PAD Chapbook Day 22

At 7AM the hollow door wood reverberation sounded different
and holey-bat-tights it was! Knuckles at the end of a friendly fist
accosted my door, and the person at the end of the arm was for me.

At 530PM three additional knocks were again for me!
What shift in the earth's rotation has allowed gravity to shift
and caused these people to drift ever so slightly over to my door?


PAD Chapbook Day 16
If there is a knock at the door, It usually isn't for me

Two doors painted the same blue as the blue in Chevron gas station signs
Separated by three feet of wall and insulation
Two chiral apartments constructed resembling two hands unclasped
and unfolding with thumbs as front doors, and wrist as second means of egress
So when three knocks reverberate through hard wood and disrupt the air
in my apartment, I don't bother opening the front door because
it probably isn't for me.


PAD Chapbook Day 12

If I squint sometimes it looks like Margaret Thatcher's shadow
Escaped from her like Peter Pan's escaped from him
But it decided to hide out on the edge of my shirt
And unfortunately the heat from the dryer melded it to t-shirt fibers

There were other shirts and several pairs of black pants
Tattooed with smears from an ink pen left by my son
along with nails, pencils, cast iron toy cars with rubber wheels
I kept everything that was black, and, of course, I kept Meg
But I tossed out the teal blue hoodie with blobs and strings
of ink hideously unfashionably dribbled everywhere.


PAD Chapbook Day 11

Droplets fall, two hydrogens, arms hooked on either side of oxygen
Atomic iridescent beads, diffuse between earth's loamy dark skin
Aggregate on the arborated dendrites, typically labeled trees
Puddle and trickle down, saturate weather chapped bark
Join internal rivers that course through trunk portals
Spread and leak out into soil sinuses around open terminal ends


PAD Chapbook Day 9


They are all there
even though logically they cannot afford the airfare

My day with them switches from one YouTube video to the next
Different camera angles and lighting make little sense

There are subliminal messages imbedded in my dreams
The government might have outlawed them in 1958
but my dreams still have them

Frightning flashes
Thunderbolts of things that I need to know for the next exam
My eyes try to focus and register
Try to burn them into my brain
Grasp hold, make sense, and test myself on these virtual things
I imagine that I see patterns
And maybe my brain secretly does
but the waking me is oblivious to them...

I try to hold myself under the dark waters of sleep
Sometimes it is easy because I dive into thick oceans
Most times it's impossible to remain cocooned in puddles
I wake up confused, disturbed and alone with insomnia...


PAD Chapbook Day 8


Sticky white rubber separates from sticky white rubber
Ziplock bag technology applied around square refrigerator
door edges, contains and sequesters cold air
but not as well as 14-3-3 (because I still get a bill)
Disruptive sound waves created by unstuck rubber
Makes me salivate almost as much as Pavlov's dogs

Sultry produce bags drape over stainless steel metal grill shelves
Crenating tomato silhouettes visible through painted logos
Boxes of milk, garlic, cheese with various slices hacked off
Mayonnaise, ketchup, soysauce, mustard, and salsa
mill about on door shelf balconies and discuss the recent election
Antisocial butter hides out in a domed opaque room


PAD Chapbook Day 7


Tangerine plasma unzipped the atmosphere
Sonic booms pealed, announced our heroine's arrival
Respectfully trailed her, crashed cymbals

She arrived on a Thursday, fuschia mane
brown skin and deep brown eyes
She was hungry when she arrived.


I am Me
by zoEy Benally

The pictures we looked at last week
Yanked from the furthest bottom drawer folder
File labeled "Potential Wealth"
Harbored many flavors and incarnations
Of all the Me-s I had entertained over the decade

And there I was
...Was with my jet black from a box
...Was with my spikey wax
...Was with my splash of pink
...Was with my Navajo blonde
...Was with my long, limp hair
And here I am now with my non-descript,
haven't found a stylist
remnants of something once cool,
Looking at these pictures with you.

For me the pictures capture, not only
surface aesthetics, but also clues
Subtle tells about who I was
When my hair was this way or that
Minuscule hints that help me remember
Lands traversed, trails hacked through
with mental machetes
Rubber shoe stamps ground into
dark leaves, forest floor berber

Two weeks ago a bumbling, bitter old twit
Accused me of morphing into crusty bread
Tried to twist words from messengers and philosophers
Spin words from minds galactic-ly greater
than his decades alcohol dessicated neurons to indict me
Worm his demented musings
and drowning man flailings
personal failings
into judge and jury against me
tried to blame me for his sins

Picture after picture
I searched
I scanned
I caught no glimpse
No crumbs hastily dropped
From this alleged day old bread incarnation
I was me then.
I am me now.


Ungreased skids

Glitter-less fairies
Tromping about in muddy clogs
Bleeding clumps of dried dirt
All over new carpet
Clay and sand dislodge
Snuggle down between acrylic threads

Green room knob spasmed shut
Overcome with renovations
Curtains conceal mysterious boxes
And not a warm embrace and fuzzy boa
Perpetually present folding chairs
Curious forest podium to hide behind

Nervous smiles over car hoods
Crooked hugs just before exits
Almost hand shakes
Partial recognition
Slight recollection
Missing friends, a different kind of circle



He does his shopping
at the Humane Society Thrift store
across four lanes of traffic
just to the south
Believes--to the point
of strutting the strut--in
reduce, reuse, recycle

Re-wears gently used fibers
Blesses them with trips
and they are surprised to see
the enamel coated metal dots
of laundromat washers
and dryers again

Secretly--just between you & me
--he shops there and
relishes the opportunity to provide
daily panoramas of several generations
dabbles in decades of fashion
dribble and splash clothes
acrylic paint across
the canvas of today & tomorrow & yesterday

He has a particular passion for bridging
generation fissures
spawns understanding between
wardrobes of grandfathers and great-grandchildren
Affords 3-D displays of family harmony

He revels in the juxtaposition
of polyester disco flares and cotton-rayon blend
Wrangler snap-down shirts
emblazoned with tubular piping
tied up with flower embroidery

He does his shopping
at the Salvation Army Thrift store
a couple of blocks down
and a pair of blocks over

Breathes to bestow new life
to blanched fad remnants
Decodes fresh definitions and purpose
for 1980's day-glo
Deciphers modern inspiration
for fish net sleeves
no longer abandoned
in cardboard boxes

He re-tools fashion
from ancient cache
unearthed from rack
and stack recesses

He conceives freedom
from capitalist tyranny and oppression
at the ARC Thrift store
across from the old library
Freedom imbued in ensembles unfettered
by iron corsets of the fashion industry

Takes ideas born from artistic
neurons, but packaged and shellacked
by money magnet gloss
Dissolved all the lemming residue
Kick starts the artist's heart
embedded in the cut, design
thread iotas stitching puzzle
pieces together

He supports the local economy
by buying and wearing out
an arsenal of pants
purchased at various flea markets
polka-dotting the globe

Sharp trench coat, reminiscent of Blade
paid for in Tuba City
Phat boots ransomed for two dollars
from a pick-up parked in Sheepsprings
Hats, gloves, scarves, and wool vests
gleaned from previously harvested fields

He does his shopping at places
OTHER than the mall


What the Trash Can Says...

My molecules were chosen for this occupation
I'm not sure why
What kismet steered the cosmos
stars to swirl and converge
on a configuration that would allow
my metal atoms to be forged into
a trash can
rather than a sword, scalpel,
or even scissors.

But I am resigned to this fate
and I allow custodial personnel
to line my innards with plastic
clear or black
scented and sometimes not
thin polymer finer than silk.

Banana peels, crumpled paper, dirt
unrecycled cans, and even vomit
I contain these substances

Prevent mayhem from spiraling
into corners, clotting in crevices,
smearing open spaces
creating unsanitary conditions
and food for rats.


Things I Learned Last Week

Yesterday slipped into the--last week box
for me once my eyes shut
and consciousness was covered by
the thick down comforter of sleep

Yesterday I learned that the road
from Burnham to Huerfano forks
into paved N5 and an anonymous,
but signed--graded generous dirt road

Tuesday I learned that water drips
from ceilings in all towns
no matter what the LAT/LONG
I expect to discover that
George Bush puts buckets under drips
and has to dump 5 gallons of rain
filtered through ceiling and insulation
onto expensive manicured lawns

Monday I learned that Big Foot
left muddy prints in my yard
Yeti broke boobie-traps I set
for him/her
Sasquatch is not disturbed by fishing
line and aluminum cans

Sunday was a standard learning day
filled with heart muscles, blood
vessels, and circulation facts
Arteries carry away from heart
Veins bring to heart
I expect exes travel arteries
and everyone else traverses veins

Saturday I learned that dryers
can be abandoned almost instantaneously
at laundromats, and not all hope
is lost if the parking lot is full
with vehicles of slackers
washing filthy clothes together.

Thanks to Kimberlie W. for the inspiration for this.