IF only i had my friends!
But i’m so ugly. ~~
i’d waste away my days,
for days scared i light
my candles and pray to God.
As of today, I am at waste
and still lack a brilliant
poem.
A soul dilapidated a ruinons estate!
:: 06.19.2022 ::
BRILLIANT POET
A DANCE WITH DELPHINE LALAURIE
SWAMP song in throat
moss hair girl ghost
eating pain and cancer
gumbo, jambalaya, etouffee,
how i left my skin behind
upon Bourbon Street
where sin sticks neon signs
eating La Boulangerie
and King Cake.
Beignets.
Walking dizzy i found catfish
bones and cajun ghosts inside
my left foot’s shoe.
Found a house with a party —
danced with Delphine LaLauire.
She told me about her loves /
how she killed them \
slaves of her household.
She never knew what I was —
the werewolf of the South.
How her veins teased me.
Now I am happy. Because I
have friends and choose bottles
of plastic fluid. I light my
candles at my desk and think
how dead she is. Buried.
:: 06.19.2022 :
REBEL SIDE : SUNSHINE AND SEAFOOD
it’s raining but the ocean is still on fire.
With her peachy shore i am for the sea
and i think I know where to find her.
With a boat and an island that calls her name
swimming with her with a roll of surfboard
a windblown tourist all waiting for her
like myself ~~ a flayed lover
a void under the stars.
:: 06.19.2022 :
Beard [masked]
muffin pop stand
there’s something about sweet words!
THE DEEP SEA DREAM
As the wave erupts and floods you in your sleep.
Imperceptibly you slide towards the madness of dreams.
You feel the sticky dampness of a nightmare.
Your dilated eyes as magnet tar pit traps drowning in white ocean.
The wave of sleep reaches up to hug you gently,
holding your limbs. Taut, anchored to the bed.
your brain without moorings off your paralyzed tongue ~~
the waves finally drowning you in the coolness of dreams
beyond all fathoms.
:: 06.19.2022 ::
MYSTERIOUS POETRY
I tell. I reach. You can try to give me peace. I am in deep mud. Hypnotized.
Inside. A reaching called trying. I’m in love with poetry so wonderful
each word brings me to my knees.
It’s a miracle of hysteria — I don’t need love so I believe when Love opens
wide —– from leaving me; i want to know tonight if you can stop this feeling
oh this fire — a spiritual healing of loving in mysterious feelings.
Oh babe.
Hysteria.
When you’re near.
i’m in love! Each word takes me to my knees. I’ve got to know tonight if these feelings
are mysterious hysteria — so magical and mysterious i start to put hand on pen and
write. Words.
Like my dreams — of her. When you’re near. Strawberry ice cream yeah — you can hide,
a one-way street. I hold and open wide ; take me in my head / leaving \ so stop
this fire of a magical mysterious feeling (it’s a miracle seeing you in my dreams)
Can you understand believing (i see you) hysteria when you’re near.
I lean into you – you hide. Oh! You’re alone tonight and can we stop this feeling of Poetry?
So magical and mysterious.
Wo we beat on, writing words against the current of life, bearing against
past life.
:: 06.15.2022 ::
LOVE IN 1500 AD
SHE was white and pale working cooking, cleaning, looking after
children and spinning.
Producing large quantities of thread from wool and falx to weave into
clothing — bedding bags, sails and other items.
With a distaff tucked in your belt, it was easy to pause your spinning while
performing another chore like stopping spinning just long enough to feed
chicks and an enormous hen.
He met her in a meadow and fell in love with her. She, her glory was much more.
Love then controlled by reason in the 1500s but the rise poetry of Coutry Love became
a highly spiritual desire by the God of Amor.
How love you were. With golden wheat hair and thin fingers and a brilliant mind.
:: 06.15.2022 ::
To Love a Woman
It is not the moon, I tell you.
It is these flowers, painted everywhere with autumn leaves. And the fragrance of which I feel inside me, achingly suffocating.
I have gone mad. It is not the moon. It is the flowers. The voice does not go away.
I can feel it. I have lost it, I have lost it, I have lost it.
I am insane.
I am crazy.
I know it.
She wants to know why I still talk to her, I suppose, when she takes away the flowers and the perfume, the dancing blue light, the talk of love.
I try to turn away, to walk away, to make her leave me alone.
To pretend that I do not hear. She begins to whisper again, this time, just before the whisper, her voice comes under the clatter of the rain.
The sound of the dripping from the outside looks like the flow of blood in my veins.
Is that the way we are born?
In a house under the rain and blood in my veins.
Is that what it takes to be a woman?
Is that what love means? For a woman to love a woman?
There is no rain, and there is no blood.
I know. There is no light, only a thick and swirling
greyness.
I cannot see for the blood.
I cannot see for the blood.
It was my mother’s blood.
She loved her so much and I love her now,
but she loved someone else and took away
the flowers.
There is no rain, and there is no blood,
only night. There is no morning, only night.
There is no blood, only blood, only blood,
and night.
And yes, there is a taste in the air so vivid, so alive
that my lips part, my fingers pull apart, my eyes closed,
and I know, as the taste swells in my mouth, as it rises,
rapidly, from my lips, as it gathers, then unfolds, and
achingly slowly, into a string of words, and a voice,
I remember the voice, that I have not heard since childhood.
But he has taken it away.
He has taken it away.
He has stolen it away.
It is only her I love.
:: 05.08.2022 ::
THE WERELINGS (Kitchen Scene)
LOSING myself within a cupboard
a universe so far away
Our kind so small and lit
within our Souls is our kind
I found the physics of it
to find humans.
Oh. How a bridge is so kind
saw a human eating marshmallow
pies — i pulled back my
machine to report.
And I see how we’re dying.
These ‘humans’ are tearing
down the ‘kitchen’ called
renovation. Destroying
trillions of our kind.
:: 06.10.2022 ::
CREATIVITY AND INSANITY
IN my eyes i see nothing
comes the ghosts of life
The sun comes burning
Secret elders of seven
look down and judge me
Upon a stone of iron
i struck with my heart
my hand on the sword
my love within my heart
a traveler of sweet words
All to be revealed.
To build a tower to skies
strong we were making life
and another Voice spoke
saying, “ooh. What they
can do if we allow them.”
And the Spirit of Love
touched each heart of
our men — we confused
speaking different
and the sun lost our eyes
As i screamed i said
oooooooh oooooooh
father you confused us.
Lost in creativity and
in insanity by the river
of autumn leaves ~~~~
so the four winds of
fear came and brought me
into the celestial sphere.
:: 06.09.2022 ::
MISS NORRIS
WE could see that we were moving past several rooms where the patients were also moving around, going in and out of their rooms. Many of the old ones were falling asleep, but a few more were talking to their nurses as they went along. When we passed their rooms, they would say something in that low, lost manner that only the demented can ever manage. It was very disconcerting to think of all these people wandering around in the hallway like this. It was as though the hospital was a bad dream, or a village in the Carpathian mountains, or like the field of a small town where the old women doze in their rows.
It’s once a life time and same as it ever was.
We were walking up the stairs when I realized that Valerie was holding my arm. “Is something wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
We came into a new and smaller room, and Miss Norris was in the chair by the window, eating toast from a tattered and spotted plate. “Hello, Annie,” she said to me, closing the book on her lap and folding her hands on her lap.
“Hello, Miss Norris,” I said. “Are you going to eat?”
Miss Norris looked up at me, her eyes narrow, but without animosity. “Yes,” she said. “I am.”
It’s the same as it ever was. It’s the same as it ever was.
:: 06.09.2022 ::
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