poetry

Purpose

I think, deep down, we all want the same contradiction.

To keep the self and to lose control.

Want direction?

It’s there, plainly, up in the sky:

Not neon, but black and white all the same,

Arrows of geese,

Pointing to the pond.

tiger. 12/16/24

perfect place

I want to go where it's 75 degrees year round.

Where the rain steams up when it hits the ground.

The chickens laugh in their run every morning.

They're never sick. They don't stay in.

We bring the kittens to everything.

I want to wear short, short skirts and my wedding ring.

tiger. 3/25/23

HOUSE POEM

I MISS WHEN WE MADE STOVES IN PINK!

AVOCADO FRIDGE! MINT GREEN SINK!

INDUSTRIAL? WHITE GREY STEEL?

ID RATHER HAVE, THE BRIGHT BLUE BATH!

LETS HAVE FUN IN 2021!

tiger. 1/31/21

Tangle Strut (A Theme for Tangerine)

me tangle strut!

me tangle strut out the cage!

me see the puff!

give tangle puff or i'll rage!

good girl tangle.

i'll give you treats, if you do tricks.

me tangle spin!

me tangle stand and spin and do backflips!

now give din din

veggies and cardboard with

applesauce.

wake up and stretch!

it is now tangle strut time!

me spend all night

waiting for yous to climb up

out of that bed.

i love u my sweet tangerine.

looking at yous

is more fun than tearing up paper things.

me rip and bite

me really love to shred

paper towels and cardboard all night.

tiger. 11/28/20

HAGFISH TATTOO WORDING IDEAS

slime is sublime

jawless and flawless

mucus Confucius

slimy Aphrodite 

no spine still fine

no spine valentine

tiger. 11/28/19

ghdfd

Chasing the feeling I had when younger.

We nearly all have that sick hunger.

The old favorite song, the worn fantasy,

Growing bored with tired depravity.

One last touch before it's retired.

We all want to be desired.

tiger. 9/19/21

Gratiarum Actio

My blood peculiar

and my heart in my back,

I carve burrows and wait.

Shaky staccato singing,

serenade innate.

What cruel God would

this chorus coerce?

I am your curse.

tiger. ??/??/?? (circa 2020-21)

Sweat Bees

August slipped past, a happy fuzzy dream,

Clinging to my tongue like coffee and cream.

I sit out on the porch in the morning peace.

Watching wasps, flies, and little sweat bees.

The air is thick like rotten honey melon.

The glazed-over eye watching everyone-

Remembering nothing, she cares not for me-

The sweeping blind eye that we named the sun.

She cares not if I'm present, my mortality-

So let me sit in her gaze whilst I grieve

For the wasps, the flies, the dancing sweat bees.

Fruit flies fly too close and melt in my mug.

I use my sugar spoon to lift out the bugs.

How can summer be anything but temporary?

Soon they'll all fall asleep, those iridescent green

Little dancing women, the sweet sweat bees.

tiger. 8/29/21

untitled (isaac)

He says, tell me, please -

How are the bees?

How many did you see?

Did you notice any queens?

Did you count the species?

In his mind, there is an apiary:

He fills it full with bees and me.

tiger. 9/6/22