I never thought I would be going to school for writing and writing as little (little in terms of the amounts I write for non-academic purposes) as I happen to be employed doing these days. In any case, I guess I did do something interesting regardless. I have a production, well my friend has a production, which was a dance number choreographed to my words. Dear WWW, it is called, and it is like a love/hate poem written to who else but the world wide web. The tingly frenetic fingered jelly ghost whose tentacles keep us in…tethered closely to our little talky talk spit and rock picture boxes. It has taught me that my poetry is still close to my heart. Well, several things have taught me that. But I guess when you are heart-shocked, shelled and hocked, well…it becomes more of an issue of expression over purpose. Sometimes I think I have lost it, much as I have lost my perfection in art, but it comes rolling back to me as I sit at the bottom, hand over the eyes to shade them from the looming quagmire of restlessness above.

My regards to my poetry, which I have wrapped into tiny folded corners, across dozens of cocktail napkins, bittychicken must live. I have even decided to share my only poetry contest submission, as it is the only bit of me found on the web. Though it is not by my given name but my magnet sky…open and bleeding taken to breathing.

I will copy it here now as it will one day go bye-bye. And I suppose that I should return back to my roots. And not let them peel and wrinkle to dusted piles. This was back in 2000. When I first discovered the interweb really.

Honorable Mention
The Smooshing of The Caterpillars
by MagnetskyAbout.com

purple grape kool-aid lips
these children in laughing and
the light of the sun different for them
that playground, red rock gravel-like
pressed into my shoes, jeans, clothes
and we laughed all day and ran up that hill
village seven where I left my dreams and fears
child-like in fancy, bottle rockets of blue
springing out over the horizon

my reality, burst fire of pikes peak across the window
too close to touch
bump city bike rides and grass in my mouth
sweet, rolling in crabtrees dust
I remember the feel of the clay in my hands when we
dug the backyard out
and the caterpillars I collected,
keeping them in, cardboard castle beneath
my bed, and the light was so different then
than it is now
and my hopes and fears, I never
could concieve my existence then

I just remember the lamp light, late night
swooning shadow-like across the street
I didn’t stop dreaming of that
for 8 years at best
dad moved my family 15 times
maybe 23 homes they abandoned
I always envisioned them missing us,
my sister and brother and
little pee-wee’s soul, maybe floating
around the fireplace where he was kept

here, at solid computer terminal musing time
I wish to get back to the reality of
earth
for in the concrete city my soul
divides, in half-like, where-ing
it lies next, what becomes the answer to
the questions of half-existence
I half exist in my mind
the remainder outside and I can speak
and you can hear me
and see my words
and my little movie
I wonder when and how it ends

backgrounds of sounds
my childhood lost
in village seven, box-kited nightmares
and forgiveness of the ripping of
my heart strings plucked along
on the smurf guitar
wishing and muddied faces
laughing it echoes as it does still
in the greenways
the light of the sun
different for them