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I've moved my blog to Tumbler because it reads more open.
I don't know how to get you there other than giving you the address


SWALLOW MY ANKLES

I think its just swallowmyankles.tumblr.com
But I'm still working on getting everything over there.

For the Apple

Lately I'm dreaming in color. Of fruits and emotions:
That apple was meant for me. Right there on the edge of its plate.
How long was it waiting?
Patiently anyway, that Braeburn existed. Waiting for me to thank it. And touch it and take it.
Sleepwalking, I gave it my prayer. And it gave me the Sun for a spine.
I'm merging, transfusing. My soul is deforming. That apple is teaching me past living.

When your subconscious talks to your conscious its a feeling of totality. Self sustained and self sufficient. Let no one else inside. Maybe I do believe in past lives.

blackened pockets are soot soaked and heavy with their intent
and me with my black ox on my back
show none of it
roll me over and scream your voice at me

Passive Note of Parsley

I think my dreams are telling me things. But this time really telling me. And now all I think about is fire. It's where there's fire that I'm headed. And this story told me so:
There was once a factory where silk was being spun. In one room, the best room,  there were millions of silk worms. Eating. Munching and eating. Mulberry leaves and eating.  And the sound of millions of caterpillar eating was so loud, you'd have to wear earplugs if you visited. Just try and imagine it. Some sound usually so quite, you've never heard it in your life. Now magnified to such a degree, it would hurt you if you did.
That story comes up in my mind weekly. Sometimes daily.
It's really too simple and slightly tragic, but I'm connected to the fact that it follows me. It seems like it nags me. To remember something I forgot. This story is my talisman. But I don't know yet what for. I don't have tattoos but I gladly accept this as my anchor. A story for an anchor. A captain for my seas.
My mind comes together from this storied memory. Told and retold. Percolating into me, picture by picture. And I only know its there when I'm halfway through.  And by then I'm already gone. In a dream state trance. The place where I always forget to go, but lately yearn for more than ever. Where there's that fire. Nonsensical flame.
My dreams make hardly any sense. But lately they're my best friends. Telling me things I'm much too mortal to decipher. All I can decode is a feeling. A heat that resonates within me. And all I can translate is Fire.

thin lips and all

sick of that taste in my mouth
and its always that taste in my mouth
too bad my mouth follows me everywhere
else i could finally chew something new

ear in the universe

 

 

Feelin It

I'm feeling hungry lately
Unsatisfied always
I'm a woman!
And my mind is going nuts
And it's not going to fail
That by midnight tonight
I'll get struck and I'll have that same craving
And then all I'll see is our dirty day trip
And the van and the ocean and our bodies

Don't worry darling
I'm not pleading,
I'm not
You just caught me on a day that I'm starving

February Blues

Feeling flighty
And unsettled
Mischievous but low energy
And I ate 3 eggs today

Fire's going out
Come on, kindle me
Blow on my flame
Boost me up and make me smile

I want a love letter these days
Terrible timing

Swallow my pride?
No thanks,
I crave something else

Fire

So I've been thinking so much lately about my femininity. Or feeling it I should say. I feel really fluid and organic and strong from the inside. But the strength is like fire because I'm hot and salacious. Slightly vicious I may be too sexually charged. Either way its a very raw real feeling. And I've never quite experienced it before. Or maybe I have, but never like this. My inner cells are working overtime and baby I'm on fire.

Can't Stop

Turn me loose
Set me free
The wind on my ankles
Never felt so crisp so cool

Beach Bound

have my fingers been naughty?
darlin' i think so
but that memory of the ocean
has dirtied my mind

ok maybe I did once
but come on
throw me some bones

Morning in Heaven, Nighttime in Hell-Turned-Heaven

After I vomited that disease
I really did feel much lighter
Who would've known
Those toxins weighed so much

Me O'Mine

Hah!
I'll never censor myself for anyone
And I'm shaking because of my calm
I'm holding that power that I have now
And I know that I'm lean and strong
And I'll never go down

It's kind of a stranger
But still very familiar
That the biggest drop ever
The strongest hardest one ever
Shut that dirty dog cave door for good

But don't worry baby
I just called to say thank you

Beautiful and Bread

In her moment she was this perfect human.
Crying. But honestly crying.
And yelping when she was forgetting to breathe.
And her dripping wet lips
Were sticky wet lips
And I thought of a broken fawn
When she trembled.
And  she carried herself very wilted.
Because her petals were too heavy with ache.

I really like yours too
And I think you'll always make me smile
Or at least not have so many nightmares

Northern Exposure

I remember when he flipped me in bed
And those sheets that were always those sheets
But when I looked up at him, to find his brown eyes
I thought I saw you in his tooth
His teeth were your teeth, but were new
His teeth were those teeth, were your teeth, but new

And it struck me that somehow,
All their new teeth will have one
Every man will bite once with that tooth

But I'm over that haunt taking over my kisses
I've stopped asking for it to come haunting
I need to forget how to let me haunt me
It's heartbreaking what one tooth can do

Cube in the Desert (revised)

Arid and empty. And the sand was shifting and drifting. There were no footprints-just heatwaves. On our faces and our chests. It never ended and our eyes cried. The sand stung and sung and yelled. And so we walked. No footprints but we walked. To our left the sun, to our right the cube. Mean cube. Doom cube. Walk towards the cube we did. I'm not sure if we wanted to, but we did. And as we walked towards it, we held our ladder above our heads. Proudly and sternly. It was long- 6 feet. And broken. We placed the ladder on the cube and said a prayer and climbed. Once we climbed, we were inside. But so was the horse. Our horse. Silky and tight. Not mean, but not frightened. Beautiful, really, and I know he is. But I didn't want to go near him, you know. I didn't want to feel him. He hid us from the sun. But I'm not sure I wanted that.

With Love & Light

 

I've been thinking a lot about my family lately. These pictures hurt to look at but I can't figure out why. But I'm loving looking at them anyway. The first picture is of my father and his two best friends. He is the one on the right with the shades. The one below is a picture of my parents. The back says it was taken in 1980.  So I think my mother is pregnant with my sister.

I barely know my parents' surface but I've known them all my life. I feel like I miss them, even though they're so close to me. Does that make sense? They're so beautiful. I think some interviews are in order.  Or at least many many cups of tea.

Love Poem

It's so nice
To wake up in the morning
All alone
And not have to tell someone
You love them
When you don't love them
Anymore

- r. brautigan

An Enemy's Song

It's so damn nice
To be so damn strong
I feel like I've won
When you're pissed off
Because of me

Prologue

I can move these here arms
And I can move those there legs
And baby I got my wind back
And that feeling of my back being hot

Nerves

I found this free video at school. The cover is really amazing I thought. And I'm really interested in what it has to say...

Feel Me

I wrote that poem today for you
But it was hollow so my mouth went spicy
What I want to say is that you turn me
So I wonder
If I feel you
Will you feel me?

William H. Gass

 

In the Heart of the Heart of the Country is my latest favorite book.
I think that Gass sometimes writes his thoughts and feelings without even thinking. But it comes out strong and right. It's the reason I'm really into him.
Willie Masters' Lonesome Wife is what I'm going to read next...

My Bloody Frown Turned Upside Down

Bloody water I was swimming in
It was drowning me in its thickness
But instead of dying with a bloody frown
I thought, at least I would die a redhead
And my bloody frown turned upside down

Short and Dry

I know what your hands are saying. I know what everyone's hands are saying. Because I know how to hear them. I knew hands were talking for most of my life,  but only now do I really listen. Their movements are words and they're constantly speaking. So my world has a language with no sounds involved.

It can be simple and surface with strangers in passing:
Two hands on her neck, with thumbs pointing down, and grasping and rubbing and moving, means I'm sore - but I'm strong - I have a lot on my mind and I love when you look at my body.
But that's just chatter, and it doesn't mean much.
I've learned to filter that sort of thing to get to the real.
And baby I need some more real.

Its when people use language and their eyes when they talk, that I don't believe a word that they're saying. They can think about those things -  their winks and their breaths.
But I think that their hands are thinking for themselves. And move in a way that's untampered. Swiftly means strength and 'I'm certain', and pointing with pinky means picky.
Lately I listen to hands more than words because I think that they lie less.
And baby I need some lie less.

But don't look to my hands to understand my truth. Because I know how to break the rules. I think about my hands almost always, and move them specifically so the hands that you see aren't me. Sometimes I move them to imitate a woman that I found so beautiful in a dream. Other times I wear them like adopted hands tied to me; always bumping and dropping and fumbling.

I think its funny to be dishonest with these hands. Always moving, speaking and teasing.
Unless you catch me sleeping and then there's no faking; my hands know no lies when I'm sleepy.
Oh baby I wish I were sleeping.

I love these hands most when I'm sleeping. That's when they're most awake. And that's when they sing songs about me. Real songs about me. And I can't lie to you then.
And that's how you know when I'm real.
And baby I need me more real.

Nightmare

im sleeping in stone
and cramped from my pain
darling please rock me
and break it with your waves

Angst in the Middle Seat: A Dialogue on The Super 80

Don't scratch my face
Why would you scratch my face?
Because I love you
And I feel like I'm so angry with you
But mostly because you feel things free
And when will that happen to me?