I turn up like a malo centavo

In Eagle Pass, Texas.

"Her pants are too tight,"

I hear a woman whisper in Spanish.

The girl behind the counter

Has smiled and been friendly to everyone until me.

Her smile fades noticeably when she sees mine.

No matter.

I continue to smile at her,

Because I get it,

And I appreciate the difference she's making

In the other customers' minds, today.

I, too, am making a difference,

A slight reset in the hearts,

A raising of the bar for freedom and freakiness,

A happy wildness that harms no one,

And only seeks to inspire.

I am on a constant quest for liberation,

And my journal entries here

Remind me of where I am,

Where I've been,

Where I'm headed.

And I know the milestones

When I see myself in every brother,

Every sister that I meet.

And sometimes, someone even tells me that 

Some place here, where we are,

Is a billion percent better

Because I'm here, too.

-jenn

I get lonesome,

Deep state lonesome.

I start thinking about Russian bribes I've been offered.

I start to think of the audio tapes I have,

And just whom I might be able to blackmail.

I've worked for the American Stasi so long,

You'd think by now I would have a good network

Of participants, willing, or otherwise,

I could call on, or order around,

So that I could have what I want

Without having to exchange currency,

Or little pieces of my soul for it--

Alas! Just a chance meeting, here,

In the parking garage with DeepThroat.

-jenn

I'm so tired of hearing the husky voices 

Of gruff women 

Telling their children what to do 

In the public restroom.

"Go potty!" they demand.

"Wash your hands!"

"Stand right here and wait for me!"

I think if there is anywhere 

People of all ages, even children,

Know what they need to do

Without being told,

It's the bathroom.

And then I come out of the stall

And see this sign telling me 

Not to forget my purse!

-jenn

Moonfaced girl comes

With an eagle feather,

To touch you in the early morning,

Brush your hair back from your face

With her magic feather,

Whispers words of love and life 

Deep into your sleeping mind.

And when you wake,

The seeds of dreams may grow

With all the corn you planted,

So just be careful when you start to thin the sprouts,

To leave a few dreams 

To twine up with the beans and squash.

-jenn

Some people like to fill themselves 

With artificial ingredients 

Until they overflow

With lots of words

That don't make any sense together.

They spew it out and call it poetry.

But I'm reminded of what 

Kobayashi Issa said,

"Writing shit about new snow

For the rich

Is not art."

-jenn

They say you never can go home again,

But there he was playing on the big stage,

Right there in his old hometown.

And I detected rage in his voice

When he said that it was nothing like his home at all.

They had never let him play here

While he was trying to make it,

And he was even better back then, he said,

With a roughness in his heart,

And a toughness in his throat,

That the professionals had tried so hard to polish out of him.

And the people that made up the crowd

Had come from miles and miles around

To hear him play and sing.

It wasn't his neighbors or cousins or his parents

He saw sitting in the audience.

But something about being in his old hometown

Brought the edge back.

A toughness came out of his mouth.

His fans didn't like it,

And it had almost ruined him

To come back to play in his old hometown.

So maybe it's not that you can't go home,

But maybe, once you get going,

Its just that you shouldn't.

-jenn

First, love came and built a nest in my hair,

Planted ideas up there close to my head.

Slowly, the ideas of love and the realities 

Got through my thick skull.

My mind began to ruminate

On the possibilities of Love.

My brain realized, neurologically,

The critical condition my heart was in,

And set up an IV drip of love for me,

And just as I felt Love permeate my blood,

I heard the eggs, hatching in the nest above my head.

And now I hear such peeps and chirps

Of baby lovebird songs all day.

I look around, and I can finally see,

Love has made a nest for me

Here in this ever-blooming tree of life.

-jenn