Sacrosanct juncture; to me there are empty spaces, should be free places. He said, he wants, he waits for the nod. Which nod do I give today? Once given my pink heart stands naked in the crossfire for any one of them to whet their appetite. I'll stay at the cross roads and pour myself a drink. Now isn't as bad as they say.
***
Rambling across thoughts,
mindless thinking.
Sit and remember the details.
Make them stick
so they matter.
***
Different shapes of resistance
funneling toward futility.

"When you caught my eye I saw everywhere I'd been and want to go"

Lids disguise a silent production of where I see myself.
Far from now and yesterday.
Next door to and across the sea.
Hope relies on those lashes,
a swallowing stress,
a jealous moment
squeezes between top and bottom.
Open and a whole is electrified
as a crystal joy shows itself.
Nothing clear, but everything certain.
Anywhere you are,
those flashing moments follow as I go too.
Always, til tomorrow;
I am here with you.

Hallelujah...

For just that stingy moment. Imperfect broken, shattered happy. The pieces still make sense, still worth the fractures. Put back to shape, they are fine and heavy in love. There is no taking that away. Cold but true, under; hidden, found, lost, something that all miss, something that all have a place for whether full or a yawning hole. Sigh in dreams for that lapping in of suspension; floating abduction; close-eyed ecstasy.

Good to be

us
alone
intact forever

"Without you I'm not me".
I can picture that being said outside of a window, in the rain. The other side of the window doesn't agree. If it does, only slightly as some pain or fear holds the reins. The outside of the window has tears hidden, perfect disguise. The car engine is running because they are expecting to be sent back to their dark porch of regret. The engine seems to know better than the outside of the window and your heart cringes at the thought. Trees bow in empathy, the cold wind resists blowing icy drops in their face, hoping to add no more insult. The curtains are replaced to put the final nail in the coffin. The outside holds it's breath on the off chance that the inside is running to the front door in a sudden release of emotion, something they had been withholding for this exact moment. Minutes pass, limbs start to feel the cold as they are improperly attired in the mad rush to this window. A heart beats slower, trees bow deeper, wind stops but that old rain keeps on the symphany of despair, of irreparable breaking. Eyes close, open, seek shelter, shift to drive and head back to not being themselves. Its going to take a while.

From so far away it doesn't seem real.
All commonality sinks back with the others
in a frowning show of disillusionment.
A phone conversation echos in a distant past,
tickling a wound.
Turn the music up so you can't hear.

Friday

Must be stated, but with excitment because it doesnt happen often. I type fast to keep up, but I know i will fall behind. Typos wont hinder comprehension becuase it was a feeling that the illiterate understand. When bodies lock in, like eyes to target and then they are permanently connected. That was how it was; exactly. How can you see these things without speaking? What is it that creates these ties that bind? Perhaps they were created before we walked into the establishment. Fine flirting, skirting the issue until later, when we were unnaturally brave. Say hello, new face, fresh for the taking and keeping in a safer place in the memory. Take me inside and we will sit at the corner of a crowded room and nothing else will come into play. Tell me about you and where you come from and where you are going. Hint that you will take me with you. Make me laugh, make me show you who I am. I think I can see you. Laughing was a game, a competition that punctuated our excitation. Hours pass, drinking games, Doritos, warm next to you. Wake up, we have to go, you'll be late, but it's worth it. All worth it.

Ready to set foot again. Maybe I've never really done it before; to open the latch, just the idea sets something ligher in me. A burden shifts and my eyes seem a little more open.
***
Where I'm going (.) You can't come. I want a piece of forgiveness, a lick of heaven, to know it's real and not a liquid mirage taunting my frail optimism. Those soft lullabies were for me; a charmed life in words and pictures set to music.
***
He walked through the door as if to claim a prize and his image was a magnet to my eyes. He just knew it had to be. He picked a chair closer to the front than the back and a soft part of me groaned silently because he didn't pick closer to me. I feign poor eye sight, squint gracefully, excuse my human frailty and decide on a chair close enough to him to smell his clean cloths.
A part of him relaxes with the proximity because closeness was comfort to him; like warm feet and homemade cookies. A heated body breathing as he, looking as he (with a bit of a squint) with smooth skin and shiny dark hair, being akin made him aware...

What I waited for?

This could be both ways, and you did it on purpose. Sly self importance as I wait for the reality of it. Doors are knocking around me but they lead to other people's versions and not mine.
Continually I walk on, blindly but with an odd sense of faith that strings me along with a smile on my face. I am reliving memories that haven't happened in the sense that nothing can be better than the present, therefore the future is something bright and mighty and deep in resolution.

But allow me to sink in to fantasy for a minute, like a quick breather, and think that he meant love as in everything that it should be. Love to know every part, every inch, every second of the me that is showing and hidden. He was curious what I was doing last Friday and next Friday and every Friday after. That he didn't want to share. That he wanted to bring it all as well. That he can smell me when I am not there. That I sprint through his mind often and without his control.
Just for a warm evening, let me think that it was all with purpose and definition. Searching came to fruition. Pain was the cost of some type of rare bliss. All those sweaty days, lonely eyes, blank black nights, missing pieces were for an unseen cause/ wrapped up nicely and meant for me; only.

Teddy

If this person were an animal, which would he be?
A humble bear who knows the best place for warmth.
If he were a flower, a violently orange Lily that seems thirsty for the sky.
If a tree; a young, rare variety of oak that knows strength yet flexibility.
His color would be a subtle mix where the lines are indiscernable.
A food that is him is what you are satisfied with as soon as it is eaten, leaving you warm.
His country is Italy where everything is foreign but friendship.
A body of water would be a clear pond on a summer day where fish know no danger.
Porcelein: A coffee mug, full, waiting.
If he were an article of clothing it would be a soft, old sweater that always fits just right that you never will get rid of because of all that amazing times you had in it and you know they were amazing because you were wearing it.

1/22/08

Baby I'm amazed at the slice of me you take.
Ashamed because I give it willingly, you smile as you sink in.
Blood runs through and out issuing forgiveness but none for you.
You had your share.
So let me slip back,
away from your fragment flashbacks
that seep in forgetfullness.
Have your day 500 miles away.
The snow can't touch me here.

Patience

Dark and heavy lines across the night,

drawing me back in to drowning.

My fists pound at my disobedience.

"WAKE UP" shrills through the hollows of my insecurity.

They can't have you back once they sent you off.

Would be like asking for a second injection,

more lethal please, maybe without the anesthetic this time.

Obligated to disobey because you're split in opposite directions

until you decide to sew back the seams and let it.

Light

Every little hungry absense feeds on me,

eating the antidote.

With the key locked inside my reflection is pale,

but a strong hand reaches across through the ripples of illusion;

through the burden of remembrance,

and I step up to the light outside.

All he can say is...

I told you so.

Jittering left and right because I know what's coming; sacred tomorrow that waits for me like a pen anticipating paper. Kismet always reminds me of kis s. Justly so, no words surround your face in my mind. Its just a shape waiting to be painted by your presense. Vague swirls of color rush around inside and the sealed envelope is pale next to knowing you. Calm takes over and the feathered thoughts gracefully make their way below. The day settles and fate levels with the horizon.

Slender forms appear in the shading, creation is revealed.
The face gains features and is human.

Begin and it will take shape. Slow configuration as the sky grows dizzy. We sat somewhere mild and covert and wrote what we saw; humans in their feeble beginnings with shaking knees and ice cream tainted fingers, young pairs smiling and sighing and not minding the wait, gray ones that had been there since the beginning when imagination was the key to advertising.

Mad dashes across the page, eyes wandering like vagrants begging for inspiration, small laughs escape, memories come in waves with each testimonial...
sitting on tall shoulders, legs becoming tired but to no avail, we had to see the lighted figures dance across the sky; small ecstatic bursts pounded the ink ceiling and each greedily took our breath.
Small steps back seem to bring me forward, delivering what is really important.
No other place can really do that, besides home. Its a living memory, that breaths and gives and takes and consumes and exalts; a place marked in our histories where there was only one requirement; happiness.

Small ropes thrown out across town, tugging at old times.
Call me back so I can remember.
Right now I am tied up and can't bring it all back.
So I need you there to tell me about that one time;
when we laughed and laughed.
Also, when we went out and a boy fell in love with me.
There were soft kisses and loud words.
Can you find that time that I cried until my eyes were swollen,
and that time you tripped and fell but noone saw but me.
Disneyland maybe? San Francisco!
A little bit of college, when we were young but knew everything.
I hope it's not too much to ask.

Hurridly clicking towards my future, all things considered at once. A flood of ideas and a new path opens wide, hungry for me to take the first step. All the dissarray was for a reason, that awkward birth created a steady footing. Each day of my life has whispered one word of a narrative. The intro is finally done.
Today I decided to be someone new. I disregarded the pessimism that clouded my action. I put on a new coat that had seen better days and walked down the stairs to my impatient truck. We started together and I turned the country music down. Looking back sometimes, you see the truths that people desperately tried to impart to you and feel that rush of naivite turn you warm. I thanked them collectively, loudly, all at once. They heard me I am sure. Turn, turn, turn again and I am on the open road; so tempting to go the opposite way of responsibility. Something that used to make me cringe, now I see it is was gives me freedom. But I take the road toward tomorrow. The road was wet, like in all those car commercials and my truck felt new again. I remembered when I first drove her off the lot with all the windows down. The smile seemed to take up my whole being. She was mine, I was hers. Nothing could change that fact; the beginning of permanence, of adulthood. I can still smell that moment sometimes, just a young girl with her hair blowing through a pickup truck. It felt like we had a comet tail that couldnt catch us. Now that feeling flies next to me with my warm coffee and low music on my way to work. Laughing for no apparent reason, trek the freeway, exit, up the big hill to youth and promise. The students give it to you for free, no strings attached. Talking with them, yesterday doesn't really matter. This moment does. The day flies by, tiny accomplishments.
Pack up, look around see what really counts in the grand equation. Take it with you. It's yours.