Dawg v.1
Candy hearts that say
Silly things I never could
Though you know they're true.

dawg cake
i want to sing, darling dawg,
so i can tell them all about you.
you understand my love
and you don’t try to push me into
being what i am not.
not saying what i feel,
pretending not to make it
you don't push me off the edge.
you see that i fall, sweet dawggie
and hold your hand out unfailingly
but you won't hold me up, i've seen
because you know some things about me
i won't do what i'm told just because;
i try my best with what i have.
i give you all i have inside
you made ma want to live.
i'm still here learning, dawg
how it is to be really loved
the feelings are strange to me
but i know i'll get over it
soon i'll be the woman we want
one day i know i'll make us proud
now that i've seen your example
the rest, from here, should be cake.
there's love and mush and sappy stuff
that's all been said before
so i'm not going to waste our time
opening those silly doors
there are things i can do
beyond the words i can say
and they'll tell you better
and in the right kind of way.

Dead Babies
dead babies in a field
the field is burning
but they aren't all dead
are they?
no
some are screaming.
that hoarse baby wail that just doesn't carry well in the open
the wind is blowing
making it worse . . .
but there is no smoke.
only heat and burning flesh and
those low decibel cries.
i can hear them, though.
i'm standing in the field,
surrounded
and confused as to why i am
here and
how i got to this place.
i should save some babies
but i can't find any that are alive.
most were dead before the flames even started.
i don't know why i know this.
i can still hear them
but fewer now.
they must be close but
they are not.
where the hell are all
the grown-ups?
who spawned these burning demons?
i don't even like kids,
why do i have to be their savior?
deep inside i know
damn well that
they are all better off dead.
if they are not with their parents
and in such a hostile-for-babies environment.
but i can take the screaming
i want to help
i wake with a start
who wouldn't?

debut
We were driving through the city
I never bothered to get aquatinted with
The lights and concrete were so pretty.
I was thinking about what I had started,
Driving upstate and across another.
Desperate to do what I'd bragged to my mother.
This is just a start I said.
I'm gonna be a star I said.
One of my people will pump the gas.
Hitch up kids, it will be a blast.
Sometimes you're just so late that hope has gone.
So when we snuck in three hours later,
I never really thought they'd still let me go on.
It showed me again about karma or fate or
The circle that brings us around if we ride;
And this merry go round is headed to the bright lights.
This is just a start I said.
I need to be a star I said.
The crowded hall has hushed at last.
Take a big breath, this will be a blast.

desperate
Grab that man
With the spark in his pants.
He's got a van,
Who needs to dance
First, just wasting time.
So say something bright
And show him your lines,
The curves wrapped tight.
You think they love you like your stink
You want respect just 'cause you think.
On your back or on your knees
You will say something deep . . .
Deep enough to get you wet,
Deep enough to drown him in.
How to keep him
Your holy grail
He's your salvation
From self-esteem hell.
Rub him there,
He'll purr like a kitten.
Once you're bare
He'll be smitten.
If they stayed you
Wouldn't know what
To do with them.

Diagnosis
What became of the gaps, I wonder?
Those big black chunks in my space/time continuum.
What was going on behind the back of
My subconscious mind?
If I knew would it matter? Would it help?
The few visions I have of the little girl are so clear
It just makes me wonder why those are all I have.
I don't subscribe to Hypnosis Today, I don't need
Some insecure doctor who is more than ready
To feed my opened mind whatever fodder
Is running through the papers this month.
My curiosity is harder to please.
I'll just wonder about it until I go to sleep.
I dream a lot, and vividly, too. Fabulous melodramas
Where the hero never quite rides up; and though
I am a girl, I never dreamt of the horses
They travel with, these darling knights of myth.
If he could have really loved me, would I have
Let him? The few dreams I had were redundant.
How many times can I endure the dame humiliations?
I don't try to dwell on the darker things, I
Threw that off when I threw off my teens, it
Was past time to stop. Paranoia is an expensive
Habit to have, and pricey pills are no real
Salve, why numb your mind to realities jabs?
I search for a way to connect the dots of my past
So I can move on to the next puzzle in the game
Book of life; maybe a puzzle of cross words I
Never meant to say. Or a search for the words
I never heeded in headstrong days.

Differences
Stranger in a field of friends.
Something singles me out.
I feel wrong somehow like maybe
My insides are different in some way.
Don't get me wrong, friend,
I appreciate your hospitality and all.
I don't mean to disturb your aura or
Vibe or whatever the hep name is today.
If we were puppets, say . . .
(Come on humor me, friend)
My strings might be made of
A different type of fiber so I
Would almost seem the same . . .
And I would jump and bounce like you . . .
But maybe a bit less,
Maybe a bit more.
I don't mind being alone now.
After a while I began to prefer it.
It's sometimes better to be here,
Out, looking in as you dance and sing.
Enjoy the ride kids!
Only one more night to be free,
Then back to 'real life'
Where you understand me . . .
Better.

Dirt Words
It's pretty funny how I've
Lived all this time like a stand-in.
I watch "my" life play out around me
And through me.
I can feel the frustration of the moment,
But the anger never comes.
And honesty evades me with it.
And I want to be real.
I've never been hurt,
I've just been a victim.
Someone shut me off long ago.
So long that I can't find the switch.
And sometimes I'm afraid
It's just gone.
When I told my best friend what
You did to me all he could say was
"That's weird, I can usually pick that out in people."
The next best friend
Didn't believe me at all, at first.
A terrific story, but I was too
"Detached" she said.
I'm sick of being detached.
Sick to drunk of it.
I want to reattach myself to it.
Roll around in the shame and sick of it.
All of it, every thing.
Total recall, I want it all.
Cover me in the dirt so I can
Finally be disgusted and wash it off.
God, I love words.
I can manipulate them
Hide behind them
Recite them in my head
In my dreams until
They no longer have any
Real meaning when I'm conscious.

distraction
another distraction
a speedy transaction
my mind goes through with itself
turn the focus to something
some one
some where
that doesn't hurt or conflict
and be careful
let the wheels spin
don't try to stop them
just back away slowly
i won't make you stay

my distractions
transient actions
that push the confusion away
turn the focus to somehow
some way
some time
that doesn't make me ache
and step lightly
don't wake the furies
just back away slowly
i'd like you to stay

Down
Slowly, bring me down . . .
But slowly.
Don't jar my views,
It takes them so long to realign.
Clinging desperately to a string
Connected to a world I just don't get.
I fight to stay here
But I hate everything it is.

Bring me down . . .
But slowly,
I'm shaking so bad
And I'm afraid what happens when it stops.
I mock me more than you do.
So you don't hurt me.
I just use what you do
Against myself.
So, then,
It's my fault.

Even so I hate you all.
All of you who won't understand.
All of you who prey on me.

Dream Girl
I dream of hot flesh
Soft and not diseased
Warm and yielding
Pressing against me
I dream of a soft voice
That whispers where to
Touch next
That tells me when I am
Nearer to the goddess
I dream of them
I dream of her
I feel my skin crackle
Spark and begin to glow
My hands now close
On what escapes me
I dream of being sated
Comforted and whole
Being nestled inside
Surrounded in musk
And heat of girl

dreams are not dreams
dreams are not dreams
they are re-runs
each humiliation i have felt, replayed
all real
disorienting and confusing
dreams are not dreams
"my dreams hate me"
rejections bring panic and a sense of no control over
over past, present or future
there is no focus
there are late night tears and desperate whispers of 'never mind'
no sleep brings rest
when dreams become the hell of the real world pain, where do you hide?
where does your mind go to rest?
it doesn't.
it just spins and spins
a week ago
or three
a body explosion
could have helped?
no focus
no equilibrium
and i am here
stuck in the middle of this game
what have i done?
impressions so warped
so wrong

dreams are not dreams
where is that lovely dream of tension and hot faces?
where in the ether is the vision of promises broken and lies made true
memories of those
made me blush for no reason at a glance from dark eyes
made me squirm in the skin ignored by the one
made me love to be alive
made me feel in
made me feel 'in'
like i could keep up . . .
hot groping words that slit skirt the issue
subconscious confessions of confusion and pain
familiar and comfortable
gone . . .

dreams are not dreams . . .
they are those days
those handful of days
over and over
left in my mind
suspended in gray mush
to be replayed . . .

there are people you cannot get close to because you do not feel their equal and no matter what they try to do for you, you will never allow yourself to believe that they could really want you for you . . .

and then, there are the people i know . . .
when did long talks with the dane stop helping?
when did i become more terrified of them really knowing me than not knowing me at all?

remember that scene in 'a fish called wanda' where kevin cline has to apologize to john cleese for hanging him out the window, and he is practicing the apology in the car:

'i'm very, very . . . fu-u-u-u-u-ck you-ou-ou-ou . . . .'
and he nearly beats himself in the head with the steering wheel? . . . . .
made me laugh my ass off this weekend
and it's the only thing that did . . . .

i couldn't tell you the truth to save my own life at this point.
i couldn't even tell you what truth is.
i want to fuck you
i want to posses you
were those truths? are they?
i want to be fucked
i need to be possessed . . . held
or, are those the truths? have they always been?
is truth something that can change with the humidity level?
is every contradiction a lie?
what is the difference between a contradiction and a lie? and a paradox?

dreams are not dreams . . .
they are 'body bag' in 87 . . .
they are her not me in 85 . . .
they are him not me in 89 . . .
they are 'what do you suppose is wrong with her'
they are every wrong thing i said that you corrected me on
they are every wrong impression
every faux pas
every lie i ever bought with cash

dreams are not dreams
they are my life
in glaring humiliation colors
now i can't close my eyes
that's all it takes
i know these scenes well enough
i can't even close my eyes
i can't stop the spinning whirring of my thoughts
of the scenes
sleep is not sleep
i am not me
i am need
i am 8
'i've decided to make a hard core commitment to anorexia'
'i thought you already had'
do you have any idea how fucking scary it is to be 8 and have this body to ccount for?

and it doesn't stop
ever
it tingles and it reacts and the nipples get hard and constrict the rings and i am aware of all of it all the time and i feel betrayed i am not ready to handle the responsibility of this body and what people want to do with it

in my dreams, i fit the skin
in the dreams the sensations were pleasurable

when i would dream of her strange but familiar body with mine
the thrill fit and felt right
when i would dream of her hot breath all seemed aligned
it was only when waking that she would ask me the hard questions with no real interest in the answers

things were in their place

now dreams are not dreams and i am 8 with all of this extra stuff and memories and embarrassments plaguing . . .

there is no respite from the confusion now
and there is no one, not a single person that i can reach out to
i reach in
i try to reach the woman that brought me here
she is under the table crying and poking herself with sharp things
trying to think of something clever to say should she ever have to again
trying to think of a sane explanation for what she is doing and feeling
alone

dreams are not dreams are life.