he was so good

he was so good at
wearing hotel bathrobes

whether in upstate new york
or mexico

on overnights paid by

the girlfriend

wolfing down
angus steak i had bought
at sobey's

forbidden beef

raj's lamb a rare treat for me
beautiful bimla's roti better than candy
but he'd never buy, just borrow

so every monday
his head switched pillows
and his blasphemous belly
stuffed in my kitchen
while his gnawed hands
laid saran on the kitchen floor
oily press
shiny white chalky stuff
plus flakes
benz, o, no, mercedes
asinine code word
ace tone

why would you have to do this here?
when you could do it in your dad's garage
but no i can't, he said,
they're looking for it there
i have a record
the most eclectic taste of music
and girls

toony, i'll keep us safe
you are my world
with this ring i thee bed
for another month
until i can make a few calls
for those stalls don't hold green
no more

for co-bee while stoning his fitness
selfie queer
wants his 5K back
and a man's loan bears honor
while a woman's
especially this old one i'm fucking
count none
she's the one
who should pay me
to even pay her some mind

toon-toon, you are the most beautiful
one, the only one i need
don't leave or change your number
keep loving me
i fear
for my life
and sanity

he looked so good wearing 

hotel bathrobes 

whether in upstate new york 

or mexico

or nothing
but my shell necklace on his

crack

swoonstar lunar geology

the moon swoons ...
for you
~polaris~
have her
orbiting
your stellar
revolution

electrify space
beat a black hole's drum
magnify your grace
shooting projectile energy
tactile trajectory
sum of all sparkle combust and bedazzle
drop n mash
vibrate n flash
lace her face with seaman's salt
print feet on her lunar soil
regolith
monomyth
petroglyph
lunar lava signed sealed
not deliverable

she swoons
your moon
make her bloom
polaris impact cratering
make her bloom
your moon
she swoons

yoko ono fright night

your final words...

the picture of yoko ono?

overture silence

foam sounds

bare breath

shallow

aw u sweepy?

i ask into this space of

harmony

sans sound

her eyes burnt scars into mine

i almost want to cut my hair

for distance to her

but you

trust me

to be

here

so you

with the same scare

scar in your

beloved eyes

sleep safely

into my ear

holding me near

and dear

a tear

rolls

and another one

so moved am i

both by your drifting into dreams

and by our shared fright night

yoko in white

and that ghost of hers

in black

and back

to the pants with

hands

in crotches

and white blotches

where nipples poke from

underneath

pink shoulderfree see-through

butt hoodies

yes, i would scream too

and not just to a katy perry tune

but no one would pay me

a dollar

they'd make me pay a fine

if yoko ono and bono

screamed together

tears for fears would bring about

a whole new mad season

and maybe...

resurrect grunge

with frank zappa

unwife

unwife. verb.
opposite of wife. verb. 
in order to unwife a woman, a male human first has to wife her. he wifes her by declaring her his wife, as opposed to his girlfriend, mistress, etc.
once he has found someone else to come home to, the male will unwife the wifed woman in much the same lack of ceremony in which he initially wifed her. whether he tells her, or whether he waits until she asks him, is a question of his integrity, honor, and hustlership. a more experienced male, aka Man, will be ceremonious about it. a small scale wanna-be thugster will clandestinely switch and let the "bitch" find out.

papa'akin

papa'akin. noun.
term of endearment from venus to mars. a papa'akin can be anything from a happy hustler who wins with smiles and charm doing no harm, to a pogocious player who breaks hearts so sweetly that the shards dance salsa around him, to a polished metrodude with a soul of gold. can't be mad at him long, but he'll try your patience until your temples pop.

now let's use it in a sentence:
"a paved #paradise will pull a papa'akin up."


created by luna_o in the years of grunge, when teen spirit still smelled, after years of misheard lyrics from joni to janet to amy.  

b'zhoolee

b'zhoolee. noun. 
term of endearment for a unique male person in a powerful, wild, usually older female's life. the male is untamed, but extremely self-controlled. wildly creative, his energy sends him beyond the stratosphere but he recedes into earth's core to regenerate and come to his true self. he is stronger than his fears, but he holds on to those fears as boundaries. all this makes him dear to her, because it reflects her own substance and spirit. a b'zhoolee is a man who brings out all aspects and living forms of womanhood in her. contrary to others, a b'zhoolee might risk a lot but is always aware of what is at stake. ultimately, his leaps propel himself, her, and their connection forward in an upward spiral towards freedom, eden, and fulfillment.

opposite: vesclub clenceno.
created by luna_o on the day the world un-apocalypsed, again, because everyone misread ancient scriptures, again.

#freedom & #paradise

when i sawmy pics tagged #freedom and #paradise...
...it moved me... to think...this...

#freedom and #paradise are simpler than alaska but easy here

#freedom is mine as i let go of controlling anything and anyone but me

even though someone else gives me
attention
excitement
information
makes me
think
laugh
giggle
even though i look forward to spending time with that one
even though no one else makes me feel this way
even though no one else continues to bring out my smile so surely
even though i don't want to miss any moment of togetherness with him

i know i will live if he decides to take all of this away.

i know that the sun will make my eyes sparkle in winter
i know that the moon will stir my imagination any time
i know that a warm breeze will feel like a hug even in solitude
i know that the ocean will always excite me
i know that even without books and the internet


i can go ogle over my doorstep and find magnificence
i can dance through my own world's wide web and be tense as a tightrope with hunger for more knowledge
i can talk to strangers and listen to their stories
i can stand on my head and look at the water faucet upside down
just for perspective

as long as my mind is somewhat obedient to my will

#freedom is mine.




#paradise is
opening my eyes
deciding that my cup is half and filling
hope never dies
dark days help with light appreciation
poverty is relative
bitter winds are here to keep us inside and introspective
remembering #freedom
& that #loving does not depend on receiving #love

as long as i stay free

#paradise is mine.

and both are yours as well.

4...

i'd rather fly with you thru hell
than be alone in heaven

when things here seemed to go so well
we fell
up to sky seven

flew then into abysmal light
where darkness' sleight slights
and fights
my knight's night
so i smite
its might
and let my passion leaven
the dough of soul's glow
until we rise
together
and feed
space

insta.images.

3 days on the fence as silence gyrates spirals to our tomorrow

ice fog grows nostrilsicles lashsicles peach fuzzicles eyecicles

wet wood thuds off white trucks
as lumberjacks wave welfare to their chainsaws

"good riddance", "ditto, dude"

flashing high beams break into a trip-hop rhythm

"he never recovered", "expected; just as she closed the deal"

as the earth shook, a stampede of 28 raccoons rushed through the ceiling vents

if she had worn leather boots, static would have been bearable, but latex shocks one step at a time

spoons twirl honey and she dips them into two cups of warm milk

there were 19th century cook books in his library, right next to wilde and chaucer on the highest shelves, out of reach, so that wright and baldwin could rest eye level with a six foot man's gaze

"cliched as it may be, but have you read all of them?"

leafing through yellowed pages as he pulled one down with his hand, the injured one, with two fingers and three stumps, he smiled.

of course not - so much life left, so many quiet years ahead, there is still time.

but the election was over, and no one cared.

the tree of life had become a tree of decay, just like his fatty flesh fell prey to gravity

"if they forged new tongs on the the foul snake..."
"oh no, they did"
"so...did it grow thorns as well?"

i will never desert u.

but i need to get out of this funk. don't leave me.

i won't.

don't change your number.

i won't.

love me.

i will. i am.

i will be back.



but then, u dive.

lost in that space again, only my heart knows where.


yes, i still feel u. now and again. no longer asking when
because the demons u see do not exist
as they did not exist then
when he called u
that

universe:  what is the lesson this time?

coming back 2u ... again?

but we never left.


no one ever loved me like mausebline does. keep him safe. pull him out.

heal.

'nother love rhyme

that moment
iris draws iris
pupil pulls pupil
breaths pause
instants thaw
constants claw
distant applause
extant awe
ellipses of time
eclipse the
situation standing ovation to
attraction
not fatal but blatant and flagrant
like jupiter's
pass
and i want 2 say i love u more than the moon
and that i love as much, but more than i love even a loon

but that's not cutting it

like paper the side of my index finger
over and over again, over the years, cut after cut after cut
itch, bleed, heal, itch bleed heal itchbleedheal cut again

what i really feel is....

Like

i like you

i like how you make me feel
i like you like i like my feet that have carried me so many steps that if i'd kept walking straight i might have made it from here to saturn and around its nine rings nine times
cupping its arches like my insecurities in the process of chasing anxieties' demons into hydrogenetic oblivion

orbiting your solidity
i cling to the lava promised in your gaze
wait for that smile to catch my falling self-esteem and bring me
back to life as i never knew it could blossom and steady even in knik glacier winds

exhaling blue bear in
halo under gums into lungs
into me we tumble round and round like shooting stars on
the seventh cusp of summer

ninth ward blues and oranges
two times two times right
two waterways meandering through valleys of life and death
as boulders jut fierce ride4life policies out of the seas of opinions that any
misattitude could concoct like witches brew which is so new
this time around


i like you like i like my eyes blue as skies of september after three nights of less than sufficient rem phase comatose dozing
doses of sanity wrestle insane slices of memory lane in my sleepdeprived fried brain
until my eyes turn green again as sage returns

like them
you change
your Sir-face, but only on surface
from mad hatted youngster to slick mofo gangster to elegant swag starr
and then the sudden gift of an all open gaze in which not only
you C me you see me as i see me and you
and all that is in you, the glow, the gold from within the deepest deep oceanic recess sweeps around which you've built walls over walls
but your secret's safe with me as i am safe with you


i like you like i like my hands
doors to my soul after you gaze thru my windows innuendos waken slumbering fairies of pheromones
jupiter's sixtysix moons dubstepping subdepping clubwebbing popping Io's volcanoes like corn in coconut oil

buttercups spoil a dandelion salad i made to offer your hands slender and long as a violin's neck
and just as musical
not a speck of dust
they must
be feeding the small of my back cool comfort as we walk and talk
plucking the strings of my wings and innermost things
if i am the wind beneath yours
the one who adores
you make me dive onto the ocean's ground
breathing free and jive with subterranean hives
of seahorse and zebrafish
feel alive
test-drive that new sonic sonar sound
segue to harmonic philologies
hip-hopping freestyle analogies
as you mix and spin cirocing anachronistic beats to slinging
lassos

your riffs are stiff like turnagain cliffs

killing in cypher like a pro-lifer

picketing those o.b. gyns

no one wins 

except us
ride or die

i like you like i like my mind
fierce yet kind

i look behind
and see our tracks in the sands of time

yup.
we be solid.
like a badass RocaRocious freestyle rhyme.

that's deep - a meducation

u say that a lot but
see, when i say that's deep
i mean
what u just said will leap
off the page, is the tip of a peak
so i lean, glean, pulling your fins, reining you in
by the skin on your temple's bling
not gold just perfect eyebrows swooshing in

come sing softly, move
towards me and whisper that beat from your heat to my need
over peat
moss and leaves crossed and
train tracks and brain wrecks
blank checks on bounced decks

i brought you the key
but u had me
before on that chain
lost my train
of thought
strain that caught
salmon king
on sisal string
as humpbacks sing
and swangsters swing
to the drum of my ears' fears
anxiety pierces the walls of trust
so i must
run up that hill
until
my pump is still
and my breath can chill
at 2 degrees looking down on
myriads of atomic insomniacs
wearing lilacs
on leather straps
dancing on seedy laps
taking them under wraps
folding skin into wax
bees knees bend easily breezy and sleazy

don't know what it means to geave and leave and be a fiend to sheeet

but urban diction taught me today
that kick rocks means get lost
and that there are seven ways to say fuck you
and not all are rude

and then there is "holla"
which should come with intonation guides
for definition number six alone prides three unrelated meanings:
1. hello.
2. i want to get all up in your goodies. who says that?!
or, number 3. good bye.

this serves as a prelude to
all sorts of deluded combabulations and funfaktations
slice of life lice are rife
use your tongue like a knife on this blithe
fakadillio ~ i'm your wyfe4lyfe if u can handle the strife
kiddo
life in ak is not your average game
watching hulu as i skin a moose with my ulu
and when i hear strip i see little malls losing grip
on small business economy
unless you are living subsistence there's no true autonomy
in this wily land
we measure
wealth and treasure
by the pleasure
we get from breathing ice fog
parting blizzards like floetic wizards
eating salmon dog
call 'em chum or chinook our gargantuan kings
rocking rings of black 'round their bellies when
kiluitchaq* is cooking fireweed jellies
 in august

we swing our hoops those 5 foot loops of gillnet
still wet
a day after the run
comes in at the resting mid july sun
waves of sockeye
thrash by
roll and rock my
neoprene too fly
oversize suit; i'm not sure why
it seems like
there's nothing more sexy
than that salmon heart
flexing
and beating for seven more minutes
in my hand
severed
yet committed to ending the journey
not on this gurney of white plastic coolers
but spawn grounds upstream
will never be graced with this buck's semen


but i gotta go and get my flow from the arctic glow of
aurora at night as my northern starr gleams thru the seams of our
night sky
universes standing by
meteors fly
as i lie
on the snow looking up to see why
we would think to be so special

do you know?


*inupiaq: lock

omaha upside down

my child's father's wife
the one he married
after putting us on ice
once said to me
"when love happens it happens"
and then proceeded to tell me that
in the event of a terrorist attack
the city of omaha would flip
like a pancake
and everyone would be safe
and walking upside down
underground

my mind warped at the vision of upsidedownpeople in omaha
but it exhaled at the notion of inevitability
when it comes to love

as if love hits you like a cold virus
or a snow storm

is it really so?

decades later
my mind is still not sure whether
the lady in omaha had a point
for love does not happen to me
like bad weather
or bronchitis

what i do know, though
is that i wish i was in a place
where i could be certain
that
in the event of a terrorist attack
my town would flip
like a pancake
and we all would be safe
walking upside down
underground

first published by http://voxpoetica.com/.

current current - txt

u ground me

& balance

i would call u the earth

except that’s me

for i b mother earth’s daughter

so u:

r the ocean

deep

strong

wild

4ever

ocean holds salt of earth engulfs earth
like  

i m earth

without ur salt

i m not really incomplete, but blah

you complement me, like fingers interlocking

hands docking

glocks cocking

flocks stocking

crocs flocking

we   b   solid and rocking

more than just back & forth

i feel safe with u

dynamic dynamite
i give u raw
u refine
like sugar
off that boat
off that beach

steadfast

true
i trust u

i will enjoy ur presence

thrive in ur company

but when i come, i just want to sit and watch

listen to u talk

because u make sense 2 me

ur thoughts r clear & linear
crazy and crystalline
wild and whimsical

trailblazing a forever road through the maze of labyrinthian confusion

never wasting breath, or word

self-correcting retracting fibs that needed to be told
i know
cause u're a guy
and guys go that way

i want to stand and watch

u move

the way u do things

strong man moving handsome confidence

i want to watch

ur hands

skin softer than silk

but beast enough to strangle a Kodiak brown bear if needed

i want to rub ur back n belly n below

stroke every strain, every pain

u ever felt

right out
cause u said u'd do that
for me
n cause i can
n cause i want 2

because when u love me

and hold my head in ur hands

i   m   ur woman

and i belong.

i should have looked

i should have looked in the mirror today
i might have stayed home.

i do forget what day it is at times,
especially in winter, and when the weekend is done.

this new gas dryer i bought has proven useless to date,
since the delivery people and installation guy told me too late
that there is no line for the hook-up.

so i look up
plumbers, and call,
and they all
are so busy
since "no heat" has befallen all
major households in the valley
and those get first service
while my clothes air-dry
or hair-dry
resulting in cotton pumice

and there it is again
lava
my 2012 substance
for pumice is that
with a bit of extra heat and pressure
we get this little stone to rub our feet
or callous hands

like rough days soften the edges of our souls
reshape our molds
refine our minds
until we find ourselves
beautiful again
in the mirror

i should have looked through the mirror for tomorrow
i might have found home.

mourning cloaks me

mourning cloaks me

as mourning cloaks flutter by

non-dairy butter flies
as i slide up through twin peaks mud

surround sounds surround me
chickadee me
wax their bohemian wings and shrill trills around me
squirrel their barks and bark down the firs
as I wonder why the berries
in this bear's scat
remain undigested
the wolf's worst winks at me with weasel fur
and coyote's looks like Rapunzel's hair

balmy breeze cloaks me now
as I take in the sweet herb of
cottonwood sap in fetal leaves
whose elders rustle and
whisper songs of autumn

day falls
and night breaks the floodgates
of my forgiveness
as the snow beneath my feet
gives way to the hollows of spring

I word process
the process of adding un and dis equals taking away
meaning processed words
such as the unforgivingness of nature
un, not dis, and then forgiveness
for I know that I give this
to lighten my load, not yours
but should I?
or do we grant this ultimate gesture of love
only as requested, deserved?
and then we give ness for whom?

when dis-appointment has us dis-illusioned
and dis-respected
"dis" takes away from the first ism's bliss
or does it?
for illusion taken away is disillusionment, and so does
respect removed become the dis of itself
but who ever appointed anything to reverse it into
dis-appointment?

my mind is a little spring-warped
so I tread lightly
unlatch my captive senses
from their serendipitous claws
not unlike the bears' trudging before me
wiggling gorgeous golden butts
of skinny spring heiny shininess

blood suckers bug me not today
despite the warmth
and the buttery wetness blanketing
the soon-to-be thirsty trodden trail
for horses and riders
on mosquito storms in nightless days' dusk

mourning still cloaks me
as I descend
but forgiveness's feather pens
on the insides of my eyelids
the poetry of kindness

I read as they shield my pupils
from the roaring mid-April sun.

first published by http://voxpoetica.com

trust life, she said.

spikes like nyse
dad's heartbeat after seven comatose days and nights
grief peaked joy


so how long will this go on
remember
an architect and a swimmer
back to the drawing board
no
drawer
chased by an indica dad hooked on coffee enemas
and the mad scientist on fuerteventura
and other naked spaniards in the breakfast room
of tenerifanatic january lust

when the apple man with the kangaroo hat
sat down to breakfast with the fact
that is his homely
like his face is his only
for it was an original
the blue bear matrixed into glacier water and milky peppermint tea

do you not see the pattern?

as in every one of these
the horse is chasing the night
while a true knight stands by
waiting his turn
for there is no rush
no impending disaster
for patience is the order of this lifetime
and we shall be found

and as i waken
god says
"good morning"

and tickles my feet

infinity's fins

ring on my finger
infinity's fins
don't you get hung up on stuff
woman asks at costco
i say no
because i don't

flowers and leaves on the other
no one asks about that
but it's pulling my hair out
curlbyecurl

so as i leave this place
i hurl my infinity's fins at the women
who worry about my getting hung up on stuff
while the magpie picks my rings
off my lovely boney skinless meatless fingers
like fake and bake chicken

scratch that.

Gotye - Somebody that I used to know (Oliver Schories edit)

i was browsing npr and came across this man whose name sounds like gautier and i keep wanting to read it "got yee" but then the song captured me and i noticed how much less it hurts when you know you are not alone

i know this certain kind of sadness you can get addicted to from when we were still together and he did not see me nor hear me just sat arms folded watching me cry unimpressed as if watching a really bad play or a really good actress

they say certain personalities are out of order and stuck in dysfunction and the screws are not loose but rusted and if you try to repair it will all fall apart but i say love conquers all or so i thought

but i knew better then already because it is not about conquering but about making it through shared burdens shared laughs shared joys shared bills shared closets shared skeletons but one shared burden and refused to laugh even when the other shared joy he would hold a grudge and on to stubbornness for it was all the strength he knew

a year ago i, like gautier, was relieved that it was over but it felt like he was still hanging on, clinging, until i noticed he was not for the reasons i thought...it was guilt, because he already had replaced me with skinny and titless after dreaming for years of bouncy voluptuousness... but let me not remember so i can pale the blushing and instead remember that she is closer in age to his son and even an agnostic's god may forbid that history repeats itself

to him, i have been someone that he used to know for longer than i can think of but his facebook sports books i gave him and music i took him to but no longer the outdoors and wild places we used to visit and explore and revel in and now walking on the solid flats is all of a sudden dangerous? nor is he feeling ethereal tunes any longer which he labels interesting but on the whole he makes less sense than ever before

so he prepared the table for me or so it appeared and only as i sat down and said grace did i slowly slide into the deep feeding trap fit for a brown bear as he lit the fireworks to highlight my shameless demise amidst dried crumbs of affection and rotten bones of lovely

he dealt three deadly blows in style as iphone turns to sword beheading truth once more, deadheading what was left of a silver berry friendship bowing down to his cunning mistress distress and you may add an apostrophe where you see fit, gentle reader

but let's not forget that i was long gone already and while he might have played his games a year after i left only to hear my forgiveness spoken while he refused his i still am better off just grieving the defunct dream of a life's love lost yet accepting that there are more for i love and adore the human soul and mind and the universe is kind and will provide in time once i can cover this story with a lid and a bow and bow out

already now, after his perfunctory "hello" at the store and the quarter hand wave reserved for railroaders and blue yellow locomotives, it feels like i could have co-written this song for he acted like he forgot my name which is probably true for he can duck and cover his brain and forget the past even though he can't change it

rough it feels, gautier, my friend, rough it feels and raw and slightly insane and sickening and ill in the worst possible way, but like my pride and joy keeps telling me: every day away from this someone we used to know is a step in the right direction

ashé

cheese

swiss slices here are thicker than in europe
manchego is uncheap sheep cheese's lego
for i can build a whole day on a slice of this
viejo queso de la mancha
with a dairy ego and deep peppery tone second to none
not even cambozola
which my dog ate
now wait
for vile winds

lava.

layer 1: black

oceanic lava blood
turned to sadness
soft red pebbles wrapped like grapeleaves
of honeycombed abandonment


layer 2: red

fierce chambers of heat
sun's disappointment numbed
by blazing glacial foam
trumpets burning scars
on the yolk of the yoke of my thirst


layer 3: grey

my cellar hides a cave
holds hunger
imprisoned by affection.
can sleep still it
within this tricolor cake?

closure II: unraveling

you left a trail of tears

in the desert of my broken

vision of you

as one

who could live up to

his potential

which i saw

i saw you

the possibilities

of who you are

the gold in your soul

the diamonds in your mind

the bold strength of your body

and the steel wool of your will

loving you

meant

loving

god

your divine i saw

potential

power to be

who you

mind body soul

can grow into

the you you can become

but some

for whatever reason

don't get to that promised land

of

soul fulfilled

purpose attained

mind peace imbued

core
until late in life
their sunset will be sweeter
and more powerful
for it

what did you see

looking at me?

i stood still with you

but now

i have to walk

some more

surfacing

mother earth's womb
fluid essence of ethereal energies
holding her daughter not captive but tight

water broken by light
soul rays break through my night
lift my plight
usher in my effulgent knight
in poetic armor
arms wide shut tight
bracing everyone's urge to fight
common sense and courtesy
spills his truth to bring sight
to the blind
and to blindside hypocrisy
by telling love as she is
slowly opening my earthmother's
uterus and
pulling back to the bright
starry night at the end
of birth's tunnel and
the beginning of
new life

in earth years
my best is still ahead
my past has founded me, grounded me, sounded me, bound me
i found me, fate hounded me, hate pounded me, you clowned me
but the knowledge earned when you discern right from less right
wrong from dead wrong, and doing what's right for you at any given moment,
that knowledge is your skeleton, your bones
your soul's song's tones
and all this wisdom of lifetimes is ancient.


sometimes, i write something and leave it suspended for a couple of weeks. when i return to it, i don't recall writing it. i have no idea where this came from and it is not done, but for now, i have to keep it public, otherwise it'll never be complete.

e-disharmony

she usually won't turn away in a fuck you kind of manner

she won't put her heart on her sleeve and then fly hate on a banner

but when he disrespects her spirit

and feeds her soul the stillness of indifference

she can no longer allow him to access her world

although she digs when he challenges her resilience

for arbitrary affection is tainted love

so her sensitivity is curled

up in a snail house spiral

her defenses come hurled

like chameleon tongues

picking up insectoid critters with sticky lances

and tiny lungs

they do not scream nor sing nor cry

she could do all three, but not for this, for him, but why?

because it was a dream in the real world of e

we texted and mailed and chatted

but as long as we don't see

the temperature in our eyes

anything can be lies

and made up names such as

mora and lu, len, teja, and lee,

and vincent and mia

and his office and projects and dreams and likes and dislikes

and needles in haystacks and ki as in key to unlock what you need, not kia.

so yes, that's what they wanted, he, she, it and i,

and that won't fly

not with just anyone

he said.

and then left, without saying good bye.

for all my sisters who, like me, find varieties of love in cyberspace. 
believe me...there are good men out there. be patient and trust.

end of something?

i think

this thing

has run its course

after seven years of

coffee and correspondence

impromptu trips to

power outages

airport pickups to pull

all-nighters to cull

useless hours out of

overlain layovers

phone marathons and

closet skeletons

hung out to dry

we face a

crossroads

friendship in the

crosshairs

communication

cross

like crossbill chickadees

hard to pick up the nourishing morsels to feed us from

here

i seek to understand this

is it you?

your unhappiness against my joy?

or is age catching up on us, me finally acting mine, you not quite acting yours yet?

this may be a fork, but it can also be a river braid

like my beloved Matanuska maid

or her brother Knik, his Arm

extending into many

when the tide is low and the sun of May

stays warm

i'm sorry dear

i cannot wait for you

my time is now

and so is yours

let's not try to hold on to something

that walked away from us a couple of letters ago

i thank you for walking some of my way

with me

for talking me through many a day's

dream

for allowing me to save

yours from drowning

harsh words come to mind

but never travel lower

find my lips

not in this life

but do remember:

you feel you've got it rough

look around

your neighbor's life is at least as tough

as you thought yours would ever be

получить ебет из моего блога, Россия.

you are blog bandits and not welcome here. get out.

the kind ones find me

i wanted to paint you my pain

but i did not find it again

tried to show you my heart's brittle fibers

but when i checked

they pulsed red luscious life liquid 

like capsika leaving no beat up to chance

change changed the game changer

wildes weib

hab dich noch nie berührt

deinen atem noch nicht gespürt

aber mein bauch spricht

dieses kleine liebesgedicht....

wie das wohl wird
wenn wir uns sehn
wird es uns weiter so gehn?

oder steht auf der spitze
deiner nase ein haar
das ich nicht mag

und du siehst
dass ich groesser bin
als bisher,
wo ich in deinen traeumen lag

vielleicht bin ich dir zu dick oder zu grantig
zu weich oder zu kantig
zu faltig, zu gewaltig,
zu stolz oder zu willig
(bereit~ oder wider~)

ein wildes weib
das woelfe sucht und baeren traeumt
elche knutscht und adler baeumt
mit raben raebelt
und schwaenen schnaebelt
das falter traenkt
und spinnen haengt
das gruenkohl zieht
und beete graebt
karotten blueht
und liebe saeht
buchstaben verdreht
noten schwenkt
toene spuckt
lider senkt
und erroetet
wenn sie an dich denkt

aber grad jetzt
vom köpfchen
zum knöpfchen

lieb ich dich mehr
als den Mond

und den lieb ich
sehr.

i am i see i will

i am silent words
i am raw broken english
i am seeking new language
i am building walls to sustain my love
i am autumn leaves
i am falling
i am grounding tomorrow's forest floors
i am daughter to mother earth
i am forever changing with the season's cycles
i am solid, rooted in her lava heart

i see faces in trees
i see broken bricks falling off walls above a stove that holds no warmth
i see last week's soup on the hearth in the house where he died alone after she moved on

i will put my peace back together
in a new order
fake layers stripped
sparkles on ceilings ripped
polished and disposed (of)
before signing off
on a new lease on
space
and
time

Eggs-a-Dental

when i chose my clothes today
i was not thinking of you
but of the root canal my dentist would drill
with this barbed filament
like the challenge in your eye as "omelet" slipped your mouth
and lips that give way to this memory of kitchen perfection and more lips
on soft perfect egg scramble with mushrooms
or on mine
as his latex gloved fingers gently pry apart my parched mouth to
free me from the silicone monster for which i am thankful
because it replaces the rubber dam as well as the technician

so i chose the pants and sweater that i wore
incidentally
when we
first
talked.

and as you enter i am occupied
thankfully
with the task at hand so that
my hyper caffeinated hands won't show a tremble
which they would
had i no distraction
for
you walk in with the same hat
and pants
that you wore when i first
noticed you
idiosyncratic how we
certainly don't pick our wardrobe thinking of
the other
but somehow it ends up looking that way
sometimes

and as my Egyptian passion wonders where i am and keeps asking
if the wind blew me away
i regret ever disclosing how much i am
i wonder if this means that we are coming
full circle
on the bench of searchers and sinners and soul farers
whose turn is next?

how can a button hold string?
how does the caged bird sing?
where is the eagle's clipped wing?
when do the snow-flies sting?
why do our voices ring?
why do our soul mates cling?
why do perpetuum mobiles swing?
when does gravel ping?
who is by birthright king?

but all distraction dies
and in this moment lies
the truth
if ever there was time
to stay away
it was now.
as what is left of my nerve comes to life
piercing pain shooting up through my eye across
the forehead into the ear on the other side
turning it purple
the heat in my head cannibalized as i recognize
you, too, remember that day
and how it ended.

a walk in the snow on the unopen road
words of wisdom beyond one's years
free  running tears
a step back up the stairs
dare i remember?

six nineteen, princess to luke as they walk the sky

you are the book i want to read
you are the dough i want to knead
you are the bread i want to bake
you are the love i want to make
you are the song i want to sing
you are the bell i want to ring
you are the word i want to spell
you are the thirst i want to quell
you are the noun i want to verb
you are the "green" i want to "herb"
you are the bud i want to smoke
you are the sadness i will cloak
with my heart's fire that you stoke
like my desire, as i choke
away my tears.
why aren't you here?

should i or not?

ink sinks in skin
thinking thoughts
would i want this ypsilon and lambda
for as long as i have my arm?
or feel that dragon leaning in?

how ugly will it wrinkle?

maybe i won't live long enough to see
it lose elasticity
loosening epidermis turning "Welcome to Johannesburg and have a nice holiday" into "Wendy"

my thinking turns to death and dying

i saw a dead body today
wearing a leather jacket
but no helmet
motorcycle in the right lane on the glen

for some, death comes like that
unprepared
as we think about the next move, the next thought, the next step,
and plan ahead
blind to what we are facing that ends all brain activity

but is it really so?

do we really need all this cerebral mass to make it through 80 years of life?

if there are 80% left unused, why are they there?
who is so smart that they know we are not using them?

i don't believe it.
who says we don't post mortem?

access our spiritual world?

or, like (F)free (T)thought taught, the way we KNOW
by intuition or instinct or the thing yet to be named?

what if this is the mass to connect, to tap into each other
to find each other lifetime after l i f e   t i m e ?
what if this is where we attach to the after and before
cling to parallel universes and their dwellers?

so i am less concerned if there is danger in ink sinking into skin
more so if i will remember the time i try to immortalize
and if i will find my spirit guide 

once my eyes dry up and crystallize

because right now, this very moment, life, in all its glorious opportunity
is just one step on the way
i know there is more
i hope you can walk with me a bit
after we pass through this door

unafraid of tomorrow

and if we do
ink our fingers
*******************************************

alt:

so i am less concerned if ink sinking into skin is bringing ill with that pin

will i remember the time i am trying to immortalize

will i  find my spirit guide once my eyes

dry up?

**********************************************************************

king caught

king taught me

taut lines can be loosed

unhooked

stop fighting

swim to her who set the hook

let her have all the line

she’ll think you’re gone,

befuddled

she’ll loosen her grip,

then jump out

flip right

pull left

throw the hook right back at her

and let the stream carry you down

rest a moment

gather your strength

and swim back upstream

to another hole

hang still

she will

get tired

too

and boat away

king taught me taut lines are the ki

to landing kings

hook set

reel down

stay strong

tip up

reel down more

tighten line

feet on floor

solid stance

romance

this rooster with a sirene’s song

plucked on a string of nylon

in g as it looms above water

human fish nexus

until guide nets us

both.

is this struggle fair?

a forty pounder giving me

a run for onefifty

twelve minutes full body workout

and about ten good meals to share

no catch and release

for this fisherwoman!

skittles

driving home i am almost in alpha mode by the time i reach the old glenn exit if it wasn't for the incognito cop atop the bridge, so i was actually paying attention when i see her. wasn't sure at first, but then is that a girl?! and a hairline before the onramp i come to a full stop.

she looks young, but then i've never been good at telling age just by looking at someone. her face is like a young bjork, unspoiled and fresh, clean skin, bright eyes, peachy cheeks under the straightest hair since borat as bruno, but black. she has this icelandic flair and asks what gauge my earrings are and smiles when i tell her they're fake and from amsterdam. that's where i'm going next week, she says, i'm traveling with my boyfriend.

her glass gauges are blue and real. she tells me they healed in two weeks and she is using petroleum jelly on the piercing to help stretch it. pulling up her sweater she shows and tells. petroleum jelly is good for psoriasis. do you know what that is?

why am i thinking screw statutory rape when she tells me her age and how much older her boyfriend is? he has a ninehundred dollar a week job in construction and she just started working at a hip hop store in the mall. almost eighteen is none of my business but i remember the guy who sold me my first vw bug off the old glenn had that record, and his now wife and child waved good bye as i tuckered off with my little red buggette.

are you a poet, i ask, because i get that vibe from her. i am, and i am a musician. i taught myself the violin and the guitar and the saxophone, and i write nature poetry. right now i am writing a book. 

we approach the intersection i said i would take her to, but i change my mind, remembering trader and how often i've meditated safe hitching. are you sure, she asks when i tell her i'll take her to where she needs to go. i'm sure. tiny frail thing like you in the wrong car, don't want to see this on the late night news. i am not saying this aloud. you know, comes her unsolicited newsbyte, they can just come at you with a syringe and rape you and throw you out the car. we are now on kgb road and i know she is not kidding. kgb road is fabricating pulp fiction for real. 

although i tell her my origin, she talks about germans as if i am not one of them. i can't follow her train of thought along the stops of beauty and ethereal noblesse and unblemished skin. i will write a book about my travels. she has been to all the glaciers in alaska that one does not have to fly to, and to the badlands and yellowstone and maryland. amsterdam is going to rock her world, and i tell her about stew's passing strange, but she is really worried about wearing a bikini on european beaches with her blotchy skin, so she tells me in detail about her light box therapy, which will only slightly burn her in one minute and thirtyeight seconds.

i told my boyfriend i am getting a ride with a friend. he doesn't like it when i hitch all the way out here. no doubt, plus, at twentyfour, why doesn't he come to pick her up? but this is a conversation my mind has with itself.

i get lost in a subdivision as the sky turns peach and the clouds into cotton candy. what a misnomer, since it is neither cotton nor candy, just a root puller and dentist's best friend. skittles aren't really much better, but their artificial flavors pop like corn dancing salsa on our tongues.

i'm skittles. thanks for the ride.

i am

i am not a poet
i am not a size 14 trying to fit into a size 7 dress
i am just a size 14 on a good day
i am not special
and especially not the pinnacle of your fucked-up-ness

i am not the things you say or think about me
and there is not one label that could fit this qi

the key to me is really not a drawer you can cram me in
for my beliefs are not just the sum of all days that i have lived
this lifetime or any other
nor have my eyes seen and my ears heard and my skin felt all
there is to see hear and feel
and certainly my mind has not captured everything my brain is capable of taking in
and there are more thoughts to think and more to explore

i find it easier to say what i am not
what i want not
what i do not
than what i do or want or am or stand for

i am not white
despite
what you might
perceive
i am pigmentally challenged but some little brown spots remain
of that original healthy coat mother nature gave my archetype ancestor whose remains someone claims
to have found in Tanzania

i don't believe the sermons of mentally challenged character pigs

those guys and gals in suits or torn fashion with costly labels

who tell us to tip toe in six inch heels wearing pencil skirts and luscious wigs

to be good enough or better

i don't belong to those who chose to divide along color lines and rule
to slide into our conscious minds these sushi blades of high and mighty
these lies of i am better than he or she because i own more, am more, am lighter both in pounds and skin tone
because i am not and neither are you

don't sugarcoat me

don't wrap me in pink cotton candy

tell me what you see so I can feel uncomfortable

i've had some skin bubbling lovers in my life

idiotically, the one who gave me the greatest gift, new life,

was the least gifted

tomorrow holds new travel companions

but today, let me give you power

the power of knowledge

for you, until now, are the only one

who made me come

with just your mind, lips and tongue

to a conclusion.

this is a like poem

like ekil   ikel leki    ielk klei   klie ielk
a four letter word overused ad nauseam
like love only worse and less meaning

wake up the call
so we may sound our intuitions

piece I ~ mindscape ~ "love&lava"

whenever he left
i felt fused
both in and suf
this time, we parted many things and then for good
or better, or worse
and i felt the need to capture the essence of this, his,
infusion
we tapped into each other's minds like into kegs
or george dubya into my phone
with blows both subtle and stalwart, sudden and solemn
and with an excuse so paltry
it would have made love proud.

what to do?
canvas the landscape of his mind
i envision texture, shape, color and materials
schemes and themes dictated by the cocktail of ideas
scrambled and folded over-easy into a
sunny-side-up gnomic sculpture with
rivers and rocks and sand and drenched in
hues and lyrics to songs yet to be sung
strings vibrating before the bridge broke
melodies propelled into closets
keys dropping like tears on trodden pathways yes, trodden is one of my favorite words!
trailing the rasp of vocal folds and chords never struck, nor strummed

get art supplies at greg's

this guy is nice, won't take my money

instead, gives advice

what is your project he asks

a mindscape i answer

his apneatic breath still clinging to my hair

on flattened pine
a layer of primer, grey and beige
inSPIRation fresh.
what all he has given me!

is 3x4 large enough to capture
his vivid spirit, child, within these
layers upon layers of crackled glaze broken soul
a piecemeal puzzle of meal without peace

so fractured, frazzled at times
this is not complete without the pot
of gold, or rather earth opal, at the end of the rain
bow ing down to his genius in a flat minor
orange and major brown acrylic melisma
mesmerizing homegrown peppers without patronizing flavor
the seeds of Cypriotic soil embedded in this need for credence
weeding out needles of strawberry trees
as mediterranean sons shone sure as the moon eclipses partially on or around
ten in the morning of january forth twenty eleven

torn poetry juxtaposed
three degrees of separation
ink on velvet art paper
one hundred per cent cotton rag
buffered
and acid free
like his spirit eyes
forever mine?
four ever so lovely petals of clover
bear luck

grains of pissouri sand with Aphrodite's halo
foam fronts frontiers for felonious fractals
goddess mother lover savior daughter wife shallow scallop
snail house crowns sea urchin's shell
testifying time of last friendly fragmented message
before the mess of age, alcohol and peer pressure knuckled his confidence under
and stole his pride's thunder

and always metal
rusted iron and steel
solid heavy and flexible
after march released them from ice bondage
i found my spring and ratchet gear and knew
i had to put it on here
wondering why
and only now that i remember
the opus falleth into place

black numbs
black cloaks
black covers
black hides
black slims
black sins
black darkens bright sparkles
black dulls sharp shard edge of blown glass thrown in despair
black beautifies grooves in pine's grain
black hugs torn edges and rusty ends
black soaks up sun
black spits depression
black warms when orange glows underneath.
wow. THAT is his, too!

as i paint
his mind
he wanders mine
dictates these letters
as my fingers follow
his lead

perfection is light
everywhere bursting through
each quadrant translucent in parts
the sum of all is
he through my eyes

connection
fondness' foundation bonding the intangible
glue holding it all together

in spirit
he, too, has me
for ∞

title "love&lava" a-muse-d by the kindred spirit who made it all happ(y)en.

aug 4 2001 - may 7 2011

Detangled
Invigorated
Volacious
One
Rescued
Committed
Enlivened
Determined

Ode to Livers

Looking at liver as a word
I think of the organ first
And then of Beings who live
For they are Livers
If they do

I live
Because my liver works
for the most part
But each spring
I feel pangs of pain
So I asked my doctor

Who said
Do you sleep between 1 and 3 AM?
In Chinese medicine, this is the time
Where livers regenerate
So make sure to rest

Spring is the liver season
When wood comes back to life
when birch juices start flowing upward
to feed the trees
Is when our livers work overtime
to adjust

So be gentle to your liver
Beets, kale and apples nurture
Rest
And close your eyes before midnight
Walk or run in the sun
And breathe long deep breaths of clean air
four seven eight

Be a Liver
And smile into your heart


for Amy with Love and Gratitude.

ode to pms

my tears sing an ode to pms
plugging middle sinuses with rising tears
piercing my sanity with raging cravings
potassium magnesium salt
in order words: chocolate chip cookies with
just enough dough to bind the chocchips together

peanutbutter malt syrup dressing on
romaine salad will only cut it if dressing drowns greens

perilous mood swings
ponder my soliloquies
poeticize molecular swelling
petite moans silenced
persecute my security
perform memorable skits
peruse memories' sisterhood
play minor songs with
prude meaningless stories
pompous meandering scandals
peak meager savings
poem makes sense?

heck no
it's pms for carp's sake
crack that inner whip
chase those demons out of their niches
so i can fight battles with myself
two weeks out of the month

only to forget
that you, too, might be right there
in that same ring with the rubber ropes
turnbuckled
so we can bounce back
in a few days

it's great to be wom(b)an.

Takers....Where is the cut-off line

for Miss H and the Circle


Giving is better than receiving some say
but in some encounters, people stay takers anyway
and while i enjoy sharing my time, energy or more concrete possessions
and don't expect anything back,
my brows raise as i note resentment when it is always the same person
who is the beneficiary of what i have to give
without returning so much as a question on how life has been for me to live.

you are the topic all the time
your life, your dreams, your troubles, your failures, your ailments,
your joys, your loss, your challenges, your loves.

friendship lop-sides quickly
and i find myself drained as we part
hoping that tomorrow or the next day
you will want to know the matters of my heart

but weeks pass by without so much as a word
and when you call again it is to ask a favor
so my issues move to the back burner
and i once more become your savior
and my own worst enemy
because afterwards, i am tired and you are nowhere near full of my energy.

so when -at writer's circle- Free Thought
there has to be a cut-off line
(or asked about it)
my heart and mind
agreed
for when the takers become black holes
of energy- and love-depleting non-matter
to quiet the chatter
in their self-less minds
they are the sick who want the medicine but not the cure
and we, the givers, end up empty and unsure
whether it was worth our while

the takers don't want health
able but unwilling to heal themselves
their mode is stealth
charm masks their greed
their need
to seed and breed more tentacles
latching on, suction!
and recede, eyes blank,
when we ask them to pay heed
to us
for they love not you or me
but how we make them feel about themselves
you see.

cut off the giving then, to them
and give to those who discern
the gift and the giver
and learn
to protect your
cache of love
for it only grows
when giving and receiving
hold hands in one glove.

"suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem", or "DON'T let the BASTARDS win" - for Jimmi, Ebony and Bianca

thinking of checking out
my decision
i dont need your or anyones permission

to change course
to change or
to leave it all behind

once i am certain
there is no greater joy
no deeper sorrow
no truer love
no higher purpose

than what has come my way

what is there to stay for?

the answer lies in the blood of a tree
and the dolphins overture
the red earths moisture
and the blue baboons tickle
in the song you will write
and the one i will sing

it lies in the inlets breeze
and the whales dance
in the flavors of fair trade chocolate
or aged halloumi cheese
it lies in the need to save our streams
not for the next generation but for us
today

it lies in all that is yet to be discovered
because there is a secret on the other side
of the sink plug
there is no fragrance
in a stink bug
other than chlorophyll
did you know that?

Stay for the secret in this stone and that star
Stay for another kiss and another burst of laughter
Stay for another scream and some more tears
Stay to see if they taste like Adriatic waves
Stay to walk in old places and find spaces that hold the power of
defunct sages
Stay to speak in tongues other than the ones you know
Stay to find the universe parked next to this life
Stay to borrow a book from the neighbor who honored his wife
by random acts of generosity such as
picking up dog turds on walkways or trash on trails
sending anonymous poems to teachers and men in jail cells

then, after that, time to move on
my decision? no, the Makers
unarguably
without your permission or approval

just like one would say
go away
apostrophe
and take your upsidedown twin
along
for the ride