Backflip Jupiter

#sonnet #poem #poet #poetry #practice #solitude #loneliness #intuition #candleflame

Mojada:Medea Poems . . . . . #sonnet #love #selflove #blackhole #emptiness #waiting #solitude #peace #patience #valentinesday #solo #selfhood #selfesteem #igpoet #igpoetry #igpoems #centered #poetrycommunity #poems #poetsofinstagram

So I went out with a friend and found this treasure in a noodle shop. (Best 50 yen soup ever). #poetry #japan #ilovethisplace #puttingitwithouthesitation (at さかえ)

You are more than welcome to store your yogurt in your check-in baggage. (at Beijing Capital International Airport)

First time riding Air China! I haven't left the country in about 9 years. (at Los Angeles International Airport (LAX))

It's not the original, but I've been waiting to take one of tgese for a while! (≧∇≦) (at Portland International Airport)

Getting ready to leave the country! Did you know you can go today, right freaking now, to the elections office and vote? I had no idea! It's the best. #priorities #nolines #rockthevote #portland #electionsoffice #SE11thandmorrison #listentobernie #imwithher #missingbernie #yeson97 #ronwyden #stepup #citizenresponsibility #godoit #vote #uselection2016 (at Multnomah County Elections)

So, good news: the kitchen shared some deep fried fish with my shift lunch today. The bad news is I've discovered the restaurant is a member of an intergalactic syndicate, and this is what they do with those who do not pay their debts. #whathaveigottenmyselfinto #herecomethemeninblack #umamiconsequences #dontfuckwithmythaibelmont (at Mai Thai Portland)

You wake up one day and your face is made of glass. You look down at your body like a city, from a skyscraper. Saying ‘I’m supposed to be living here’. You feel the air wilt as car doors slam; watch window cleaners squee your fingers dry; hear the elevator ding behind your ears, jammed full of other people; see your ankle bone out there in the boonies by your house; and say hey I don’t remember taking out the trash this morning. You know someone on the 40th floor below is screaming about it and have a hunch you ought to join them but that’s none of your business now. Just turn your head and smile. Scratch 31st until it bleeds. Clock in late at the corner of your mouth. Pick up the cigarette butts. Count the till. Hope no one’s stolen away with your DNA. Of course the floor keeps shaking, like someone’s playing music and all you want to do is dance with them believe there’s somewhere else you got to be believe one day you'll just skip town on a text message. At the very least you know how it will start: “To whom it may concern, I found your number.  It was nailed to a daydream...”

Love poems are dangerous because I am made of paper. Because I want you to draw all over me, please, if you want. Start with a thirsty furnace an ankle on a knee two shirts atop a steep breath a worthy handshake 6 glasses of water and chopsticks that click and stitter like light-bulb filaments armfuls of freckles. Flick a shiver off your shoulder hear it fly under my tongue, it tastes like salt, like lips and spoon, a bowl of ramen broth left-over noodles and the sweat of waiting for your text, it tears me into a thousand little train tickets that when it comes I have confetti streaming from the top floor, what a mess. I want to ride to all of those places one after the other. At the end of the line sits you with a gentle fire, that me, beside, all full of everything till now, will catch, and curl, and cast the light that you may see these words through your green eyes.

I own my eyes now. Have them more or less on a leash. They know where they live and see Urza Major on a windless night, by silent wind chimes and a bag of clean clothes.

This is me. This is me. This is me.