I won’t forget how the sky was set:

November 29, 2010 § Leave a comment

I certainly will not.

That will be you. A job for you. A task to do. Tick it off, the box beneath. Tick and read.

The lines hold out their arms and open up. Tick and read between them.

Again, an elevator.

I’m always the waiting star in white noon prayer.

Speed, pitch, focus.

It comes with hair.

It came in my hair, there.

Do You?

November 28, 2010 § Leave a comment

Remember your chimney breath around my chimney breath?

Do you?

Post Script

November 26, 2010 § Leave a comment

Am I, walking, a womb or a woman? A womb in a woman? Or a woman around a womb?

This lamb doesn’t sell condos, on the coast or otherwise.

Is there a difference?

Perhaps.

An illusion of…

November 26, 2010 § Leave a comment

being with a man feels like
being without fingernails
being unable to peel my own mandarins
that’s what it feels like
being with a madman, rather than
being with a mandarin I can’t PEEL

still, I don’t want to be had
or owned
and you, told of you, told right
not wanting something you could not grasp
a hold of
you replaced it with people, lots of them things
just people, being

and at that layer, I would rather
have ‘seemed to be’
than ‘be seen to be seeming’
there is a difference, it lies between the third and fourth layers
the catch is
if you are without fingernails
you won’t ever find the difference

and this makes all the difference
to my existence

Who do you think you are?

November 24, 2010 § Leave a comment

With your Blackpool eyes lighting the streets? How dare you make my knees quiver like leaves on a Fall Pile.
Who do you think you are?

You?

Because you’re not you. You’re me. And I’m nobody.
To you. Ergo, you are no one to your SELF.

God the shiver like a river quiver quiver. Downriver I’m the giver you’re the take take taker.

I don’t mind. You make me tremble, make me ache/shake/quake.

Alphabetical order.

There is me. And there is you. A you. And you are me; nobody.

Boldly I’m beginning to understand that ‘two’ is an illusion, necessary maybe. We’ve crafted words and phrases. We delude ourselves; we think we understand each other. Is there anybody out there? We are alone in our old old souls. This grows on me. You don’t know me. You are me. Yet you are apart from me.

What am I trying to say?

Just that I…am frightened of the reality of aloneness. And I need my delusions. And my okayness.

G’night, strange stranger. Stranger things have happened.

With a View

November 21, 2010 § Leave a comment

The wise woman in Flat 3/3 can smell snow, or so she tells to me. I am reminded of then, when we sat on my sill and smelt it coming through the streets. It settled beneath us. It was black and we looked out, and we could feel it. Yet I could see nothing, and my feet were cold and trembling. I leaned back. And that was that.

Zora

November 17, 2010 § 2 Comments

‘She could scarcely reach the chinaberry tree, where she waited in the growing heat while inside her she knew the cold river was creeping up and up to extinguish that eye which must know by now that she knew.’

She knew. Oh she knew.

And she cannot help speaking thrifty thrifty, third person. Singular. An omnipresence in the eye of a caspian. Those, assumed dead and gone. Spotted from time to time. Striped more often.

Oh.
She knew.

Where Am I?

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