Sunday, April 22, 2007
crumbs and siblings
Blood test results
sadness and fear
Robert, brother,
on the nineteenth of May this year you would have been forty-one
instead you will always be thirty-five
and I am thirty-seven
what were you thinking that first time
much like I, not to worry
it's nothing, easily explained?
and our sister, the elder, the abuser
of her body, her mind, her heart
greedy user of siblings,
my god, will you outlive us all?
journalesque on slim blonde men and solace and love
In conversation with a friend, I realized recently that I have a weakness for slim blonde men who drink and smoke. Did I mention pretty? They are, and by most women's standards. Tentatively they draw to me; some friends, one or two lovers. (I would think, at my age and depth of plainness, they would be unattainable.) One, so heart-stoppingly gorgeous in visage and heart, he steels my love with every breath and just when I thought I had grown as much as I could grow, I discover me more deeply. I try to hold him loosely, though I feel that often I cling.
These men have so much in common, these pretty men. Something in their hearts that need healing, a tenderness to which I want to stroke and coo soft words. Yes, so much in common and yet cannot be compared to another or each other. Strangely, they and so many others recognize in me solace and the attempted logic of emotion. I try to love and heal, unconditionally and then let them leave, go their way. I watch them go with bittersweet memories later to recall.
Even my brother, sister, mother, have at one point reached to me, reached out to me to make sense of things, for simple words of understating. They have wanted the most and in their view I may have failed them but in mine I have come through. For those that would stay and suck the life from me, I wish you would see that it's better to stand on your own two feet and that I can only give so much before I myself have to heal.
All comes at a price. I have severed deep, familial attachments and sometimes the sense of disconnectedness is overwhelming. My father, the one deep attachment I choose to keep, asks for nothing, is too like me, simply sleeping deep under my roof, blanketed by a sense of home.
But after so many years of feeling old, I view the world as fluid and ever changing and I have marveled at the beauty of my own ability to love, not to harden but to retain a sense of youth.
Yes, on occasion, disconnectedness plagues me
but more often the freedom to live burns in passion bright
and the world is always new to me
the slim blonde men, making me smile
as I watch them grow and go and live
but in this moment I do wonder
will my lover let me hold him this night.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
In Tongues I Have Dreamt; or Plato's Theory of Forms
Mas-que is what I have named
the turtle that keeps the earth afloat.
I do not have the words passed down
from generation to generation
Culture and inheritance are lost too me,
the emergent Texan American gone Global.
But Mas-que, like many things I write,
by chance, strings together in coherence –
thoughts that are oft times a mere syllabic utterance
of expression; they are concepts granted before birth.
those of which I catch a glimpse,
feel to the core, inherent, but cannot articulate.
Abstracts that allude me intellectually, linguistically.
They are feelings manifest in syllabic utterance
of sound for which I can only weep for the never knowing.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
as she warms my cheek
I will rise from this meloncholied winter
and I will worship, soon, by the water,
there in the grass; warm days
of cold drinks, browned skin
and tender bits almost too pink.
I will run by the wayside watching
the hubbub of the Others, foreign
as they pursue pursuant things
while the Heat basks in adoration
of the sensitivity I coddle close
in vows to never harden again. No
if I feel too deep blame not me
but summer in her brilliance
as she warms my cheek and burns
passion into the further recess
of dreams and hope and love for you.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
i have touched brief of bright white lights
I have touched brief
of bright white
lights
inside
mind and heart
external stimuli
but no it was not grief that bore me home
only the coming out that undid me
and the myriad lights gave way to seed
to bloom
to blossom free
I felt young then
younger than my youth
younger than the forms
of thought that came well before any grave
yes those there that allude me
still
always
in pixie dusts of hide and play
mischief
mischief
do I seek and do you flee
come again another day
flitter and tease
Oh yes ever do I touch brief
of a bright white
light
oft here oft there
lately, wings aflame
know I
have I learned to care
too much, too much, I know, T. C., to much
but such is my life
how I grow
each spark of light
a stepping stone
I molt and glow and catch the wind
pull myself up – strong
fall down again
Monday, April 09, 2007
a-long the road
Somewhere a-long the road
I came
and went
left a husband by the wayside
got educated
got read
got some lovin;
growed into a wo-maan
a brick house of a girl
somewhere along the road
I solidified
into something fluid
yet still
inarticulate
though I do try
and his ears
unlike mine, are patient.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
panic and water and theft
I
That close to my degree
just been invited to join Sigma Tau Delta
(the International English Honors Society),
there's this internship, writing,
that may make an impact on the ecology and
I've got a fantastic lover that I adore,
don't see us parting soon, I have
great friends that grow with me
and I am realizing my life path; only
I am that afraid of fucking it all up because
that's what I'm great at - fucking things up
pushing people away
when I feel the water sucking me down.
II
I am greedy with his love
though he cannot hold my head above the waves
he gives me breath and strength to swim;
that same breath he steels
upon each first glance and trailing kisses
along the length of me.
Friday, March 23, 2007
lucky girl
greedily
he drinks from me
the pleasure
he gives
of matrimony wilt
there's this cowboy
one long tall drink of water
in a hat and boots
bass flapping on the license plate
of his big boat towin' truck
been two years plus some
since that day on the lake
and the strangely few that followed
but we chat now and then
as if there had been more than
going down, a bit of fun,
a bit of one-sided interest
so the timing is always off
and one of us flirts while the other -
the other is with someone
checking things out or even
getting married
bad timing ya know?
but cowboys on the prowl
sans their cowgirl
just ain't my thing
and my chat grew cordial
slow and sad
that my freedom to love
where I do, where I may,
blossoms beautifully
into a brave new trust
whereas his bonds
of matrimony wilt
Thursday, March 22, 2007
exhaustion finds me
I think too much
too deep
I wanna wax poetic about stupid shit
like how
butterflies remind me of my lost virginity
and not home team dugouts
or hard, scarred wood digging into my back
I wanna talk about
how
soft trickling rills bring me to transcendence
and not the sheer sight of my lover's engorged penis –
how thinking of him makes my mouth water
and my thighs burn
sometimes
I wanna be that socio-conformist sheep
with no thoughts that scar,
I wanna be normal, blend in
and not that socially inept, unapproachable
loud laugh you hear a mile away
sometimes
I want
to not rise up to meet the road ahead
to stop these dreams
this hope
exist in a moment without thought
want, desire
trade my freedom for a cage
where I am fed three square meals a day
sometimes
I wish
I could hear
and sometimes
I am weary
and exhaustion finds me.
Monday, March 05, 2007
renamed: bit past three finally i sleep
My lover leads me far past
the point of exhaustion and
into the twilight of a full moon
A bit past three finally I sleep
should rise at six but do so later
He loves me deep, carries me past
transcendence's bliss
into the realm of betrayal
my body no longer responding
to my will but his
My heart torn asunder
ripped from my chest, swallowed
Betrayal, bliss sustained, hours
knowing I will rise, sore, just
ridden hard, put away wet
a bit past three, perhaps
I passed out, I can't be sure
I had wanted to talk soft
– he tempted me over with talk –
and close, disclose my heart
yet in the morning
I was hushed until another day
I think I slept, he says I slept
still and dead and deaf
but I knew each time he tossed
turned, my heart stopping
thoughts silently forlorn
finally I spoke meek
if you don't want to keep me
you'll have to set me free
something softer in my mind
Oh my love, I only want to grow
in the gouges my nails rent
in your sweet flesh
to see if two so different lives
could balance on madness
and core beliefs in sinc
no harm no foul if we part
it's all in the attempt to me
hopes and wishes
I called my Daddy last week or so.
We were talking, I mentioned wishing and
he asked if I recalled what my granddad used to say
I said of course not so he explained…
hold out both hands palm up
let your wishes pile up in one hand
and shit pile up in the other
see which one fills up faster.
I said ummm, thanks dad and of course
he replied that my granddad was a strange man.
We had a good laugh, my dad and I, so much alike,
but it got me thinkin' 'bout hope and wishes;
how I had been bereft of them so long
now suddenly they were in my life
and I feel odd, distorted, wanting
to toss them the hell away and run.
Hope and wishes, you see, are ambiguous to me
by nature. I feel lost without clear boundaries,
unable to define my own way, being unsure
of the future, of people I want to keep.
I have placed a lot of hope on my own shoulders
and wishes in my lover's thoughts and care.
As I attempt to balance them I struggle
within the bounds of others' dictation, restless,
within the discomfort of charterless waters. But
I dream the me I want to be, the life I want to live
lay naked 'neath the sun's caress
and let my hopes and wishes lead me forth.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
awakening
I stretch and molt
within the bounds
of lover, sweetheart;
new dynamics'
growing bond
and the allowance
to adore simply
to caress my nose
my cheek along
sweetest flesh
to chatter away
thoughts streaming -
it's a brave new me
come to play,
awakening.
Monday, February 26, 2007
we meet in that twilight
We meet in the dreamscape of twilight;
that horizon where hell caresses heaven.
He has things to fill his night, you see,
and I have things to fill my day.
He the moon and I the sun, Oh
but our core values sinc,
our love is profound
and we fuck like madness in rebirth,
make love like there really is no tomorrow.
Yet how, I wonder, do I keep us free
and still hold on tight;
Habits and lives in opposition –
and yet what is day without night,
the sun and the moon begetting
stars to fill our gaze, to wish upon…
So yes, we meet in that twilight,
and my soul at least finding peace;
deep, breathless, deserved – peace.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
outstanding
if moans were words
last eve I found a few;
soft coos and purrs
while we drank our fill
past exhaustion...
Monday, February 19, 2007
transcendence three
some day I will find transcendence;
no, it will not be in death
through spiritual enlightenment
or the attainment of higher education,
but deep in the flesh of man...
hands splayed wide on too hot flesh
and the taste of him sweet
on the tip of tongue, words lost.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Stendhal's Syndrome
She reached out
grasped air
where she thought you had been
in dreams sweet;
mistaken.
tired
drunk
fever
all the good shit comes with fever
like the moon bright afire
and sweat pouring in miniscule rivulets;
your cheek so beautiful en finis
you mistook
her tears
for Sorrow herself. Yet
it was with Stendhal's Syndrome
she wept.
