publications

chanting the heart

Secrets breath your heart verbatim as I see your eyes in my mind earnest and pleading and wishing for a mother. I could not have been your mother, forlorn as I was without a cause for discipline and redemption at that time in my life’s shambles. Take me away he would where I was more sexed and trembling, more intense and dissembling how we grasped each other’s hands and elevated over, spilled to more, frothing and howling like angels gone mad. We were tearing each other to pieces and lost in waves, crying out dear god you are flying through my blood and I have always held a crazy spot for you are the fragility of fingerbones bending with the strain of writing it all down. I come over aided by the scent of your hair and the texture of your fingertips beckoning me toward climactic shudders and unceasing waves that coarse through the muscles of my body over yours. However I spelt it would mean the pinnacle of everlasting lust lest you hold back your hips from my penetrating lips are so much more than yielding, yearning for the collapse of eyelids and ecstatic sounds of the throat and lungs I would not hold you back yet bury you deeper like we are rolling in the infinite zest of our wily, mud-soaked wings and hold us to wring ourselves out collapsed and crying does it feel like dying? this is the fruit of the vine that christ warned you about so let us unite as sinners of this world too weak for true unity and could we possibly sing the spirit of the soul? I think not. I think we can merely watch wide-eyed as our hearts are eaten whole by the ceaseless appetite of man. I fell hook line and sinker for our happy beginning.

oh, do it

Skirt to sudden light, mistballs lead your way home downwards. All consumed we shake our energies free, I am shook free, from glass to glitter to dirty footprints down the hall. A hand reaches into the dark from out in the light. And it hesitates. And it does not fully understand, but it wants to help. If this is you I love you. As how the globe finds its colors, brings them to fruition. I display the fruit of my own hapless ambition. Shimmer shake melt and goo back. I am covered by a cacophony of color and light, and too busy being the beat to be me. Tell me, how is just this simple existence? I feel odd consuming so many things, such a hedonist, an amoralist yo forgive me father for I have sinned. We shoved the puzzle pieces together haphazardly and called it complete. Are we not complete as such, like so? I guess, if it works ( i can see so free )

giving way to rain.

Nothing is not so long away.
Nothing is right now.
And now is everything.

I kept one eye on the furtive moon, one hand steady at my throat. Clear above the rainclouds I sensed the sky was covered with hopes that hovered, pregnant, hungry and waiting. The roots of my spirit have grown gentle and eager, from darkness to dawn.

The flaccid feeling of oppressive heat has melted in the rain. Sparkle anew with all your sobs wrenched free of your gut, love in every pore, escalating elevate to more.

Today there were signs at every stop and start and taking in of breath. I searched the eyes of a woman I met by incredible, synchronistic chance. And I am surrounded by magic, and I am believing in the kind of moments that mark a turning.

And I am turning.

iambic bambambience

She seemed so immediately beyond my grasping tongue and curious fingers
finding crevices hidden from sin. Doctor says we are all made purely or
somewhat so, of flesh and bone with room to grow. invite you in to teach me
to show, to growl and simper and wheeze, gasping, pleading for your tongue’s
return to the sideways posturings of indelicate men who wish nonchalantly to
tie your wrists together with string and hear you scream. We crept on
slinking. Writhing naked hot sweat sweet. How we are to transform our heads,
minds, skulls. Not even politically just matter of
factor-ly pushing you down in the sand. mm.

.

the poetic retelling of symphonic ecstasy.

The color of your eyes is wet; blessed by the laws of karma I let you in to the attic of my dusty notions of love and bliss. Here, in the darker corner, without further ado, my kiss. Underneath the skin of our deepest desire trembled an untapped spring of purified fire. I wanted to splice my genes into the grain of the future, dazzled as I was by the billion tiny points of light calling my name. Never let you go I would not the leap in my stomach holding me to the edges of things, hair a furious thunderstorm falling into my eyes tear-streaked and sweat-soaked. When I finally awoke from a fitful half-sleep haunted by the sound of pounding feet and girl ghosts, I was being held by you with a warmth so atomic I cried out from the sheer brilliance of it all. Weeping so I did not know how we would unfold like the road unfolds into endless green and seething blue and frothy clouds we are wrapped in and all the stars in all of heaven stream down our skin.

Now, it’s all in your hands
and it feels so beautiful
now you can lay them on me
as much as you like

i got lights in my head

he said, “it’s all in your head” and I said,
“so’s everything,”
but he didn’t get it.

Are you there?

At 8:04 a.m. all hell broke loose. The red-faced little girl punched nearby stomachs and toppled desks, glared into my eyes angrily, not seeing. I sensed we shared a similar propensity for destruction. My voice rose in fury, startling both of us. She stopped, sat down in a chair shakily, staring at me wide-eyed. I cooly sipped at my coffee. Later that afternoon, Florin sang “Material Girl” and “I Feel Like a Woman” as we handed out happy faces and wrote notes for tired mothers. I hid in the bathroom at the end of the day, too tired to talk to anyone. It felt like high school fallen down the rabbithole.

String your mindbeans and make smooth seams between now and then. Every time you say you love me it feels like natural sunlight I know it’s real. I see everything with softened edges these days. It pays to be crazed.

Dream, 6/21:
Joe, Alan, Phil and I were in the St. Mary’s Church parking lot, across the street from my old Catholic elementary school. I had just returned from borrowing a chinese checkerboard from a store a few minutes away, and we were debating visiting Pete at Nice ‘n Easy where he was working. Phil kept assessing the situation compulsively, and it was making me more and more nervous. Suddenly, we heard a plane very close to us. We turned and panicked as we watched the plane go down a few miles away. Seconds later, the ground shook and we were knocked off our feet by a thunderous explosion. We screamed and began running in the opposite direction as flaming hunks of metal whizzed by. Alan screamed, “flaming chunks of baby!” I ran behind the church and was thinking only of keeping myself alive.

After the metal stopped flying past, there was machine gunfire. It sounded like I was caught in a video game. I was desperately clinging to the walls of the church, making my way down to the ground and holding my jacket over my head as if to protect it, as the gunfire slowly ate away at the church around me. The sky was on fire. I heard screaming, and everything swirled into chaos. I woke up suddenly, with floaters still in my vision, my pulse racing.

hot tongues entwined.

I am Disintegrated Drunk warm-stomached lovergirl and anachronistically romantic. Oh, to have you here for the kissings and spontaneous combustions!! A scent will trigger an unchecked memory lurking back someplace deep in the recesses of the mind. My eyes are wide and wild. There is a handle of bourbon on my dresser, and my desk is littered with crayons, e.e. cummings, and erotica. I do believe I could write it better.

It’s past mid-July. There is so much to not do.

ayahuasca.

a large unbroken stream
flows unbroken and obscene
curdled on the screen is
a kaleidescopic scene.

enjoy.

harmonize the demons.

stay wide open.

know your creature nature.

(sing softly
though they storm)

Ode to Your Elusive Nature
all of me is love of the
berserk beauty of my psyche;
all the bells and whistles
capture with rapture the attention i mention.

nearer: breath of my breath: take not thy tingling limbs from me: make my pain their crazy meal letting thy tigers of smooth sweetness steal slowly in dumb blossoms of new mingling: deeper: blood of my blood: with upwardcringing swiftness plunge those leopards of white dream in the glad flesh of my fear: more neatly ream this pith of darkness: carve an evil fringing flower of madness on gritted lips- and on sprawled eyes squirming with light insane chisel the killing flame that dizzily grips.

Querying greys between mouthed houses curl
thirstily. Dead stard stink. dawn. inane, the poetic carcass of a girl.
(e.e. cummings)

intoxiCAN

How now folding always at 90 degree angles we are fleshy automatons marching to the drone. Oh to soar when there is no such thing as “too high”. Led to a door made of dough and thought we bar our own entry to paradise, tumble between netherworlds half out of our minds, muttering incoherently about the inherent injustice in being a wash, bleached and dried, tarred and feathered.

I got fried, standing in a crater on the sun.
It felt all right, it could do no wrong.
I’m sorry you caught me here,
writing this song.
Let us not, I say, eliminate indulgence-
oh, never that!
That look is getting in my eyes and
sticking its pinky in my brain.
Count your lucky beans we were made for all extremes.
We are walking off the years, shrugging our shoulders and tears.

Too late you take note of the pandemic in your mind. Don’t be a buzzkill now- chin up! Zesty you are saucy like whoa. And I crept into your veins and swam to and fro. My dear sweet intoxicant, mind the headbeams and look me in the eye. Wordless I answer your cry with a sigh. Together we were hot blue fire, until I found you scheming with my dear friend, Desire. Her eyes shone pure jade evil, and I tripped, letting all the cats out of the bag, then pulled the song out of the high note, scooped it down and over your mouth. My voice froze and crystallized in the air between our eyes.

These are the questions of the damned which spring forth unbidden in the nexus of fear, your shadowed undoom. I am left to ponder the circumstances of my casual existence. There is intensity alone in all the bones of my neck and spine.

Forgotten, we would cease to wonder why we ever cared so much in the first place.

I punched the uncertain mouth, walked on eggshells and cared to mention, hurtled through a darker dimension making faces hurling my guts out at the immortal womb of sky. Afterwards, I crawled to bed and under the blanket, fetal and unsung. This was the first time, but not the only one.

She told me half the business of forgetting is writing a new script for your mind. The other half is letting go.

My brain is out of breath, I am gasping airless space, willing myself into existence. The will is stifled out of creativiy. Bugged out and free all of me will fade away to grey.

!blazing the brain ecstatic!

Desires.
One.
To slow this unstoppable desire for heat. To relax in warmth and peace, to feel steady on my feet. I am searching your eyes for the truth. I am daily letting go, it’s just taking longer than expected. But these are not your feet, this is not your seat. This is the poet’s beat, and I come here to this page intent on distinguishing fact from fiction. I don’t remember anything I’ve ever said, so distracted by the chaos in my head, chanting my fate verbatim. It is honest writing I seek, it is only honest writing I know.

Two.
To eradicate culturally-encoded values, to become mindful and aware, to see the truth beneath the veneer. To make contemplation a habitual response. Deep listening, going in further, exploring the crevices of curious things. I support an alternative method of writing, one that involves mere recording of mindbeats as they stamp circulatory trails across the mind.

Three.
Rigorous avoidance of sentiment and the obsessive paths of the brain. Man is creature of habit, woman is creature of obsession. I do not support femininity as defined by weakness, inferiority, threatening, tempting, vain, sedentary, woe-is-you.

Four.
To be relatively unremarkable; to be surrounded constantly by remarkable people. To actively engage in the business of life. This is fantastically uninteresting. How did I get here? Reflecting on desire indeed! I need to be busy I believe to be happy at all. Preposterous. Oh, salubrious. Picture yourself a homeowner. Ludicrous. Ridiculous. I will be a student. Discomfort is sharp and pointy.

While “one-heartedness” is celebrated in Bwiti, it is a one-heartedness which is coagulated out of a flow of many qualities from one state to another. It is goodness in the presence of badness, and aboveness achieved in the presence of belowness. Is is an emergent quality energized in the presence of its opposite.

A half-life of boredom and half-empty cups. I think not. Not this instant when I cannot ask for more nor for anything else. Wait a second, this is just everything ever asked for! What is it you’re thinking of right before you fall asleep at night? What mysteries are locked in dreams?

And the tender tissues of the heart swell with the blood of tears. As such, we cannot help but be utterly terrified. Let us then work relentlessly on the tiresome task of learning to not-need, that we may one day be free of desire. May we first learn the value of play, and come to know it before we grow old too early. I leave deathly stillness standing at the altar, compose silent adulations of strength, and make believe I hear the
(beat)
trickling down the wall.

I want to put a bounce in your step as you walk out the front door in the mornings. I yearn for the simplest of small affections. Your are manic and fired, all-engrossing. I am standing wide-eyed in the middle of the road as a storm barrels down. I do not fear death, just the absence of life. The difference between birds and bees lies in the sting. How to make each other well? How many ways do I adore you? The only answer I have to give is “like this, and infinite”. And I am feeling infinite.