A FEW HEAVY NIGHTS
by Jessica DePue

This may be where our ending begins
You calculating our nights as numbered
Me next to you and dancing alone,
Divided in a club where I do not belong
Goth is to blonde as Beat is to conformity
Ask David Meltzer, I'm a culture whore
I'm bored with Depeche Mode and candles melting
On water clouding our imperfect reflection
Complex, reflexive, perplexed, aggressive
My hangover unnerves last night's last night,
Your violent fit over my concealed privacy
Must love incite such juvenile detraction
Then lead us out in pursuit of distraction
From the very inconsistencies that keep us glued
Bed persistently eludes me this way
I would bargain my soul for some rest
The type that hibernates, rescues, wipes out
Yet never arrives when I invite such peace
Behind sealed lids I am awake, painting
Those scenes which lead here, away
As you lay beside with nothing but dreams
When you return I will be on the couch
Perhaps the floor or caught between air, thinly
Spread, some formal expression guarding my heart
Ignoring my stomach's tight grips of hunger
Refusing the bowl, the milk and sweetner
Because I have more on my mind than Cheerios

The Academy of American Poets paid tribute to poems about the human body inspired by the journalists at Salon.com. With Nike's "Just Do It" slogan in mind they addressed their naked selves, imperfections and all.
Here is my poem.

MY BODY
by Jessica DePue

My body is small, stark and pale
It glows in the dark as energy restores

In the shower I observe the curve of my belly
A pretty, slight form where no child has dwelled

As children we ran all the time
When I jog I still feel free

My hips have grown in tune with my breasts
My hips carry me all over the place

They center me while my body moves
My breasts go along for the ride:

They rouse alert to all forms of pleasure,
Direct it my way with pert persuasion

I am seduced by thier erotic sensations
Have endured pain to embellish thier presence

My nipples offer my preferred release
They are best friends with my ass and between

My legs are strong, not as long as I'd like
They developed through gymnastics and cheerleading stunts

They connect at the hip bone and bend back behind
Sometimes while stretching I sneak in a high kick

After running and jumping my body loves rest
It thrives on variety of performance and thrill

Even the tiniest bits of me, my fingers and sorely
Imperfect feet seek elation through moments of fucking

From my ears to my toes, from beginning to finish
I am inspired by the catch phrase "Just Do It"

WAITING
by Jessics DePue

It could be a danger. Disaster
In the channels slinking your mail my way
Finding me where I have left off, again begun
Against the gentle erase of many things calling
I do not need your apologies as you need say them
I desire them when they never come, long before
Many things pass unattended until someone decides
My girlfriend is isolated after giving and giving
She gave so much she has trouble finding trust
To reconcile her father's words with those of her lover
She could be my sister. She could be my brother
We are separated, strung along since birth
Planes flown by faceless pilots, phantom passengers
Revolving between doors of vacated decades
I wonder of others who look much like me
Whose DNA mimic the codes I inhabit
My blood circulates invisible ties,
Identical layers of impending resolve
I search family archives for fragments of reason
Become a master of tolerance and solace,
Cultivate empathy for the devil's loose heart
Anything besides waiting out
The inexplicable absence of explanation

EVENTS LEADING TO
by Jessica DePue

I walked into with stomach split in two
Lactose intolerance to be specific

Charm abated my side as did Tiramisu (for that matter)
A mad hatter, id flew about your loo

Trolling for pink stuff and internal coating
To quell the white lines decietfully jiving

With my attention span, rather with the least
Of zen jitters and nausea quivers you attended host

Omnipotently oblivious to my disarrayed oblivian
To nuance beyond my jacked up meridians

Must have been three a.m. thawing San Francisco
Lights elude surface through an undercurrent flow

Another drink exhausted each excuse to rest
Yawning and fading from your stranger's scene, aching

To split back into bed, undress and undo
You-oh so helpful implored me stay, this I remember

Through embers and ash of crass derangement
Estranged, I occupied blinders and benders

To asphixiate sensation or underscore elation?
You were into me. You were outwardly polite

As I searched for an outlet to unplug and disengage
From everything, even compliments you gave

Especially your heavy lidded, light headed gaze upon
My fringed bangs, Cleopatra in the house there you lived

Before we ditched town and our neighborhood local
Where we never met

TRUST FUND TRASH GOES AWRY
An Unfortunate Saga in Rhyme
by Jessica DePue

Never deprived became depraved
Parent's love ever handsomely paid
Excessive investments withdrawn from accounts
Of failing good manners and consumer clout
Flailing endeavors gradually surpassed
Expectations of law school or PhD brass
Golden boy became the family black sheep
Inheritence insulating his conflicted fleece
From get go got paranoid, gone off the deep end
Glorified follies, creases deepened
Beverly Thrills gagged repulsive to acne
Acutane's rescue beckoned legalities
This medicated skin care he deemed too intense
Behavioral side effects: the price of clear skin
Bitter to boot, adored hating women
Oedipus cycles were his fateful given
His ego deflated, influx between sex
Retreats into money when things get complex
Horrific reality of Fitzgerald glamour
Romantic banality suggested as favor
Ladies dropped in left mostly distraught
Caught unawares in manipulative plots
To his sordid burdens Psychosis no stranger
A twit striving towards bastardhood,
Fucking dog in the manger

Jessica DePue
NOTE TO SELF

Hello Dear, there is no one particular or
Particularly here I have waited to write
From vacant addresses, have hesitated to address you vacantly
Sometimes there is not much muse to muster
October's mundane chill, my birthday's annual blunder

My intent being to finish Crime and Punishment
Before I am Thirty or too old to care
This indulgence strikes on rare odd occassion,
Between distilled potatoes and mashed ones
I can't keep up with where I've left off

Tonight is as usual, it porously toasts
To endless starts and predictable halts
I anticipate unfolding the peculiar strongholds
Of Raskolnikov's obsessive demise, his Russian fate
Prolonged on my bookshelf and heavy on my list

This unfinished novel refuses dismissal
The ineffable persuasions of selective perfectionism
Point me astutely towards this labor, to polish it off
To delectibly savor his erosian of character
Kept neatly beside back issues of celebrity trash

August 1, 2005 Los Angeles