and the sirens Sing.
music of death, injury, and trauma
if e’er a good place to be depressed, thss were it. Rooms lit by the warmth of an open oven –
a kitten pouncing on my feet at random,
makeshift bread puddings,
and words of agreement on paint colors.
the freedom of girls whose skin gets brighter
wth the tendence of god’s will.
travel and peace, time and velvet intuits.
spinning vinyl in the corners
and candles slowly litting,
emitting
furls and uncurls
of the absence of r Union
and the masking of cold, cold afternoons in sweaters.
I hesitate to say I’m doing poorly
‘til I notice how my lungs’v shrunk
nd that the pace of my life has become less-sustainable.
It’s been my task to still and absorb
I feel I’ve been failing. (felt definitively something shifting)
but still unknowing how to conceive anymore.
I like, however,
relinquishing control
to some extent.
I hesitate to say I’m
devastated
‘til I think of how much work I do these days
just to feel like myself –
when the memory of getting into the driver’s seat after work,
feeling your skin on mine,
and blooming my bouquet in your vast, lay-to-wait-luminescence,
made me feel more at home
inside this vessel
than anything ever does.
It was the subtlest layer unfurling.
juicy heart neath all that design:
the Yoga of finding center
without looking.
You led me straight there every time.
May I never underestimate
the value of your for-me-ness
HOnestly, HOney, these energies so comingling
for endlessness.
I can’t express enough
the depth of your waters
or how tantalizing they are.
These memory lanes are lined with leaves
to gather and crunch and dine on as they die
and dancing flames, shifting their arenas
with twisting confidence.
and manure
and piss
and my own menstrual blood, shaking out over the undergrowth.
these lanes are dawn and dusk
and live beside the core(ps) of my being
for now and how long.
How often is it,
anyway,
you find a man who is your flesh and blood
know it the moment you lay in the grass together
who can talk your language,
which happens to jive with the tongue of the trees?
how often is it
that these tormenting dreams
bring one truth?
I always want to tame or suppress my darkness.
His light was bright enough
to illuminate all that
without him I need some rock to hold
so I can quiet in the night
and stay up past eleven
breathing through my nose.
I’ll never understand all this.
Only can I unfold it.
Til then, search on the untold
caress the heart
and sensitize the malleable mold.
And see what continent;
what mount r plain;
will seize my form for the coming times.
