You, And the rest

You only come when you're called
Have you noticed?

You burn hot like a poison cheetoh when you hear your name

Or if you catch a sideways glance

a whisper

a subtle gesture

a word

that’s when you’re at your best

You come running 

with "pick me" energy 

and all the ear candy a girl can stand

nothing is off limits

everything is good

Oh boi

it pricked once - 

watching you choose others

heavy with excuses

You loved me so and forever. 

You said.

So why is it

you needed a golden engraved invitation, 

sirens and trumpets and fanfare,

To express this love? 

Crickets sang me to sleep every night

unless I sleptwalked into your DMs.

(Aren’t you even a little embarassed? I know I am.)

Go on and bury that bone in whatever yard is furthest from mine.

You tell on yourself so much that I grow old now, boi.

Lately, I sip tea on the porch and predict your fate.

You’ll be fine. That's the annoying part. 

Old dogs don’t learn new tricks.

But, my dear,  

bitches bite.

Scabs

Scabs I
-C. Castro

Scabs I pick at include:

The ones on my head
especially the ones that come out with a hair in the bullseye
which always causes me to look over my shoulder.

The one from the curling iron burn
because it's taking too long to heal and
the crust wants help

The one on my knee that's technically a rug burn
That when I flick at the dead dark skin
I always grin because I know and
now you know too

The one from the popped pimple on my back that I secretly fear may be 

the beginning of my slow death

The one from my elbow where I fell and got back up
I do not recall the falling or the why
Only that my elbow hurt for weeks
And the skin was so thick
So much thicker than a regular scab
I removed it repeatedly for weeks
Then one day - poof -
my normal every day elbow

Of all my most unseemly compulsions,
there is always you
a little patch of heart sore
nearly healed then newly scratched-
a stigmata of love.

Two headed witch

 🧙🧙‍♂️

I like when the two headed witch smiles at me, 

she thinks I don't know 

he questions if I do

I like when the two headed witch smiles at me 

with her face held taught, 

and his eyes all blank 

and his eyebrows raised 

always in deception 

I like when the two headed witch smiles at me 

believing she has tricked me into seeing her form 

as she she shifts from her demon to his human form

I like when the two headed witch smiles at me 

it always confirms what I already know 

that they walk among us 

they always have.

Hidden Heart

 Somewhere in that menagerie of keepsakes

between that rock you thought didn't belong down by the Native brook

because you said it belonged in salt water,

with confidence, 

because growing up by the ocean has turned you into a marine geologist

So you put it in the drawer with the broken arrow and the blue beetle and a hair tie you got from that little girl who grew up so fast that the hair tie is one thing she may still need from you

and the broken sea glass

and the splintered pencils

and string 

and toothpicks

and the gum wrapper from the day those  braces came off

In that drawer with no inventory, 

no index, no labels 

just a lot of sand and dirt

hiding behind a black treasure-

you know and I know it-

is where you left your heart

one summer day when you could no longer stand to feel it beating inside you 

from all the hurt 

So you tattooed it onto your back where you could forget it

So it could live in a place where memory does not thrive 

It's in that drawer, _______.

You know it and I know it.

when will you reach for it?

11/19/2023

(written for... you know who you are)

Saturday Night Retrospective

He was unto a Golden God 
at a time when everyone sought High Vibes
At a time when America was fun. 
When I was too young to understand the
naughty 
raunchy
bawdiness of it all,
but old enough to be there.
Old enough to witness the gyrating, 
the laughter, the sweatiness, the tight pant,
the way
everyone
               glistened.

Then America - that America 

was confident, boisterous 
revelling in polyester pants. 
And this beautiful man:
he was It. he was All.
he was a spinning top 
beautiful supernova.
The best part of being an American male.
A movie icon.
He embodied in one dance an entire feel-good summer for a generation. 
And now when he flickers onto my screen
I wonder 
“where did all that go?”
Corporations got greedy 
the people were needy.
That boy is older now, and he too, 
can see, 
the loss of that time.
When America, on a Saturday night,
was everything 
Running around and looking good
Feeling good and being free.
A time when you could sparkle without fear to weigh you down 
A time when Saturday night was for showing off
For laughing too hard and coming home late 
He reminds me
When Saturday night was for dancing. 

The vampire weeps

 If I said I am dying to drink from your fountain

would you slice yourself open for my benefit

oozing like a ruby red grapefruit?

would you shed each drop in an arioso of charming crescendos upon the xylophone that is the foyer travertine?

would you crawl to my waiting stiletto in supplication or 

resignation

or something else?

Looking like desire but smelling of desperation?

would you?

would you be silent knowing there is no plea to reverse your fate?

tell me, 

compass-less lover,

would you comprehend why you surrendered?

If I said I was dying to drink from your fountain 

I'd be a liar.

the vampire 

waits.

Death of Love

Giving up on love changes you
It slows you down
Even your pulse 

Bodily functions turn against you
Especially your digestion
Weight sees no reason to burn
Nothing burns,
Especially not your imagination,
Which used to run ahead like a child 
At a feverish pace
Gathering fancy frocks and bright lipsticks
To be the prettiest at the daydream
Your eyes even become fixed
A steady sage stare
Especially good for discerning the things you'd missed all those years
The way the crickets have multiplied
The starlings are disturbed by the weather
The way the house creaks and cracks like a splintered ship run aground
The books you can now focus on

Your thoughts plucking words like flowers to adorn your dreams

A wreath of sonnets and novels

An Easter bonnet of tales

For the long dark hours 

Especially for the way your body wants only rest. 

So tired now 

So utterly tired.

Modern Medicine

My doctor today said my blood pressure is a bit high

to which I say how could it not be?

The vine which has been growing from my intestines 

is crushing my chest with a bowline knot around my heart

clogging the well which used to send a river to my dry achy eyes

while thorns and worms wrap round

the hyoglossus of my throat

suppressing my tongue so nothing can escape

no words

and definitely not a scream

definitely not a cry or a shriek or

a shrill sharp edged syllable knife of stabbing pain

where my Adam's apple might have been if life were fair but

definitely not that 

all systems are on lockdown 

my soul even is trapped in this prison.

 so my doctor

with her years of knowledge 

and 

 papers 

she says my blood pressure is up 

as if this is news to me

with no response at all

I wonder at what point the vine will shoot straight up out of my head 

breaking open my honeycomb skull 

and then,

will the pressure be released?

3/3/2022

 

I can do that too

When do I start caring
That your greed knows no bounds?
I transmute it into my own greed
Which I keep secret
So I seem satisfied with
            that thimble you call sustenance
Growing your ego, I know
This is an impertinence I leave for you
While I fold my knees
Demurely smiling

Disappointed

I will outgrow
Outlive
Outrun
This sadness
This loss of sweetness
Which you offered and rescinded
Offered then regretted
Quietly suffering your loves
Such man woes
Too many kisses
Too many breasts to lay your head upon
So many welcoming arms
And mouths
The one you pined for
The one you ran from the second you'd had your fill
(Who got the best part of that deal?)
Tu tienes la cara dura
De ahora decir que
Era demasiado
It was too much?
You had no right to be the one who calls the shots.
You had no right to decide when enough is enough.
You had the sweet side of this deal.
My rage is well merited, you sorry man.
I loved you even in your pathetic weakness
Your constant reminders that I was last on your list.
I swallowed that bitter pill whole.
And still... It was too much?
You retreated into your safe nest
Taking your love with you...
Leaving me raw
Leaving me lost
Empty
Fragile
Unchosen
Missing you
Despite your unworthiness

Three Ways to Love You

Three Ways to Love You

I.

I will eat away your guilt

I will swallow all your lies

I will fortify your house of cards

I will help you justify

Help you live inside this madness

Help you swim aside these sharks

I will love you

I will love you

I will love you 

                in the dark

II.

I will lick the poison from your brow

Swallow it back with relish from your eyes

Crack my melon head ripe open

For your tongue to flick the dark seeded

Carcinomas of fractured logic and rotting thought

In a frenzied dance of mangled limbs

We will bleach each other

Shiny and new

III.

We will lie exhausted on the burning sand

Awash of our guilt

Unwilling to stand

Wearing cagey prison smiles

Knees to Knees 

Eyes to Eyes

Heart to Heart

A newly born Siamese star

Some galaxy beyond

A sentient year behind us

Fragile this fleshy bond, yet

I have loved you

I have loved you

I have loved you

                    from the start

Pegged

Man servant boy

Your wife is mean
It's why you're so lean
You "deserved" her betrayal
And with your approval
You sanctioned her deception.
Now you're paying to keep her.
You're her life's perfection.

Oh boy,
You make me sad.

Your wife has you pegged
I mean, in every way.
Bend over and take it
Lazy selfish whiny bitch
The wincing is a turn on
The sting is such a burn on
Her pleasure is your pain

Your wife knows to be sweet
The carrot, not only the stick
You melt on cue
You pay your due
Manipulation 101
You are her favorite toy
Wash, rinse, repeat

You're sad to me,
Oh boy
You're dead to me,
Enjoy

Ocean Cleanse

There's misery at the bottom of the ocean
There's misery at the bottom of the sea
Yet each time I feel my sadness
I dive down underneath
Each time I seek to mitigate this loneliness
Each time I seek that soothing company
All I find whenever I go swimming
Is salt and water my lungs can't breathe
Yet I plunge myself into the choppy waters
I fling my body off rocks and floating debris
Directly into the currents
That threaten to disappear me
There's comfort in breathing the water
Find peace gagging on the seaweed
I welcome the watery depths
That will cleanse me of your memory.

Love Hobos (the Real)

My dirty dirty heart
Keeps watch under the bridge
Waiting for things that don't belong to us, but,
Feeling entitled anyhow.
Because you bring the things.
You smuggle them
right to my feet
to my hands
to my heart
to my mouth
all the things I shouldn't take
the things you shouldn't give.
We, greedy, life-is-short and
sweetness is here.
Now.
We, thieves in passion.
We,
(there is a we). We,
who have snatched a place to put our things
here, under the bridge.

In my travels
With my dirty dirty feet
Shredded nails
Aching arms
Head like a Jack-o-Lantern,
     bruised piñata for a heart.
You walked beside me
taking me in with your eyes
blinded by the sun in my hair, and...
(I saw it before you did)
Silently you pledged to bring me things I needed:
The bits of you that were rattling around in the hollows of your eyes
In return for the pieces of me that were bleeding out into the sand.
Your touch would stop the bleeding
My eyes would see through the places others missed.
Thus, in our unspoken contract
You bring me morsels, which we both devour
To sustain us
Greedily, without remorse.

We, the love hobos,
Surviving on each other
Will breathe for one another
Unapologetically
Between heart beats.

Te me estás saliendo

Te quise
Pero ya no puedo
Estoy como la que ha comido mucho helado
Me duele el estómago
Quien me manda?
Se me hiela la cabeza
Tengo náuseas

Te quise
con dos manos llenas
Pero de qué?
Primero de pétalos
Después pollitos suaves
Entonces aves blancas
Luego arañas
Serpientes
Venenosas
Hormigas picantes
Clavos sangrientes
Aceite hirviendo
No me quedan más que los huesos con que quererte
Y esos no sienten ya.

Te quise
Pero me heriste y
Ni cuenta te diste
Cómo mala fruta
Que empalaga
Cuanto buena sabía
Ahora se me está saliendo
No vuelvo a probar.

The Rot...

I don't know why but I felt this one in Spanish... May lose some of its music in the translation... Translation below the Spanish. 

Todo en el mundo se va pudriendo

No se escapa

Ni la mosca ni el árbol

Ni las montañas

Solo que el tiempo de pudrirse puede ser corto 

O casi sin medida

Pero en esta naturaleza

Todo llega a pudrirse

Hasta el amor

Que florece con belleza

Y, un día, sin darnos cuenta,

         Comienza.

Los besos se vuelven débiles

Sin fuerza del alma

El sexo, si existe, es como una máquina

Que se prende y anda sola

Y sabe cuándo acabar

Y te miras en un espejo y vez

Tu cara que brillaba

Le falta illuminacion

Y así se va...

Poco a poco

Machitando

Hasta que un día

Buscas por toda la casa

En el safacón

En el baño

Debajo de la cama

En el ropero

De dónde viene?

Ese olor tan acrido y pungente?

Se te abren los ojos y caes en el sillón

Boca abierta

Somos nosotros

Nos hemos podrido

Y ahora 

Que?

           A cerrar los ojos 

     y a olvidar.

------------------------------

Everything in the world succumbs to rot

Nothing escapes

Not the fly nor the tree

Nor the mountains

It is only that the time to rot might be short

Or immeasurable

But in this nature 

Everything will rot

Even love

Which flowers with beauty

And, one day, without our notice

       Begins.

Kisses grow weak

Without any soul behind them

Lovemaking, if at all, is a machine

You turn it in and it goes

It knows when to stop 

And you catch yourself in a mirror and see

Your face once bright

Is no longer lit

And so it goes...

Little by little

Fading

Until one day

You look through the whole house

The garbage can

The bathroom

Under the bed

The closet

Where is it coming from?

That acrid and pungent smell?

Your eyes grow wide and you fall into a chair

Mouth agape

It's us.

We are rotted.

And now

What?

       To shut our eyes

    And begin to forget.

------------------
   

Love Hobo

Blooming cherry trees adorn the river
A holly bush houses interesting guests
Outside, a warm breeze shakes clouds of dust
Into a swirl

Balloons of plastic bags float above
A celebration of city refuse.
Not-so-still life in the trailer park
Beneath the bridge.

Strawberries discovered outside the shanty house

Are softly whisked away by a delicate hand. 
They disappear behind cardboard.

The city alive with blaring music from cars
Coming from the lower deck of the bridge.
Summer, when the city is most filled with hope and energy

But the smell of decay and rot is the strongest.
Here by the river, 
Ice cream offerings bring a kind of peace.
The holly bush lady smiles 
A Buddha smile.

Coolness arrives in reds and oranges 
Whose reflection along the nearly still water
Are like Van Gogh and Manet
Wavy waterlike trees, or treelike water,
Either way, the view is priceless
And the sweet lady sings,

“I left to follow love 
and this is where I'll stay.”

The lady of the holly bush rejoices at her fate.

Now the city has turned grey
As if life has passed it by.
The dirty river iced
The trees a white delight.
The lady sits in residence inside her holly hut.
She has herself some company
And they're huddled under coats.
An impossibly large blanket is covering them both.
They sit with foreheads touching
Looking comfy as can be,
and the lady smiles aside and says to gawking me,
"I am a love hobo, darling."
And with that she nestles her head
into her bearded love.
My lonely heart and I walk back
Smiling, a thing with wings.

Bandaid 2

my life's a mummy
maybe yours is too
but my mummy beats your mummy
it's bigger and scarier
most of the bandages are falling off
some are so old they're black
you'd never know they were ever white
many of the bandages are oozing blood
a couple are freely bleeding through like waterfalls of cranberry juice
if cranberry juice fell from a waterfall
(this thought comforts me at least a little)
the free bleeding bandages are the worse
then there are the tiny ones that were supposed to only stay a short while
they were covering teeny scratches that started to deepen
and now they are wells of tissue deep to the bone
covered by tiny little baby bandaids
(this would be laughable if the wounds weren't festering)
my mummy sings though
it sings to forget that it lives
it lives, my mummy (a kind of life)
bandages are all that keep it going
do not look upon it in daylight
your eyes will need bandaging too
and why should you suffer my fate? 

Surrender

Today I surrender.
To what has been calling to me since yesterday.
Gravity too heavy on my shoulders.
Knees too weak. Feet of gelatin.
Head like a boulder.
I surrender, floor.
You have me, all of me.
I belong to you and the dust mites and the creepy crawly things,
To the grain of wood that will soon be embedded in my skin.
I belong to you and your cold cold embrace.
May you not lose the strength to hold me up
As my salty corrosive tears drench your planks.
Soggy like an old ship's deck.
If you fail, we fall together.
You and I, dear floor.
Right down to the basement.
There we can surrender to the cement.
It will take considerably more tears to soften it.
I believe we can lie there peacefully as long as we like.

When things fade...

It's the day after Christmas. This year I felt oddly Christmas-y. The past few years I've not felt the spirit at all. But this year I put up a tree and a couple of wreaths and some lights. I wrapped gifts with gusto and even listened to some Christmas music of my own free will (jazzy Xmas). I enjoyed my friends, I appreciated my husband despite his bah-humbug attitude and I loved my family for being. I even didn't dwell on the fact that I really am not making enough money doing what I do and that my "career" really is a glorified hobby if you look at it on paper. Truth be told, I feel like I've wasted my life away and have very little of monetary value to show for it. My husband is talking about early retirement and says I'll have to start making more money and I'm terrified because I don't see how I'm going to do that. Yet... I have this odd sense of well being. I ask myself why.

I fell in love again - with life. I decided that life is too short to spend it agonizing about the things that aren't, the things that should be, the things that should have been, the way things were supposed to turn out... what a waste of energy. You just do. It may sound like an oversimplification or even irresponsible. But I don't want to spend my last good 10-15 years not enjoying myself. Yes, I'm now of an age where I know my body maybe only have another 10 or 15 years left of health and vitality. Who knows? Maybe I don't even have that much time left? Maybe I'm a ticking time bomb and time has started to count down quickly unbeknownst to me? I just don't want to spend whatever time I may have left being sad about the things that aren't.

So I took stock of some relationships that aren't being properly nurtured, through no faulty of my own. I made the decision to stop being sad that this person or that person isn't making more of an effort to be present in my life. If they can't see the value of keeping up the relationship then I need to focus on the people in my life who are actually making an effort. And I need to decide who I want to spend time with. Who are the people who fill me with joy and a sense of peace and well being? I need to be clear about who those people are and then I need to nurture those connections. I will stop twisting myself into a pretzel trying to make sense of people whose actions do not match their words. If you're not present, you're not present.

I will also spend more time in places that make me feel happy. My surroundings have always mattered to me. I feel calmer and more peaceful when I'm surrounded by beautiful. And it doesn't need to be much. It could be the one clematis I planted in the backyard or it could be the bed being made up and being neat for once. It could be me sitting on a rock in a park staring at the trees on a fall day. Or watching the waves touch sand while I read on the beach. It might even be me curled up in my favorite chair with a good book. Whatever it is on a given day, I resolve to really enjoy it.

So I say good-bye to the things that I have allowed to torment me. The people I have let zap my energy and steal my sleep. I will let those things go. They're already fading quickly behind me. I see road before me. Some of the terrain will be rocky and perilous, but the light is ahead of me leading the way. What's behind me is already fading. Fading into the dark.