A Collector of Highs

I’m a collector of highs
Like a nano journalist
Clung to the necks of crows
I am murders of knowledge
That comes only by scavenging
Through trash and old cigarettes
To find a shiny thing worth holding
I am the art of the cuttlefish

The Ocean

Twenty thousand leagues rage
Barely under your stare
I have drowned your fucking sailors
And have plundered their wares

Gone are your mariner rhymes
And famous literary nets
I harbor pools of sorrow
And vast seas of regret

The Abolition of the Automobile

So one of the most remarkable and hardest decisions that I have made recently was to sell my car. Obviously, for a lot of Americans the decision to sell their car would be unconscionable. It was a difficult one for me. I loved my car. However, there comes a time when the very act of ownership becomes a reinforced complicity in a failed and rapacious big oil paradigm that is predicated on the domination and exploitation of this place we call Earth.

Dot

Lately I’ve discovered
My true power
Signaling the end
Of eras, books, chapters,
Sentences, letters
And periods

Like the one
At the end
Of this line.

Cara’s Music Corner (Part II)

My boyfriend said listening to Bell Witch is like going to the bathroom. You probably don’t want to spend too much time in there. It’s best just to get in, enjoy the release and then get the hell out. I think he mostly referred to the low sounding vocals and growls. But on an existential level, the same could be said for mourning and grief. I only hope the next time I have to visit that paradoxical space it will be just as tortured, beautiful and epiphanic as listening to a Bell Witch song.

The Fox In Me

I love wearing things not built to be dirty and covered in grease
Things like perfume, makeup, bells, jewelry, ribbons, and tiaras
Adorned and crowned with the ability to melt hearts
Like my first true love and my mother’s plaintive voice