you're welcome

Sometimes my mind slips

in and out, amidst, between,

lyrical laughter no one but I

surmise the meaning of.

I saw death once

it was not a dream

but the absence of the ability

to write my heart

express.

making records, Jeffrey,

don’t you feel like - goodness?

in the dance, slipping

I turn, become
in the dance, slipping

on the blood of my heart
about the floor

like grapes gone
to good wine.

And I smile to the sun
in the distance.

This is life, leave me not
to stagnate on the vine.

untitled

Tea grows cold
as I stop in reply.

My heart blocks
at points (protecting)
it knows not to pass
so I am only able

to want as deep
as I am let, yet
love as deep
as I require. I stop

in thought, fingers
on lips as I gaze
out across the sky,
tea cool and sweet.

I drunk deep, stretch
and form the words.

from february 28th, 2006

Brief but in the mind
flickers bright thought
something coming
on the make barely
you, lid on contained
I swelling to the spill.

Both in flux, we press
the tease, tongue sweet
on flesh in the eves
we meet and breeze
sheets a tangle, please.

hurt

Surely even a casual
friend would message
to ask if I were okay.

self-efficacy

I remember
being cold,
hungry as only a
child can be with
no conception of
what more was. I

knew not how
to ask, only felt
its lacking. Of
nourishment I
was in need. In
my second life I

learned to ask,
but never received; it
ended in divorce.
Now in my third I
give freely to me
and the ache of

need passes quickly.

in search of...

Heart sore heavy
I sip tea, nibble
on biscuits drenched
in butter dribbling
down my chin caught

by nimble
tongue. Ah yes my
tongue the power
of deaf deftness.

And I slept deep after
crying myself to sleep
in the wee hours of
early morn.

Alone, disheartened
in need of you whether
ambiguously or specifically;
the social masses too hard

on my truth, justice.
Welcome, big brother to
America the home of the
no longer free. Welcome,

little girl to a brave
new world you never
knew shadowed in your
world of inept reason

of devout convictions.
I called you did not
answer. Sadly I turn
away bright eyes still
not comprehending

in search of
shit if I know.

Friday, April 07, 2006

to my gentlemen

spring is in the air...you men are frisky in your words and incredulation of your women. but there are others of us who read you...

Twist your words
all to me whispered
without breathe
as the ambiguous
embodiment of woman.

I am she of which
you speak gently
as I devour you,
your words in flush
cheeks, raised
heart beat. I blush

for you softly as
you stroke ego,
Id all the while
demurred in want

of my own man's
immortalization.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

spring anniversaries

There were five deep

purple iris on his casket darkly

blue. One for each lover sat

behind me in the pew. Vibrant

men that embraced

my grief like a sister softly,

bearing with me the next days

burden now rarely I recall.

In the evening of the
hour in which we speak
the settlement arose
in want, and this morn an
old flame to my breast
gently
did I cradle, sadly was I
meek.
for in visions today he was
temptation and sorrow past.

And my lost love?
calmly in the window
sees
he that admittedly
never knew how to
handle me with ease.
My lost love? My
lost
love you see is me.
And he? another life. Sadly,
sadly do I sigh for none
and no one my heart
wants to keep.

And the muse,
Love? Channel I through he
and perhaps thee, who knows ever
we shall evidently see.
(No I am not
so sure am I ever really
sure?)

she leaves me drained

And when it's your mother calling
in tears of "endless sorrow"
not able to come to deal with
the death of her son asking
will you sign things if she becomes
disabled, do you love her?
Will you reply dry eyed,
Yes mom, I will sign them
thinking hell what's another...

And you know
you're full grown then.

Is this the time of which we spoke?

You had mentioned
you could be
too kind and I
in my ready wit
replied without
a doubt that why

when upfront
saves misconstreunce.

Is this the time of which
we spoke? I ask
knowingly that doubt
is belayed and
weakness, my
nemesis intrudes.

Yet also given
way is that I care
enough to think of it.

i lost my edits. myspace seems to shut my whole pc down if i'm in the blog post too long so i have to reconstruct a bit of this....

In reference

muse
n. abstractedness 532.3
inspiration 535.2
Muse
poetic source 609.12

Rogets International Thesaurus
c. 1977

No
where does it say lover
a love, a lobster or a thrill
and yet most would assume...

"You deserve better."

Ah, but I quite adore thee,

therefore give I of myself

exclusively, unconditionally.

And when you are ready

to move on, gracefully

in composure will I sigh.

For now let stand the best

before me while I cry

and know…

I deserve to get what I

fucking want for once

just once in this life.