slowlyunfolding

The ideas do happen every now and again to me. Usually they happen in that space in between sleep & waking. I think that explains ... well ... everything that is to follow.

A goodish while ago, I read a poem that Misha had posted on his Twitter. I remember being vaguely somethinged by it, but the feeling was intangible, elusive, persistingly haunting. A couple of weeks ago, I startled awake, scribbled in my notebook that I left on my bedside table & immediately fell back asleep. I swear these words that came tumbling out have been jostling for attention ever since.


( Read more... )

Now I feel all exposed and weird.

i arrived home tonight totally exhausted. took the Dawg out for his walk. said, WTF! at the lightning flash directly overhead whilst walking the Dawg.

thunder & lightning, in February! very weird. the light was creepy too, everything seemed stuck in a high illumination, but everything was the wrong colour. snow was creme coloured, the sky was a strange yellowish gray.

i hauled the dog inside when the rain/sleet started to come down harder, and the lightning intensified. i didn't feel like standing under light poles or trees in that freak weather.

checked the mail, and did the dance of happy. you know, the one snoopy always did in the cartoon? i finally received my copy of The Harpweaver in which more of my poetry was published. ah, getting published in the literary zine from the university i sweated english language & lit out in. wonderful. to celebrate, i had a two hour nap, followed by pizza & peanut butter. [not together, just in sequence]

so, finally this edition, which is for 2004, was yanked out of the abyss of 'printer problems.'  that's great, however, the art direction for it is lacking and i am a literary zine snob. times new roman font throughout? come on. printing my poems on page 44, then 46? oh dear. at least my name is spelled right.

The desolation of a parking lot
late at night
after the shoppers leave
a plastic bags dances by
barely touching the ground
the lights on posts
so tall they hold back the night
illuminate pools on the tarmac below
cities of light
for moths that bang against each other
in their whirling drunken flight
the only sound the hum of traffic on the freeway
muffled by distance
while the moths
always return to the light
I am shut out of this intimacy
to walk on alone
skirting these cities of insects
as they dance
20 feet in the air.

I dream you into being
the colour of your hair
weight of your breath
on my skin
the power of your gaze
paralyzing me here
I dream your heart
beating restless and urgent
just underneath the skin
bones struggling to the surface
to get some air
forcing secrets down deep
blossoming later as freckles
leaving nothing untouched
I dream of us together
greasy fingerprints left behind
starting to tarnish
a memory of a memory
that never existed
of who we wanted to be

I was lost in her hair
long and curly
delightfully out of control
imagining it spread on a pillow
in a moonlit room
she was telling me a story
of her weekend
dropping acid for the first time
trying to drive home, later
to avoid letting the boy fuck her
said she didn't want to
she freaked out
kept hearing sirens
saw flashing lights
without a doubt
to get out of a ticket
I knew she would have gone down
on the cop
would have let him fuck her
on the side of the road
leaning over the cold metal of the trunk
it was in her eyes
everyone got lost in her
she didn't notice our gaze
the weight of her hair
a burden she couldn't manage
she just wanted to feel something
after all those lonely years
I forget her name now
still wondering
what it would have been like to curl
my hands in her hair
and pull.

silent bliss awaiting us
wind curls around blossoms
fluttering scent into the air
everything is pulling toward perfection
to a moment of release
hanami begins
when the wind tries harder
the exquisite movement
of petals releasing
from tender branch
floats into memory
the beauty haunting
in one long slow spiral

I was all of this { }
and none of that [ ]

the spaces between the letters/between the dots of ink/between the pixels

no.

I am in the margins

just beyond where page
meets air
meets fingertip lick

I am not lost
I have always been here
in one form or another.

It's so delicious.

You stealth me.
I <3 you back.

Still ...

I dreamed of blood
and nakedness
trying to figure out
how to lock the door
everyone is waiting
for me
to come out and join them
beads of sweat on my forehead
I can hear their babble
feel their impatience
building to knock down the door
I dreamed of blood
and then woke up
thinking of you

I feel your memory
or rather, the burden of the memory, of you
in the back of my mind
shifting and shapeless as a headache
only painless
makes me shift
and look around
remembering how it was
when you thought of me
you are on the other side
dreaming of who you'll be next