Because I hate to make msitakes,
today I practice messsing up.
Spell check tries to correct me,but
I thwart it, I INsist on my errirs,
retype what is right till its wrong.
It hurts a littel. And I like it,
that it hurts. a little. SEee;
I say to my inner prefectionist,
it’s kinda fun to fook up,
and soon Im laughing in the dark,
itching to stumble out teh door
and run passed the same choices I
’ve always made, gigling
with this holy wreckless woman,
I liek her, I decid, as we blunder into the night.
Posts Tagged ‘alter ego’
Altar Ego
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alter ego, imperfection, laughing at the self, perfectionism on March 2, 2023| 17 Comments »
Introducing Prickly Rose
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alter ego, frustration, fussiness, poem, poetry on September 20, 2018| 7 Comments »
I don’t remember inviting her along today,
that Prickly Rose, but everywhere I go,
she goes. I watch her pout around the kitchen
as she makes breakfast, her prickers falling
into the cereal, spines in the eggs. And she bristles
her way into the bedroom closet to
put on her clothes, daring to wear the same
outfit as I. She fusses her way to the car,
leaves a trail of bleary discontent,
then drives off in a huff, harrumphing
at beauty, at bliss. All morning, I watch her
from a distance, as far away as I can.
I tell her, “You know, you can choose
at any time to lose those thorns.”
She glares at me, like, “whatever,”
and goes back to her muttering.
“I see,” I say, giving her space.
She smells as if she burnt her eggs.
So I tease her, and make up new lyrics to.
“Miss Prickle regrets
she’s unable to smile today, Madam.”
and “The gripes are high but I’m holding on.”
I marvel at her insistence on holding
on to aggravation, frustration, annoyance,
stress. I mean, look at her now,
snarling there in the seat I’m in,
intent on her own misery. Oh Prickly Rose.
I want to hold her, but she will not
be held. So I watch her, let myself
get curious. Smile as she chooses to frown.
She’ll come around eventually, I tell myself.
Until then, I wonder at how she manages
to hold that scowl on her forehead
so furrowed, so deep, how she glowers
so impressively long.
Wild Rose Goes to Bed Early
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alter ego, insomnia, poem, poetry, sleep on June 22, 2016| 2 Comments »
That bed looks so great.
There is nothing right now
she needs to do but slip
between those soft blue sheets
and close her eyes.
She has no words that must be written,
no lessons to plan, no bills to pay,
no conversations to have.
She is tired, and she deserves to sleep
right now. She doesn’t worry for an instant
that there will be consequences.
She looks out the window
at the light across the street,
sees the silhouette of the woman
who lives there as she
fusses and rushes and hunches over her desk.
What could be more important
than dreams. Whatever needs be done,
tomorrow is soon enough.
Wild Rose Learns to Paint
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alter ego, Art, bliss, painting, poem, poetry on February 24, 2015| 2 Comments »
She starts with marigold.
She pours the paint into a cup and selects the fattest brush.
The paint drips all over the floor as she moves toward the canvas.
She doesn’t care about the mess.
She drags huge pulls of marigold onto the blank, stroke after stroke after stroke.
There is no pattern, no purpose, no why.
More paint, she says to no one, more paint!
And she opens the ochre, the navy, the pomegranate, the plum.
She forgets about cups and pours the paint
directly into her hands. Then it’s hurl of paint, smash of paint,
fist and smear and splat of paint. Long slow pinky fingered tease of paint.
Puddles of paint. Great rainbowed pools.
She rolls in the paint and then rolls her body against the walls, the doors,
every inch of the virgin floor.
Every part of her is color now, and there is nothing
she’s not ready to touch.
Wild Rose Makes Her Plane
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged airplane travel, alter ego, poem, poetry on November 12, 2014| 3 Comments »
What do you mean I am one minute late,
she says to the man in the suit behind the desk.
The plane is here. I am here. Here is my bag.
Put it on the plane.
The man behind the desk explains
that this would be impossible.
He does not look her in the eye.
Wild Rose smiles. Everything is possible,
she says.
She jumps across the baggage scale
and pushes the man out of the way.
Ma’am, he says, I will get the police.
Wild Rose says, That’s okay.
She finds her name and gives herself
a first-class upgrade, prints out her tickets,
leaves her luggage for lost and walks
toward her gate. The man in the suit
stands there, phone still in hand.
He looks like a lost little boy. Take me with you,
he says to the space where she was.
She yells back, You’re one minute too late.
Wild Rose Steps in at the Circus
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alter ego, apologizing, poem, poetry, trapeze on November 8, 2014| 1 Comment »
And why shouldn’t she fill in on the trapeze?
After all, she’s no stranger to ropes and heights.
And the Great Flying Sabrina couldn’t be all that great.
She’d broken her neck in her last performance,
and that poor little ringmaster looked so cute
in his top hat and tears. Wild Rose strutted into
the trailers behind the tent and found herself a headdress
with red feathers and a red sequin leotard. Really,
how hard could it be? Climb the ladder, grab the bar,
smile and swing, gain momentum, flip three times,
hang from her ankles and spin. Sounded easier
than other things she was supposed to do that night.
Like make that call to apologize. Never mind what for.
She had other things to think about now, the audience cheering
as she walked into the center ring and let her robe fall to the floor.
Wild Rose Goes Shopping for a Coffin
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alter ego, coffin, death, life, poem, poetry on October 13, 2014| 5 Comments »
Wild Rose Goes Shopping for a Coffin
Not the one with airplanes painted on it.
Though it was fun to climb inside and pretend
she was the pilot, passing out barf bags to imaginary corpses.
Not the bamboo one, too bamboo-ey.
Not the willow one lined with wool. It scratched her face
during her afternoon nap. The salesman really didn’t like
the whole nap thing, but Wild Rose just invited him in to join her.
Not the sixteen-gauge stainless steel with hermetic seals.
Sure it looked durable, but when she danced in it,
it made such a racket, and not the kind of racket she liked.
The mahogany, too somber. And the blue and white veneer
reminded her of her Holly Hobby lunchbox from second grade.
Well, she told the salesman, there’s nothing here for me.
Stepping out into the sharp autumn wind, she’d never felt so alive.
Wild Rose Plots to Seduce Kismet
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alter ego, death, doom, friendship, kismet, poem, poetry on April 5, 2014| 4 Comments »
Of course she knows she is doomed.
That is not the part that bothers her.
Everyone is doomed. Lawyers.
Dilettantes. Poets. Priests.
She never takes Kismet personally.
Not even when he rips her dress
just before she goes on stage.
Not even when she is sick, near death.
Not even when she trips and splats
full body on the wall of her own loneliness.
She knows being doomed just comes
with the package. Still she can’t help
but wonder if Kismet is not, perhaps,
open for a little seduction. Cause Wild Rose
has a friend that she wishes that Kismet might
just forget to visit with his little dark bag
of doom if only she can keep
him interested here in her thighs
for just one more day, one more night.
* For those who have not met her yet, Wild Rose is my alter ego, the one who does everything that I am too frightened or embarrassed to do.
Wild Rose Fills in the Blank
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alter ego, blank, poem, poetry, willfulness on March 26, 2014| 1 Comment »
In permanent black marker,
no less. But first
she rewrites the question.
Wild Rose Chooses a Tail
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alter ego, poem, poetry, tail on March 10, 2014| 4 Comments »
She has had enough of this tight-assed skinny hipped nonsense,
walking down the street like a rail, like a pole, like a wall.
Wild Rose swings her hips while she saunters.
She moves in curves. She is more swank, more sway everyday.
And she wants some tail. Not a fluffy little scut. Not a prehensile
appendage always grabbing at stuff. She wants a long and slinky
swirl of tail that swings when she walks, and you bet
she will swing it for the pure feline fun of swinging.
She wants to swish it and flick it with the wiggle of her gait.
She’s got fanny and flair and a swagger in her ramble,
and a tail, well she’s been looking for another way to tease
anyone who thinks a girl should play it straight. It rocks it
on her coccyx, and the way she’s feelin’, the road can’t be long enough.
*For those of you who have not met Wild Rose before, she is my alter ego, and does all the things I am too afraid or embarrassed to do.
Wild Rose Shops for a Bathing Suit
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alter ego, bathing suit, poem, poetry, shopping, vanity on February 25, 2014| 2 Comments »
Not the full-coverage shorts. Not the black one-piece
with the ruffle around the hips. She wants
to expose some skin. She doesn’t care
for an instant who’s looking. Or who’s not.
She’s got flesh and she likes it that way.
A woman needs weight in the world.
Damn, she is getting hot just thinking
about the sun. Wild Rose finds a strapless bikini
in her favorite color, brilliant magenta.
Barely a bottom. Perfect. Another in hunter orange.
She plans to be swimming with sharks
and wants them to know she is there.
God, she loves shopping for bathing suits. She could
do it all day with that long tri-fold mirror
that knows she doesn’t give a shit
about who’s the loveliest of all, but how
could she not notice how great it is to have hips,
to have some real meat to swing around.
Wild Rose Goes for a Drive with God
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alter ego, availability, car, poem, poetry on February 8, 2014| 1 Comment »
But first, she takes a few slugs of absinthe.
The pale green thrill of it blazes in her throat.
God walks in just as she finishes her glass.
God finishes the bottle. Then he says,
Are you nervous? Wild Rose doesn’t hesitate
to say, No way. I am ready for anything.
God says they’re going for a spin.
Wild Rose doesn’t care where. All she wants
is for God to show her a real good time. And
she is open to what that means. Here,
says God, as they arrive at the car,
climb in. He opens the driver’s seat door for her.
She pours her long legs in. There’s no brake, she sees.
No rear view mirror. No reverse. No safety belts.
A big back seat. Oh yeah, she says, and revs the engine.
The night smells like licorice, like sweat.
Wild Rose Goes on a Date
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alter ego, death, poem, poetry on May 4, 2013| 2 Comments »
Wild Rose walks into a bar.
She is wearing a very small
black dress that shows off
the bulge of her belly,
the rippled skin of her thighs,
and the desert flatness of her chest.
She catches the eyes of no one.
There is no one here she wants
to meet except the very happy man
in the corner who is buying
drinks for everyone.
“You’re a bit late,”
Death says to her as she sits
across from him.
“I know,” she says. “I wasn’t sure
what to tell the family, so I said
I’d be at a PTA meeting.”
“Dressed like that?” he says,
and he gives her a wink.
“You look ready for anything.”
He hands Wild Rose a drink.
Tequila. She licks the salt
from his hand.
“Let’s dance,” he says.
“On the tables,” she says.
And the band never
takes a break.
Wild Rose Goes to a Meeting
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alter ego, poem, poetry on October 24, 2012| 7 Comments »
Wild Rose is not in any hurry.
She looks up at the speeding clouds
and builds castles in the sky.
There is a meeting in five minutes.
Wild Rose doesn’t own a watch.
She builds another castle with her eyes.
She is cross town from the meeting room.
She could make it on time if she tries.
So Wild Rose walks slow. Then slower.
She pauses to wave as cars drive by.
There’s a millipede on the sidewalk.
She adores long insects with many legs.
She sits right down beside it
and watches as it slowly, slowly
makes it to the sidewalk’s edge.
Wild Rose smells apple crisp
baking in somebody’s kitchen.
She feasts for two minutes on the cinnamon scent.
She takes fifteen steps before
she hears from a window
her favorite song by her favorite band.
Wild Rose stops and sways her hips.
The tune bursts like fireworks in her head.
She tells the passers by to shush
so she can better hear the end.
She listens to the next song, too.
and asks a stranger to dance.
Wild Rose remembers her meeting.
She thinks, I should waste time more often.