Hobo's Poems

What happened? How do you cut someone out of your life completely? No answer to specific questions- No response to I miss you- It's like you vanished from our world Stranger Things Are you in the upside down? Where did you go?

Discover Weekly Necessary Genius Redeye Flight. Passenger likely drunk She is sleeping now. Cold air keeps me awake. Landing Intensity Crash we might. Body propelled forward Through windshield There is none. Allow me to be swept away. It's a few minutes of imagining. I know I will be on the ground soon. Through a vortex I fly I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead. I'm coming To the other world You are on the other side.

Made for you, like you, my mother. Made to be of service through my voice, my expression, my passion. Made for you, we learned to sustain love thrive through loss, reach the deepest knowing of self. I watched you discover your personal beauty, through poetry presentations your clothing choices what to wear today, totem color chakras, you brought out your inner rainbow. I was made for you to be here and behold beauty and love from the very beginning. Since my birth, I saw your delivery of gusto in daily movement across sidewalks to classrooms. I witnessed your passionate voice the comfort in being near you in your work as a teacher performer, artist mother, wife. I was made for you to learn and at the same time thrive in my own garden beside yours. Made for you, I feel you encourage my beauty, my quiet curious desire to mingle and know more, to reach the top of the mountain. I travel at home inside my apartment inside my town my community ...

The fingers  over my  bare skin or gently on top of  light jacket in spring, I miss that pressure  on my arm  that physicality  of my day.

I needed this  face to face time with you. I needed this  jumping from topics  people from our past lives, memories of our  high school crushes,  discussion of our life  changing  loss. I needed this  face to face embrace,  our hearts, the sound of our laughter one. Letting loose, letting go, witness of  our present bodies. The support, seeing you in the audience Changing Hands, connected. Thank you for hearing me, Kira Dawn.

She lived free.  She could see me. She was blind. I live free. We communicate still. Physical loss stings. She lived with blindness of eyes. I live with her Body isn't here. 

Dear Mom & Dad, I'm flying to Phoenix on Friday. I'm going to be the featured poet at a bookstore in Tempe. Ah!!! I emailed two book stores and one responded right away. Of course, I had to seize the moment! I'll get to read for 25 minutes. Copies of my book will be for sale. I mailed them 15 copies that are in their store now. I'll take some more in my turquoise carry-on bag. Woohoo!  Maybe I'll sell some, sign some. Will people be there? Will there be a big open mic? Will it be like events I've attended in NYC? We shall see what happens!  I think I'm going to wear black leggings, my Marilyn Monroe tank and a black blazer over the top. Mom, remember the coral necklace you picked out at the Christmas tents in Union Square? That looks awesome next to the black on black and Marilyn's bold red lips. Perfecto! Of course, I'll wear our signature turquoise bracelet. I like to wear the  "Daughter" Alex n Ani silver bracelet Carmela &...

A few months to create this our collection, Celebrating Sound. patience with myself for no knowledge, no workbook of how to do this. Fear in fingers, Fear in sitting still, Fear to decide, Fear to get critiqued. This is my manuscript my rough draft to the world. I know how to do THIS. I AM your reader. I am the paper gatherer. I secured these poems, originals in your red faded folder from New Mexico to New Jersey. I made photocopies at my job 26th floor at Source Media, knowing they were my treasure. A lifetime to honor us, our story, we share the stage. I keep learning, asking questions continue Celebrating Sound. I am live speaker of your magic word weaver of our conversations extender of our love. This book is trampoline, This book is mixture facts experiences memories mistakes my errors my love my fear of how to do it right. This book is every day I prefer different pieces. I mix and match sentences, take stanzas from our poems when I ...

I want to punch that R train, Slap the 2 across the face. Stop singing, random guy on the platform at 72nd headphones in ears. The gospel singer on the 1, he lost his buddy. Who woke you up this morning? God woke you up. I'm gonna let it shine.

The face and the teeth He testifies to clients Praises their self expression Clothing skin youthfulness Do everything you can to seal it tight Keep it contained

The dial tone sounds different when I call my mom compared to when I use it to contact anyone else. It's gently sprinkling out. It's been almost five years since our Mother's Day weekend in Manhattan. I am calling now. She is on the other side. Pick up, pick up, pick up. On 36th Ave at 7:50am, teenage boys shuffle in hoodies, girls bound to class in polka dot back packs. If you wait for the next train rather than try to cram your way in there is more space. No crushing, a place to sit is likely. There is more room to move More room to Breathe. How in the world did you end up in New York?  asked Leanna. Whatever happened to the cat I gave you? Princess, was it? questioned Kori.

When Jacque cuts her hair, the client reclaims her body. She seizes availability edits specific stanzas, pursues possibilities. On the third day of May, she keeps the length, adds dimension.

You really have to have good cheekbones to have a shaved head. The doctor asked me if I'm going to have purple hair next time. A wig would be nice. I personally can't tell the difference between moose and caribou. Oh my God, it's 5 o'clock. I don't have to be anywhere. Come over. Meet Joe. Maybe have a cocktail. Star Wars burlesque, I probably wouldn't get the references. I gotta stop. I need to take this to go. Tell the chef he did it absolutely perfectly. My mom used to put too much salt on the vegetables. I gotta call Delta. I just need a seat near the aisle near the bathroom.

Blue sheets Magic carpet Deep sleep Bed and breakfast dream Seattle. The big toe on left foot massages the right one, glides over surgery scar, slides over 2008. It traces when I dyed my own hair black. The porcelain face with freckles, acrylic self portrait, Bettie Boop hoodie Beatles T, red square glasses. It was almost a year of my mom in Grandma's house, living her new life. In 2008, I went to New Orleans, was still friends with Amilda then my older Albanian sister. 6-8am is the most fulfilling sleep. The magic carpet takes me by strangers and city windows. The man in the cafe is pulling the blinds down. I have a scar on my belly but nothing was ever there.