Tag Archives: #skin

Racing the hesitating sun

Racing the hesitating sun

They leave it in the dust when i am a dirty lost boy. Uprising cumulonimbus towers
Clearly indicating showers to drown all the growing flowers aAnd flood the ground
with their power winds blowing from the east
Cold and warm air mingling Like ghosts dueling with the living the air feels fuzzy
and strange Something evil is coming
Curling leaves and swelling wood ..The trees can feel it too \It’s in their roots
and in my blood Quickly pushing its way through This is not good
A storm is beginning to stew Rain announces its arrival
On pitter patter stomp stomp feet Whispering gently from the sky
Before knocking loudly at the window
Begging to come in, OH WON’T YOU LET ME IN
Flooding my doorstep with darkness Eyes open

Lightning volleys down from the sky Searing my eyes with its image
It scrapes its long fingers down my window What is light and what is dark?
My lungs are being crushed from the inside I am falling I am falling
Let the currents take me Eyes shut Silence
Beautiful unknowing No harsh flashing
The clouds are receding trees not reaching for me
No more water between my fingertips
No more wondering what I might lose
Welcoming the cool shiver and soft echoing ripples
I drift back into dreamland into darkness into night Sweet peace.
Gates of Eden

Rosemary was resting quietly in her bed when she was awakened by the most wonderful sound she could ever imagine, her mother’s laughter.
The sound cut through the night like a ray of sunlight, bathing everything in radiant warmth.
Her eyes sprung open and she turned to look at her mother as she bustled around the room.
She was giggling and bouncing her hips as she prepared breakfast for the family.
“I’m fixing sausage gravy and biscuits, Mom!
Is there anything else you need?”
Rosemary rubbed her eyes and yawned.
She wondered what could have possibly woken her so early.
She had only opened her eyes an instant before.
“Actually, there is.” Her mom replied and then popped a piece of sausage in her mouth.
“We have company.” She winked at Rosemary and continued, “They’re coming right now.”
Rosemary slowly sat up in bed.
Her heart was beating rapidly, almost out of control, but she tried to remain calm.
“Is everything okay?” She asked, her voice beginning to rise in panic.
“I hope so.
I hope so.” Her mom responded as she brought the frying pan of sausage gravy and biscuits over to the table and set it down.
“Pour me a cup of coffee, will ya?”
Rosemary quickly found the coffee can and poured her mom a cup before bringing the pot back to her.
“Here ya go, Ma.
Drink up.
I hope you have a wonderful time.”
“Oh, Rosemary, I’m so excited.
I haven’t seen her in so long!” She said as she sipped on her coffee.
Rosemary’s heart felt like it was going to break out of her chest.
She was jumping around, unable to hold her tears in.
She could not believe her mom’s reaction.
She was jumping and wiggling and squealing and hugging her mother.
“Mom, she said her name was Rosemary.” She sobbed and clung to her mom for dear life.
Her mom looked at her in confusion.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.” She said softly.
Rosemary looked into her mother’s eyes, the tears still flowing down her cheeks.
“Do you remember my friend?
She used to live here?”
Her mother reached across the table and took her daughter’s hands in hers.
“Yes, Rosemary, I remember her very well.
We’ve been friends a long time.
What is this all about?
Is she OK?”
Rosemary nodded her head.
“I’m sure she is.
She was here the day your daddy and I got married, you know.
She came to the church.
She said she wanted to come and meet the young man I was going to marry.
Isn’t that strange?”
“That she would remember that far back and the fact that she came to meet him, well, that’s something else all together.” She agreed.
Rosemary let go of her mother’s hands and began walking back and forth in front of the kitchen table.
She began to wiggle her hips and bounce her shoulders.
“She was here, Mom.
Her name was Rosemary.
She and I used to play together. Remember?”

“Yes, I remember.
She has been living with her Aunt and Uncle.
They moved to Louisiana a few years back.
She had no one here, so we thought it best for her to come and stay with us.
It was so sad to see her so upset.
She has a beautiful red wagon that your daddy made for her.
You loved that wagon, didn’t you Rosemary?”
“We used to have so much fun playing on it.
We used to pretend we were in an old western movie.
We would sit on it and have tea parties.

You’d bring us cake and cookies and we’d just pretend.
Remember, Mom?”
“I can’t believe you remembered.
I’ve tried to forget.”
“Well, I know you have, but I remember.
I remember all the fun we had.” Rosemary’s face was bright red from embarrassment.

“But, she was here, Ma, I know she was.
I saw her.
She was in the garden, Mama, and she looked just like me.”
Her mother closed her eyes, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Rosemary, honey, she’s gone.
You know she is.”

“Oh, she’s dead, isn’t she?
Just like Pa, she died in the war,” Rosemary said, chocking back a sob.
“I’m so sorry, honey.” She sat down and put her arm around Rosemary and held her for several minutes.
Finally she pulled her daughter close to her and held her tightly.

“Rosemary, we need to tell you about this.

Now, I want you to put your arms around your daddy and tell him all this.”
Rosemary began to sob as she hugged her daddy.
Her mother turned her head and kissed him on the cheek.
“I can’t imagine how awful that must have been for you, Daddy.
I know this must be very difficult for you to share with our Rosemary.”
“Rosemary, listen to me, you must remember what this wonderful woman looked like.
Can you remember?”
“She was old, Mama, very old.
I was sad to see her go, but I know she is at peace now.”
“It is very hard for a child to understand that, but I think she was able to die with as much peace as you could wish for.
She died the same way as your Pa, without any pain.”
“No, not like Pa. He was in pain and he died with some of that pain.”

“Daddy, she wasn’t sick.
She was just old.
She was the grandother I’ve always loved.”
“What is your Grandma Rosemary’s name?”
“My grandmother?
My mother’s mother?
Rosemary Johnson is her name.”
“Yes, that’s it, but what is her real name?”
“Her name was Lydia.
I guess I forgot.
You know Grandma Rosemary never told us, but Lydia never told us, either.”

“Are you sure she never told you?

Perhaps it’s something you wish to remember.”

“I just thought she told us because we are named after her.

She never really told us anything.

We never really knew her.

It was always just about my mother.

She talked all the time about Grandma Rosemary and how much she loved her and all.”

“You know, Lydia could be right.

You should be able to remember more about her.

You need to know what kind of woman she was.

Do you remember any stories about her?”

Rosemary’s face turned red and she buried her head in her daddy’s chest.

“No, I don’t remember any stories.”

“Well, remember she had a rose garden in her back yard.

We lived on a farm and had several gardens.

It was her flowers she loved.”

“Yes, I remember the roses.

She always had beautiful roses.”

“That’s because she loved you very much.

She was a wonderful person and I’m so sorry she died.”

“It’s hard to forget how much she loved me.”

“Lydia was a special woman and she loved you very much, Rosemary.

She would be so proud to know you remember her


GOGH’S FIELDS OF GOLD

IT is dark down here & this awful reality
satisfies the ego and frightens the soul
but makes a state of distraction
; an abomination –an abhorrence
for all that it implies -a living organism
as a leaf or a particle.

There is no non-life only emptiness & this filth
whose existence is temporary– a first-trimester pregnancy
in an animal –a rejected spiritual soul, it is real-
life in simple terms– the personal growth we are
so ignorant of the brave face of existence –a thing
we will ‘never’ ever come to terms
with –the vagaries of Time which call to us
‘cross the bridge’ & walk the Yellow Streets
of Van Gogh.

Hav you never ever walked the edge of fields of
so yellow they smell of gold — the wheat fields
of Vincent Van Gogh: he was a bastard
to most but greatly to ‘self’ –> killed the personality
but never the Art
nor the Soul

:: 04.29.2020 ::
rev: 0-10.3.2020 ::


PERFUME OF HATE & LOVE

before I was a boundary of Life
i was an embryo so you can completely
kill me when you want  like the body
upon which you learned to write
(aside from ancient angels) people
hidden or appear illuminated
by forests of appearance —
immediate lights?
a dream appeared at will.
So senseless  — a perfect example
of words!   aaaaaaaaahhhhh!  
The media fears to feed him —
smells like sperm of secrets —
the sea stops within the palms
of your eyes —– aaaaaaaaaah!
  breath.  Please.  To laugh.
Believe.  aaaaagh.  with hospitality
they blindfold your look.

:: 08.16.2020 ::


BORN WITHIN THE CRACK

BORN within the C R-A-C-K
of road and gutter fighting Tears like
no other feed me; feed us; save the
fetus [if not for the madness
within the air (BRAIN!)
maiming us_____/\/\
/\___]it’s okay to SCREAM\
the horror of this DAY!
oh rain oh rain oh REIN!
the virus of covered9’s
upSIDE down (listen now)
are three by three – OH!
–>digging within the brain
–no rain!

:: 07.10.2020 ::/
/
/
her mouth is like the
fine bust of all sounds
\life given /now re-
ceived/wander through space
my profound love with a
hidden face.

(could not help it)


COME BACK DOWN (from this cloud)

\what of love? What of hate?
i say no word as no one knows
shall see & feel the (k)not —
of what i need___
grinning and begging
are hands-machine-like
hearts of no good too
quick i know this !
oh never coming down
from this cloud; is hands
is work since born is good
//so should’a so should have
-things nothing i say
a pregnant size of one good
Yes completely Kind____this
immeasurable anguish like the
scent of summer flowers of always
their flowers of stone so silently
singing.

:: 07.03.2020 ::


DILAPIDATED ruinous. RUINOUS LOVE

i crawled deeply within rolling tossing Earth
rolling Hills — hot is the Sun as your Temper;
but focused upon You __ when you left me; (like my jealously)
— the Seasons sang, “What with you?  What with you?  What
with you?”  — sweet rolling & fallens: like a once-Living
jealously i possessed you and hated you___ the black taste
of Night — what with you what with you?
   -=-it’s me it’s me outside the Window of my Soul
  so dark so cold …
  who against Death?  against Light of Love?
   i am reminded of one named Rimbaud — my mantra,
my sweet-one my Monster;  never say good bye good bye
\but it’s me:  i cannot help feeling E,motions and
ripping all t hings aPart.  
Allow the gravity; allow the gravity (and ground)
to Grab you my beautiful dilapidation of RUINOUS
 Love!

what monster!

:: 05.10.2020 ::


OH SHIT I THINK LIFE SMELLS LIKE SKIN

OH SHIT I THINK LIFE SMELLS LIKE SKIN
oh life come   voices  to voice
oh lip to lip i smell citrus skin
oh well oh well hello
if i’m entertainment a lifetime of wisdom
it’s so me so assured i am a word with
little voiceMouth girl so dangerous i’m a
criminal in containment a dirty word hello
a sprite of air and blood; blessed is what
moves on and on and hello hello, i’m so well!
well! yea!  it’s been ‘hello’  a while so
hell on hell no i’m a weak girl yea yeah yea
you know:  acting stupid gave you a cold bed
YEAH!  yeah.  i saw you when i drove by
the highway (until hello i know hello) and you
looked dead //i forget while i taste
a smile of another well, well, never mind
oh hell oh well dammit i’m swell
i feel so stupid
feel so angelic
hello hell o’ hell
and i love my dreams
eating your soul
yeah–thighs spread
and there i found the sun
in a beautiful flesh of
my oh my oh my yeah
oh  yeah oh yeah oh yeah
oh  yeah oh yeah i love you!
a libido of fresh flowers
so hard to find that men
die trying and women oh
women try — birth, menstrual
pain and we hate each other
the feeling feelings feeling
feelings feel how we live
 — it’s a short block to the next
stop so drop a coin in the slot
oh shit i think life smells like skin
like me

I’M A NASTY SALT

SO i wish I smelled
like you instead of
the nasty salts of
a working man
Amazing Grace
by Philosophy
All you write;
“I have no right
fresh sun and love”
leaving me the
citrus note:
‘wish I was like you’
So white musk and
so regretful apologies
soft floral blossom
of ofactory you!

I’m scared cause I
want you — tic-toc
addiction of
whore clock

:: 07-01-2015 ::