crowds

the

faces

in be faces tw faces ee face [i]n

in

the moments where beauty is sketched on napkins
be

patience and balance are sewn in like stitches

tw

poise and posture are stapled straight to spine

ee

coyness and wit are showered like rose notes

n
muscles are tensed and breathe is held close

the
faces

in faces be faces tw face ee [i]n

the spasms of edited lines, written motives, and timed dialogue

these faces

in faces be faces tw faces ee face [i]n


are what carry

youiandus

copyright JANEisnotplain 12.06

dear r project

dear r,


i want you
(to narrate)
[my waking]

i want you
(to narrate)
[my breaths]


i want you
(to narrate)
[my coffee]


i want you
(to narrate)
[my mornings]

i want you
(to narrate)
[my breakfast]

i want you
(to narrate)
[my laughs]

i want you
(to narrate)
[my shower]

i want you
(to narrate)
[my dressing]

i want you
(to narrate)
[my song]

i want you
(to narrate)
[my dreams]

i want you to-

i choose you to-
i choose you-

too.


copyright JANEisnotplain 11.06

thisyourour-

dear r,



this-
arrangement

this-
formation

this-
commitment

your –
agreement

your-
employment

your-
subjugation

his-
foundation

his-
governance

his-
involvement

our-
acquaintence

our-
attraction

our-
passion


this-
position

this-
appointment

this-


this really is too crowded.

love,

JANEisnotplain 3.04

on this polyamorous triangle i found myself in.

dear r,

11.18.06



dear r,


you found me

the part of me
that i know little about
that can speak to you

the part of me
that you want
that seems to know who i am

the part of me
that will challenge who i was
that who that i will become

the part of me
that i can be proud of
that i want to be yours

that part of me
that
wants
you


love,

JANEisnotplain 11.06

self portrait # 8: asymptote



stack of books
six editions thick
resting on each shoulder blade
weight the pressure

grey damp road
thick white centered line
marking the margins of expectations
balance attributes accordingly charged

baking light
fire from red dust everywhere
causes eyes to cast inward
the heat of fever encapsulates

weak failing medium
un-utilized calculator
living five feet from the ground
drawn in lines of asyptotes


copyright JANEisnotplain 18.11.06

self portrait # 7: and


and she’s beautiful
and she’s unsettling
and she writes in big words
and she dots i’s and crosses t’s
and she doesn’t want to be touched by just anyone
and she doesn’t want to be seen

and she wants
to be adored
to be idolized
to be felt
to be heard
to be loved intimately

andandandand
and she is writing
and she is living
and she is dying
and she is
and

she
is

and that

is

all









copyright JANEisnotplain 18.11.06

confession

confession


to love a woman who is
a woman in every sense but
who acts like a man to
the woman who wants to
love the woman in her in every sense
but, i am not a man and
i know this and she knows this

she may play the part of
the shy deviant boy but
i am every hopelessly helpless boy
that i have ever dated, hat in hands
reciting sonnets under balconies,
selling proposals without diamonds
i know this and she knows this

the truth is that,
at the end of the day i am
too complicated, too introverted,
too frustrated, too scared
she is so fearless, so sweet,
so kind, so brilliant
to bring out the lover
she knows is inside me
i know is inside of her


copyright JANEisnotplain 10.20.06

NIGHTMARE

nightmare

i am running through my
nightmares wearing flip flops
and all i can hear is
breathe, flap, breathe, flap
flap, breathe, breathe, flap
across a cold linoleum floor
stacked with the smell of papers
of books, newspapers, notebooks
slouched in the flickering fluorescent lights
like next year’s junk addicts
flap flap flap flap
breathe!
and if i stop i hear the
buzzing of my PC
sitting and looking at me for answers
just the way i look at myself
just after brushing my teeth
in the morning or in the
evening after listening to
the radio/television propaganda
the semicolon weight of the words
awake!
flap, breathe, flap, breathe

copyright JANEisnotplain 10.06

modern american poet

modern american poet


i am the modern american poet
i graduated from the ivy league of the midwest
where i was taught how to use the thesaurus
and i was encouraged to use big words
to express esoteric concepts
and so i don’t really give a shit
how my art makes you feel
just as long as you think that i’m smart
because i’m so up to my
last can of tuna fish in student loans that
i’ll write anything that sells
honestly, i have no soul
but that’s ok because that may mean
that i’ll become famous someday

i am the modern american poet
i’m reppin from philly and yo
if you aint from around my way
and you don’t know how to
use yo to carry on a conversation
then you ain’t my people and yes,
i write about racism, sure
i mock your divisionist tendencies
while ironically perpetuating them
by changing my vocabulary
but i don’t really give a shit
how my art makes you feel
unless you’re exactly like me
in which case just nod your head
and show me some love because
i’m so up to my eminem album
trying to stay true to the new
hip hop poetic culture that
i’ll write anything just to
increase my street cred
honestly, i have no soul
but somehow the lack of color in my skin
doesn’t stop me from pretending

i am the modern american poet
and don’t really care where you’re from or
from where you graduated because
right now i’m like way into death
and dying and blood and
i don’t really give a shit
how my art makes you feel
because the thought of death’s icy grip
closing in on my existence right now
is way cooler than anything else and
is kinda getting me off so that
i’m so up to my black gothic attire
in angst right now that
i cant even begin to try to reach you
honestly i have no soul
and even if i did, i’d probably
sell it to the devil

i am the modern american poet
have you met my ex boyfriend who
i broke up with three years ago?
how is he? did he mention me?
did he look sad? does he miss me?
despite the tears of agony,
i think i’ll write something about
the irony of hating yet loving someone so much
i really don’t give a shit
how my art makes you feel
as long as you pass me that cover up
i need to powder over my life blemish
i’m so up to my muscle t-shirt in identity crisis
that i’ll write anything that gives me a face
honestly i have no soul
and if i did, i’d rip it out
for one more romp with my ex

i am the modern american poet
SEX SEX SEX SEX
CLITORIS PeNis, clitoris, PENIS
CUNT SEX VAGINA PUSSY
i don’t give a pussy lick of a shit
how my art makes you feel
just as long as my man hating friends
admit to still needing dick
just because.
PENIS CUNT SEX FUCK
i’m so up to my dyke duds
in rage right now that
i can’t talk to anyone who has a penis
so i’m sorry if i can’t relate to you
honestly, i have no soul
because i believe soul is a myth
spread by men to keep the sisters down
feminist clit sex
excuse my tourrettes

i am the modern american poet
i’ve tried so god damned hard
not to become cliché, and
look at me
please, anyone
just look at me

copyright JANEisnotplain 10.06

REVERANT

reverant

crucifying my thighs
nail my rusted mind
a.cross bearing
pomegranate eyes
inviting baptismal absolution
washed peace


enter through revolver
revolutionary doors
in turn all
internally integrating
the lightness of
be
-ing

copyright JANEisnotplain 10/06

LA PAZ

LA PAZ

when the violence is over
the dust settles and
the world falls apart softly
to the sound of an acoustic guitar
and if we close our eyes
and we look around
everything is still
so pretty.

copyright JANEisnotplain 8/06

strawberry kisses for r

strawberry kisses for r

dear r,

i feel like there is a roadblock in my head
like the words are on the other side
but i can’t get close enough to see what they say
because of the blurry lights and bright sounds

but don’t worry sweetheart
the patience that i wear today
like my favorite old t-shirt that’s
worn at the neck line from repeated use
will keep us safe from the cold

i hope that the smile that
just got lost in the camera flash
was one of comfort and understanding
because the kiss that i’m about to offer
will taste like strawberry flavored water

love,

JANEisnotplain 8/06

on bwiles and black and white photography

filtered cardboard canvasses


there is no proven medium
tangible enough to
pry the smoke from our lips

stifled lines of black and white
crackling with exhaustion filled moments
grasped in 35 mm high grain film

the contrast is the key
the distance between
light/ line/ shadow

protesting and proclaiming starkly
that is what we are/were
at any given 15th of a second


JANEisnotplain 8/06

STRUGGLE

struggle



there’s blood in the sink
mixed with crest
teeth on the counter
fingerprints on the crossword
a few letters scratched out and replaced
making them all fit together
like a note that
can only be interpreted
by a promethean multi-linguist
in this house of confusion
signs of a struggle





JANEisnotplain 8/06

sinner

sinner

lust
she never looked good, not enough
force her to apologize for it
objectify your objective

envy
she wasn’t like her, not enough
force her to regret it
jealousy is your justification

wrath
she was never angry, not enough
force her to recognize it
solitude is your solace

greed
she never understood enough
force her to believe it
gain your guidance

gluttony
she simply wasn’t enough, never enough
force her to accept it
hedonism is your hallelujah

sloth
you never loved her, not enough
force her to end it
cowardice is your catalyst

copyright JANEisnotplain 8/06

untitled 7.06

i wish my mind was a blackboard
and i only had enough chalk to
write poems about you and an
eraser to rub out this poetic nightmare

i am the one you see as a friend
and you are the one i thought i could never have
you are taller, smarter, tastier

i run in circles, medium sized circles
and you’re behind me but i can’t
catch up to you even if you push me

i am the one whose heart always beats
faster, nervous like the first time
i told you i love

so i breathe faster and i count quicker
truth is. i’m anxious.

you scare me. you know how to bruise me.
and i am really quite fragile.

but i can’t tell whether to slow down
or speed up or stop moving and
just stay in one spot until you find me

i need you to search for me.
i need you to find me.

i need to go back outside
and i can’t tell if the straightest distance
between two points is a straight line

or should i just go
down the spiral red slide

copywrite JANEisnotplain 7.06

LIVE BORDERS

live borders




we eat our sunsets
like anger tasting heartbeats

the edge appears slippery
wet herbs divide dark from light

JANEisnotplain 7/06

on israel vs lebanon

6.06


my smile has grown lewd with depravity
my growth does not need restraint anymore
i am fed with sour doubt and terror

in soothing words and touches of care
i have felt only poor relief from
the asperity of being and the despair of being not.

suffers the bud under the pressure of fate
to break the sprout and stretch out into the air
to grow accustomed to the confirming confinement.

because i wish to break open the pain
the ice cold blade of thought incises the abscess
perhaps that will free the pleasure?

copywrite JANE 6.06

BACK WaRd bad

BACK WARD BAD


i like to slide credit cards from
RIGHT to LEFT
which I guess is defined as
BACKWARDS
but every time i do that
the machine beeps and says
BAD CARD
TRY AGAIN!!


why is backwards BACKWARDS?
and why does it register as BAD CARD?
why is BACKWARDS BAD?

why cant both ways be FORWARD?
or better yet
why cant both ways JUST BE?
free of labels
whether BACKWARDS or FORWARDS

why?

copyright JANEisnotplain 5/06

untitled 5.22.06

23.5.06

dear---

sometimes i draw this line
and i still don’t see it yet

i jump over it precariously
while leaving no footprints
in the sand

you cannot find grains ephemerally
you will not find time burned
into future glass

please just let me know you
vicariously

please just let me catch sweet somethings
in my hand



with love,

copyright JANEisnotplain 5/06

original love song

original love song

this is no ordinary love song
this whirlwind of feelings
these pounding rhythms
we keep on moving to
which is interesting because
i’ve never quite been able to
stay with the beat until i
started dancing with you


this is no ordinary love song
this melody of emotions that
goes up, down, in and out of key
which is kind of funny because
before i started dancing with you
my timing never made much sense


this is no ordinary love song
this complicated beat of
i love you do you love me?
who will be the first to confess?
i guess that will be me
which is rather of amusing because
looking back at the score in your eyes
i can see that you meant it first

this is no ordinary love song
this group of amorous notes of
fortissimo and pianissimo
arranged in discordant harmonies
without regard for boundaries
which is ironic because
before you the rules have never
really understood me


this is no ordinary love song
this groove that moves us to
bump hip bones grind souls
twist tongues and laugh
which is good because
before you wrote the rhythm
i couldn’t really dance

copyright JANEisnotplain 5/06

FIRE

Fire



i used to play with matches/ watching them change color from orange to blue//
i let the flames dance so close to my wrists that/ i set my soul on fire//

i used to play with fire/but you made me stop//
and said that i could play with you/ instead

cracks

cracks



the drivers window slowly rolls upwards
the layers of tinting slowly peel downwards
sealing our secrets inside

now i can see
the cracks in the windshield
the glass is transparent
like his words
like his laugh

i dont know if he will ever get it fixed

copyright JANEisnotplain 5/06

untitled doubts

untitled doubts

[you can’t expect to build anything, if you don’t have the bricks to start with]



if i love you,
will that be enough?

and if you understand me,
will it just be memorization?

because distance is just
another word for commitment
and devotion is the
virtue of a slave

will you keep my soul
in a glass jar?







[everything is crumbling]

copy write JANEisnotplain 4/23/06

inventory

inventory





if:
“i” am not “you”
and “you” will never be “i”
and “i” do not expect “you” to be “i”



then:
who is “you”
who is “i”
and what has “me” got to do with IT?



© JANEisnotplain 3/06

INSECURITY

insecurity




power lines cut the sky
exposing the dark belly of blue clouds
as we walk on sun stretched bridges
you can see pieces of us
through slits in the ground

remember the day we took photos
of graffiti on brick walls?
flecked paint, ruined and misplaced?
like the bits of things you cant see

love is just a whisper
we breathe and its gone
and i’m so afraid that
you’re going to blow away

but you cant if you’re just
dried ink and tears
on a page i want to burn

i wont escape
and i wont cry either
i wonder if you realize?

© JANE’2.06

random burning man thought # 19

RANDOMN BURNING MAN THOUGHT # 19

something about the end makes the beginning all the more important

copyright JANE'06

SURPRISE

surprise


i wasn’t always looking, you know
i didn’t always know the way
your hands would feel holding mine
i wasn’t always searching for your lips
i cant justify how i managed to find
what i didn’t even think could be real
i don’t know how i knew that
it is your fingertips i need
like destiny against my skin
but even if i wasn’t looking,
and i know i wasn’t
i’m glad i found you

© JANE’06

DREAMED

dreamed

i search for you in auburn fields of fall
where paper dolls spin under red umbrellas and their
tafetta skirts made of sun rays dance across orange sky

the road there is long and weary
made of white houses that burst
so bright they are blinding and
they shoot into my retina and
for a moment i am blind from the inside out
seeing only the white future of winters
left crumbling on old sidewalks

i want to stop surviving
so that i can begin living
perhaps life is like a red carpet
that never stops unfolding and
i only know the frayed threads of
its worn edges

what it must be like to be
so far away from the end
to hold and to be held
by the fragrant winds of some
to be alive

you will still be around
when august falls

won't you?

copyright JANE 2/06

RANDOMN BURNING MAN THOUGHT #5

RANDOMN BURNING MAN THOUGHT #5

IF: bravery is doing that which frightens you
AND: you do not fear death
THEN:there is nothing brave about dying

copyright JANE 8/05

DOCTOR

doctor

doctor
i'm so sick
can't you help me?
i don't care how
just kill it, please
you've been
sitting behind that
glass for so long
looking in my eyes
taking notes
sacrifice me
i don't care

your dynamic touch
is a small price to
pay to end these
incessant dreams
that worm their way
spreading deeper
and deeper until
i can appreciate
their collective pulse

and anymore
i feel so sick
doctor
just fix it
cure me
change it
make me as
sterile as your
white lab coat

there's something
wrong here, doctor
it's been too long
and they won't take me
broken like
this, doctor
fix me

please

copyright JANE'06

Living Dead

Living Dead


beep beep
keeps the heart pumping
its not the lungs that
give or take the air
or the muscles that
never seem to quit

it’s the doctor
with the beady eyes
the rimmed glasses
and the fear of dying
that keeps the beeps alive

copyright JANE’05

Tripping Paranoia

Tripping paranoia



don’t let her see

i’m lost here
words tucked under my tongue
i look for her but
she moves away toward
a hand on the back of my neck

warm fingers search
for art brought up alone
holding self, exposing only the thicker
skin this complex enigma
alone i am in love
so wonderfully beautiful

i am unveiled words
nude like a graceful body
with a scar that travels forever
flowing, going deep
under my skin

you pry me open
when i meet you in
your big brown eyes i see
restless intricate mist cowering
in the corner of a brilliant mind

don’t let her see

copyright JANE ‘1/06

RAndom Burning Man Thought #6

i see things i am hearing.

copy write JANE 8/05

untitled 01/03/06

like clock work
tick tock tick tock
molten mania
leaks through cracks
in [my] concrete walls
soft pinks
choked off by
orange lava
irons of irony
until the lines
between the lines
no longer seem as sharp

what color is the mode of perception?

copy right JANE'05