I should have just made the damn quilt.
Young.
Pele, yells at me, for taking the easy road.
I am an escape artist. A royal escape artist, with so much fear around commitment.
I am running in the wind, I am free, I am pushing the boundaries.
SENSE THE BOUNDARIES,
young.
take notice, take heed.
my legs were so tired from all of the standing still.
Our bodies are our temples
our village, our center, our body
who cares what you are or aren’t doing. You are.
enjoy.
your chaos.
On Finding My Waist
An unexpected rearrangement
of atoms has
rendered
an in where there was an out
as mysterious curves
emerge joyfully from captivity.
The passion of the world
like gravity
tugs at our rags
and magnetizes us.
That which makes us tame
and unraveled and untame
with its limits and its
limitlessness
Strange little prince
who tugs at my rags
and asks me to be there.
In some way
the world wants us.
God, you’re a vampire
sucking my blood.
You’re eating me up
But…
The world’s full of campfires
Lights in the night
Keep you’re head up
We roam the night
with our hands tightly tied
In search of a bite
to fill our appetites
There’s a sliver of light
from the hole from the knife
It proves that you’re human
and everything’s alright.
Everything’s alright
And the storm moved in
with a phantom wind
like the sickness under your skin
My body’s a vampire
It’s sucking my blood
I’m eating me up
But…
My heart’s not a vampire
It’s pumping my blood
spreading the love
We roam the night
with our hands tightly tied
In search of a bite
with our eyes open wide
There’s a sliver of light
from the hole from the knife
It proves that you’re human
and everything’s alright
Everything’s alright
And the storm moved in
with a phantom wind
Like the silence under yours skin
My heart’s not a vampire
it’s pumping my blood
spreading the love
Who Am I?
Nourished by movement, my body is fed by touch
a delectable treat that leaves my physique to salivate in the anticipation of it all.
I lay supine as you move each tensile limb of mine,
your passive flexion courts my figure to stay limp,
rolling and strumming the superficial fibers of me.
From bone
to muscle
to tendon
to tissue, I awaken.
A hum of light emanates from my solar plexus ,
a fingertip steadily coasting along the upturned underbelly of my forearm leads cells to dilate
(I imagine that your hands dream of this.)
A rapid pulsing trickles down my spine in wavering bliss,
coaxing skin to blush, now our largest supple organ.
The simple, gentle work of fingers awakens the possibility of an intertwining of bodies,
(A simultaneous feast).
Body echoes body,
body becomes body as the pounding of hearts dissolves into one.
This one body now hovers, it whisks and turns in a vortex of vibration,
A field
A shield
We have detached from ourselves in a single exhalation,
yet my inhalation serves as the water one needs to survive.
This is where the soul and body bask.
In tangible pleasure.
The water inside of me
creates a riptide, a vortex of brewing.
A dangerous seething weapon.
The liquid that I am
wills my bones to rise from deep
within their marrow.
I have no absence of worry,
I feel no absence of tension.
We are a clinging species,
a kind who moves with a smog ridden
veil over their emerald eyes.
An all-smothering kind
that is leading our mother to atrophy.
The muscles that propel me seem to ache
more frequently, as
fists clench with ease I feel my insides stir,
yet the squirming jolts suddenly cease.
I pause.
A rush of stillness leaches into me,
I pause.
Irises fixate on two palms
Cupping nothing but the air surrounding.
I am reminded by this familiar sight,
I am reminded that my body resides in this
fading space.
I am reminded that I am,
That I was made to move.
So I do just that.
I fling myself from moment to moment
Tip-toeing round’ the latent bits of green dampness I find,
and residing there for hours on end.
The liquid that I am rises from deep within,
wills the marrow in my bones to
Run,
to activate my tactile senses and
meld my naked body into the
ground below me.
I will nourish you,
Reign me in, eat me whole,
But first let me dance for you.
I stand vertical holding in the air I’ve just inhaled,
here I wait for the exhalation that your touch will bring as
fingertips brush the backs of my heels.
Slowly out of the warmth of my hinges the small of my back
emerges as the ground your feet covet
I sink into you,
as you into me
(I am in your hands)
Soon my field of vision flows in a backwards incline,
neck draping gingerly as I become buoyant atop your two
sturdy stacked trunks
I allow myself to breathe, coaxing my spine to sink into the ease of an arch
As hands find the shallows of my collar bone we sink deeper,
legs seep down with gravity,
we descend deeper as I allow your ever shifting feet to
manipulate my petite frame.
This is a permeable game of trust,
the necessity for comfort-ability in the very real possibility of falling
Is here
a loss in grip, in footing, in breath
yet the counterbalance that is achieved sends me to flight
I am a bird
I feel strong
The wrought iron hinges of me,
bend to your warm milk of a touch
I meld into your depths,
the creases you create as tension eases all else.
*** Still a work in progress, this will go along with my Poetry Observed piece
Of the body,
the belly identifies best with the sea.
The belly identifies best with the sea, where the closed-sphere skull and the rib-cage gradually open, one unfurling rib-finger by one to the breathing fluid belly.
The belly identifies best with the sea at the opening of the sea-sky fold, when forest or city draws back its curtains and all senses reroute to the belly via the heart.
The belly and the sea know the vulnerability and depth of breath.
The belly and the sea know the language of sensitive salt fluids.
The belly and the sea know the adequate degree of ripeness.
In the visceral language of belly and sea, spirals whisper fluids and resonate waves.
In the language of viscera, vowels are round pebbles rolled in the mouth,
syntax is the churning of shore waves,
and flirtation is the palpitation of sun-lit wavelets.
In the search for renewal, the belly and the sea find
that that which is in the process of becoming is most
ancient.
****still a work in progress, not sure how to end it.
1.
To you,
the kid’s crazy
like stars’ dazzling sentence
purple, and
flashing internally
the moon as punctuation(.)
2.
Bow,
Sensei
3.
Earthen lungs,
the ground breathes
and blows kisses to the dragon in the sky.
Bow to this,
Sensei
4.
Fog intangible,
tangle me until
my first taste of sight.
5.
The sun cast shadows
and I was one of them.
Not a shadow.
Not a sun.
I was the casting
the lengthening of evening,
the coaxing of the chord
that makes the knot
come
loose.