is the mantle of my earth
So CI o EC o n o micStatus
elaborate elasIPOd dEl as tic drum gone stiff
whiff years its sound free
zing-ing waves cull-lulling our
ce-dar-shan Iliad tiers
number 24 images zona pellucida.
once they are written your
girdles are good sounding stiff
as the snapping of trunks in the falling of all of
our slaughtered remembering what we are pure.
1 - 2
1 - 2
1 - 1
3
were not birds this morning
or breeze, cicada's rise in a tree
long risen for its throating
the wind letting its sound
CarriErgo.
Purchased, black tuned six hung
vertical tubes, disc horizon sways
dangling the plumb triangle
sail with price tag.
get blood heart, & who
drained mine?
Poe would tell me the floor
taps an answer. Not spooky to know
who you murdered and why. And less
spooky to know they have not died, but live
in the cooperation of all things agreeing on a level of harmony,
thirds or halves or seconds of fifths or fourths or augmented sevenths,
our day of
Giotto, Masaccio, Michelangelo
sweet sixteenth
rest.
was the part
i thought was sane
yes judgment wassail.
when we learn of you,
we'll stop breaking
your tablets.
i.
looking for something
he saw it: Chairs and grocery lists
she found Keaggy finding
several years back pull up
fifty chairs.
Writes a new list
when they started looking
for something candy saw
It specify the taste of smoke,
and candy finds Lapsang Souchong:
A brown couch with apple-scent
cinnamon flames dolls in tin oval
by her over-shaded brass lamp
on the floor creation of OWE
in the book she has not returned,
now later than deep and unmapped,
this book on longitude Ironic Joan
Dash's Longitude Prize for young
readers. When candy started seeing the piles
she prioritizes from one room
to the next, he see wrinkles she promises
the board and heat. candy see pillows
they promise warm backs she see boxes candy
promise shelves and eyes thoughtful
once. When candy starts seeing
something she's looked for,
he sees it everywhere.
ii.
looking for something he sees it everywhere.
he saw it: Chairs and grocery lists something she's looked for,
she found Keaggy once. When candy starts seeing
several years back pull up promise shelves and eyes thoughtful
fifty chairs. they promise warm backs she see boxes candy
Writes a new list the board and heat. candy see pillows
when they started looking to the next, he see wrinkles she promises
for something candy saw she prioritizes from one room
It specify the taste of smoke, readers. when candy started seeing the piles
and candy finds Lapsang Souchong: Dash's Longitude Prize for young
A brown couch with apple-scent this book on longitude Ironic Joan
cinnamon flames dolls in tin oval now later than deep and unmapped,
by her over-shaded brass lamp in the book she has not returned,
on the floor creation of OWE.
oof, comp
ute.r he
a,rt beat
con.
t,inues
c,lickin
g itself.
into my arms, having walked in to hug
her Mother goodnight. I want to unfurl
yards and yards of white taffeta, a satin
train she craves.
Instead, her voice unleashes the unharnessed
peace, rain shower's practicing turning my face
up to her Father's Edelweiss from His memory.
worth showing.
show anyway.
(N.B. = When did my thoughts become "drafts"?)
I see you [8]
in the bear's instinctive
catching the salmon's leap.
I would be devoured by you,
spawning waters.
JANU JULY 2009 [7]
I starve for you.
Saturday's dinner
& yesterday's lunch
is a fine reminder
I am nourished.
B135. Will the next member [6]
know the pleasure of rashes?
What questions the birds
rents her own veil.
B134. On the feet [5]
the pink shoes went
to the party,
and yelling, standing, posting,
the story I could hardly believe he was
saying. The literal story of his
father's death and his mother's
insanity. His thirteenth year,
not quite fifty, and recognizing
he would have to relinquish
the responsibility--insisting he would have
to--to the liars who had
come too close.
B133. the words [4]
i have today are not worth the Shewbread
I can't get out of my temple.
Can't text this.
just did.
B132. I know it is not prudent [3]
to write when a nap is causing my body
to vomit.
This afternoon [2]
I bought a Sunny orange drink from 5 smiling children waving
their arms at my car. For .35 cents
I got a green SOLO cup, and the littlest child
asked me if I wanted a round sticker. Mickey Mouse
went on my left hand, .35 cents went out of my right, and the cup
and goodbyes went their respective ways. I advertised the children
four houses down to the foreigners digging a ditch for the owners.
Who knows if they cared.
B131. The pink shoes [1]
will go upstairs, and I
will find my toothbrush, since
I mentioned it before.
There is a birthday party
tonight, at my parents' house, Melody
and James, the outer siblings.
Do I have a gift? No. Not yet,
because all I can think at this second is,
make something of yourself, make something
of yourself--see them?? Yes. So make something
to bring to them. How
idiotic my tip-toeing barefoot upstairs, empty-handed.
Would you take my feet?
If so, I'll wash them for you. Again.
Do you see?
July 29 2009
whose religion is warped
veneer--one board removed
at a time. And up falls
freckles from clouds
that would make
a table of its sphere.
"His way is perfect, His way is perfect,"
I want to sing along, knowing the vacuum
is for my rug.
up was enough, until I wanted to put something down,
like Tasha Tudor put nothing down, nothing down her choosing
hand's joyful imagination and corgis and grandchildren, welcome
garden's watering old charm's quaint legacy. Her illustrations
what I would live, were I her.
I want to make a hallmark card of this second wind.
And my breath, oh, why must I even think to tell you of that.
piles of seashells in the garden a fish
statue on the deck make the rain seem
like oceans and, our jelly,
caviar. Quantum huts our
noise.
piles statue like caviar. noise. fish seem jelly, our noise. of seashells in the
garden a on the deck make the rain oceans and, our Quantum
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and,
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At some point this just gets to be painting pickets, I am saying out loud. "Please
be done soon, please be done soon, please be done soon."
Stop. Make a sandwich.
come out. stand there.
stay. until discernment
recognizes someth
-ing
other than your spell
-ing
that ugly smile. Can you see
him at all? Do you see
he will die with or without you?
Do you see what you have become, split finite
noun star
-ing weird minutes to numbers
you know mean someth
-ing
to someone who is liv
-ing in another closet
of your head genesis
woman. come out.
what gene 6871, what years matter
in that calendar you imagine has
someth
-ing
two do
with you.
1, 1, 2, 2,
1, 1, 1, 3,
2, 2, 1, 1, 4,
1, 1, 4. 6. 4.
5. 5. (ah a! 2 n'ma y1793)
.8 .12 .8 (ah a! 1 j'may1793)
1822 Difference Engine
1612 mistaken Neptune
"There are few things in the world
that look so good as butter
on wheat bread," my daughter said.
I heard
that. That voice is real.
to breathe under
water. 60 feet breaking
glass, the thick measures
I take.
to my heart
to my lungs
from from from from from
from from
from
fr
.
.
.
remove a tensile bit
of sleep, the dreams speaking to me
gentle lies: "The One who remembers Sleeping
makes a way for the Body."
And fear, fresh as commercial
reruns another voice from a human: "Every fiber
in your being tells you to sleep. They're
trying to steal your life."
I am not afraid of rubber fingers
in my skin, removing my brain, my tumors,
my terrors. I am not afraid to remain
in the North Sea voices, as the man whose
survival depended upon his fighting to stay awake.
in
(Camellia's hedge are) taller
than
(their spiders legs all in a) row
over
(twenty-five or thirty years of) growing
from
(the ground. I) inspect
the
(limbs for nests, their birds) constant
dip
(furtive into) gloss
green
(or) spider
powdered
leaves
(hide the feathers and the) nests
I
(do not find for the) prickles
of
(my forked) feet
and
beak.
n talle
han row
fila del verg adentro
ROM in s pec
he consta n
IP gl os
r e en s pide
o w de re(d)
jerarquia de los aleros
prickle
FF EE
nd bea
NS NS con riferimento alla scrofa
sistemi il testo fisso spagnola
l'italiano
nests are
in our birds
many dressing one today pleated
skirt swirling Charlotte straight
Russe, exception-
al Sergei Pavlovich Diaghilev
Pyccko and everything I do not know about
critique and the ballet two,
many dressing one.
two much is
too much for
one to pay, accept she is
willing two,
and three more one
of solomon-o-a-mines.
B108.
B109.
search engine's plugs
throwing heaven slugs
quella terra! Prendero quella
Amante fiero!
Non pensero piu come mi ricordo lunedi
prove della strega del pitone, comico "questo non e il
mio naso. E falso!" E non penso mentre ridero piu,
la voce comica inglese, "ho ottenuto piu
meglio." Ho qualcosa che non sia pienezza di dottrina
e di .com di .org di prova
del fuma di LEM.
Ho una coperta di vacuum, quella quella
fibra abbiamo acquistato, ai miei piedi.
Ed ho la vasca blu che lavo ed i miei
bambini faccia, come sono stati insegnati
della terra quella salvatore di cui una conversazione recordando
parole che ha fatto per accadere nei desideri del Creatore
di un momento, fatto due volte ed ancora.
Prendero quell'uomo.
"This is not my nose. It's a false one!"
"I got better."
"I'll have that Man."
Search Engine-As poems still say what the writer thinks, using a language the writer doesn't speak. It is time for small eyes.
that sleeps before 11:00
at night, the sidewalk through moors holding bowls
of warm smoke.
... just one good prayer and I'll be
done."
When I wish . . . how I wonder . . . what
I'm copying that came before, when I wish
upon a star.
Bow the black and white cloaked calm lighting
candles in the darkest whispering.
as comma the Dali Llama's calm consider So,
Pause you abseil ascending your self to less
than Lincoln's wealth--his tall hat, his tall man presence
was a presence to remain, cabin, and all dropped, spent, or saved
splitting of wood, hay, and stubble. Collecting is a big jar of unrolled coins.
After Robert Bly
and Staceyann Chin
I am a push pin.
Metal short,
cork thin,
I am a push pin.
Glad of men finding healing
in however weeping, sweeping,
horned hunting, cooking, saucing
kitchens, woods, and squares even,
should curves refuse their skin.
I was a push pin.
Glad and galled and gutted, finding
women pussing feet warriors, swords,
tongues pinning men and painting women
and saving, saving, saving nothing
of themselves for What if? and Belonging
Where?
Will you be when I come in?
White flagging crinolines;
savage silent
earning his songs
that did not come
for you. crinolines, cease,
flagging White crinolines.
ends the minute swell of
stings the painful water surfing
burns. ten more, please thee, circling
floors attempting to dance the minuet in boot-
legging heel's drumming, causing crinolines
2 boing twelve strings.
You are a marionette. No.
Are you real, Pinocchio?
Yes, You Are Real.
Yes, I am Real.
must you be sew 2 and 20, gala
-tions 2:20 Armageddon?
y found his shadow,
and sewed.
Him flying her away.
ytyubuhbihbiiib Is it still doing that weird thing?
I don’t know. Let me try. my manetic forcefield is strong
How fast
the traj-
ectory of butter-
fly vision,
Cater
pillars
feast to color
their wings.
[written 2008]
Fits Most” e
la
hed in he e h.
fla
“One Size
of.ed hal ined la” says Mo
w if e o s fL o
t
sexually, none of it is true and all of it is true as a cat
deigns to live at Your insistence, and finding none
but split following and hair matching and sprung leading
what in other worlds might not even pass
for opium.
pills will be.
What mothers are lost in pills? What wives are found?
And shall we put both to sleep, children and all?
Will You be surprised to know already, when You tell them,
of the ones who are not inhibition screamers
in computer lap rugs, but are Christ pleaders
in the books of the Baby Step?
"poetry."
balloon animals.
one side empty
pillow cool.
clearing your conscience,
better that than a viper losing
sleep. hey,
weight a second.
If u stood up, u might not notice u were lying down.
of Let her's
A Woman of
Station
airy Re-
deemed Woman.
We lingered in the bath
sheba lingering on the roof.
resting in the cool
garden open
Stone singing stones
sing.
"It will not take long for
tHis to become completely other than I
intended."
"It will not take
long for tHis to become completely
other than
I intended."
p r a y E R S i n
f a m i L I A r v o i c i n '
o d d W I L l k e e p
p ray famodd
inr voicing l'eep
ERS LIA WIL
ler sli awi
ile rsl iaw
wil ers lia
awi ler sli
iaw ile rsl
lia wil ers
sli awi ler
rsl iaw ile
ERS LIA WIL
For Ever, eye is the crisp 'n an apple, the
color 'n a leaf, the whole world of lightning
bugs 'n the summer fall 'n hands of children.
For Ever, the apostrophe is splendid.
One can S p(l)end a lifetime sweetening every
glass and never pretend anything real, can
roll every are and never be a song.
the words to bed, the marriage (would) be better.
if the take better
i (could) words to bed,
the marriage (would) be
fade, fade already
desire veiled in a beaten
child's cry.
and no Jesus
will resurrect the d ay s o f er(de lance)- ror(qual).
the spacer bar will choose the lines in between
w h e n H e r e
"shun" all
e
motion all
e mot' ion
al(l)
fi nge
rin'g e
motion's
wave.
emo e e mot(e) ion fi nge motion's
shun all motion, all al(l) rin(d)g e wave.
emotional
emotional
emotional fingering the suffix
wave e X c ep- t'
on al(l)
an'on' till I had
the sun spinning used
its ray the nightbright lay
I bare the day Light’s
cave now in pre
dawn’s kept and crept
this pleasure of the shade
Of A T'ee.
i.
is despised,
its magnificent knowledge,
tangible evidence of Christ's mercy seat.
Despising the place of prayer.
Grave n image of the mind, I deal -ism
of What My Perfection Should be.
My Jesus, my Jesus, I am Here for Thy coming--
Thy radical, careful, enjoyable descending
from the Living Mountain of God.
The Ark of the Covenant, despised reminder of the perfection of Christ's One
Piece Mercy Seat, Of Forgiveness providing unconditional love, persevering
purity of feet and lips and mind. Even in the desert, in the bowl of dirt, the Ark
Of the Covenant, carried exquisite work of the knowledge of God--magnificent
protection of Himself, despised by His creatures, and radically claimed by His
Son, m.m(f)M. Mem Mu U+004D U+006D 77 109 212 148 01001101 01101101 Y
Saviour.
ii. first
is its tangible Despising
Grave of My
Thy from
The Forgiveness desert
magnificent Saviour
iii. first
despised knowledge
seat.
prayer -ism
be. coming--descending God. Of
the God--My Saviour.
ii. second
is its tangible
Despising Grave of My Thy
from The Piece purity Of
protection Son, Saviour.
iii. second
despised knowledge seat prayer
-ism be coming--descending
God. One preserving
Ark magnificent His Y
Saviour.
the bell hung
reverberating
clapper
hung inside it; shaking
free, it only
swayed, tapping stay.
what you do not want to do.
you pack your things.
you lose your job. you wrap your good will
plates in the same papers and same way they were
wrapped for you when you found each one.
but you do
not sing. you are quiet, packing,
quiet listening to yourself
doing what you do not want to have to do.
to be that ravishing savage
2 be taken up, revival
hot, to the Man? Must I constantly
naked my body, his body, to display Chemical
Engineer-splendid torquing, as V8 is zero to 62 years in 2.5 seconds?
velocity minus 8 equals my negative three, negative i-i-i, u t s r q
Do i have any worth any seat the m-an would want to keep?
Or is my savagery too small, too large, too particular,
rev i v al- so insistent on purity, track, weather, leather cat
of 9 tales perfection of engine--W hose do i have?
May I claim any savagery at all in this hood of over-
priced over-extended ovary S elf, u n
sought, bought, or thought divided b E TT er ? bitter, bitter
for desires of covert ransom, overt H and
some home of pleasure for my savage disarray.
"All the Whitingtons were here to shake her,
but she was unshakable," Mother B. said of Miss Carrier,
asleep in her birthday room of balloons, ice cream
in fridge. All the preachers in the world are here to shake
the stain of oil on the driveway, the lack of blacktop in mountain's
curse, my lamps in fog veering the speed of faith bellowing combustion.
Piers of Tasha split a wave
that lapping passed against her posts,
stationary in the seas limp staining
self against her willingness
to stand exposing opportunity
to walk into the ocean, Infinity
split i t(') S encephalopathy LF.
To walk into the ocean, Infinity
split
itself.
As summer squash
in the blackberry pancake
with ginger and butter by
coffee and the library book,
not overdue, as I had thought;
As copper impurity
in fusing golden rings,
was sized the circular perfection
of Jesus poured
As the earth is Eternity's golden fuse.
[Poet's comment: this poem changed a lot between yesterday and today, but it was difficult. It came from a lunch combination that I wanted to share, as well as from some inspiring information about gold, that I learned through the amazing enthusiasm of artist and metal smith, David Lovegrove. You may view his work on http://eloquentjewel.com. "Expansion" is attempting to communicate my thought that the earth is like the copper impurity in the gold ring of eternity. I think I successfully communicated that, but in all of the changes tinkering with the poem yesterday, I got the berries wrong!
This morning I remembered that the lunch pancake I had made had BLACKBERRIES with yellow summer squash, ginger and butter, not blueberries. I think blueberries might not taste as good with summer squash and ginger. Blackberries do. Maybe you'd like the combination, too.]
and there
are more, fine men
to love is
a rhapsody.
That Here
and one, fine woman
to be, is
a trilogy.
my hall ceiling black
and took off into it through the rafters
of Christmas and stored seasons' outdated
clothes, the soft shoe sky shuffling
its brushing snares high hat
to ride cymbal piano
casing
my hall ceiling
black and took off
into it through the rafters of
Christmas and stored seasons'
outdated clothes, the soft shoe
sky shuffling its brushing
snares high hat to cymbal riding
piano casing B89. I painted
sacred life sacred
sacred name sacred
Jesus nancy Jesus
alpha You omega
gentle onset look away
gentle exit look away
nancy loud nancy
jesus quiet jesus
jesus nancy jesus
gentle away onset look
gentle away look exit
Alpha laud naming Omega
Aggression parades as justice,
Passivity parades as peace,
(passive-Aggression
is the devil's breath)
this children thrill,
to find a little
white dog understanding
may be scalpel ready again, one layer, daub
the blood into the next layer, through
to the scalp, careful drill and expert, tracing
surgical the discussed area of You, removing
the plate, and afterward, bright, translucent
blue or yellow or pink or Aurora Borealis green
will hold, revealing, the death of that one piece
that continues exerting its mind upon the
rest. severing
peace, peace
see for yourself, yours is too, the parts
you keep inside.
Out of the house. Go
live you (r) life. I'm going
back to bed.
of romance, the old woman this morning
out of the house in her slippers and bathrobe,
meeting the freshest glance of her pink geraniums rising
dewey, her astonished pitying their glory
with the spices of lives
and wrapping the image with
linen so tight the resemblance
to three generations, 5000 generations
removed will know the youth
I insist on preserving.
Bury my bones, girl. Under the tree
where you have been dreaming
the sheaves, bringing in
the soup kitchen, thankful,
shaming the satisfaction of broth.
"Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the Lord
has been good to you."
was a box in a room of flowers
for Tammy. And Debra, friend
Goldilocks playing Sleeping Beauty,
ruptured brain not seen on the playground
when she fell to the ground, her mother rushing
out of the house--but no, she was IN the house;
Debra rushed IN the house when she fell. And the upholstered
bed with flowers made her parents' eyes bright, their purchase,
their hands soft with emptiness lining the room walked
foot by foot, heel to tow, two to heal in Tammy's swing
set above her house, the happiest birthday
I remember dying free, childlike as child was not
pushed, just swinging, dying Now, pushing my adult
back to the mausoleum, I look for fabric
and new springs and Nothing upholstered, in any box at all,
lined or flowered, Nothing but Sleep walking
Goldilocks home.
Thursday, July 9, 2009 at 2:05pm
to cinch this not
that ties me down
to the pity of youth
who look at me with
seeing eyes, my slip is
showing, my breaking is
entering the face in wrinkles
that knot my knowing, knowing
I may stand or wheel without strange
wanting more than I've had, than I am here grown.
as the movie showed them, and the ancient stacked cells' rack,
They make me a crayon and my face, even when my heart is tempted
to repent, the crayon of my face, these doors, the bars, nothing like the movies,
my memory nothing like a commercial, rather like the property I didn't want and purchased at the cost of years--like that, gone. These bars, could they be a staff? And my voice, could it be music?
Come home, away from the water, He's Gone and not to return. Come
home, away from the coloring bugle or stacking sunshine, the flower grows
by the doorway. Come home, your bed is ready, the colt now runs in your meadow. And I will walk with you and hear your heart. Walk with me. Come home.
to the hours glassing
your discovery not contained,
its ands and myst him sleeps,
fell smoothing skins or blood not
contained its ands and miss terries not
snipped, to dry the dampness of bathing on
roof tops near king's Return, my cistern, to the hours
pouring yourself from glass 'd is covers in myst, terries' felled smooth
ands, conned as dry the bathing tops of sand pouring your life, my sister,
my cistern whose are your words, and where is your sleep riding empty as oceans against your tiny fields of vision, cold remembering, imagining the wrecks that knew nothing of the reef, rich though it was, now we know, rich in color, but nothing for ships and sailors wanting to land, land, land, my sister, cracked cistern glassing your hours to fell smoothing.
beautiful--
face your circling
octave Not
so beautiful face
your circling octave
Not so beautiful
face your circling octave
circling your face beautiful
so Not octave
circling your face beautiful
so Not octave circling--
your face beautiful
forget that you are a King
and expect ME to remind myself
in the simplicity of KNOWING
you are a King, that I
am daughter--female child? like your mother--
of King. Why cannot Mary be Queen of Heaven?
I ask Why Woman is debased
and debasing her selves in the earth
man-handled by weathervanes in
the Forgetful King's Courting the white cloth
that will only be red, again and again and again
she is a woman.
Was Mary given the option of being
named Queen of Heaven, and did she politely, rightly, in excellent
nobility decline the title, knowing herself? I may be still,
if you would say, and keep saying and never forget
to say For Yourself to me, that You are King,
mindful of the Woman you served as Son, and not a Pimp
of the Feminine Willingness to bend, bow, prostrate
out of devotion to the Promise of You, forgetful King of Glory.
I miss sunshine for the promise of you.
I miss manufactured joys for the promise of you.
I miss the distance of here to there for the explanations of You,
reminding myself I am a woman, reasoning THAT
as the reason you forget yourself.
Just Go Away, if you're not going to hold me.
hydrated by her cat food it is
healthy for indoor cats good
prevention of hair balls and weight
control But she is dehydrated unable
to keep food down throwing up
everything in the most painful
contractions of her little gray
body smaller after going so long
unnourished Tonight I poured half
and half into a black dish
Agatha dearest animal have some.
Was he slipped through veiled deceit,
spiritual intentions, into my mother's
living spare room of Fathering?
Was He the breaking of every woman's heart,
this saviour whose name we and so many fight
and sing about? The savior who entered
on a donkey over palms into the city?
Was he slipped through veiled deceit,
mother's intent basket weaving her Son's
place in the palace? His life spared by her
hand? Was she slipped through veiled deceit,
planned arrangement non-Judaic, to the King's
side, Esther bride? Is my life the lie, the lie,
the deceitful lie, the lie He was not my father but only a
seated king, pawned to release the family i keep together?
He was the dropped One. The dropped Apple.
And who am I to him, that removed body, my body kept
removed from every natural arrangement
that could have been, and is now eternal awkwardness,
for the deceit of spiritual intent and kept priorities to survive
at all costs, weaving intentions to the slavery of ONE
survival. If only growing my hair out or shaving my head
or tattooing every stretch of skin and cutting every artery
known to me would make up for the damning sorrow.
With milk the morning, over
9.81 m s -2 right ASsimilated before-CEN-(ACL2.71828)-sSZi-i-ION-on Ola(h)-
f-orbitals, the spooner of sugar sprinkles
on his kingdom Christian, orange
juice in little cups, crackling pop's
communion reds.
Feast Day, July 29
c. 995-1030
reigned 1016-1030
canonized as St. Olaf
Is addictive behavior
linked to impatience?
Is that trait con-
sis-tent in those who
abuse substances.
How fast--at what point
--how close is
hopelessness to
impatience?
Archive the earthquakes before they occur, since our earth is stammering to be heard by us abusing its substances; impatient to know its heaven isn't what we imagine, but is its body sharing the moods of death and life and stones in caves man contracts to own with itself: the Great Example of Watch Out, I'll rock you, so stand over there so your heart may beat with mine.
http://earthquakepredictionbytiempe.blogspot.com/2009_07_01_archive.html
arrive from answering the switch-
boards? Come home to the candle-
light on the mantle cold from summer
nests in the chimney.
Selfishness, the cord around my neck,
blaming Mother's loving me anew;
Calling as a seagull cries the deck
beneath "Beneath!" when all above is blue;
Pulling for a welcome, dragging Anchor's
Chain like the sea is shallow hoping
Land again blowing thick a rain core
veiled in fog's desire, shushing, roping
Reason’s Cape—Horn’s pointed fire sounding
Raze! The main sail's crushing Selfishness
is true, as white caps risen foam is rounding
You, m-my mother, singular storm of levity,
I wrest my winging bird of blood, and homing
dawn, rise early from yawn’s My of roaming.
As I grew my brain inside my mother
who became the person of my other
self unrecognized, as lipstick drawn on me
to show the part that didn't come to be
allowed as what it was—myself—j-just one
and nothing more, but nothing less than sun
shining that fact of being—stretched out womb
on sand that's hot and cool and wet and home
to crabs scurry-hide, my spider room,
my seeing eyes and ducking tomb of One
Just me, and nothing more than deity rises
two my feet, as dirt unfurled in vices
gripped by fetus curls, and screams unlined
by lips defined in smile’s smothering—Mine!
hemorrhaged sphere,
God’s brain bundling
light and dark
patterns of electricity
until the moon runs
blood in the airless
Alzheimer’s healing
His memory, that We
are HIMSELF forever
good, forever kept
as GOD IS
remembering the walk
of His humanity—His
Betrothed—His lover, naked
in Beauty Provided Coven-
ant hill diligence,
exercise, food in harvest,
God’s example in every second,
FIRST.
8 July 2009 at 11:41pm
is my full smile, my full figure, my full plate, my red blood, my brown skin, my warm, warm, warm, deep loving.
The English Woman
is my narrow waist, my round abdomen, my small lip, my tall words, my kind smile, my measured portions, my courage, my unbending loyalty.
The Irish Woman
is my hell with it, my raucous laughter, my naughty humor, my dukes up for my family, my deft slip-you-a-drink or a fiver because you don't know you need it.
The French Woman
is my extravagant knowing I am everything I ever want to be and nothing like you, my signature my controlled savagery, my controlled sensuality, my scent the imagined splendor of every passionate bouquet that is the old woman I am becoming, more beautiful and longed for and loved and lived to be the entire self I am, this French Woman I am now.
The American Woman
is my discontent, speaking to herself the appreciation she knows must be greater than an election every four years, and a parting of ways, a parting of seas.
The African Woman
is my artist wandering, listening toward a society that is tumult, is wild pets, narrow escapes, impossible size and browns and greens and terrific pictures, my precocious eavesdropping to stories I do not want to escape they are so magnetic.
The English Woman
is back, plumping pillows while I type, and interjecting, "Who is your Chinese Woman, your Norwegian Woman, your German Woman? Who is your Canadian Woman? Yes. I am not all world, my blood the rain, but I know that it rains everywhere, so I will know everywhere soon enough.
packed dirt
"Your"s.
y "ours"?
packed
dirt "Your"s.
"you" r S?
"mine" s ar-
e
SAR
u r Sa RI A.
Sturmabteilung
Sturm and Drang
Sturm
ab-teichoic
acid lung.
"Mine's" ar-
ea. A RI as
from acid
l lu un n ng s
S Sg
G
"mine"s are
packed "You" R
"our" y
dense, dense with
You.
7 July 2009 at 9:31am
that steps on pedals
making petals in the ears and fragrance
in the heart's wearing, the instrument
wearing me. The airs pulled
and stopped with small levers'
range. The range of height and openings
of thought and noise and tones
that continue, continue, given
to cathedrals, they are so large,
worthy of ringing, as bells in towers
known and heard by those in fields,
laboring under and alongside the earth's
turning, wearing, instruments of humanity
side by side
pulled and stopped and pressed and run
and stepped, gently down, up again,
sustained as
the tone Of
an organ.
ii.
"It's the Day!"
she said, and I didn't argue
how I'd already been awake
taking instruction from old man-u-
al-S of how to be a woman.
A young woman glad of
the morning lighting my female
forgotten lover Of this
piece returned in my
daughter's joy.
i.
"It's the Day!"
Piece returned in my
SHE said! And I didn't argue,
daughter's joy!
How I'd already been awake
a young woman glad of
taking instruction from old Manu-
the morning lighting my female
ALS of how to be a woman,
forgotten lover Of--this!
of tobacco makes
lichen of my breath
scaling papers of smoke,
the family,
reunions in tobacco fields
in the house built two
rooms at a time, front
to back, kitchen and bedroom
connected across
from tobacco fields;
children trundle into the needed
extra rooms, built two and
three at a time; the out-
house, a two-seater, separate
in the dark, cold, necessary location,
away from the fields
and barn, and cool porch below
the second story
built above the first;
trunks of clothes
and hats, men and women's church whimsies
show the farm, and we,
I taste ambrosia from the kitchen
of my great-great-grannie Maggie's
lifetime, the last breath of her being sound
from her hands holding
a harmonica to her mouth,
breathing for me, the promise
of trees in blood unscaled,
and unscathed by to b. ac-
co- smoking
papers.
5 July 2009 at 12:43pm
sweet brother,
slumber
our muses, slumber our holdings this
moment
while the flutes, while the flutes meander
in our sky.
5 July 2009 at 12:28pm
These will come
as my heart tips its capillaries
two-ward, One of Me Being Satisfied
with every moment that has been
with me being one Of
ours, hours, soft, barely passions
Of peace, but soft aware dressing
the shapely Now
of New years peacing ulu m
passions softly mine.
These will come, waiting
peaceful.
5 July 2009 at 12:20pm
was the cookie at the top
of my screen. Barely
able, I condense passions
2 remain in the waters of
peace.
I never know
what will come
from my fingers
on these keys,
cookies or music,
or a crick in the neck
of the Selves, waiting
for what isn't ever
to bee bowers,
my weight walking
dry, hot, and hap p y
all the same.
was the last time I demonstrated
I loved anything other
than defense?
Do you know?
Where did these padded
walls come from, unless you
put them there for me
to stay white and cancer free.
Where would I
get padded walls,
unless I had cancer already, and you didn't say?
have not grown
from thorns.
Thorns
thorns. T
horn S
melliferous tending
Gregor and Gregorian.
drives me to write off
more than I ever have, thinking
there will be more
than less. Hoping
there will not be a bargaining
chip in the road "i"
ride in animal skins
to the old folks' home Holding
the rage of being
sexual, driven
road kill.
d is claimer to religion and judgers of minds: Stop
thinking I am one or the other, in or out; pretend
I am neuter, your unpossessed, stippling an order
Providence may choose. Pray, and take care
of your own bodies. I will not be a fraction
of myself based on your math: I AM a
triad. ("Triad" I AM not.)
My gentler knowledge shows
there is no fight where
flowers have grown
from thorns.
Thorns
thorns. T
horn S a b
solute
"God save the queen."
3 July 2009 at 3:20am
Family always straightens the tie
around the neck, kissing the cheek
saying, "I LOVE YOU!!!" straightening the
skewed shades on the lamps
in your house
or the pictures on the wall
of restaurants their cartoon wide-love
FREE eyes gi-ving(t-et-un) interrogation
or passive restraint, careful
withholding the all caps love
that you desire and yet despise?
How come lowercase
will not suffice?
3 July 2009 at 3:41am
comes to my house through
the backdoor of my mind
or the front door of his
dereliction, what will
God's will be
then?
We do not know the hinder bits
of God's foreknowledge of locks,
but I trust the ones on the front door
and backdoor of the home holding mine
will not rattle at all, but keep out the deranged
neglect of soul and grooming and
fragrance and
spice.
spice that might grace more
than a grave awareness
fears breach, r each,
preach.
will to shape our consciences as we go, and I
believe God will be the holiest benefactor
in his Loving us through
our choices.
to shape
our consciences as WE
I believe God
will, his Loving
US.
to shape will,
his Loving our consciences as WE
I believe God. shape
Loving our consciences
as WE. shape
Loving our consciences
as believe Loving
OUR. our
believe
will to shape our consciences as we
go believe
and believe God will be
OUR our
the holiest benefactor
as believe Loving
in his Loving us through
Loving our consciences
our choices
as WE shape
to shape
Loving our consciences
our consciences as WE
believe God shape
believe God
his loving our consciences as WE
will his Loving
to shape will
US
US
will his loving
to shape will
believe God
his Loving our consciences as WE
our consciences as WE
believe God shape
to shape
Loving our consciences
our choices
as WE shape
in his Loving us through
Loving our consciences
the holiest benefactor
as believe Loving
and believe God will be
OUR our
will to shape our consciences as we go
believe