the house

last night i went to the house 
with a friend, with a bottle of lambrusco, 
it was filled with people, i did not know them 
only four did i know. 


the last time i went to the house 
we walked. 
we walked the twelve or so blocks 
asking questions and idle talk
that was not idle because my 
heart seethed for you. 


at the house we wound through the garden
overgrown and bramble threaded 
you handing me figs and apples 
i followed you 


you told me that you had a fantasy,
to die--
a fantasy to die, 
shot through the heart, 
while picking fruit 
in an orchard 


i told you that i had a fantasy,
to die--
a fantasy to die, 
hit by a car, 
a true collision, 
and you said, well, 


that makes sense,
for 
collisions are 
so sexy


i remembered our brief kisses then
and again last night
trapped again within the pulsations 
of the house

and your friend told me 
that you felt for me truly 
and i told him truly 
that i felt for you 


and then
i left the house.

the new era of poeme

enter, then
the new era of poeme.

i am a mess,
my skirts sweep the dirt,

i shudder and shake,
but i do not weep.

i jangle with hope
and wish i could stop wishing;

i contradict myself.

i wonder:
how is it,

that i am still as green as jade,
after all i've seen and said?

green as green,
after all i've seen and all i did?

it seems
not a small mercy

but a huge
infinite and encompassing one.

the search

the search along her body for the places teeth have been yields few fading results to her ravenous eyes. it is not anticipation. it is a film reel of memories, recent and brash. it is it is. confounding. it is hope attempting not to hope and mind attempting not to 'mind'. it is. failure. it is either hormonal intoxication or disenchanting omen or unlikely happiness or. a wet dress drying on the body. clung to her form or loose like a sack. blind begging.

sitting in the cafe

"not as sad as dostoyevsky. i'm not as clever as mark twain. i'll only read a book for the way it looks, and then i'll stick it on the shelf again."





didn't you know, i've grown old in the time that it took for the rain to come.
i welcomed it as my mother, bid it stay a long while.
i wish the clouds and rain were immortal, ceaseless drizzle, unending fog
it suits me.

i am not In Love any more.
didn't you know, i dug my muddy grave on those moony nights.
i was like the townfolk astounded by my own resurrection
as a woman.

i'm walking 'round the wheel.
like the wheel at the sanctuary all those years ago,
made of stones in the tall grass. i'm walking round the wheel,
toward more walking.

i welcome autumn as a glimpse of winter.
i am ready to wrap my self in my self
pick up a book and put it back on the shelf
and walk 'round the wheel again.

I. II. III.

I.

 All is a pattern of repeating greyness. In my city nothing is concrete. We lay in one another’s arms despite my heart’s weary creak in the darkness. It is what you want or you wouldn’t reach for it. It is what I find when I look right in front of my self.

II. 

Your picture is on my window. You are looking down; your smile and I say I love you I love you I love you each time I see it. So much will I always love you master of my happiness my Justin. I don’t see disaster any more. It was there without knowing what it was it was there for. Now there’s just denim, your face, gazing down, your smile. 

III.

I don’t know you at all. Can someday you come to me and say, lady all in green you are a terrible thing, haunting my dreams with your eyes and your teeth? I don’t know you at all. Can someday I come to you say, this is what I’ve waited to do remove your glasses and look into your blooming blue irises? The bend of your neck or the time that we spoke or the time that we gazed or the time that you kissed my--

just rise

the warmth in my chest met sorrow
and crept to a corner to hide

dismayed by the darkness that it could not abide

i wanted all the love i found
adherent to my side

but every crime my hands caressed, for each act were they tried

now the wind is in my face
and my face knows no disguise

i see myself and where i lie and i beseech myself to rise

just rise

more or less

the boy is taking all the clothing off the line
i suppose i'm feeling fine

i suppose i'm feeling fine
more or less.

i thought our bodies might ignite
into one flame during one night

i thought that was what i wanted
more or less.

but the heart in breast
does not settle for this

and it needs more than
what you can give

a little more, to be a little more sure
more or less.

i found love
in graves already dug

danced with the corpses
and gave them all hugs

let them touch my body
with hands already dead

let the deadness
touch my precious head

for reasons i only can guess.

and their cold fingers held guns
shot me right in the lungs

til i bled on their floor
to my pitiful death

and now revived
and even alive

i can't risk again such a mess

so i'll make my way
on my own as they say

embracing loneliness

what else can i do,
when i want to be true

to myself
and to every one else,

no less.