new poem ...developing?

Despite my obvious fixation on Jack White, I am not a groupie. And here's why ...

Groupie

now that i have opened this up
let's put it to bed
the boy in high school with the black eye and catacombs
the boy in the gym who didn't call
the dancer
the musician
the poet
and most of all
the other poet

if you don't explore the glory of
your immature pain
you will repeat it

the banker
the father
the accountant
grown up versions of the scum sucking
bastard
who hides in the letters
under the bed
murdered
with red ink

this is a love song to jack white
for what he represents

this is a hate letter to jack white
because he married
the model
instead of the nerd

that bucktoothed jack rabbit

girl

that whore who paid twice to get backstage
the useless blowjob

no show

this is what every one of you would write
(the secret sighs)

and now that i have crushed
the piety
i should feel light
w/ vindication
for the blondes
brunettes
redheads
raven-eyed
ravenous

this is the song, embarrassing
the way we like to watch high
folks fall
into thorns and mockery

and we are all defeated

the gutter girls,
they'll leave me to die on this stage of quiet
frustration
even though
in their deepest
desires
they still
aspire

this is a letter to jack white
this is the girl who goes home alone

Hooray

I found out that one of my poems - Voicemail - has been accepted by Blue Fifth Review, one of my favorite lit journals.

Look for it in September.

song with no ending

this is not for you
you can open your eyes to the clouds
the rain is not a sign
that song with the perfect lines - not a sign -
the mountains in our dreams
this is not for you
not what you are looking for

this is not for you
the tears or the happy
tale - not for you
the penned skin, the burn and the
calling
this is not your song
my forgiving

this is not for you
the frantic typing or the turning
of the doorknob
not your calling vague and
empty message
not the voice of angels
your voice

this is not for you
my love spread open
i am not a part of your collection
i am not for you
an expression
i am not here
for your healing

and you cannot bless
or set me free
for forgiving
everything you're incapable of feeling
not for you
this
is not for me

Living by astrology

I met a boy in the canyon. This boy with a mouth
open, sucking the stars into cavities.
This boy unspoken.

I met a girl in the mall. This girl with a crying face
like plastic lips, the cellophane
hypocrite calling mama mama.

I met a boy named belief in a bar. He slipped his tongue
down my throat and named me
that girl w/ catastrophe.

I found the girl in my car.

I found you. The you I had always
wanted to show up when I could not erase
these lines.

I saw a horse in the heavens. He has since
taken this story and galloped into
the afterlife.

Crossroads

"I went down to the crossroads
fell down on my knees"

Every artist has a Crossroads song. There's a nugget of something here ... not sure what to do w/ it yet. But it will come.

Announcing ... Badlands

It is FINALLY here and ready to be purchased for a mere $12.99.

Click here to purchase, or visit my Lulu store:

www.lulu.com/aleah

You know you want it.

in the hallway of disbelief

you keep a picture of me with dyed red hair folded in half at the lips
sometimes you touch the crease
nightshift is lonely
on wednesday
drinking coke and listening to frank black
you feel the dusty
dreams of another day - fear you'll mold or
lose face
by reaching thru - windshield casualty
but no
you don't give
you are a keeper

you keep the picture of her in your wallet
it stays in perfect condition
from a state of disbelief - blow it away
that
fucking noise
and the highway sounds
of wanderers
wondering
on mercury hill
where you wait in your chariot

you take out the images - recite
lines about
the heat and hollywood
your shit questions
keep you moving
and talking
and talking and moving
the unquiet mind
of a man
with two choices
two stone walls
two sisters
you had
and cannot have

Thunder

He came riding fast like a phoenix out of fire flames
He came dressed in black with a cross bearing my name
He came bathed in light and the splendor and glory
I can't believe what the lord has finally sent me
-- The Dancer, PJ Harvey

It has been storming nonstop here. Perfect day to pull out PJ Harvey, light some candles, and watch the bedsheets burn.

Dealing with the unsound

stop me if you are confused by what I am saying
I don't have two arms waving
but I have spring
and the faithful, I know
there's a lifeline - a cathedral
there's business as usual
there's singing
danger
off note and antsy
stop me from the constant moving
the poor have a way of slamming
doors
and I am always poor
the pit in my side, the forever gnaw, the bacteria
foreplay
this is no time to stop me
if I don't keep moving
I might recognize
it
and there's business as usual
and there's sobriety
and there's anger
and there's coffee on the table
and there's a little kiss
and I might recognize
it
and and and
let me keep singing
you want to kill me?
stop me if you're confused by what I’m saying

More great news...

Survey suggests black rhinos of west Africa extinct

Low

I have been very burdened by my thoughts. I think it is time to get out and volunteer; doing something for someone else has always snapped me out of misery. It's the generalized feeling that bugs me. The nagging, the pit of my stomach sadness that creeps up.

Who dared to ask

what happens when the name--savior
has hollowed
when flies buzz on a scorcher
church sunday--you fold
skirt pleats in a grimace
and wonder
when he (who is divine)
will let it end
jesus
watches the horror
of drowning friends--who is him, the hallow
christ who ignores
broken light on the table--little legs in a row
blood red
and where
is lord
in the fumbling nights of merciless crime
when your ten year old mind
can only grasp elimination
and float from fear, hang above
body until he leaves
and where is he the beautiful blue-eyed
porcelain prodigal
who should pray for me
no madonna
to undo the gift of life
by throwing it into the air--sinless doves
who have the luxury of
flying away
when god doesn't come