uncontrollable, but in canonical form

It's blank.  

For the first time in a while 

I remembered to check that page, 

and it's blank again.  How did this happen?  

I was waiting and hoping that you couldn't come back.  

But damn you, you stupid thoughts, 

you have escaped that page on which 

I scribbled you in that nook of my brain 

where I keep things to forget about.  Now, 

instead of being solidly attached to 

words and ink and reality on a piece of paper to 

ignore, you are wandering around in my head, 

so that if I am careless, 

I bump into you and you make me stumble.  

Why couldn't you stay anchored back there 

with the memory of my first 

embarrassing moment in second grade 

when I mistook a friend for someone else?  

Instead I am forced to run from you 

cowering, afraid of falling over you, 

you stupid thoughts.  

Today I guess I kept running until I was the one 

in the closet with the door closed, not you.  I run 

because I cannot fight, but I hate being 

caged in here, afraid to come out unless I run 

haphazardly, jumping over obstacles and 

throwing sheets over everything that moves.  

Actually talking

Like silk and soft cliches, these roses dance
Right here, on this train to San Antonio
They laugh about mundane delays,
Wrought-iron tracks, reports on weather
Slow days instead take on their scent
Time in arms
Plied with color, rejecting cold
Warm and free and so cocooned
Arrival evokes no excitement
No apathy, no thought
All is melted, faded, a watermark
Except this focal moment of jade-free cavorting
On our way to Texas through this smooth pillow of a night

Defenseless

In you I am cocooned, adorned
Obligingly transformed
Someone else, or no one else
Possesses my ripped body

You will share this in the air
So all can see my healing stare
For at a glance I am undamaged
And your appearance must be salvaged

A choice and a god-given voice
Left me on this parapet,
Lost without a bayonet
Stuck in your history

Lonely yet determined, like a good girl,
unabashed; I washed, I scoured,
I pretended and you watched instead
Once a month, as promised

It's a mean one, this endeavor
Continued all alone forever
Whisking through just for your ending
And still loathed without your blessing

I will run again and soon
You must suspect I needed room
Not in pleasure, now in terror
Unwittingly consumed

Fuck! I must be a dictionary.

It is happening again. I have this desire for words now, but no words come out. Well, yes they do.
Words about circuits
and words about algorithms
and words about chemistry
and words about water
and words about waste
and words about history
and words about politics
and words about babies
and words about friends
but they are all scientific.

No words about feelings or papercuts or the sad smell of bread.
And no, worst of all, no words about color.
No words about passion, only stark definition.
Some gestures perhaps, but even they are deceiving with specific drab meanings.

My wrists are the same width as my hands and that could be nice, because they fit in your hands. But all I can think of as I display them before me is

What homeotic gene was expressed at my raving conception that might give this me this specimen?

I missed it right now. I want words to lack meaning.

A monochromatic three weeks

Three weeks of intense
Incense
Words make no sense
Immense
Bodies encased in cement
Ease into the silence

Then CRACK!
Two colors commence

Terrible poems I wrote in five minutes each on October 13

Puce

Slow, light, interred
She slips in and out of vision
A room, with curtains, a hint of cinnamon
Then loss, haze, heat behind eyes
Rage-worn weakness
A hand, full of the life blood
Her body so needs
Rest, it says, as it moves toward her
Mouth, though she is sure she lacks
The strength to scream
Slowly, with the euphoria that comes with
A final relaxation
She rolls back and allows
The haze, the cinnamon, the heat, the death
Engulf her soul

Machines

crank. crank. crank.
like bones in my wake
as I walk through this deserted party
noise, noise and mechanical laughter
of which I will never be a part
none of my days matter, for theirs
are eternal until they break and I
fulfill my duties and fix them
I live for their immortality
and then I live to die
an axe at the door behind glass for fire
I smash it, yelling, grab the handle
hurl it at the metallic faceless
nightmare that surrounds me
the blade clangs off and echoes, merging
with that eternal crank. crank. crank.

convulsing, i weep