:thumb256029055: Harem GirlI am a harem girl
[one of many].
I belong to a man,
but he tells me he loves me.
It isn't his fault.
In this world
that we live in
there is so much beauty.
It isn't his fault
that he appreciates art
with his eyes and
his arms wide open.
And it isn't his fault
that he was born
with too much passion
for me alone.
I am a harem girl
[one of many],
but when I am close to him
he tells me he loves me. :thumb277156753:
:thumb277157352::thumb277181324: DFC 25:lurking trijan refrain
the truth comfits our senses not;
our gates are needle's eyes.
our vision: through with darkness shot;
unfit to pierce truth's guise.
lurking along peripheries
in places we but fail to see;
     lurking along,
     lurking along
is sheer, stark actuality.
the truth comfits our senses not;
we're deaf as well as mute.
we are spawn of the omniglot;
we flounder, less astute.
a siren's song of polyphones,
of hyper-sharp-sub-aural drones;
     a siren's song,
     a siren's song
that resonates through flesh and bones.
the truth comfits our senses not;
our mind is too finite.
everything is from nothing wrought;
without the black, no white.
a tale too long to comprehend,
so long its mouth devours its end;
     a tale too long,
     a tale too long
to help but all our senses rend.:thumb277213764::thumb277197915:
AcheIt comes and goes
like an unwelcome houseguest,
leaving me with messes I don't need,
and it never shuts the door
to keep the cold out.
I tried shutting off the lights
and closing the blinds,
twisting the key in the padlock
and boarding the windows,
but as long as light can
seep through the cracks,
this shadow will follow
and dig its fingers into my shoulders.
I bruise easily, it knows,
and it revels in watching
me shift in discomfort
while it grips me.
Like a ghost,
it won't let go.:thumb276884032::thumb276936489::thumb276766355::thumb277027284:
:thumb274853185::thumb186834232: 'there's plenty of ink.'i know a few things about ink
and the trails of perfect creeks it leaves
on the apples of your cheeks, staining your clothes
i count your imaginary lights and teeth
tie them in knots that you call ribbons
but undo, regardless, of my persistence
i have seen your resplendence
and knowing eyes, you knowingly
want to kiss me, i bet, i'd bet
my whole heart on it
come find me and
wake
me
up:thumb276908338:
:thumb201203097: Thoughts on 2011This was the year of slowly waiting
learning lessons, and debating
Holding true
to things you value
as the harvest comes to a close
think upon all of those
the deeds, the dreams, the wishes, the hope
don't get lost, don't mope
for the next year promises the light
freedom and an even harder fight
as you wake before the dawn
remember, our first song
:thumb277002856: I Am A FootSocks, powerlines, scrubby bushes in my line of view
Metal buildings, metal skies, metal plates in my head
Incandescant tubelights shifting shadowhand animals
Smiling blacklight strobedance in my psychedelic robe
I beam dollfaces onto porcelain, I am a foot
The doll army is crossing the hallow in fancy fabric dress
No ocean can keep them from lifting my bones up
Socket puppets, beware, this is the real thing, this is now
Yesterday dropped off of the edge of the flatroof, gone
Tomorrow is an egg, waiting to be broken, I am a foot
Laundryday breakaway, glean, gleam, moonbeam
Reams of dreams rolled out in the desert with pot pie
Pins and needles knit nothing but blocks of more socks
Crumbly bye-byes and dwarf shadows singing for supper
I know nothing of any of these things, I am a foot :thumb276798958:
WHERE THE STARS ALWAYS SHINEI'm going home, I hear the Stars call my name
rhythmic as they spill from the Cosmos' teacup,
goodnight wishes they scatter into my bedroom
scene-where I lay my lines dissolving into the
structure of a poem, up at the Stars I stare,
a lingering treasure of divinity shining their
wealth down on me, I hear my poet's heart beat
in time to the Stars I hang up on my mind's
clothesline, waiting for their liquid light to
dry so I can gather them into words, softly
scenting my head with their gifts of imagination
and supernova metaphors, I hope to one day
personify the rhythm and rhyme plundering up
my spine with their starry intertwine.
I'm gliding home on the bright embers of Stars,
gasping one last dream before they die and become
just another gleam on Eternity's wing, the Night
always knew that I would collect Stars into my
seams, breathing in their fragile freshness as
I exhaled Reality, silver-rimmed I sipped from
the Stars and spilled the Milky Way over my skin,
shimmering madly I wrote :thumb276093826: :thumb276825132:

cure-allwe dream of finding
the mother-ship-root-cause,
before we run out of band-aids.
then we'll repair
with a stitch-in-time,
and not need the suture-self-now.
llp - dec2011 - dA Patchwork GirlCrazy-daisy quilting
Zig-zag stitches tilting
Scraps and dreams
Sewn into seams
This makes a patchwork girl
Crimson, shale-blue swatches
Fears leaking past the watches
Bright button eyes
Of truths and lies
This makes a patchwork girl
Full of cotton musing
Always fluff a-losing
Seams come undone
With pain and fun
This makes a patchwork girl
Fabric ends all fraying
No part ever staying
Becoming worn
And getting torn
This makes a patchwork girl Romancing CottonSomeone told me that the balled-up almost was growing inside her like
a sapling, that soon the girl would be all swell and wet.  What she said
was, "don't leave". Her ego was a white sheet caught on a branch, the
type of fabric my mother treated with contempt. Frippery, beautiful
but impractical: keeping it alive was like trying to catch a bubble with
dry hands.
The wind carried the sickly smell of opium and morning sickness,
signals of a spring in which fingers like white spiders cradled
the beginning of bloom. Hope seemed at once skin-near and star-far.
What I offered her was not a marriage proposal, it was a murder
of crows slipping across the sheet of day. Union makes for ardour
and sweat. We were trying to build a body bereft of bones, with
phrases shaped like small sharp pins, like dove-fletched
arrows, like abandoned gods—relatively, you're
beautiful and there are always greater pains.
I assembled cribs, prayed to the god of broken things.
The future:thumb276629333: The lost duplicatesMy soul repels you
(Yet draws you close)
Like magnets or planets.
My soul -
With all of its washed out paints,
And filigree of
Broken harps and xylophones.
I'm afraid
I only tend to be in love
With those things that
Don't quite exist, anymore,
Oh messy cliché:
Poetess.
I find myself with
The old year, zipping itself up,
Life tinkering on chaos:
Apocalyptic , ice-burn, tundra.
memory of a time of oldashes cold
barren feet
beneath hollow skies
help me find my feet
tracks laid at a distance far from heaven
far from those summer days where we
would cross those meadows cedars and stars
days forget
but these songs
forgive once again:thumb276459642: :thumb276283904:

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