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If I were to die I'd be happy but maybe...I'd be sad because I couldn't get the word out that I'd put the white flag up for all the times I hadn't said the pledge of allegiance and had said stop believing in Jesus, pick up a pen and write.

If I were to die I'd want to be flown to Scotland and put somewhere where the sun touches the water and there were no bombs and people would read this, come visit me, and point.

If I were to die without hydration I would be sad that I had stopped empty handed when freedom places the power to shape my life into my own hands.

If I were to die a patriot it would help everyone by showing them that when the sun rises and the bugle wakes you up you are proud to be working for something bigger than yourself--even when you're not sure what that bigger thing is or if you really believe in it.

If I were to die I would feel cut off from a chance at finding that person and the ring, being an and and getting a house, a home, a space. He'd have been a Capricorn.

If I were to die I'd want to talk some bull so I'd find a phone to call and would ask someone about Stonehenge, feelings, and promise to give up suffering and smile.

If I were to die I would call you twice and offer you my hand anytime anywhere, pledge it for the good times, the sunshine, and for the worst.

But I ignored all the writing so I don't know how to end, but I'm pretty sure that if I were to die I'd just turn into a flower and I would paint my emotions with petals pulled off my stalk by a little girl's fingers.

Update

Anything posted from 5/5/06 is a product of my semester-long poetry course that I took during second semester my junior year. There are a few other posts from summer and fall of senior year ('06-'07) and the ones which will preceed this message should be timestamped correctly.

tastes good.

Sometimes we don't realize how trapped in a male-created society we are--and we think it will be so easy to get out--but then we remember that what we are writing--we are doing so with a pen--a definite phallic symbol, perched indefinitely on a Lolita's cherry lacquered lips.

brautigan series two

ping pong
is kind of a metaphor for life
batting a ball back and forth
amongst ourselves.

. . . . . . . . . .

once you've been a two, a between, an us, a pair...
there is no going back

when you wake up alone
you don't get to make anyone else eggs.

. . . . . . . . . .

a letter looks the same
written at 2:00 AM or PM
but a cell phone call
is decidedly different.
The rapid rate of ascension
is weakening the American family,
nuclear and otherwise.

brautigan series one

One the opposite page
from something profound
half lackluster words
can lose all their momentum.

...............

My too-tight skirt smelled
like Brunswick stew
and my life was in one
large, shattering piece.

...............

Pristine pages make turning the page hard.
A crips clean fresh life needs help breaking into the game from time to time.
We can't see it until it hits us behind,
but we keep running forward.

...............

It's never what any one given memory or experience "was"...
it's what it will continue to be and do throughout the course of our much longer lives.

acid series

everything is
green red blue
yellow
Sorry, I can't do that I'm wearing fur and holding a cigarette instead of your hand.

. . . . .

That tree is really yellow
and there are stupid girls behind it.
You are here and I am done.

. . . . .

We look like drag queens.
Your face is turning blue and I am purple
drinking the color
and our hands fold
around whole.

. . . . .

The door shut and I watch Electric Ladyland
stroll through the gardens in our shadows.