Posts Tagged ‘endings’

These drugs,

simultaneously filling my insides and wetting,

pushing and cleaning them sloppily out.



strings and putty.



o   u    t

lids both halved and fulled.

Is this coming back? Me coming back?

I will admit. When we got off the phone I uttered aloud my disbelief. The rest of the day hovered in the final frays of our clinging

til the next day

.   I knew you’d gone.

He’s gone.

hes gone

I am not “his girl” any longer.

sometimes striking clarity will emerge from these smoking tangles.

I’ll see some curly-haired lemon tending.

I’ll see the necessity of all of this strife.

I will realize,    like,   +

the glorious reminder that we worked because of likeness

in other words, the brilliance I admired so so much in him


it is my potential. It is my past and my path and all that is ahead ,

twining. curling. eyelashes outside of spiraling shells,

lining tassel and velveteen.

I’ll see his happiness,          reclining,            billowing on a bed of smoke,           with some sort of moon gently lowering her breasts to his lips

he, Master, drinks from the breasts of the mother

and she’ll offer

if I’ve anything to do with it

just in hope

I’ll want for those teats to swell

with all the dusty swill of swirling elements and precious



canonical cradling.

Drink, precious beautiful son .

I stand by my assertion

of knowing and not, at once at all.

this is my present life, after all.

and sure, we never learn anything ‘knew’

we just reacquaint

but you know, with your study onthe brain

all the puppetry string meddling in to distort the leaves and falling plains laying deepin.

i know, but i don’t know.

and not yet so solid as to get this intuitively [for the here now lately]

so, sorry babe.

‘Tleast I know enough to cognitively recall how beauty is ugliness and vice verses rolling off silent tongues! This isn’t intuitive, there’ins the issue.

I’ll make it mine, boy. I’ll remember that fear is nothing but choice of death.

I’ll remember the vice versas,

the vices

my vic(tims)(tors)(es) whilstriving to surpass.

and someday, I know

this notion

like no one can understand me but him

like no one can connect as us

like God has escape d grasp and here’s the end

nothing to succumb but loneliness

– i know this will fade, in the face of our truth that all things shift, pass, swivel, and change.

doing my own dance of spirit, and life.

so here’s to fists

and rose wines.

toes between toes and grubby carpets.

here’s to the heavyness in reggae hips

the wisdom of ages

and impossibility of time.

here’s to storybook characters too real to be invented.

to bubbles

and fortunes told.

Here’s to flat squishy bread

and the sad smile that will always come to meye corners

when I think of how you learned to forget your teeth around me.

here’s to the cold washing over

in a room full of misunderstanding

and flirting as a standin for outrage.

here’s, babe,

to your softest skin

and the wave plains your arms made ;

the history of your hair.

the way your collar bones looked me in the third eye

through that cobweb street scholar sweater.

here’s to trying

and dying

and feeling

and mealing.

here’s to falling face first into darkness

and getting caught by light.

to too much talking


and extraordinary knowing.


the love

the pain

the process

our duty.

Here’s to conscious acting

and self-guidance life.

Here’s to our defiance

and beautiful, slow, but mutual compliance.


Thanks for playing my music.

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