lonely

what does it mean to be lonely?
it feels like this:
every time you're home yet i'm alone.
so i sit by the window,
coaxing smoke,
out of dim lit cigarettes.
watch the chill break out of my skin,
and hope i can feel again.

i sit still in the tub,
as if on pause,
and listen to the water fall.

an ache, filled still 

with tepid water from the bath.

how do i still feel so unclean,

unsure and unredeemed,
with soap on the skin,
enclosed from heart to limbs?

now, now, it seems to be so,
my hands are trembling,
and i am alone.

you made me whole again.

lost in deserts
for some time
but you made me whole again.

dear friend,
i cannot comprehend
how you found me after so long.
and now i feel incomplete,
when you are no longer around.

dear friend,

for some time,

(some splendid little time)

you made me whole again.

apart

with eyes that tell how long we've been gone,
and hands that stick and skim,
we hold on to these heartstrings,
while tangled up, limb to limb.

Unfinished- 10/30/11

hello old friend

hello old friend
here you are again
coming from across
the river bend.

hello old friend,

you hold suns 

careless like dollar ones.

and every one

tells me you're no good,

no good for me. 

hello old friend,
is it now you see me?
years you've let me be,
just incomplete.
divide and replete.

hello old friend
did you think that now,
you can demand and disavow
all that i allow.
did you think that now,
i would listen?

after your song was
silent for long-time now
because of our loss of us.

snake skin.

we hold this world in our hands and try to keep it from flooding out, spilling over our fingers like rain. our lives are about survival (survival of the fittest, if you must). This is how I started to view my life. Like I've left behind the snake-skin of my past self, and what is left of me is the part that was strong enough to survive. we talk about moving forward, but we forget about the footprints we leave behind.

but i miss my shell, my safety. it made me stronger in different ways, teaching me caution and creativity and honest love. now all that's left the the parts that have not been skimmed off the top, the parts that have not been burned down like wax. the parts that have been strong enough to withstand the stress and pain. and i'm not sure if i like what is left.

i want me back.

someone.

i hold these notes,
written out events of every time
you were something.
(oh, i know i shouldn't say
but you were something).

i fold them up, and place them
in the book on the top shelf.
pressed and ironed,
skim my fingers across the top
but not too rough
or it may fall apart and
all that i have will too.

regenerating.

now, i've never had my heart broken
but lately, i've been thinking maybe
you can have it broken when
it's already full of someone.

i hold this heart, fold it up,
put it in the laundry, and then, in the sun,
and hang this heart out to dry,
wrung and wore out from loving someone.

pulsing anew in my boned in cage,
i renew this old heart, regenerating,
(but they never heal completely)
they, these scars, they are complicating.

one day, my dear will realize
there are no more cells
to bring this lonely heart
bring it back to life.

old friends.

i wonder if you look for me, my friend
in all the places that you see.
do you see the color of my hand
when you walk out in the sea?

i think about you,
in the dawn or in the dark.
i hold on to those memories,
those memories of the park.
the smiles buried in bottles,
laughter locked up in suitcases,
and hidden behind the lonely trees
are our secrets and embraces.

and, you are my childhood,
and it seemed to grow too fast.
we grew fast apart
and could never make this last.
i wonder if you look older,
or if you are that girl in my memory,
who thought dreams were oceans,
and wishes were fishes in the sea.

so i wonder if you look for me?
as i now look in all these places
and search for you in their faces
because in these empty spaces,
you're the only one I can place
who ever held my hand.

you are.

you are, you are, my summer shine
you are, you are, my world divine.

beastly

the republic tigers are coming
prowling son, intimate at your heels,
like the wind rushes at your back,
pushing you forward before it kills.

and the nerve of these beasts!

like the Grimm villains they are,

holding the taste of poison in apples

blooming like the seeds of the core.

the lions are coming,  oh here they come,

the lions are coming. 

so say you will take a drop,
fall in waterfalls when prayers fell you
take the sky and turn to the moon
water's deep, so plunge in soon.

i remember when your veins poured

black blood like the river at mid noon

take a shot, and call the time of death,

before you try to save me too.

the tigers are coming. oh here they come.

-

i don't know what this is about. and I don't really like it. maybe what i meant to write will come back to me and I can edit this into something decent. 

letters I

i like how i talk about all the things you need.
how much you want to succeed.
how much you're in pain indeed.
do you ever, think about
the times i've been all out
in trying to make you see
how much more you could be?
you can change everything i say
into a mess of a mistake
like i'm unfeeling
like i'm just too fake.
and now, tired of all your ways
of making me walk away
and somehow,
all that ends up happening
is i'm all alone in between
the best and the worsening.
you always think hurting me
is the best way to push me aside.
then recoil when you want to be
the girl who's by your side.
so, like im held in string,
waiting for you to come and ring,
now i wait and write letters,
for the person i thought
could make all wrongs better,
letters you will never read,
words that will never show,
how you can take the lead
and make us better than before.
and on the inside, i dwell,
and think oh my, oh my,
this just cant end well.

pocket of snow.

pockets full of snow,

hands cold as i tuck them in.

and in propinquity, i imagine:

that in all the moments left,

so quiet, with nothing to show,

so motionless, we are snow:

falling, from outreached heights

where all we thought was,

oh, how, like air, we are light.

and like a forest of trees, 

we are too tall to see the 

ground beneath our fallen knees.

constellations

we laid our commiserations

to rest in the sand by our hands.

in the sky, we drew in constellations

that mapped out pathways up high

above the sullen, sunken land. 

fingers bronzed, and melded still

we lit the unlit lamps of the stars,

we nursed the young oil to flame until, 

it glowed like the embers of afar.  

on the sea puddled pools of backward suns

that sway and ripple like sounds on waves, 

linked to each other, one-by-one

and lit up, like the path our life has paved,
they hold hands until the night is done.

if love is blue

if love is blue,
organic, it flows through,
like streams in the dew
of the morning blue.
it's azure like a blue jay's wing
as it settles down to sing
of the gentle hearts' coupling
in the blue, blue stream.
if love is blue,
it is the heaven's sky,
caressing life from up high
and stretching far and wide
into the sea's loving tide.
if love is blue,
it is calm and sure,
undulating as the tide who
eats the sullen shore.
magnificent as the
rolling hills on the land.
soft as the warm-sunlit
touch of tender hands.
oh yes, if love is blue,
it is the color reflected in you.

story telling.

So recently I had this idea of writing a novella of sorts, not quite a novel (wow - that would be hard) but longer than the prose and short little snippets I usually write. Now, I did not realize how big of a challenge it is to write a story. Not because of the actual writing, as I write almost every day. But because of the "let's think of a plot" thing. It is hard. People sometimes say draw upon your own experiences. But I feel like I have ruminated and contemplated my own experience to such levels that they no longer have the same poignancy, and actually end up sounding inorganic when written down, so rehearsed. I could tell a story about a little girl, like me, and what mischiefs she did - only they sound trite and boring when I write it down. Fondest memories turn into a haze of mediocrity. So then, I thought, why not write about experiences I wished I had, or was glad I didn't. But they sound over dramatic and over the top. Too much.

The only thing I know to write about (or at least write adequately about) is emotion. I could come up with a  boatload of similes and metaphors, and things to compare this feeling to the sound of thunder or the hint of rain in the air. But, you can't write a story without a plot, a climax, a lesson... and in the end, my writing ends up being about the present. I'm so wrapped up in a moment that I can't seem to string together moments, in a fluid chain of experiences that form a lasting story.

For now, I will keep brainstorming. Maybe one day something will click. Maybe this is why some great authors only write one book. They only find one story worthy enough to tell.

and we are forever in motion

I am.

anxious and worried. should I
not have better words for how I feel?
I wish I could open this frame
that holds my body so still,
and let my cells parade out
in a spasm of words that mean
what i mean to feel to mean.

i mean, what i feel is what
these words will mean.
change the definition
according to this feeling, and
the rating of its intensity,
of its propinquity, of its purity.

these words, they mean that

maybe my life is in a cycle

like running in one place, fast.

tread marks deep in the dirt,

when we try to race like this, past

all these unwanted things.

and we are forever in motion,

but moving nowhere fast. 

i mean, well, i mean is this:
is it fair to say that I am lost?

No direction in sight,

and in a moment,
i find the silence too earthly.
too still, like a rock in space
orbiting endlessly around the light
but never towards it.
this is how i feel.

stay there forever.

the wisdom of winnie the pooh still gets to me. It's filled with child-like, innocent hope and poignancy. 

it's a simple thought, but one filled with a genuine love of friendship. and now, a poem...

Hold hands and hold on.

(do you see its pulse race?

and my whispers, quiet quiet?)

slow down, frantic child.

don’t let it go away now:

the road is a million miles,

a hazed horizontal, the shore.

It’s time to hold on, let the feet

drag on the pavement, hot

Like the star’s organic aura,

And travel 'cross the land, not

Unlike a mouth asking for more of.

More of this motion,

Heading in towards the ocean,

But crawl slow, slow, now, and

Watch the sky change shapes

And wrap you up in a drape

Of sea foam and titanic white.

(do you see its pulse race?

and my whispers, quiet quiet?)

now is the time to slow the pace

and enjoy the scenery of this place.

so let's hold hands and hold on.

who am i?

- What a wonderful thought!

yes, i've become one of those...

One of those people who post pictures of cute animals - but how could I resist?? SO CUTE!

parched.

Three days without water.

Drunk on air and sun-dappled leaves, 

but we're heading out to see

All the grains of sand that each could be

A dream undreamt by broken minds.

Lost in all this unchanged time,

these shards lay parched and confined.

Melded into a mirage that must show

All the dreams that we did throw,

Now that we’re dried up and ready to go.

can never go home.

I know people say you can never go home, like once you leave, you are too old and different to fit into the cubby named "Leena, age 9" or "Leena, loves drawing" or anything really. Are the toys I left behind no longer a part of me, now that I do not play with them? Are the people no longer mine, now that I have other people in my sphere? Sometimes, yes, I feel so different from them. Like they can no longer understand me. Even my sister, who is but two years my elder, feels a little different. We have not lived in the same house for six years. That is a long time, especially during a time when we are maturing and growing and finally shedding the awkward skin of childhood. So sometimes, we all drift away in a lazy haze, softly like a feathered kiss, without even knowing why.

But the truth is, there is something inherently beautiful about family and home. The peace I felt when I returned was something lovely and sweet and languid, spreading like the warmth of a fire after being lost in a winter forest for days. It is home. It is the streets I know like the back of my hand. It is the lone dinosaur toy I played with when I was young, sitting on the shelf like it is treasured. It is the perfect silence. It is the song I want to play again and again. It is like an anthem in my mind, "You are home." It is where I know I am loved. It is beautiful.

It also made me think of this song, Open Up by Editors, which is lovely in and of itself, but also pretty much expresses everything I felt. At around time 2:30 in the song, the repeated "You are Home" is  pretty much the anthem I feel once I land in Chicago. What a beautiful place.

small, yet magnified.

Is there a moment that I do not know myself?

Yet, I find you, my soul, there, in silent footsteps

On the outreaches of the dimming twilight;

Her tiny hands, palms out, open, holding the

World, telling me: now, do you know?

The world is smaller than it appears, and

Your spirit is not so big that you cannot see it:

Pressed against the glass window, small yet magnified,

Your soul is encased in this animal body,

And you know it, like you know your own mind.

Do not be afraid now. 

---

Well, I'm basically unsatisfied with how I've been writing lately. I like what I wrote above, but it just doesn't say how I feel sometimes. Like I've changed and I don't know what or who or how I am anymore. It's a scary feeling, to feel at a loss. I'd also like to note that I now understand how people write so many things about love/heartbreak because I feel as though when I've gone through that this past year, I wrote like crazy. And some of the poems were ones that I'm most proud of. 

On another thought, I reread Plato's allegory of the cave (or skimmed it at least) and I remember how much of full and wonderful thing it is. I want to write something so eloquently elegant and original that it has staying power. Maybe someday. 

---

qu'est-ce que c'est?

what do you mean?
am i beyond help?
has the wind whispered defeat?
do i luxuriate in the sound
of the melody of the ground
as it shakes under my feet?
(je te souhaite, dans mes mains.)
and do i, do i much
hold onto cotton
with the feel that its
my first soft touch?
qu'est-ce que tu desires?
je veux ce que je veux 
quand je le veux.
why do i do what i do?
pour quatre nomes sur ma main,
oh, nomes que j'adore,
for the languid taste on 
my tongue they lay.
qu'est-ce que c'est
que je rêve?

great migrations.

I was watching a documentary about wildlife and great migrations. How these herds or prides or flocks of animals move together in symphony, moving with the dawns of seasons. Around and around the plains and seas. Every time I watch some sort of documentary like this, I mourn the fact that I am not that free. I do not leave my home except when it is necessary. I have not seen the world and moved with the seasons, moved with nature. I am almost jealous, the closeness other species have with the natural realm. We are so isolated from nature's beauty that I cannot even imagine where these wildlife must preside. Everywhere I look, human civilization has taken over nature, leaving behind only scattered trees and preserves. It's hard to imagine that among the hundreds upon hundreds of species on earth, we are so different. We do not migrate for food or mating. We root ourselves in one place and find ourselves bound by friends or responsibilities or vocations, unable to wander the earth in search for something else.

Sometimes, I want to get in my car and drive in one direction until I reach the ocean. In between I might see the desert or the echoing shadows of looming mountains. In between, I might see more than this landlocked life I have resigned myself to. I think of this every weekend, that I should just go. go. go. go somewhere, anywhere, anywhere but here. I cannot help this feeling of being trapped in my own world, with no hints of escape.

We're too young to know better

I want to court love again,

Make a mix tape, hold on to a hand,

Travel together across the land

In a cooped up little car,

Like we think we’re going someplace far.

And we’re too young to know better.

Fall in love with no reservation.

Live life in perpetual youth and sun.

Try and try again with utmost compassion.

Oh, oh, this is my love song to you,

My dear, while we’re driving away,

Never fear, let me sing you this tune,

Run through this field to the moon.

Maybe this is the beginning,

This is the year I fall in love,

This is the day I see a smile like light

In the shadows scattered above.

reading alice.

Live life through a screen,

In between four rooms, boxes, places.

Touch the world softly, twenty paces.

Back and forth, and dream of and

learn about life through dappled drunk days:

reading about alice in wonderland,

wondering why the world won’t fade away,

into this bright, merry band

of misfits and introverts and mad hatters.

dream of days where I finally matter.

Live without feeling quite so alone,

(i hold a hand, but turns out it’s my own).

But, I’m scared, I’m scared

(oh mama, I’m so scared)

Hold me now, closer, tighter, stronger

Hold on longer and longer

So that I don’t fall apart like rain

Shatter from the dancing clouds,

Won’t wash down the drain

Yelling (“please don’t let go!”) loud.

So, Alice, Alice, will you take my hand?

Say you will live this life with me if you can,

the roses and violets and posies all understand,

Things are always better in wonderland. 

Where the red queen says, "run in one place!

Faster, faster now, to get away!"

Things don’t always have to stay the same

We can thunder in a different way.

six words to stand on.

i've got six words in my feet
i stand on them with clay bones
behappynowthankyouplease
and say them to the beat
of my soul's flight southbound
while the winter wing chases
me down the street.

even when bones waver in the rain
the clay skeletons turn to mud
like a broken vase on the sill
my knees fall to my ankles
and even then, i wait until
the rain washes my body away.
take the last bit of clay hands
and grab those six words
like an anthem of my mind
they echo and echo and chime
songs that my dreams sing
once upon a time:
behappynowthankyouplease.

they weigh down, 

like apples on the lively bough, 

young and fresh

but wanting and quivering to go

but all the while, buoyant

like the light on the wave

crashing tight to edges of a cave

my head sinking down for a moment

water pushing on swollen lungs,

then shattering free above the glass

and breathing in those six words

dancing in the summer air. 

telescope thread.

there's this thread, this tie
between my heart and your eyes,
like a telescope, you look in:
suntanned rocks that can't win
against the tumult of the sea rocking,
and a marked hand with a gun cocking
a reddened door with the bolt locking,
that won't unseal even when
your eyes come knocking.

so you turn your key in the lock, and
it won't open up, even when it's broken up
door's quiet, but it's spoken up
and said leave me alone:
stop trying to slip in behind
the masquerade when all you'll find
is the tumult of the sea rocking
a technicolor ship into the docks.
dressed in torn sails and misdriven nails,
it'll slip under the bridge, skim the top,
if it just bends its back
and picks up the slack.

so take a bow, and bow out, my man
you have tried and taken a stand
but now is the time
when you must comprehend,
that this ship has failed
to show you the secrets of the trove.
so must you continue to rove
through the clutters of my heart
and take all this glue apart
that held together the herds of hurts?

please take away your telescope thread
and leave me laying on this ship's head.
tie a knot and hook and lay dead
the other cracked hearts that may tread
along the path of your mighty gaze.
if you cannot, cannot resist,
might i suggest something instead?
let this ship of hearts crash and sink
letting its treasure trove drown ahead
and lay to waste on the ocean's bed.

take your smile (and twist it out)

I hate that you made me hate you
close that rage in a cage
and let the fire burn out,
looking past the bars to shout.
shut down the time you said you'd
bring me ice condensation stars
just to make the smile come out.

bring the world into this room
and see the hurt bloom
and maybe you'll see all the
moments you could've set me free:
like ice glazed crystal trees
that are longing to reach the sun
before the day is done and done.

oh, and i lose control:
tugging at the strings you hold me in.
and oh, i hate that you smile;
i want to take it away for a while
tear it up and hold the scatters
while you lose everything that matters.
and oh, i hate all that you say,
want to mar the steel in your ears
with crusted rust so you can't hear
all the jeers that i can't contain.

curl my fingers into my wrist
and make a skeleton tight fist
and twist it in your heart.
take away the crying eyes
from the socket like a pocket
in your face, you don't mean it
anyways.
all the cries, i know they're fake.

so, take all the hate that i feel,
burning under confined tan peels
like kindling in the fire,
let it consume all that made
us you and me, me and you.
just end this mockery, charade before
i wilt like petals to the floor
exhausted from the hate forming
clots under my skin.

---

Wow, didn't mean to make this long. Just an emotion purge, once again. It's probably no good.

storyteller.

you write myths like oedipus
curling imagery like cigarette smoke
in between parchment lines of
tales of royalty and folk.
rather be blind and borrow,
eyes than be possessed by greed.

and you would gladly throw,

pearls and diamonds and rubies

shining like a knight's armor,

up and up into the moving sky,

and let the cloud swallow up

the worthless jewels that fly by.

for you, the sky's sun melts
the lonely wind, so that it
may see the stories spinning
from your lonely little lips
for you, the moon hides
behind the whispered prayer
so that it may over hear
the words you long to sing.
and in the dim and dirty sea,
the urchin waits patiently for thee
to flow towards the waves like silk
upon a maiden's graceful back.
these tales like jewels upon your crown
carefully adorned like the most
precious of all known wealths
when all other wealth does drown.

but you, such giving you,
you place these stories on your skin
and let the earth bury you in,
you turn into water, fire, air,
the ground beneath and over there,

feel the cling of rocks and clay

form the curves of your bones, may

grass so green grow into your eyes

and flowers spout from your lips.

and soon all the tales you tell,
are free for all in the form of
a most perfect wishing well.

hate/love and all those breaks.

Basically, we parted on mutual terms. It truly was, and now, all he wants is me back. and i can't help but think that he's not genuine. cause the only times he tries is when he's tripped up in the lies. when he's hurt me so much that i can't feel the cuts because they're just too much. and how am i supposed to forgive, if all i know of him is all the things he did to let me down? i don't know. love only goes so far; the rest is responsibility, work, courage, wisdom. you can't just rely on the love to carry you through, like you're riding through life and maintaining the minimum you need to stay afloat.

life for rent.

you rent opinions and borrow ideas and,
run from "i don't know's" when scared,
leave behind the values you once declared,
but you'll pay it back with your next paycheck.
don't risk, or it will be your bitten up neck.
sometimes i wonder at all of the lies,
you conceal your truth and find all the eyes,
too hot to handle the heat in their gaze,
rather sit out than fight through the maze.

well you're weak-hearted, as the lion says
lack the courage to find your own ways
hold to conformity and leave intuition
sink in the sea from your own inanition
molded in amber, no bright animation
take out the color to find your salvation

so you rent opinions and borrow ideas
and you pay your bills on time,
give back interest on all your loans,
as long as you don't have to make the climb.

stop this, now.

here we are asking: can we go steady?
but in reality, all we are is unsteady.
we walk in crooked, curving lines
and ticket each other with outrageous fines
in between toothy smiles, we
find our hearts chained and locked up,
man, we've really fucked up.

so, stop this now!
is there a moment when a green light
meant that we were okay?
cause i've never been able to say
that okay equaled you plus me,
because all i do now is see,
the red light flashing overhead.

oh stop this now!
maybe we thought we'd hold on
but we're sleeping, and it's slipping over
the edges of our foundation cover
a soft quilt on trembling shoulders
easing open and making skin shudder.

oh, stop this now!
we were meant to cross now,
car horn clanging, telling us to go now,
we were meant to move on past now.
you can't expect me to wait now.
no, you can't.
because i can't.

so, stop this now!


--
okay, so I don't know if this is any good. This was more to express some anger/sadness/annoyance. I didn't even really read it over, just sat down and wrote it so maybe I could focus on other things today.

note to self (or maybe others if you're listening)

First off, I would like to apologize for the angst driven poems of late. I'm sure you can understand why I have been this way if you only read just one. Secondly, I don't know why, but I am obsessed with parenthetical titles to my poems. If this annoys you, sorry. I think they sound quite lovely. However, I will try to stop to stop being so predictable. :)

With that in mind, thirdly, here are some short poems.



---
blackbird song (so this is goodbye)
---

i cradled your hand in mine and 

waited for the goodbye to go by and by

as the blackbird sings its little song

it trails off in the northern sky

oh how you used to feel like lightning static
like raging forest fires and mountain leaps
we were falling like fallen angels and devils
before they sat down to weep.


---
heartbroken melody (of a king and queen)
---

i thought i should write a "heartbreak" poem

but it's much to soon for me,

still see that smile and hear the way

you said together we'll forever be.

so instead i wrote this la-di-da tune of mine

that holds all these memories

of birds and bees and darkened mead

of a painted queen and her lonely king

and all the times they took a hand

to keep from falling apart

and of all the times they left behind all

but just each other's hearts.

here you go (there's more too)

i want you to know about me

but i'm too scared to show you these words

i could hand you this writing and

let it cut through you like swords

i don't know if you like how i write

but i offer my words to you

i hold them out and let you read

all that's left standing there so

here you go (there's more too

where that bit of muse came from)

does it hunger you, starve you, just

feed you full, and make you oh-so-numb?

or perhaps these words lay upon your cheek
like an effervescent marking of truth
a charcoal kiss upon a snow bed sigh
a marked beauty with piles of proof

it lies upon your tongue, biting like lemon
blooms and dances its taste and juice
across your senses like a culinary ballet,
and stays for days like a blackened bruise.

will you take these words and treasure them
like the wizened hairs on the old man's head
a sign of knowing and truth and thoughts,
thoughts that would've been left unsaid.

so here you go (there's more too
where that bit of truth came from)
may you know me better now that you've
taken all I had and left me quietly dumb.

baby don't you see (we're an accident waiting to happen)

i'd rather get drunk and drive fast cars
self destruct than feel the hurt you hurt me with
better to pile in the scars and spare parts in a fancy little jar
than to let the cry bubble out when no one's hearing anyways

and i look back to memories of frantically running out
the back door barefoot in the cold and wind and rain,
lungs heaving, compressed under cries, this shout
building up in my chest waiting to break me apart.

and that day we were driving down a narrow lane,
and of hearing and feeling audible screams in the car
tremble and crash and torrent against window panes,
these words diffuse into my bones, cradled like a cancer
and all I do is, leap out in front of oncoming cars.

Today I am hurt, and unbalanced, and far from okay

I need a friend, and I thought that friend was you

Like a victim under an upturned car, this day

I am alone compressed under broken hurts.

so when a tree falls, and no one's around
do you hear it? (no, I dare say you don't, you don't)
so when I feel my feet sinking underground
will you see it? (no, but I'm falling under, under)
when I fall from your cutting words that surround,
will you hear it?

some one day, you'll drive me out of my head,
and i'll be hurt, drunk, and driving in the rain
then, will you notice that I am not in my bed?
or when my lonely little car crashes off a cliff,
will it take forever to find it in the ocean below?
will it take forever to find what you're looking for?

or will you stray away, not even care,
and thank god above that I am gone?

machine of sin.

this evanescent skeleton will dance

with a bottle of hardened gin

burn through life with the operation of

thundering together a machine of sin.

and it says,

"steady on, stilted blackbird, when 

all you do is fuse a hand to the safety

of the still harbor, but bloom on the bend

of this misnomer and you will crash in. 

you'll never experience the liquid swim 

of moving through waves, free of chains.
instead rustle in your gilded cage and complain
of clipped and tattered and tarred wings.

"and maybe one day my bones will

rattle in a jar, soaked and seeped in regret
but at least they have moved, so still,
your stagnant wings, you are caught.

"for now i will let life echo its call

and drive too fast without fear of a fall

dance through the cast shadows with 

other lost and lonely's, hoping to find

myself in the blue smoke and mist

with a sliver of knowledge that yields

the answer to the questions in me.
in time, and poise and maturity, you'll
realize, that perhaps you should've let me be
and kept your long static scorn
tucked in your wings like unwanted thorns."

held your world (i'd keep it safe)

i held your world in my hands,
and said I'd keep it safe for you
Let its secrets blend into my skin
like a million dozen tattoos.

and now all the sunbursts are
shooting from my fingers and
now the veins in my arms come
alive with the glow of your name

are we in the place that we met?
in the forest, surrounded by the sets
of fallen trees and mold melodies
oh, how they hold onto to me!

there, i see bright birds in your world
they fly into my lonely eyes and
imbue them with the color of their plume
fill the air with scent of your perfume




....

still a work in progress

love lullaby.

cause in time, in time, in time, in time
there will be a moment
when you'll always be mine
when we can always keep pace
and hold onto this wonderful place
oh slow now, honey-pop, sugar-rain
this is not a "heartbeat-fast" race
to the end - no, it's just the beginning.

cause baby, in time, in time, in time, in time,

you'll hold my hand like

you can see into my mind.

we'll be two hearts, one body combined

holding eyes like honey and dew

out from under the something new

into the middle of the great big blue -

oh, no we're climbing - high into the sky.

do-do, do-do, do do do 

yea we're climbing, high into the sky. 

tin chest.

i write a million things about you and me and,
us together - but all you think is that i don't care
to weather, the storm and to cry when you fight. like
a feather - i give up too easily and much too soon,
all i am, is what you see when i try to cover up the hurt
and to you, i will always be a someone
with a tin chest and a missing heart.

now aren't you supposed to?

and now aren't you supposed to tell me what to do

peel our pasted smiles off and put on this make-up,

war paint so we don't have to see the heart break up,

push in and push out, come together, and tighten up

the bolts sagging in the paper thin metal around the

intersecting web of the lights that's holding us hanging

but blind and fighting, dark coming down banging

so that all we can see is - we're falling apart now.

baby, we've been playing house for a long time going

maybe we thought we could spend all time loving

but in the end, we're just been animals roving

without a home, hungry for food and moving along.

come, now, where's the honey that used to be in your eyes

when you looked up at my face? now all that lies

between us is the gaping space, between sun and sea.

.

true talent

This verse by Lewis Carroll is remarkable for more than its melancholy:

It can be read both “across” and “down.”

my songbird heart.

deep in my heart, where the song birds fly, there is this churning

because in this forest, the birds are hearing a call, a yearning

to be away from here, to seek, to find something to become.

to recover the path to the promised land and simply glide along,

but my bones are brittle and weak, drained from being me

and my marrow thin and depleted -- when i try to fly, i see

the fastly approaching ground. then down down down,

i fall like the leaf wavering in the air-lifted, sudden shroud

caught up, left behind, and longing for some destiny to wrap

its wings around me. 

maybe someday, my heart will find its flock

and move like one forward and beyond in a shock of 

bold feathers and beaks and trilling heart-songs filled with love,

soar to the south towards the breaking skies and dawning dusks

maybe then i will find the nest i have been coveting, 

and the song i wish to sing, forming this melody of horizons
into the life i dream, resting there upon the uptilted dawn, drawn
like an artist paints the world with the colors of the sea,

and simply just be. 

king of anything.

you walk across the earth
as if you were the king of anything
feel the ground beneath you fall away with
your every move, your every step;
courage of the lion, with your mane of power
you move with the trees, as if you knew their sway
do you climb across the moors and the valley
and close your eyes when the sky bows to you,
presents you with stars brighter than your light
so that you may see in the darkest of nights?
do you own this feeling, of living without fear,
and hold it to your heart, like a child in your arms
feel its pounding heartbeat against your own
the rhythm of two together, like a melody?
you walk as if there is a crown atop your crown
as the sun, burnt out, shimmers and falls down
with strength, you walk into the ocean, into the sea,
and then into all the unimaginable things that could be,
and you place your footprint on its soil,
claiming this piece of the sullen world as your own
still shining as the moon once shone.

imprint

when you leave, you take this part of me. and all that i have left is this imprint where it was supposed to be. i wish just once you would not just drift into my life, but stay. but now we're older, and my life is getting bolder and the world is turning colder, without you. and i wonder, once or twice, whether this is it. whether you will leave and drift away as free birds do. i think of me without that piece you hold, and think of me as a flower without its petals. you hold the beautiful parts of me. so now, if i ask, would you stay and close your eyes as we run in the rain, and try to feel once again? if we could weather any storm, we could weather this. don't fret, i know this time you'll leave, and this time with one last kiss. maybe in another time, i can tell you that i would have brought you the moon back, if you gave me your love as exchange. i would have burnt my hands holding the stars, all to see them glow in your eyes. maybe in time, the imprint you've left behind will no longer be a shadow, but a soft corner, like fond, cotton-like memories in a dream.

shaking hands

you speak, in a room
full of no one and every one
and i can see, in truth that looms
all the shaking you cover up
pressed under skin like a hiccup

i can see you now, you tremble,
hear the jolts of your heart ignite
feel your words, in the air, fumble
and i wonder who you see out there
when your eyes stop and stare.

i hear your self deprecating humor
the laugh that hides the face of you
and the pain that quietly murmurs
that travels through you and into
the sky, reflected in its mirror
all the fears that you so feared.

if i could, i would kiss your trembling lips
and soothe those fallen words
until i twist and break and flip
them to mean what you mean to say.

i want to step beside you, calm

the tremor, take your shaking hands in mine

and let you fall apart in my palms

like a landslide coming down.

but i would find you again, 

in the crumbles of you, 

in the avalanche, and begin

to hold onto to you until the earth 

stopped trembling with

your shaking hands. 

weathering the storm.

cool winter calms me down
ice smudging lines of expression
leaving behind a hardened impression
so, now i'm at a very peculiar place
and there's a world of room and space
between us now, and i hope i'll be alright.

i try to hold onto the thoughts of you
when the ice storm comes around
clench my toes in the snow covered ground
and hold on with all my sturdy might
as the wings of this celestial night
chase away echoes of our broken bond.

we are at the precipice of our souls
looking over the cliff at the sky below
our feet, shivering and shy like a doe,
inch forward and fall into the fallen night
and i feel the tides move in and fight
to pull me under, leave me to blunder.

we walk into the ice, into the light,
as the sun comes up, everything is broken
and there is not a word to be spoken
as we walk into the ice, into the light
we split paths, moving apart, but alright
now that we are alone.

now that i took back the pieces of my soul
that you callously kept away from me,
and i carefully connect the edges,
making them touch, again making me whole.

you take only the worst of me.

i hear your voice and it makes my lungs dance
my lonely heart thinks we have one more chance
cause i've been with you longer than
i've been without, unable to mend
each others' hearts, we stand miles apart.

and now, finally, when you leave

with me gone, you might actually conceive 

that i never stop crying when you're around

because all you do is shove me down

i just want to leave when you hold me

i just feel the hurt bubbling so let it be

but your eyes full of stubborn pride, i see

you take my qualities, put them through a sieve

and you take only the worst of me

and I just can't help but believe

that in your eyes, that's all i'll ever be.

so tonight i'll be missing you here

and maybe i'll be alone softly crying

but i won't stay just for the fear

of drowning alone, of love dying.

sky and fog.

the twilight shatters around our bodies

as we lay together, breathing softly

this hunger that is buried under our skin

quietly unsaturated, under nourished

we stay an inch apart, avoiding lush sin
but waiting for the break, the end of tension. 

we look and do not touch, awareness

taut like a pulled wire, sizzling like 

sun drenched skin, and we are so eager.

eager, eager, as we drink in these meager 

touches -- brushes of skin, breath against lips

lush enough to kiss, hands walking across slender hips.

we are here, but inches apart. holding close, but heart

like the melody of a skylark, song bursting mid flight,
this burdened anxious feeling bubbles over as

air rushes past wings of youthful attraction;

touch feeling like gold feels to Midas, 

warmth to the ice, we melt together, 

curled around each other like sky and fog.

the glass you left.

impression smudged, like
your fingerprints on the glass,
long after you left,
I kept it there, on the table,
and I would think of you
in my home, as if you belonged.

it seems as though the air is
pervaded by this image of you,
like the scent clinging to the
shirt you wore that day,
as i wound around the fact that
I had to twist out the words to
say good bye to you.

and maybe in time,
i will find that the quality of your
being, carried in the air on molecules
too small to be seen, this
delicate fragrance of your spirit
it too will fade, like well washed jeans.
like the haziest of memories.

yes, the influence of you will be
washed away by hands and soaps
and the glass will be put away
and soon, I will no longer be able to recollect
which one it was, (for they all look the same now)
that you used the day you left.

when i find i am sad.

mostly when i find i am sad
there is a moment to be had when
the rains lay mist upon my cheek
lingering like soft soleil light

then, i purse my bitten lips,
curve skinny arms around slender hips
hold the pieces of me together
until, at last, i lose the fight.

the days grow long, as shadows stretch
taste the salt as my breath does catch
and watch the sun set behind closed eyes
as i feel my soul clench, unclench.

a year of memories.

i'd think of February
when we'd drift through the snow
leaving behind footprints that show
four lines, four uneven rows.

i'd think of that time in the rain
back then in April,
you grabbed my hand and i complained
but then you put your hand to my cheek
and kissed me sweet and coy.
i just smiled, and said you silly boy.

and sometime in June,
I'd lay my head on your chest
and slowly, steadily, confessed
that I think I might be falling.

by you, in august, i softly laid down,
our backs on the grassy ground
i breath in to match your steady pace
and looked over at you
and saw love in your open face.

i'd think of october
as a month of coffee and coats
of studying in light filled libraries
quiet, but steady and sure,
we never thought to drift apart.

december, a kiss, short and shy
as we said our goodbyes,
looked one last time into each other's eyes,
and watched as the love died.

cherry trees.

and maybe we would have been good for each other
had we waited to grow into our own bones
like a tree grows into its leaves
but darling, you would never believe
that we met a little too early, when we were still kids
minds like empty containers without lids
running around, looking around for the person
we thought we were.

i thought we could grow together,
holding hands if we need each other,
like two blooming cherry trees in the field.
but neither of us could hold on and yield
and like the river curves away from the mountains
we moved in our own undulations
pulled further and further out to sea
without reaching out to where the other might be.

it saddens me to think of us like lonely
pieces of driftwood, and so instead i'd think
if i were a lighthouse, I would call you back home,
take my bulb and let it shone.
but I am not yet rooted in the earthy ground,
and so i let you go without much of a sound.
maybe when we're taller and wiser
poured into this mold we made for ourselves
maybe then we'll still fit like we did back then,
holding hands like cherry trees
all tangled up in each other's leaves.

something like love.

i swallow the sun and let its delicate flames
curl into my lungs like the heat of a California forest fire
it fills them up, expanding like a hot air balloon,
pressing together, congesting my heart between them
punching the tender muscle black and blue, blood dripping
down into pericardium, and I am surrounded by red heat.

my breath catches in my throat, burning on my tongue,
while lifesource chokes the pulse in my arms. soon,
i am blue, lips shivering, toes tingling, and eyes blurring
stuffed full with cotton, and now i am falling.
and there is no greater fall than this.
freefalling through the dreams like Alice
in a Wonderland of flames, licking at my skin
like mischievous zephyrs riding on a current.

I can only hope, that you will catch me at the
bottom of the sky, where the land caresses
the under belly of the luminous sun.
but for now, i feel the blood in my veins
stilling, and i am unsure.
I only know this feeling, like falling
drowning in soul magic, soft like fairy wings
and zinging like static against my teeth
while i kiss you goodnight.

summer wine.

they laid their heads down on the dirt path
in between rows upon rows of ripened
sweet pinot noir vines, aromas thick like syrup in the air

they could almost taste it in the space around them.

in between feathered leaves and dark rooted vines,

lush-deep-majestic fruits, tightly wound and heavy.

light flickering on its surface, like the light on their faces.

dark stain on their lips from the wine they drank

and the kisses they'd shared, in between the laughter

that flickered like an old oil lamp as the air rolled past. 

they took a sip of wine, looking at the other over

the bottom of the bottle as the taste lingered on their tongue.

tastes of raspberry and cherry and currant melt like wax

congealing with sweet reddened grapes, and then they kiss. 

and, then, there it is, the hot-cold flash of exaltation of summer love 

and the blood rushing fast and sparkling like dry champagne.

they let their hands clench in the dirt, holding it 

as if they could capture a part of this earth, this bearing earth, 

much as this day had clenched their own hearts.

but for now, they laid their heads back down, and let the air
wash over them, while the sunlight crashed through
the leaves and berries and honest to god sweetness of summer.
a bottle of pinot noir between their heads,
open and breathing, half of its life drank out of it.

speed up, slow down.

sometimes the words blurt out,
splashing onto a page like the spilled ink that you
once stepped in and left footprints
behind you as you ran away.

my writing is always a frenzy, 

can't stop the letters from clawing out of my throat

like knives scratching me from the inside.

and oh, my heart is a ticking clock: the hands

speeding faster and faster as i look at a
page with lines and lines of space, 

can't erase my thoughts, cause

i'm moving too fast now as

stanzas fly by, but they're

awkward and heady,

so calm down, girl, 

it's alright now, 

just breathe
and, 

stop and think.

but i just lay it all out as 

my body bursts to its seams,

lungs pressed down and starched,

systems still and steady, careful stitches
of skin undone as the surfeit of phrases move

through my blood like living cells.

i hold down on the wound to keep
the blood from seeping out and about,
clotting words making a jumble of thoughts,
and so i lay it all out, for only then, can i finally breathe.