Peacock eyelashes begin to flicker
as my dream is torn at the seams
by morning sun shooting through
the broken blinds
and it’s calling out Scout’s Honor
of a day less dangerous.
Catch a drop of coffee as it enters
the crevice of my morning breath mouth,
adds a skip to my step and the
incentive to descend nimbly down the
flighted steps as a dress-
Pull sleeves over bicep toward wrist to fingertip,
Nine flights and a half counting
last four steps at the lobby and
my coffee is still steaming with intentions
of me drinking it…
Toss it to trash as I pass Boss who
hands me my gear for day’s task:
It’s thirteen, unlucky; and four more
than mine but not higher than I’ve been
before.
So in ropes I tangle in hopes
to dangle hundreds of feet from
trusty ground and the
sound of creaking kills my calmness
that I pretended to have early on.
In washing the building’s eyes to the world
I am earning every cent
but from this elevated perspective
I can’t help but feel
that I am spent.
Monday, October 31, 2005
ideal orange peel
He likes my hair wrinkly,
not curly, not slick-
just a mop of hair like doodles
on a burgundy canvas of pillow.
I like his face unshaven
not prickly not bearded-
just a felt sweater to
curl my cheek up with.
Lain out like an oriental rug
night moves over, blankets hover-
entwined, we align and create comfort
for our scared souls.
The rhythm in the backdrop
is like the old man at the coffee shop-
a silent reassurance
of a world beyond our own.
Once over sushi, green eyes
asked why yawns are so contagious-
why the white sticks to one side
of an oreo.
I stared blankly with no reply
and he caught the plummeting
tear from my eye.
Still, I watch with no reply.
not curly, not slick-
just a mop of hair like doodles
on a burgundy canvas of pillow.
I like his face unshaven
not prickly not bearded-
just a felt sweater to
curl my cheek up with.
Lain out like an oriental rug
night moves over, blankets hover-
entwined, we align and create comfort
for our scared souls.
The rhythm in the backdrop
is like the old man at the coffee shop-
a silent reassurance
of a world beyond our own.
Once over sushi, green eyes
asked why yawns are so contagious-
why the white sticks to one side
of an oreo.
I stared blankly with no reply
and he caught the plummeting
tear from my eye.
Still, I watch with no reply.
Evil Deviation
An alarm resonates, my ears awake
David Grey hums neatly over the airwaves
and my thoughts digress to you
The sun collides with the ocean tides
sand beneath my feet, it sinks
I swear I can see the toes of Italy
but I’m wrong about distance frequently
Silly willows whisper fall’s approach
seeping, a feeling of personal reproach.
Our late walks at the lake, and our discussions of how
you have an affinity for purple, I miss it but now
I’m alone in the park, with the grass and the dark
and my thoughts digress to you
My paper, it stares at me blankly,
lonely with tranquility
“How to Disappear Completely”
pervades my mind so indiscreetly
and without further adieu, I think of you
The subway jolts; the pole feels cold
I stare holes in the tiles, bottle rolls down the aisle
and my thoughts digress to you
In my mind I’m dancing with the devil
under moonlight of our late-night
beneath the rain that forever stains
our love…
and I digress
back to you
David Grey hums neatly over the airwaves
and my thoughts digress to you
The sun collides with the ocean tides
sand beneath my feet, it sinks
I swear I can see the toes of Italy
but I’m wrong about distance frequently
Silly willows whisper fall’s approach
seeping, a feeling of personal reproach.
Our late walks at the lake, and our discussions of how
you have an affinity for purple, I miss it but now
I’m alone in the park, with the grass and the dark
and my thoughts digress to you
My paper, it stares at me blankly,
lonely with tranquility
“How to Disappear Completely”
pervades my mind so indiscreetly
and without further adieu, I think of you
The subway jolts; the pole feels cold
I stare holes in the tiles, bottle rolls down the aisle
and my thoughts digress to you
In my mind I’m dancing with the devil
under moonlight of our late-night
beneath the rain that forever stains
our love…
and I digress
back to you
Siren Isle
Late in the moonlit linens
a call arouses my ears
restarts my heart and in
His song: a harp
that thrusts me into his stormy sea
I’m losing myself to deceitful chimes
that strangle me like jungle vines
While enduring the Siren’s luring cries
memories invade from the fallen sky
cascade on me like chimney bricks
…The press of his hips as he kisses my lips
his salient eyes enticing mine
strewn out on the ground next to flicker fire
following with fingertips each contour
every line, all the shadows on his body…
Sky eyes stare to lure, I’m crashing under
Yesterday’s twist
makes time seem so elastic.
Please, Aeolus, sail me elsewhere!
Best to care less for this ambivalence
In binding myself unto this mast, I
deny a desired breath from the past.
a call arouses my ears
restarts my heart and in
His song: a harp
that thrusts me into his stormy sea
I’m losing myself to deceitful chimes
that strangle me like jungle vines
While enduring the Siren’s luring cries
memories invade from the fallen sky
cascade on me like chimney bricks
…The press of his hips as he kisses my lips
his salient eyes enticing mine
strewn out on the ground next to flicker fire
following with fingertips each contour
every line, all the shadows on his body…
Sky eyes stare to lure, I’m crashing under
Yesterday’s twist
makes time seem so elastic.
Please, Aeolus, sail me elsewhere!
Best to care less for this ambivalence
In binding myself unto this mast, I
deny a desired breath from the past.
Touching Thunder
Scattered leaves caress their every surrounding
Benches grasp the earth to hold their ground
A set of eyes question what the clouds bring
Listen to the wind: silent sweeping sound
Her eyes exist in lonesomeness today
Examining every inch of wonder
She closes her lids and begins to sway
Shuddering from the arrival of thunder
Soon, soaking raindrops drip between her toes
So exposed, she knows she is not alone
Revealed, she feels as a delicate rose
With twelve blood-red petals, a crimson tone
Noticed by nature, in culmination
She’s finally feeling a sense of elation
Ode to Star
The stars, my Darling, behave like fools
caught in a staring contest
and none of them lose
For what do they exist
beside the aesthetic pleasure of our sight?
Do they serve any other purpose
other than lighting up the night?
Our dark and infinite cloak of sky
is sprinkled with shining fairies:
each has lost its wings to fly
Slowly burning each sweet death
with weight upon their shoulders
and I’m sure movement might be nice
to dodge the flaming cosmic boulders
Dance with the moon sweet star!
Break free from conformity,
reach beyond your furthest far!
I cry for these stars, my Darling
for each one has its fixed place
and the sun will surely come soon
and, from our eyes, the stars erased.
caught in a staring contest
and none of them lose
For what do they exist
beside the aesthetic pleasure of our sight?
Do they serve any other purpose
other than lighting up the night?
Our dark and infinite cloak of sky
is sprinkled with shining fairies:
each has lost its wings to fly
Slowly burning each sweet death
with weight upon their shoulders
and I’m sure movement might be nice
to dodge the flaming cosmic boulders
Dance with the moon sweet star!
Break free from conformity,
reach beyond your furthest far!
I cry for these stars, my Darling
for each one has its fixed place
and the sun will surely come soon
and, from our eyes, the stars erased.
Obituary
Her skin bled of Halogen on the
Gallitzin days of mediocrity
and suspended in controversial light
of betrayal to the Aristocracy.
Her sense of daily gloss upon the raspberries
in her over-used oak limb
seemed to edify another’s palette with
the shine of an arcade token.
The silhouette she carried went beyond
her galoshes and sunshine raincoat
for in the midst of plenty skid-marks
she never placed a scapegoat.
The rouge of her cheeks linked her tears
like captured pellets of blue rain
in a mangled-mixed forum of
pomegranate pain…
The hyperbole of her facial expressions
defined her creviced forehead
and the chiseled follicles of each hair
were so kind and overly extorted.
Within her origami smile folds,
she had this chronic disbelief
that her sporadic thoughts could ever cause
another kindred soul relief.
Each tribal thought was spun from
a torched flame inside her mind,
its persistence was uncompromising-
made her blink ‘til she went blind.
An afterthought, the loss of sight, for
her vision was window clear,
but the ephemeral splendor of conscious
thought was awkward to not fear.
So slowly the wind extinguished her cough
under the shady cypress tree,
curled tightly with the jasper snow
of unbridled finality.
The amber limbs traced a roof
for Adella’s passing head,
and in consummation, she laid to rest
in her eternal cellar-bed.
Gallitzin days of mediocrity
and suspended in controversial light
of betrayal to the Aristocracy.
Her sense of daily gloss upon the raspberries
in her over-used oak limb
seemed to edify another’s palette with
the shine of an arcade token.
The silhouette she carried went beyond
her galoshes and sunshine raincoat
for in the midst of plenty skid-marks
she never placed a scapegoat.
The rouge of her cheeks linked her tears
like captured pellets of blue rain
in a mangled-mixed forum of
pomegranate pain…
The hyperbole of her facial expressions
defined her creviced forehead
and the chiseled follicles of each hair
were so kind and overly extorted.
Within her origami smile folds,
she had this chronic disbelief
that her sporadic thoughts could ever cause
another kindred soul relief.
Each tribal thought was spun from
a torched flame inside her mind,
its persistence was uncompromising-
made her blink ‘til she went blind.
An afterthought, the loss of sight, for
her vision was window clear,
but the ephemeral splendor of conscious
thought was awkward to not fear.
So slowly the wind extinguished her cough
under the shady cypress tree,
curled tightly with the jasper snow
of unbridled finality.
The amber limbs traced a roof
for Adella’s passing head,
and in consummation, she laid to rest
in her eternal cellar-bed.
A Scarlet Letter
The lines in the letters
were sent & seen…
but it seems it’s not me
to intervene
Began real innocent
but now you have
no where to vent
too much to
not tell
Secrets
kept to keep
the shame hidden
give in to things forbidden
Sex on Sunday while
the janitor lingers
while the wife waits
while your body shakes
while you steal his fingers…
Out in the city
the night never-ending
becoming “friendly”
keeping quiet
where you stayed
where your body
rest & laid
and what you wore
so I don’t see you as a whore.
Invisible A
streaks your chest
secret smile is a
test for me
Can I see
what it really means?
I pretend ignorance
to your deceit
but really
it keeps eating me.
Keep your secrets,
keep that life
but keep in mind
you’re not his wife.
were sent & seen…
but it seems it’s not me
to intervene
Began real innocent
but now you have
no where to vent
too much to
not tell
Secrets
kept to keep
the shame hidden
give in to things forbidden
Sex on Sunday while
the janitor lingers
while the wife waits
while your body shakes
while you steal his fingers…
Out in the city
the night never-ending
becoming “friendly”
keeping quiet
where you stayed
where your body
rest & laid
and what you wore
so I don’t see you as a whore.
Invisible A
streaks your chest
secret smile is a
test for me
Can I see
what it really means?
I pretend ignorance
to your deceit
but really
it keeps eating me.
Keep your secrets,
keep that life
but keep in mind
you’re not his wife.
Gutta Cavat Lapidem
“The drop excavates
the stone, not by its falling,
but by often times falling.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
There’s a new kind of
balance
beating the streets
pulsating concrete
through the Union Square heat
juvenile child in torn jeans
with a mocha
with a dream
an idyllic portrait of the world
simple but significant.
Within this ambition
he soaked in energy
from the sapphire skyline
that was hidden.
Without a lucid sight
he marched on into night
with a purpose an intention:
no matter the battle
how hard or how bleak
he’d keep up the fight.
Dripping hollows
out a rock.
It’s persistence:
The shoes will march on.
the stone, not by its falling,
but by often times falling.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
There’s a new kind of
balance
beating the streets
pulsating concrete
through the Union Square heat
juvenile child in torn jeans
with a mocha
with a dream
an idyllic portrait of the world
simple but significant.
Within this ambition
he soaked in energy
from the sapphire skyline
that was hidden.
Without a lucid sight
he marched on into night
with a purpose an intention:
no matter the battle
how hard or how bleak
he’d keep up the fight.
Dripping hollows
out a rock.
It’s persistence:
The shoes will march on.
meghannisms
meghannisms
Sometimes, I find it fun to assess my assets,
but the things which I am blessed with
are also things people
might consider I am vexed with…
I've got a straggler on my chest, perfectly placed and about a pinky-nail's length long.
She's brown against my lambent complexion, strutting her tenacity.
and at this moment, I've found an affection
for her subtle ferocity,
so I surrender to her stubbornness.
Besides, I've grown used to her
growing on me.
As I stare down my body's length,
A faint supine line dashes perpendicular and opposite my spine...
I've always wondered why it's there, sometimes sucked in a bit to hide it.
But now I abide by it: my carefully placed crochet.
I survey the way my hips jut out,
little cliffs my fingertips leap off into my omphalos…
I lift my hand up to my lips:
Me thinks they're going to go to waste for way too long a time;
they tremble at the thought, my recently celibate brinks.
Next, I inspect the starring roles of my dearest sense…
first, my index, then left to pinky. My eyes stroll back to my preferred phalange:
my thumb; yeah, he's the thinnest one.
Overall, we're way too chubs to ever be worthy of
a pretty ring,
which is why I stick to bangle bracelets that sing.
Onto my next tiny quirk:
my voice (I've heard) sounds quite absurd when my intentions are set on
the likes of a lousy impression. I hear I squeal
my silly pants off…
I assume it's as beguiling as my convection
when I go to get my dance on.
Let's add one long appendage to this list which
indexes my behavioral lisps:
my handwriting isn't fancy
a goldfish has a better memory than me
I burn too easily...
a dainty, pink little lady.
I pick the blebs on my chin
my toes have undeniably-rough skin
I'll pick dry boogies and flick them
Without malice, I slam car doors
my room is far from a palace
I lose things,
a lot.
a goldfish has a better memory than me.
some sickness comes up when I drink sometimes
I think too much
I say too much
and i've got this hunch,
that will never adjust...
I sing without consent.
My shins are filled with dents.
I tend not to make sense,
especially when I'm crying, I can't control
my voice, my tone, let alone my assessment
of the given situation…
The reason for reeling off all of my faults?
Unlocking this large vault of quirks and blurbs
about my world?
“what is life, but reckoning?”
spindle-shank
For eight
decades
he has been lying
in
state
on
public display, a cadaver
in a
succession
of
dark suits, encased
in a
glass box
beside a
walkway
in the
basement
of his
granite mausoleum.
decades
he has been lying
in
state
on
public display, a cadaver
in a
succession
of
dark suits, encased
in a
glass box
beside a
walkway
in the
basement
of his
granite mausoleum.
here Or gone?
The fog was slight gray,
a haze with a hint
of almost-purple.
And though it was thick
and sensibly there
the further we entered
the more it was air.
So we assumed it
‘phantom hues’
and continued to
peruse the beach,
for an object
to fit our amusement:
Felicia found a large
viridescent kelp.
She couldn’t help but
pick it up and
swirl
around
with the thick sea-thing
she found.
We pranced about
in a circular form
steering clear of the long stalk,
keeping it
from catching our shins,
for surely it would tear into
the seams of our skin;
and the Trace on our ankles
wouldn’t be the
only one to be sore.
More so than a game
did it appear as a dance:
A ritual happening
by chance taking place
on this foreign coast
which most of us
have yet
to tag as our land.
Before our departure
we made our mark
with a swift scrawl of the hand…
I corrosively wrote
L I U
in the sand.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
...but one of my inspirations
- - -ee cummings
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a far better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
--the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for eachother: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a far better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
--the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for eachother: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
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