212/365 : like a crying baby on a hot airplane

sometimes heat hits
like a sprinkler of sadness

no one paints summer
quite like this

211/365 : What women do

Your name ran out of my mouth 

Down the hall 

To the glass-window door

Where it smashed it's face against it

And fell backward 

I helped it up anyway

Because that is what women do

With all their little boys

210/365 : two poems in

sometimes we have to get
10 fake poems out
before we can get down
to the bones
of our
knowing

I'm only two
poems in

209/365 : 2am, afraid to write

is there any poetry left in me?

my throat tingles and whistles 

so i suppose 

that's a yes

yes

there is the poem about the train

and the other one about the itch

and the big one about 

the owning

i'm afraid i can't keep writing love poems

about the same old love story

i'm afraid 

this love story

has gotten old

208/365 : Each day we move closer to The Quiet

You zip up your jeans 

Tuck in your shirt

Pull close your belt

And gentle-grip-whisper 

Your goodbye kiss

I moan naked standing 

Legs warm and opening 

Always slipping into my kiss,

"Don't go"

"I never want you to go"

But you go

And I go

I, into my silver car

Or you, yours

We go home to ourselves

We get under our own quilts

We give ourselves our own speeches 

About who we think we're allowed to be

And if we're winning or losing 

We fight 

Alone

Until we decide to go home again

To an older home

Round and warm

Sweet as fire

A place where sweetness 
Is bigger than ego
And melting is more magical
Than staying solid
Or zipped

207/365 : You are in

Tonight the stars tickled the back of my neck

And the grass hugged my hips happy

I didn't need your lips

But they were a bonus of moon drooling ever-so-still-cruising across the craters of my heart

I take it back

I needed them--

I keep pretending I can do this practice alone 

But your hand is missing in the fold of my knee every time I'm overthinking and under cuddling 

Every time I'm caught pretending that I can make out with myself 

I'm glad it's you who catches me

With my teeth surrendered

My jaw drawn like an open bridge

Your tongue swimming in 

Plunging in 

Diving and back stroking and butterflying in

In in in 

You are in the wet mystery of me 

You are in the silent rhythm of me

You are in the forgotten heat of me

You are in the tunnel, the darkness, the light, the drive

You are in, driving, driving in the moonlight on the back country road to nowhere but now, 

hands and music and lips and quiet reckless dreams that we never say aloud

You are in my shout 

My rapture

My clenched fist full of sheets 

My dripping sweaty belly beats

My mudslide sacrifice

My secret cubby 

You are in, and I am between your body and god

A little orb of fairy glow

A little chance for you to know

You can have the heavens in the palms of your hands

You can fuck your prayers 

You can lay unravelled there in the lap of your lady

Like a little boy in a happy home 

Like a cottonwood seed

Floating in a puddle of holy love

206/365 : a message from the sky

go home to the river, child
cross twigs like teepees
and blow generously on the spark

there is no need to start fights
in your mind
over time or fame or safety

there is only one fire that matters:
and that is the fire of now

blow sweetly into the heat
fan the friction of wood

watch the light grow
into something good and warming

let it warm you

205/365 : the marriage of power and voice

i can hear my voice
full as a songbird, smoke-less
unhurt chords, healthy

i've remembered my belly
the bellow, the might, the source

204/365 : guts and breath and believing

oh gut, you mudslide,
you goopy marsh of bubbles,
popping growling doubt

oh breath, take me to the river--
baptize me a believer

203/365 : After Breaking Up and Getting Back Together 7 weeks in a Row

What am I learning here?

That self-love is uncompromisingly
honest

That my throat compression is trying to
tell me something

big

like, let yourself go

to where the wind flows through your body

and you are not clogged with lying 

or

"I-don't-know-ing" your heart 

you can be
brave
and
dreamy

go quietly
without a wimper
with crystals in your eyes
knowing

202/365 : Bridges

Jodi taught me about bridges
the other day after dance

To move from scarcity
to sufficiency

You appreciate
what you have

To move from sufficiency
to prosperity

You ask for what you want
And know when to walk away

Tonight Chris suited back up after we made love
Black jeans, belt, tucked in shirt, sturdy boots

I laid naked in my white jersey sheets
And watched him walk away

201/365 : I am here to remember

The crows are black as ash down here at the river
And the fire smoke is midnight lavender, flush against my skin

I've come here to remember the weight of fallen branches
Sometimes lite with a long history of surrender
Other times dense and strong to the touch

These arms know the feeling of reaching, scavenging
Like a baby's lip to a mother's breast
Culling in her nourishment

These feet are not afraid of thorns or rigid rocks
They have walked across coals
They know buoyancy in their soles

There is a natural, quiet crackling
A slow simmer disintegration
A humility, perhaps greater than hunger

I am here to remember that this humility is the birthplace of warmth

I am here to toss the trappings of the crammed up digital age
Into the laughing fire of the ancient ways

I am here to remember a million years of thriving by the flame

I am here to remember the circle

200/365 : does this make you a king?

you sucked so hard on my neck
that momentarily
my belonging
felt everlasting

momentarily
i could quiet the queen
hush the scream of knowing
you're fucking somebody else

does this make us royalty?

199/365 : THE REVOLUTION OF SOUL, AS INSPIRED BY LEGAL BROS

i like the energy of the bros to the left of me
studying for the LSATs.
rigor. scrutiny.
a weird mental passion.
backward hats.
"bring it on, complexity!"
highlighters.
pie.
livestrong bracelets.
faces close to the page.

i can feel the machete in the fields of their minds.
new pathways.
treading, grunting.
"i'm losing my mind!"
yes. lose it. lose it. lose it.
"i'm not even going to DEAL with that one."
no. don't. don't. don't.

i am whispering my stories,
my writings for the revolution.
i am typing new possibilities
in the light of an ancient fire.
i am tired, too.
i am losing my mind, too.
"none of that really clears anything up," he says.

we are in the dark swampy lake, together.
they are grabbing for slimy vines.
i am letting go, sinking to the sandy bottom.
i am emptying my lungs
the beat of my heart thumping on without me.

she is singing in the silence,
"dream now. dream now.
you will emerge later in the light
and you will not be who you were before you dreamt.
you will be full of midnight stars
and a fiery smarts
that's mightier than the mind.
you will know how to keep your soul alive.
you will wake and shake the winds of change.
dream now. be unafraid."

"those are the elements i fail to see," he says.
"because they're so obvious. so obvious."

i am writing the obvious secret of the lake.
i am calling home the dragonfly.
a spider is crawling across my arm.
i am weaving a rigorous web.
a weird physical passion
of words to catch you,
tell you the story
of how to be fed by something
as intoxicating
and dangerous
as a dream.

198/365 : The Missed Potential is Maddening

In the spirit of bringing more raw shit to the woo woo nation of my particular Facebook feed:

MISSED POTENTIAL

by Rachael Maddox

It's 9pm in a major American city

I am in a trance-like Pie Bar in a hip area of town

There is a live DJ spinning better-than-disco throw backs 

And it's fucking magical

But somehow, the barista-bar-tender-pie-cutter 

Is paying more attention to the dude who wants to buy $5s of pie

Than the dude (who's her boyfriend) who wants to make out with her

And it makes me think about the movie Amelie

And I must admit, I start idealizing France

Because in my gut, there's this insistence that somewhere, there are people who would never put their loyalties into low wage service

Somewhere, there must be a place where distracted by romance is not a crime 

Where you can kiss with your ass in the face of the customer--

Make them hungry for meaning that fills deeper than pie

But it's 9pm in an American city

In a magical vortex of tunes, pies and booze

And no one is making out 

Instead, the room is full of laptops

Zombies on LAPTOPS

There is a dad-son duo 

And they are bobbing their heads

And we do connect for a moment

About the sparkle in the air

And people scattered everywhere

Neck-curled, hunched, missing it

And then there's me:

I am eating two pieces of pie alone.

The man in line in front of me

Ordered two, looked back and said to me, 

Of course!

Why not?

And I thought

He's right, Why not?

I never eat pie

I am here to eat pie now!

I will have two slices

So I'm in this pool of pietopia potential

Eating two slices of pie alone

My phone is not in my hand

I am taking everything in

The red dressed walls

The neon sign 

The street glow outside

The fat and vibrant DJ

The eye-glazed computer zombies

The pretty girls behind the counter

The zero dancing

The amazing music 

The rising and falling of slow-hum chests

I am secretly wishing everyone had cigarettes 

That the smell was ruining our hair--

Then at least we'd be connected 

By a poison we could see 

Floating between us

Eye to eye

Daring to find 

The pupil

I'm taking everything in, wondering

How it is possible 

That we've erased the temptation for

Real Life Sex

Where is our wild, damnit?

Must I go to the woods?

I am eating my pies

The Flirty Berry is drooling on my tongue

The real-butter crust is massaging my molars

The Peacan goop residue is still on my fingers 

from when I tore the slice apart, scooped the goop,

Recieved it shamelessly in the bed of my mouth--

Really had it like I wanted it

I'm taking everything in 

Through the pores of my skin

Through the hunger of my heart

Through the neon light eternal flicker

Of my techno-grooving soul

There is an every day everywhere 

missed potential to FEEL

And it is driving the wild in me mad

So mad that all I can think is,

I'll have sex with the first person who smashes his laptop here

I swear I will

And I will hold nothing back

197/365 : make your witch a broomstick

today, i did not go to the river.
not yet.

i washed the soot off my walls.

i drenched myself in salt.

i called home my witch.

i made her a broomstick.

except...i didn't.

i wish i would.
i wish i would love my dark wizard.

i wish i would see him as oz,
small and timid behind some big

talking mask.
i wish i would feed him, at last, the stuff of
kings.

100 queens. music. silks. paints. candlesticks.

drumsticks. olives. gentle lips.

kisses by the thousands.
whole orgies of power.

power like a warm glow

power that's not trying to show off
or one up the next candle over

power that always remembers
the delight
the enchanting fright

the sensual might
the ecstatic cry
of a thousand blazing flames
side by side
setting the whole room on fire
with love

196/365 : I think mostly we're just full of talk

i think mostly we're just full of talk

i think mostly we're just full of
talk

i think mostly we're just full
of talk

i think mostly we're just
full of talk

i think mostly we're
just full of talk

i think mostly
we're just full of talk

i think
mostly we're just full of talk

i

think mostly we're just full of talk

i think mostly we're just full of talk

195/365 : infinite spoonfuls

i'm interested 

in quiet

courageous

anger-love

and infinite
spoonfuls 

of forgiveness

194/365 : mindfulness rule breaker

i feel like i break all the rules about mindfulness

except that i don't

exactly

when i read your losing-meaning-words

i want to give you something 

from my body

that requires nothing

verbal

and everything

eternal

and mindful

like a kiss

or a smile

or a hand

or a gentle line of breath across your hairy chest

that means to say nothing but

here

i am 

you are

here

we

are here

alive

alive

alive

alive

nothing's died 

love didn't die

love doesn't die

why do i fear that you fear love has died?

or worse, that you don't need it?

it's just my own thing

my own imagining

how sad i'd feel 

if somehow i believed

there was something between me

and love

and others

something between me

and the infinitude of pleasure

it's just my own thing

this desire

to stimulate

193/365 : everlasting

I've often dreamt of 

oil lamps, tending to an 

everlasting light.

192/365 : to my poetry pen pal part 3

I forgot

Your phone number

For now

My stomach hurts

From the green chili peppers

In the beef stew

(Homemade broth)

I can go so long 

Remembering 

How to avoid the things 

That hurt me

Until I forget again

I liked following the trail

Of faces and sounds with you

It felt kind of scary

And I wanted it to feel 

Sexy or at least sweet

But scary was good because

We still loved each other

In the end

In the during

In the scary

I was afraid to hurt you

When we were rolling around 

Hardwood

I felt like I could break you

Fat kid complex

Maybe also true?

I don't feel free feeling careful

I feel scared

And even still

There's a staying happening

Amidst a hundred tiny riots

And that feels like 

Healing 

Or maybe better--

Like creativity 

When you dance,

You are a firework,

But freer

My face lights up

Nostalgia swarms my heart

I belong face-to-face

With the explosive

191/365 : to my poetry pen pal 2

This poem is for me

But I'm writing it to you

Because I've forgotten 

My fingers for 

Writing to myself 

I've forgotten that if these fingers

Come from the man 

Who's planning is always two-birds-with-one-stone

And who's quarter jar spills over like a drooling July moon

Then they can probably hold something as buoyant as a basketball

Move it down the court with the confidence and carelessness of

I've-already-jammed-every-knuckle-so-fuck-it

I want to surf harder

Into my own wild wave 

Say it here then say it there

In the open 

Where tomatoes are thrown 

Or worse 

Nothing happens:

FUCK IT

I MAY FAIL 

AS I SHOOT FOR WHAT I LOVE

AND, BY THE WAY,

I'M CRANKY AS FUCK ABOUT IT

Last night I dove into my favorite ocean of sex

With my favorite body to caress 

With my favorite eyes-closed-where-did-we-go

This-is-definitely-home sensation

I'm not sorry for all this surrender to pleasure

We were fucking and I was wishing 

I would stop saying in my head, 

"I can't feel more.

This is my limit."

And then I finally said it,

"I'm allowed to feel this pleasure.

I'm allowed to treasure my body's joy

I'm allowed I'm allowed I'm allowed."

I howled and cried

But nothing really died

My hater is so god damn loud

And proud like a God Hates Fags campaign 

Except God Hates Your Pleasure/Power

God Does NOT Want You In Charge

God Knows You Will Fuck It Up 

Delusional child 

Delusional cold stupid chatter

Be quiet

Better hide

Better keep it in your journal

The place for dreams is in bed

Can I send you this? 

I'm so close to deleting

I don't want you to judge me 

Hate me 

Be hurt by me

For having sex with him

I don't want to be poisoning 

Everything

With my demons of doubt

FUCK THAT

Who cares?

Who can avoid the feral humanness?
It's here. 
It's alive.

Now,

I am quietly surrendering my fear to the pillow

The low hum window AC

Maybe some weed later

Because I don't want to feel

How much I want

To be somewhere or something else

I just want to go

Now

For a little while

I might also read a book

190/365 : to my poetry pen pal

I remember 

The thrill of writing 

Lightening-rod-real
Those first few 

Poetry dance mmmms

The disgust, almost

Like raw beef

African savage sincerity 

Kinda exciting 

In a fetish-like way

The ache has become serious now

moved Inward, stomach curled 

Barf.

I'm not surprised by what

I say

I just know 

I hate 

The taste

But then again

I kinda like it

Here, in this clinic of

Self pity hate 

There's no curiosity

But there's endless space 

For the hope

That a drop of it 

Could change

Everything 

And hope

Is a well-cooked

Cow of comfort

189/365 : Hygienic Lies

Self love is annoying like a nagging Jewish mother

When I was a kid I'd lie about brushing my teeth

I'd even WET THE TOOTHBRUSH

And still not brush 

I also used to click the sound of the seatbelt buckle and STAY UNSTRAPPED

Tiny rebellions

Against myself

That felt like grand rebellions

Against The Authority

The Authority that was never With Me

Just nagging me from the other room

This is how to be Safe Healthy Happy, Rachael

This is how!

(While we slam-door-curse horrid anger balls at each other)

I am here now 

In my own room

And no one's nagging me 

Except the posters of positivity 

I've made for myself

Out of desperation

To protect the parts of myself

I've managed to cherish

This is not a lie of a poem

This is not just wetting the brush

This is what happens with no double-standard nagging:

Teeth rot

Impact hits

You learn for yourself

The importance of hygiene

And helmets

188/365 : bad mood poetry

Bad moon

Bad mood

It's never too soon

To tell the full truth

I'm cranky as fuck

Pushed all my luck

Coyote's cackling 

At my attempts at tackling

The wild wave of July water

With a little flame of spite or anger

What's needed here

Is earth

187/365 : Breaking in

I have not one pair of loved shoes

That haven't worn through the soles

Or splayed at the sides,

Torn at the toe

Or stretched to my size

And this how I like it:

Signs of mud 

Failed attempts to clean up the wild

Unpolishable scuffs

I'm not rich enough to stay pristine

I don't value a boxed kind of clean

I want age and character and signs 

Of too many puddles

I want scuff marks and stories and

toe-heel-n-kickin those babies off

My shoes do not need coddling or protection

They need adventure inside them

The kind of strength that trusts the breaking in, and breaking out 

186/365 : I miss po

I miss po

etry,

qui

etude,

spac

iousness.

the South 

Dakota 

sky.

185/365 : what happens when you're an artist, and your father says, "there is no undoing what you've done," in regards to living FOR A FEW MONTHS off your credit card

1. after years of protest and quick-wit out lashes of passion, you decide this time, to simply say, "thank you."

2. added to your, "thank you" is your, "i hear your. i hear how scared you are. i hear that you're afraid i won't ever be safe in the world, and i hear how upset you are with both of us for getting into this spot, that you see no way out of. i hear that you want my future to be safe. i hear that you don't trust the world, and in reality, don't trust the way i am in the world. i hear you."

3. you ask, "what can you do to make yourself feel more safe in this situation?"

4. you let him do whatever he needs.

5. you hang up the phone with an, "i love you."

6. you let the swell of energy in your throat move toward your collarbone, out to the edges of your shoulders, down to your elbows, forearms, fingertips.

7. you write a new security. you write a thousand ways out. you write the truth: that you are alive and happier than you ever were under the scrutiny of cash-based worth assessments. you write the other truth: that you know you are called to make this world safer for the artists, mystics, healers and lovers. you write up an offering, an invoice, a love letter, a thank you note. you write a poem that goes like this:

8. dear dad,

the sky has plucked
my feathers of fear
one by one

i feel my nakedness

and i have already come undone

this skin-to-sun reality
this burning

is not a death to me

i know the names
of all the neighbors
and all the trees

the creek has held me

in my grief

and given of herself
in my thirst

there are worse things
in the world

than befriending the wild

isolation

is not my way

i'm okay here
i'm okay

love,
rachael

9. you get back to work.

184/365 : surprise me

today will go down in the history books
as the umteenth time
i let the five year old girl i nanny
fuel my sleepless body
with the silly folly of dancing to billy joel

it will go down on record
as the hundredth time
i'm hung over on heartbreak--
i've gotten smarter, by now,
at drinking lots of water
while cracking, crying
calling on each others courage

today will go down as the third time, maybe fourth
that i looked myself in the mirror--
after sleeping in my clothes from the night before--
and said, "grow up, kid.
it won't kill your spirit."

today, was the fifth time i burned all my little dreams.
floated ashes down the stream
whispered silently to the hot summer sky,
"surprise me.
surprise me."

183/365 : gates of paradise

you built yourself
like a famous doorway
bronze casting
tiny stories of spiritual
triumph, men in robes
blessing men in robes

like the gates of paradise
everyone powerful
walks through you
for baptism
for salvation
to feed their hungering
for something
bigger than humility
stronger than death

i told you i just wanted you
as a doorway
not a destination

i didn't realize
i'd have to walk through you
each time i wanted
kneel down and pray

182/365 : i hate you

it's not your age i hate
it's the way you disappear
before you're really gone