
Yesterday I fell out of a dream and onto my floor.
My god…I thought…I really need to vacuum.
You know that little guy?
That looks like a paper clip and always pops up on your computer to politely offer his assistance in reformatting word documents and does little dances and shit when you ignore him for long enough?
Well who is he?
And does he just help you format word articles…or does he also do some vacuuming on the side?
I ate an omelet for breakfast and it reminded me of all of the omelets I’ve eaten in the past and then it reminded me of all the omelets I’ll eat in the future and then it reminded me of the future and that is always scary.
I’ll be eating omelets forever at this rate and Jesus…that’s a lot of fucking omelets.
Which means that’s a whole lot of eggs.
Which means that’s a whole lot of chickens
Which have to be raised by a whole lot of farmers.
A whole lot of farmers raising a whole lot of chickens to make a whole lot of eggs to feed a whole lot of people who…like me…have a special affect for omelets.
Especially in the morning.
Me? I’m just another consumer of omelets made with eggs made by chickens raised by people who make money so they too can eat omelets for breakfast now and forever.
When you think about that.
It seems that I’m that little guy…that looks like a paper clip…politely offering assistance in omelet consuming and perhaps on the side.
A little vacuuming.
-Michelle Kaye
With that said…
The Day After An Inconvenient Truth via e-mail, a gift from me to you.
You’re Welcome. :]
-Cara
What happen to all the poets? I remember growing up reading, loving, and writing stream of conscious poetry that went on forever. I would go to hear poets read, speak, connect…There are not really any modern, media saturated stories about the famous, righteous poets, like Adrienne Rich, Audre Lourde, Dorothy Allison, e.e. cummings, or Alice Walker around. If there is any media they are not talking about their poetry. Nobody wants to be America’s Next Top Poet…or am I just running around in the wrong circles these days…
I’ve decided to publish a poem I like using this blog sometimes. It may inspire me, you, or somebody to write…you never know…
Muriel Rukeyser
Here is a poem by Muriel Rukeyser entitled, Looking at Each Other, I really think is powerful. Words with depth that I connect too. That’s what I miss…and meeting others who connect as well. It is powerful.
Looking at Each Other
Yes, we were looking at each other
Yes, we knew each other very well
Yes, we had made love with each other many times
Yes, we had heard music together
Yes, we had gone to the sea together
Yes, we had cooked and eaten together
Yes, we had laughed often day and night
Yes, we fought violence and knew violence
Yes, we hated the inner and outer oppression
Yes, that day we were looking at each other
Yes, we saw the sunlight pouring down
Yes, the corner of the table was between us
Yes, our eyes saw each other’s eyes
Yes, our mouths saw each other’s mouths
Yes, our breasts saw each other’s breasts
Yes, our bodies entire saw each other
Yes, it was beginning in each
Yes, it threw waves across our lives
Yes, the pulses were becoming very strong
Yes, the beating became very delicate
Yes, the calling the arousal
Yes, the arriving the coming
Yes, there it was for both entire
Yes, we were looking at each other
Muriel Rukeyser 1978
What happen to our revolution?
-Cara
The Day After An Inconvenient Truth 
What Did You Say?