8
Jul
Aleph
I am between the leaving-taking . . . I am in-between journey . . . between the 5th sacrament . . . between mothers and the pretty daughters before the wedding music starts but before the brief darkness, when the dress falls from the lovely flesh and the soft, silver-white bone of ghosts of youth and the after ghost. Aleph, between your thighs; the taking of sacrament between you and me before the closing quiet, but before the closing of the ears to this world to listen for the murmur, your cellular history, before mercurial element, before wood, water, Word . . . birth, pain, you, me . . . And there is a womb, a cage with a long divide between that place and this . . .
28
May
These Constant Remembrances of Remaining Matter
draftfor Mae These soft hearts are our apology for the Earth. To lie down in the darkness of dense dirt, ply our fingers through the layers, leading deep in our practice with the crumbling clay of our sleep, digging our way through the clay of the beautiful body until we break fingernails in our lovemaking with Her. With the silly pose of stillness, our holy-held hands feel each other out and bond in the beginning decay, our supple, strange, suitable vegetable selves fall apart, underneath the barreled bodies of fallen trees in a shady place, in the gloaming before the dark. We all perish and leave these decorated and useless rooms of earthly trappings, the things we attain from birth like you, as a young girl with a new and pretty doll, like you, giving the body of your own doll for the feeding. In the end, we are the spectacular agents of our awakening with these eyeless cups and hollow mouths we bear. To the flowers and trees we give the still breeze-breath and return love to love, and life unto that spiral life. For, our only offer is the weak sacrament of flesh and blood so the Earwig may eat entirely and become an immanent entity.
18
May
You are Divinity for the Techniques of this Life
for H.-You want me to laugh? I will laugh for insane's sake, the insanity of it all, cry out for it all, I will. Yes, if it's your will, I will pound down the pompous, the fat saints and holy boys running Read more
12
May
Dream # 5
draftA Man came to me, handed me seeds, said, well, this is the first lesson: sit and soundly contemplate on strength between legs, love below belly, compassion for caged spirit and give these seeds praise and plant with your oath in that ocean, becoming the fierce crashing sky, your pounding down on the rolling solvency of salty waves . . . This is how all life began and will begin.
9
May
To Purify the Darkness of Unconscious
draftWith these words I’ve been taught, I insert for the grandeur of common women, your legends, the Songs of your honey, the mixing of your pleasing wine for my only thirst's sake; with these words I create, hovering softly above the unfortunate & dying minds is feeling them meaningful; knowing these words are forgotten, mocking, inside of your pretty mouths, pathetic, stuck to the high soles of lovely your shoes, outside and beyond your lovely seeking souls lost, your forever seeking of finer things on earth; I have felt apart from you, unclean in your churches, in your family homes, your bedrooms, while loving, creating all the poems written about the pious women and your eager greeting of greedy men in front of the forgotten meaning of the alter, and when you lie beside me and a working poem, reading your magazines about perfect men; perfect and happy forever weddings to these men, and all your "how to's" to find the future richer men, bedding the richer future men, and how to find what beds best to support your future perfect until-death-do-us-departed and lovely bodies, i have to believe beyond the night of this darkness; this lust in search for the faultlessness of men, this villainous idea which makes no room in minds for the sacredness of a word, or a stanza’s delight; the words I’m taught while in the darkness of longing, is mine meditation on the splendors of your imperfect beauty, that these words will land soundly in your hollow hearts.
