COVER WITH PICTURE AND NAME by iamtaylornotyou

COVER WITH PICTURE AND NAME

I had an idea before,

Of something to write.

But now that I’m here,

I must take advantage of these opportunities To reach back to you through the past To get my hand stuck in the space-time continuum To twiddle my thumbs in yesterday’s sky Mostly because I prefer to wonder why Than to dwell on why not And also because This is the easiest way to step into the future

I’ve forgotten.

I suppose it wasn’t any good anyway.

Filled to bursting with pomegranate seeds Coughing them up into a napkin/handkerchief Given to me by a sympathetic man With a disdainful eye for the trajectile fruits They stained his pressed, white shirt Making him a “trend setter” Or More realistically Forcing him to recall the incident 100 times over To curious coworkers with curious questions

I’m drinking the pee of at least three dinosaurs The embryonic fluid of a baby mammoth And the cytoplasm of an honest-to-goodness First generation prokaryote Wow I’m drinking the past A trillion molecules of life juice just touched my tongue A billion years of world led this water to my lips And I plan on enjoying every last sip And I’m smiling Because it just tastes like water

I never had cared much for Persephone’s temptation The little seeds not worth The attention they demand Dripping from faces Like lost teeth falling I filled my mouth too eagerly Sucked the juice from the tiny fruits And spit seeds in the direction of squarish shapes Boxy lives, with boxy faces Wearing boxy spectacles Now stained with Pinkish-purple inkblots And imaginary style

International trash Burning in my waste basket With its passports and its accents And all the stories you hear about it Like an adventure You never did Just a pile of missed ticket bits That you forgot about And tucked away That you remembered for just today To reminisce and to travel back But now itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s over Just like that

He's a serial killer. I'm sorry a cereal killer? No, serial. You mean like the breakfast food? No. Dude I think I'm a cereal killer too.

He meanders along the edge of my book Just so much as to cast a shadow of his existence Across the words of the page He looks the same as his brothers among the grass Crawling in search of some instinctive treasure Yet here he is Alone within my pages Brave and adventuring soul Lapping at my accidental food stains We share a benign moment of existence I, with the ability to end him And he Either knowingly or unknowingly Carrying on I enjoy his company And turn the page with care So he can join me on the next But he chooses to venture on I lay my book down out of respect And watch my six-legged acquaintance Wander away

To a Prehistoric People You existed Balanced perfectly Between nature and humanity With textured teeth Tasting natural flavors And dirty feet Painting footprints across the ground The world gifted you fresh fruit Animals donated you their meat You were entirely in awe of the world around you And felt the Earth’s heartbeat inside yourselves Why did you leave us? Where did you go? Why didn’t you teach us? You left us alone We fell out of balance Tipped the scales over with greed Our footprints stain the ground we walk And I am looking for you I call out With no answer And there’s nowhere left for you and me to hide

I take the lemon out of my water And let it sit on the side Like I am at this dinner Looking at the menu Listening to their tongues smack against the inside of their mouths I suppose I smack a digital tongue Here on my phone Judging them as they have done I guess I am no better than I had thought Except I keep my hands to myself Across the table And underneath I’ll keep my tongue as well I’ve lost my appetite at this point

*To be read slowly I will ride your chest like a carnival ride that I got on with blue tickets purchased at a faded red building in the center of the park. Its wet, painted sign proclaiming “Tickets”. I paid too much for them and initially regretted it. But I don't regret it now that I am here. I've forgotten that the quarter and penny in my pocket are all that’s left of the $20 my mom gave me. And that tonight I will only eat carnival food. And that this ride isn't even particularly fun. Because the lights are flashing. And I'm spinning. The music is not good, but it’s loud and nice to listen to. And the girl next to me is throwing up a funnel cake she bought from a depressed teenager who hates her job, but I like the smell. It doesn’t smell good, but it is uniquely you, and I want to smell it more. And I want to smell like it when I go home. And remember. And smile. Like I did at the lady who handed me these tickets. Like I did at fate when she handed me life.

The actions of later nights And earlier mornings Seem to be of the same caliber When the one who commits them Closes his eyes And pretends the sun has not yet awakened

Let me be a scuba diver And you an astronaut Oh no no no, wait Let you be an East-urban city dweller And me a midwest ranch daughter Or, or Let me be a triceratops And you a future time-traveler/human-hybrid I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know Either way I just feel really far away from you

A Page on Hygiene Remembering the last day I showered becomes increasingly difficult around day 3. And remarkably, the stench is a rather overpowering aroma of men’s deodorant and mouthwash rather than unbathed human. That, of course, only lasts until I take my clothes off. Which I am apologizing for in this note.

In the mornings After my alarm clock has screamed sufficiently And is satisfied with my state of awareness I stumble to the bathroom with an ever present, sleep-induced hangover My dog sits on the carpet and waits Tapping her tail on the floor like a lazy metronome After, I fill a bowl with dog food And a cup with warm tea

Mom hugged me last night “I’m glad your hair doesn’t smell” She said. I am too.

Society demands That I brush the knots from my hair And the plaque from my teeth Wash the stains from my shirt From my shoes From my life Throw out socks with holes Fill in those in my backyard Clean up and move on and forget But I’m cleanest at my most dirty And I don’t see a point in forgetting Then we’d never learn

We migrate outside And she investigates the surprises that implanted themselves in the yard overnight I sit on the front porch and wait We have a better relationship than most

It’s a real shame that I can’t enjoy these strawberries in my cereal. I spent the better part of my childhood drinking “pink”, a concoction of milk and strawberry syrup in a red-topped dinosaur sippy cup. Which, in hindsight, was probably the root cause of all of my cavities and is now very likely the cause of my repulsion at these floating, dried berries in my bowl. I really rather like them on their own, so why not here? Perhaps they’re a reminder of every prepubescent dental trip. Or maybe an association with childhood itself that I came to despise as a mechanism of maturity. Or better yet, to admit to still enjoying the milky-berry flavor would be an acknowledgement of the absence of change. Which has no basis considering all that has. That red dinosaur sippy cup is nowhere to be found. My mother’s milk-of-choice, 2%, has been replaced with my own, almond. And these strawberries are the product of natural sun-drying rather than manufactured “artificially flavored” syrup.

Little plant, I hope you feel your delicate roots Touch the soft, fresh earth Mixed with mushroom compost and cow manure To make up for the clay’s deficiencies I wish humans could be like you Our childhood nurseries supplemented so easily As with a bag of dirt Nitrogen replacing missing fathers Miracle grow mending broken hearts Automatic sprinklers giving good advice Soft dirt providing much needed warm hugs The sun above Guides you through life Stretch your little leafy tendrils Out beyond your comfort zone And bask in his benevolent rays

However, despite all that, I still find myself each morning fishing the red berries out of my cereal bowl in order to enjoy my breakfast in peace.

I have left this country one time too few And if I was to leave again and return I would say the same When I feel stuck in the world I look up used suitcases on ebay and imagine the sorts of places they’ve been I wonder if we have ever before Existed in the same place, in the same instant And if this is now our second meeting

Generally speaking The only smile I do in the morning Is at myself in the mirror After brushing my teeth I guess it’s safe to say That I’m not a morning person But at least I’m hygienic

You have to remember to tie your shoes If you plan on going for a run at midnight Don’t forget to bring your dog Because she likes the night time air And running And you Be careful of cars and fallen tree branches Because you are in the dark And humans are not very good at seeing in that Remember that you are human And it is okay to trip and fall Because you are not a huge, snowy mountain That could cause an avalanche and hurt someone Remember that you can still hurt someone Even though you are nothing more than they are

I only came here for the soup Braced the cold Sucked the wind into my soul Ice spreading to the tips of my fingers Crawling out from under my nails Thank you for the menu And a chair away from the window The soups are nestled into the second page Tucked under the appetizers Which you cleverly labeled “starters” In order to avoid confusion But nothing is here but chicken broth And clam chowder The plight of a vegetarian I settle for noodles The salad comes and goes But I leave it untouched Truthfully I will probably ignore the noodles as well I leave money on the table Take my hat and open the door I only came here for the soup

He was very kite-like in nature. Floating between classes and down the halls. Out the door and out of school and out of our world and into his. Tied to nothing in particular. A mystical something, perhaps. With a profound existence. If it were to exist at all. Which it will never, to me. Or to you. Or to him.

We met in passing Between times Between bodies A happens chance coincidence That we shared for a moment I to you And You to me Holding hands and spinning for a tick of our Biological clocks Before giving in to centrifugal energy And letting go of each other And finding ourselves on opposite paths In opposite directions

Taylor Cooper @IAmTaylorNotYou iamtaylornotyou.tumblr.com