I sense you
jutting out there
a promontory
I can hang desire onto.
What a piece of work you are.
A devotional is in order.
A paean to who you might be.
Project
Reply
Opacity of Meaning
It clouds, between then and now.
Meagre words
poke blindly
through
the page’s fog.
Half-lit
dying breath meanings
faltering
over our eyes.
Their faintly irregular pulses
clinging
to some memory we dare to allow.
paltry
translations
what we settle for
waiting for a like mind.
The Creative Process
When the wind
In your sails
Is puffed
By words,
Hot mistral words,
And you crank up your lungs
And hyperventilate
And you birth your sentences
And breathe them into me,
And I spew them out
In a mockery of creativity,
Like a dog returning to its vomit
I read you again.
Decade
Starlike on a summer bed
Thoughts churning
to the creak of a cheap fan.
Sheets-
damp, wrinkly pensioners
exhausted
on the floor.
But She is electrified.
Outside time.
How you imagine Her matters not.
She is not there waiting for you.
Creak.
Come With Me
When I write the word
and commit it
and lay it down
It is different than if you had.
It can be just one word
alone on a page
but if you know me
and my resonances
it will sing to you like no other
and
Twentieth Century Boy
From the Tower of Certainty
we saw Fear itself
Then
Fear of the bomb
Fear of communists
Fear of change to the status quo
Then
Fear of turning into your parents
Then
Fear of the other
Fear of the unknown
But then
We know nothing
And have the opportunity to fear everything
Us
You know me.
The breath you took at the end of that line was mine.
This readerly writerly warm dance
where our meanings mingle, wants intertwine.
Touch the screen.
Feel the sentences pulse in you.
Breathe again. Say the words aloud,
Alchemise what was unsaid in me
And know it.
You know me.
You know my next sentence.
I stole it from your heart.
Before we were even born
Our consciousness forced us into being.
Before Waking Destroys My Memory Of The Dream
Before waking destroys my memory of the dream
and I walk my mind downstairs back into the cellar.
Before the dawn ruins me,
timeless time within welcoming reach:
the real world held in both hands, one of them sleep,
I will throw candles in the afternoon.
I will draw the half-world,
open my heart to my head.
Separation and unity co-exist without contradiction.
Milkmaid
What we can’t see-
The system self-investigating.
Every fucking day.
I had a happy childhood,
I kept telling me.
Play and repeat.
You don’t miss what you’ve never had,
unless you learn what you never had.
Retrospective loneliness,
Unconsciousness rising.
Only child, I knew-
but not this,
this
Sisterlessness.
Yet here you are:
rewriting, rewiring me
No more unhugging.
No more force-fed lies.
The thin gruel of yesterday
nourished by the full-fat milk of your love.
Panther Me Crow
Out the window
and fondly, observant
of crow nature,
I coddled- ratchety movement,
velvety feathery tufts,
feral heartbeats,
black button eyes;
part of me, in here, crow too.
Lathered, shaving
amidst runny foam,
a nick of wild raspberry red blood blending
opening me up-
a zesty nip;
and as I disappeared in mirrored eyes
I felt the crows again,
and somewhere, that poem about the panther.
