Caitlin's Poetry

Small Nose is the name of a street dog.
I saw a dead chihuahua on the highway.
I like the words “Vulcan Isadora” and “Miscellaneous Angels.”
“Bob” is a fun word to say with a Mexican accent.
Ostrich are both at the zoo and on the Ole Ole menu.
When I step out of a movie theater, I’m like a vampira in the light.
Search is the most generous person I know.
Women luchadors slap each other on the face and ass.
One was dressed up as a smurfette.
Mexican cheese and fruit and sweet tamales are delicious.
On the walls of the ruins by the sun and moon pyramids are jaguars playing trumpets.
Everyone at the pyramids make jaguar sounds and tropical bird sounds and it started to annoy Search and me.
The Sun Pyramid would not be fun to fall off, with sharp rocks emenating from the cement, which is actually made up of mud and poo…
Gir is short for Girbasio who is a large beagle.
Search’s mom is a little obsessed with the trash man.
If you get stuck inside a cubicle at a public restroom, you’re fucked because you can’t climb over or go under.
People paint faces by demonstrating their technique on photos of Disney princesses so it looks like they’re tattooed.
I hate to throw food away.
“LIZMINELLI” store has no relation to Liza Minelli.
Stops in the Mexican subway have little names and pictures, like “Kangaroo,” “Koala,” “Cricket,” and “Aztec Pyramid.”
I did not get tourista.
The word “Gringo” comes from the green uniformed army coming towards the Mexicans and the Mexicans shouting, “Green go home.”
My dad’s dear friends have a complex with money because they’re rich but they feel bad about it, though they belittle the people who live around them.
Pesos are pretty.
The zona rosa is a gay area with gay bars that are fun to visit.
“Claudia” and “Laura” are funny sounding words but good people.
I mustn’t forget the word “azafata.”
The red fruity flowers on cactuses are called “tuna.”
Search is a fun person to sing along with. His dad is a quiet man. His mom made us popcorn and said I was welcome to stay there any time I liked and asked Search, “How old is she?” because I look young.
Masks are fun and scary.
Burros, cows, and horses.
Churros and a guy in cowboy pants, shoes, and hat.
“Boing!” is the name of the juice.
I needn’t worry about talking to hot girls because I don’t speak Spanish.
Inflatable wigs are fun too, and fun to pose in.
Search is a generous guy, but sometimes it’s impossible to think of something to say.

poem about being gay in high school

Suicide queen
I can’t die
I’m hungry
suicide queen enters
the sass-ateria
While in lost scenes
marching, impenetrable, coconut homosexual under schisms
die fiery
Navigating in an ogre of origin and sense,
Elk howls din
Lost pelican queen is me.

　 souls of queers,
not vegetables,
under establishment,
knee sardines
knee mermaid cafeterias
knee anteaters
knee censors

　 Suicide queen
I can’t sew – duh
my pies and goddaughter rat
named Uma
Why am I pale yellow?
Why am I somber?
suicide queen I can’t sew – duh
the hunger
delicious shampoo, austere and
notorious
It cons the liberated quarter tomato

　 Oh, Darius, moo, tea
a moon, jam,
con un-gulp death or
ham
serious bellow
ear, poor lost cows
con un-chinchilla vegetable
Why dandies grit pasta
more ear – duh – free

Her tale took me by surprise,
shrieking for more seagulls,
more broken windows
more habitats of old ruins
bunkers by the bay
in Normandy
covered in
globs -- black hanging globs --
covered in sea stars
glittering on the walls
the refracted light
singing about the sea
and starfish
and cotton candy
and a little
village in Normandy
where world war 2
happened.
We went on a sightseeing trip of World War 2.
O's. Cheerios.
I took up
my petticoat
and ran into the
sea, flourishing,
its warm
waves on
my toes,
eager to stop at any
time for more cotton
candy, pop rocks, crystals
of blue and red in packaging
by the sea.
A similar game was played
with her daughter,
the salesman sailor.
She found a turtle named
Bartholomy in the
sunlight,
basking on a rock,
its neck full of
orange and blue veins.

We went sailing on the
lagoon and caught a
fish. It was a
minnow, sparkling like
the pop rocks and
crystals in my mouth,
crunching and taking me home
to another time.

She took the knife and swallowed me.
It was a letter.
by the fire, screaming.
The mind of the
young girl
was swimming with occurancy.
Her boyfriend with
the matty hair
that hung down in
fluffs.
His nose reaching
for the tide.
His sex unhinged
with lox and
toboganning.
We made it.
I took his hands in
my flowers and squirted,
bumble bee
Her crown radiated
a certain
reluctance to his
habit. He never
saw a woman
like that.
Her eyes were
feral and her
tail was two-timing
burrito monger,
fresh fish at
Applebee's with
a margarita
made of
soap and dust.

Angels appeared out
of the
back of our car,
barbequing in the
parking lot,
asking. He took my
hand and led me
into the tide.
The tide screamed
scrambled on my toes.
I took him to the
beyond. It was
a spaceship.
Galactic Eleven
Meters deep.
The curtseying lace
surrounded my
foot on the
beach.
It pulled me in,
the tide.