Monthly Archives: August 2012

–Written Lady–

Read my work
but if you pass by her at the crosswalk
or catch her eye at the coffeeshop
or steal a glance in the night train
her veil of enigma might
startle you,
between breaths.
but let her stroll her lady limbs,
let her own her thunder thighs,
let her woman sway,
let her drift,
for if you hold her close
and put light to face
and stare analytically
and kiss too deeply with test
then surely you’ll tire of her
surely you’ll never love her as daringly
as dearly
please let her stroll
let her gallop
leave her veiled
she is delicate
leave her shy,
she is mysterious.

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..-The Dull Dame’s Guide to being interesting -..

Perhaps:
I could move houses,
change my hair,
stop biting my nails,
I could paint the walls,
let the dog loose,
meet my neighbors,
ask strangers for their names,
have french stew on the stove,
smoke only filtered,
drink only decaf,
travel to India,
dress like a peacock,
dance the samba,
speak German,
do yoga,
breathe with rhythm,
buy books, then read them back to front
go barefoot and bra-less ,
recite Shakespeare,
sing Opera,
use chopsticks,
Tell good stories,
spit poetry,
pray to rainbows,
grow my greens,
birth my children on the kitchen floor
[by choice],
time my kisses,
send postcards instead of emails,
tell the time by looking at the sun.

I could be interesting
call you on a rainy day just to talk
over the backdrop
of raindrops

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…Gliding Clouds..

Did you love me yesterday
with my riveting conversation?
where I had compliments to spare
and hands so free
limbs open- umbrella.
yes, you loved me
when I couldn’t love myself at all
so I turned all my bitterness into a pedestal for your feet
I wrapped your silhouette in amber and radiance
I wove my broken heart into a chalice for your masculinity
and rubbed your shoulders with my insecurities
You thought I was fascinating
and watched me drape you in my vices
stumbling over all the good within me,
picking it up and using it to tickle your fancy.

I begin to resent you even now in the end
even now as the engines roar.

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The Turnpike


Ignorance is bliss sealed with the kiss of never knowing.
I rode in on a bent dream and asked God if I’d ever made him smile,
I crept under burnt sheets and cried like my face wasn’t made from clay
And each tear accumulated into a frozen smile.
A pity,
I would have emptied every coin in the soles of my pockets
to have you know that
I’ve felt your goodness wander into my heart
and asked it to stay.

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Forest Park

I run out of love for you
restless in our ending…
this should have been us
ringed fingers
making vows
this should have been us
but we both run,
we both run so far that
love can’t catch us
that it doesn’t need us anymore
*
The lemon juice sweetened
still tastes like citrus bittered
it doesn’t make me miss you
or being where we sat still
in my veil, your vest
with eyes starring
with clocks ticking
with the cake uncut
and speeches figetting in breast pockets
*
could we promise to fight for
time and a shared mailbox
a bed with both hearts beating
side by side?
no
babe,
like the L to Forest Park
we sped away.
*
and I ..
..shamelessly
without restaint..
floated.

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Repertoire


I’d do a thousand things,
bury my head into a thousand burrows
before I could forget how magic
your name feels on my tongue.
say we apologize and revive this
last nothingness
Would our love beam back to
when poetry meant revolution
and a mark by fire wasn’t a burn but
an ignition?

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