Friday

07292011

wild
white
silence.

Wednesday

07272011

i admire the elegance of flowers
they live so briefly
but rise so vibrantly
from an earth that grips them
inside its belly
like a womb grips its fetus
an earth that clutches them
with forceful might
delivers them the food of life
then stifles them
ever so swiftly

still they reach for the sun
for the sky
and secretly
they reach for the stars
that pierce the night
for the moon that hangs
pregnant with mystery

they reach like the lustful arms
of a yearning lover
before the naked beauty
of his immortal love
and i can’t help but reach back
and hold their pained vulnerability
between my adoring fingers
and beam at their beauty
so flighty
so sudden
so free

Monday

07252011

certain days
i am grateful
that certain things
are left to the imagination.

what chaos, if otherwise!

Wednesday

07202011

we sat together
you and i
sharing one dozen
chocolate violets
on a crowded sidewalk
of the grand’place in brussels
stopping traffic
literally
and losing one another’s faces
behind his dusk-hued legs
and her lust-rouged hands
while we licked
our violet-smudged fingers
and sought out one another’s eyes

and somewhere behind us
a pub door swung open
and for a few seconds
there was the voice of moby
uttering so solemnly something
about the sky breaking

and we looked at one another

and we cried
and we laughed
until we were crying again

and when morning came we were still there

and we drank the steel-blue sky for lunch

and we ate raw alligator for dinner


Tuesday

07192011

i have always been
superstitious
of certain numbers
11
22
33
44
and the counting continues

but today
i count
i pause
i breathe
and superstition
dissolves
evaporates
like mist in sunlight

Friday

07152011

on a hot summer day…

blue water curls on copper skin
sun rays pierce the raw surface
burnishing the liquid break

with bold radiance
cutting fluidity
not quite straight in the gut

but at an 80˚ angle
scorching heat
on mellow chill


some days
the dichotomy of it all
swallows me

flesh
and blood
and bone

inters me
and says a prayer
over my departed fragments

then, i am recreated
resurrected
as molten gold

Wednesday

07132011

yours is a grief
tinted with relief
i see, you see
i know you so well

and, oh, please don’t bother
trying to defend yourself
by telling me
there is no confusion

i know just how it goes

when the feeling of need
from another
becomes the need to preserve
onself

to keep aflame one’s sanity

i know just how it goes
i know, you know

so please don’t bother
there is nothing to defend

not the need to break
over the loss of… oh, loss
nor the need to heal
the crack in your wholeness

keep your grief
i say
and your relief
i beg

grief and relief
grief and relief
the one does not breathe
without the other

Sunday

07102011

this morning
i cut a single rose
from its vibrant bush
of crimson roses
clipped its thorns
tucked it behind my ear
and smiled at my inner child

and while that rose sat
between my ear and my hair
teasing me with its presence
i was a girl
wanting to be a woman
a woman
wanting to be a girl

and i remembered
something inside me
i remembered
that other girl
and said to her
a penny for your thoughts

Friday

07082011

trying
to recreate memory
is illusion
is delusion
is betrayal
of the self
of the memory
like sacrilege
like touch
to a holy relic
with impure hands

Tuesday

07052011

life becomes most colorful
when the nightmare
becomes the obsession

. . .

i hunger
to enter
my dream

Sunday

07032011

at dusk
watching arthritic tree trunks
change color
with the flaring hues
of sunset,
this:

after we’ve created what we call a ‘secret’
something private that you and i share
something we would never wish
to be revealed
to him
or her
or them
it’s as if the secret
takes on a life of its own
it’s as if
it becomes
possessed of a personality
it’s as if
it becomes
a living entity
that breathes its inspiration
inside our bones

and we acquire a burning desire
to share it with someone
a desire that chars our vitals

and we either succumb
to the coercion

or

we sit with the secret quietly
and coax it gently into submission
so the insane desire to share pretends to hide
and all that’s left quite brazenly
is the bruise-red flaming of held confidences
torturing us unto confession