Here I am safe
in the safety
of your safety.
That miasma hangs
stagnant as lead-
lined disturbances
coiled in their tunnel,
never to know the insides
of your beautiful brain.
Close and curved
murmurs of skin and
it is almost as if
I could draw you
towards an inclination
for living… I can not stop
a whimsy from flaying,
not two steps’ breadth away
please, say so – stay.
Down one corridor
I ran from you
of tenuous tissues and bonds,
you, of softness
and safety.
I gouged a gap, celebrated
with a bang. It may have been,
also, with the impetuousness
of a child: I knew love
before I named it.
Against that door, I rested
upon gilded wonder.
Two inches from my nature
and my nurture, you,
of latent heat and loss.
Those crinkles in your eyes were
cruel, forming as they did
while hair mixed with tears
and clung to my face. Who was
the young one then?
You, in your timid way,
then tapped me open.
I clambered out. I soiled hands
and more.
I asked, instead,
for your promise to never ever
dis-assemble into anything
less than alive.
We were playing Doctor. There was
Elena-three-specialist and me-
twenty-three-afflicted.
She worried in earnest. Chin down,
lips pursed, eyes asking. I laughed
a real glee and told her,
I’m always so tired! I don’t know
what fun is, anymore. And it hurts,
here – right here.
I threw my arms up
in mock despair. I did not expect
that constellation of lips, nose, brows.
It was confusion
in earnest, and I felt a shame, even as
those stars lifted.
Well, she said, curving both
hands into a C, touching them
together, cracking them
apart, your heart…
it’s just broke!
She flopped her arms down
with a pat and peered at me
with warm curiosity. I laughed
a real laugh, and I asked her
to go on to her friends.
As I shadowed them
across that amber-green field
I tried to understand
how children at play
could ever bring on such sadness.
I thought about the use
of having a broken heart
without ever possessing
or knowing
the thing to have broken it.
Before the morning star colors
its midnight canvas
she wakes to consume
her midnight drug; it locks
signals to receivers and sends
carnelian confidence.
She cracks into space
and drinks, for hours,
sable marks peppered on white; she peels
them off to paste them on
the insides of her burning brain and names
it knowledge.
She spies on sounds
with her drums and listens
as you weave stories comprised
of grief and guilt and
ugliness; her understanding
is wisdom, because you are ugly.
Then, when midnight long after reclaims
its peace she wakes to still
one little finger inside
her throat and drag every thing
out by the curve of its C, until she is empty
down-down-down to the black pit of her stomach.
Dark matter of her being she wrestles and
vanquishes in droplets; soft matter crinkles
under her metaphysical waste and relieves
its meaning, until she is full-full of space
all around the insides and
suffocates.
Sleep settles
the husk of her
breath stirs
cosmic drift; it starts
again
at the beginning.
Before want manifested
false remedies, she dreamed and
built of substance so warm; it anchored
her solid and she could love
every thing as it were,
every thing as it could only be.
—————————————————————–
Have you ever felt dirty with the desire to be so clean?
All I want is to be good.
The theory of evolution, as evidenced by a kindergartener: “We were all monkeys before. Think about it – that’s why we can do the monkey bars!”
Whelp. I guess that proves it.
——————————————————————————-
That bit of gold happened yesterday, when I was trying to determine whether the children knew about atoms. (The three I asked did not). This week has been smooth sailing compared to the last, and things seem to be slowly falling into (a better) place as we become more organized and set rules for the group…May their crazy, ever fluctuating physical and emotional needs be in our favor! In all seriousness though, I wonder how it is I’ve become attached to a bunch of 5-6 year olds I’ve spent less than two months with and who can ramp up my stress level to an all time high…Just love ’em to bits.
I stayed up, drinking
the late night pulses
shot through glass
I was slipping from, following
the wayward pulse
forced through veins
As before, and
as after
my faulted vision
these faulted lights
have illumined
———————————————————————
How taut and thin, how real, ethereal,
The tendrils drawing us together
Let them spin and weave, let them spill and spool,
The threads linking one to the other
Know you of thoughts and touches, light and warm,
Working for the you and the I of we?
Know us of forces that prowl along beginnings, crass and proud,
Fair, but indifferent, to hearts that whistle against the gentlest winds?
they said to me,
loss comes
before becoming
and becoming
it comes
after being
and being?
it’s easy.
it’s easy,
easy,
they said to me
as if I did not know
what it was
to be,
as if I were
not being
by feeling.
———————————————————————–
11.22.14
How I have been feeling as of late. Though, I’m not exactly complaining. Fun, fun, nerve-wracking, fun.
Consider this –
That every person
Carries her own
That no one can take
What is yours
That wondering
Is building castles
In the air
That reached
Is lesser than
Reaching
That I want more
Than I really know
Now tell me,
What is next?
Little tokens of self
Littered everywhere,
Little embers of loneliness
That dim once
Every autumnal rain
All I wish
is to be known.
All you wish
is to know.
This must be it
the happiest coincidence.
ah, it looks like i’ve lost my mark again
though i’ve always been a seeker
it hasn’t always been by choice
the scritch
the scratch
of pen
on paper
the scritch
the scratch
of pen
on paper is all i need
to fill a void
the
scritch
the
scratch
of
pen
on
pa-
per
is useless
when i am missing you
————————————————–
11.22.14
Liminal 