all of a sudden passion suddenly

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Grandmother Reinvents Herself As The River Ganges

i.m nm


The river carried her electricity
in its atoms. Each flash
it produced awed the oxen
and herdsmen along its banks.
They felt her voltage
that afternoon when they drank,
their bodies tinged afterwards
with her stain. And when
the men prayed that evening,
their mouths became transformers
for her song, for her poetry.
 
Rain

Rain dips its fingers into tower
blocks, spreading apart roofs
to watch girlfriends watching
the TV predict how their photo
albums will end up in 20 years.
When they sleep, it will flow
between the curls of their hair,
absorbing memories shed before.
And after their weddings have
sunk to the bottom of the meta
-phorical river and every funeral
has finished, it will release
everything it has gathered;
watching them simply float away
the way everything important
does once in a while. Like flotsam.
 
I watch

as dreams whisper him on.
Lids flickering a little wrinkle
as rising ribs tell me, he is
at peace. His grueling day
finally passes, leaving
my spent man, too tired
to pucker. But I too
am at peace, by witnessing
this glorious specimen
who resides in my heart,
steals my breathe and still,
after all these years
makes our midnight dates,
last a lifetime.




...
 
skinny dip

flashing to the moon
like rays skim the surface
of the sea only to roll
into the dark and away
from any glimpse of eyes
cousins spout like porpoise
chuckling and giggling
at the water up your nose
purposefully boiling
the surface so that we
could feel the bubbles
climb along our secret skin.
 
champagne1982 said:
skinny dip

flashing to the moon
like rays skim the surface
of the sea only to roll
into the dark and away
from any glimpse of eyes
cousins spout like porpoise
chuckling and giggling
at the water up your nose
purposefully boiling
the surface so that we
could feel the bubbles
climb along our secret skin.

Hank and Marie skin off
tee shirts and denim shorts,
dive in and splatter concentric
circles of lake, their bodies
knife and dive, the sun sparkles
on the water. Marie smooths
back her hair, shades her eyes.
I sit high on a rock, lean into
the afternoon, consider
a swan dive that barely
breaks the silver water
cool on my skin, the secret
deep life underneath and me
skimming through it.
 
Ninth Month

Like a watermark
on a river's yardstick,
like a ladle stained
from last night's soup,
like finding the tip
of a newly-found flag,

is how they will see
you now. I will turn
my head and walk away,
listening to the sound
of crampons crunching

on your slopes; eager
to reach your summit,
untie their slopes
and fall off backwards,
experiencing a new
kind of darkness.
 
Beeswax

Once more you bring it
to your mouth, an ingot
snatched from a hive.

Ignoring the bees'
sultry cry, you cradled it,
feeling its gloopy gold

dripping over your dirty
knuckles. You wanted it
to wash out everything

engrained there, never
wanting to listen
to the persistent beat

of bees ringing in your
ears.
 
letter to a textmate


stay now
while moons
are on the lam
while darkness
is our best
friend
and narcotic stars
share
our liturgies.
let's open
wide,
open up,
our books
and pretend
they didn't teach
this in gradeschool.

in this pockmarked
terrain
of dreams, where
gravity reigns
and weight
is absent,
i am yours,
always.
 
last night
i asked jesus
to take away all evil,
to take away all the demons,
that have haunted me for years
that have turned me into a person
i no longer want to be,
a person, so angry
no one's been allowed
to come around me
because ive felt unworthy
to anyone

tug-o-war in my bed,
they fought back and forth
for hours long.
my body and mind
felt beaten
a hundred times worse
than i ever experienced.

i didn't think i'd ever feel
this way again. from tense
to limp, my body became
his after

i said keep pulling
keep pulling
keep pulling
god, keep pulling
mel gibson's in my bed
 
Remoulding With Father

Sanding down the walls
removed every bump
of its lunar surface.
Plucked of colour,
texture and memory,

we steadily rebuilt
our map of the known
world like cartographers,
tracing networks of wire
and copper plumbing

as if we were blind.
Our fingers never met
in this tabula rasa,
drawn away by the
opposing frequencies
of our heartbeats.
 
black tempra lines
dry so flat, still they come
to life
reviving one spot of a
painter, a poet
eating cartillage for a lifetime
a neurotic nerve always twitches
extroverted obsession of one
a cure, fernish fronds within
tickle pleasently reminding
that all is unreal
untouchable and the sound
of this noise cradles like an
overstuffed bassinette
like a kangaroo pouch
to be born a marsupial;
to be held in your mother's pocket
when life is cold and frightening
it would be easy to rhyme
enlightening
but it falls so short of
this truth today
i digress
letting life digest
and excrete a seed of
some futuristic madman
born so soon.
 
Fire

The fire locked away
in her boarded up
heart became loose,
slipping through the
padlock's eye
and into the lounge,
where it feasted
on everything she
had denied it: velvet
photo albums, VHS
cassettes, old DVD's.
Gorged on memory,
it burst, consuming
the rest of the house.
Weeks later, treading
through its outline,
she saw it whimpering
in a corner; still hot,
eager to play.
 
Hedge

This is so easy. I am but wall.
It is, like, comforting
to be a wall, because I am
one badass wall. I am such wall

cannot be pierced. I am
this wall, O lovely wall,
That stand'st between
Her father's ground and mine!

Thou wall, O wall,
O sweet and lovely wall,
Show me thy chink,
to blink through with mine eyne!


I say forget. I'm wall. Just
sere and steady wall.
I am just wall, as jest your
all too patient will, I think.
 
On a bridge meant for cars
your lack of metal
made me turn
my head to look
at you on the wrong side
of the barrier to the sea.
Then
you are gone
and only the gulls cry
into the gulf.
I wish my windows
had been rolled down
I could have screamed
your name if I had known
it or just screamed
I see you
please stay
I want to hold your hand.

I wish I had heard you scream
so I could have held
on to something
that was yours
been able to tell
your family that you slipped
instead of staring
in my rear view mirror
waiting for an explanation
from a ghost who never smiles
just points to his watch
and says I was too late.
 
Weight

So much was lost in the fire.

They fell loudly, littering
the scene with what once was,

not what will be. At night,
their weight sags the sides

of the houses remains,
dragging them to their resting

place; so they can be held
and never let go.
 
eyesight

in the street
called paterno,
optical shops
with false eyelashes,
we hunted
for the perfect
eyesight, not
too oval, not too
squarish, not
too expensive.
Just the right amount
of bitterness, while
wide-eyed salesladies
squintingly
looked us over.
Lovers, and
yet
men.
In the blind evening of
closing time,
we are still
empty-handed.
We are heavy-lidded,
and tired
of things myopic
as mud
on our shoes
 
there's no doubt about it,
this could be half a bourgogne speaking
but I'd rather think it's the sudden pang
of guilt from inspecting my hands
to see that yes indeed, my thums are opposable

because I have begun to wonder,
where my lizard eyes are glaring,
unfocused but burning with hunger,
in the direction of warm meat,
of fluttering breath and trembling lips,
judging the distance from
crouching out of sight
to manning the hunt
and feast on the prey,
how my tongue could lick adrenaline
oozing from pores, lap tears wherever they fall
and growl at a dust yellow moon,

I have begun to wonder
where I end, if I'm wrapped around
nothing but reaction

sleep becomes me before i become it,
and maybe, just maybe
I'll wake up tomorrow,
still somewhat human,

to uncork another ramble
 
why do you keep bothering me
when I have told you time and again
that I no linger have feelings for you?

I wish with all of my heart
that you would give up
and live your life alone,
without me and my emotions

no matter what you think,
it is over and I will never
love you again,
so leave me alone

and go on with your pitiful life
 
Worry

Saturday's blue sky flickers
like the needle on a pressure
gauge. I think of you
like this - unable to stand
still and watch this shore

of office buildings, cars
and trees billowing like smoke
in the wind. Perhaps
it was the pressure
that got to you, making
you slip out of your shell

and crystalise into something
else entirely. But now
you're not here, I like to think
of this scene as a wave
frozen in time; ready to fall

and wash away everything.
I need its bitter taste
to remind me you're finally
gone.
 
ghost_girl said:
I cannot hear the river calling out
to her wingman, asking directions
or the degree of curve in the next bend
or how steep the waterfall is
just up ahead, things rarely change
in a human life span, where water
flow and erosion are concerned
I could lie in wait and let her
traverse the forks of my body, splayed
how she might laugh
at my flabby angles and fleshy curves
yet it is difficult to feel threatened
by one who cannot remain still
long enough
to look you in the fae


this is beautiful GG ...
Your feel, surfaces up and takes a swipe
at the heart. Nice ... really nice ~


:rose:
 
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