immolate

this one crashed and burned, had to redo for lousy design and editing…sorry

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outside echoes

almost frightens me, returning to these older pieces and rewriting them entirely, save a salvageable line or two
what’s scary is how I thought the originals – when written – were halfway decent
I took this photo off my back deck a few weeks ago

editing

fake flowers in an outdoor garden I’ve buried
tracks inside a puma’s paw leading outside the cave
my hands place glass beads beneath your naked feet
crush and drink the blood
too much?
tacky paper for trapping wingless appellations
where many thoughts stick then expire
rather like the spider spinning threads too thin for binding
I am here, always in your black places
thinking on a bridge, crossing soil to sand
’tis a fine thing to sleep construct with glass balloons
bursting when I wake
inside my lava chest, a torrent of hot ash
running the length of my breast and tangling my legs
I will return to my chilled sheets at moonrise
rebuild the span of me, you have not yet found
only the tunnel to my nightmares is wide open

“they”

her eyes face the pavement
“they” whisper
in booming voices
secrets no one could know
cutting 
tearing at her invisible flesh
piece by piece
bit by bit

the backside of her heart vacant
“they” say
“they” laugh
“they” commune
“they” cackle
exhaling poisonous fumes
their souls
shriveling with each round

this assault will continue
as must she

Dolores/oilthis 4’x’3 painting is almost 30 years old – one of my dear sisters allowed me to stretch and contort her beautiful face for the purposes of art
where I have common brown – dolores’ eyes are beautiful blue

this verse was published last year, I reworked it extensively
every time I return to my older poems – I cringe a little, laugh sometimes, then rewrite

slow dancing in a deluge

slow dancing in a deluge
liquid arrows piercing your skin
painlessly pleasurable

everything giving in to blur
commit-less silhouettes

you could go exploring
to the ends of the earth
to the bottom of an ocean
like a wide-eyed child
the supple mind you once cherished

seeking
meaningful discovery
don’t you dare remain dry

or accept plain living
search in the rain

clear your head
wash the muck off your feet

Vilmi detail

Vilmi detail

the verse heavily edited and refurbished from last year
this detail is from a much larger painting with 12 family faces I painted several years ago at my mom’s request
Vilmi is my beautiful niece, now 15 – she is named after her Aunt Vilmi who lost her fight to lupus many years ago

rivers of white v2

I don’t sleep the way I used to
in cool twists and quiet spells

I can’t possibly go up the tall stairs to my bedroom
without releasing the weight of my fingers into another space
my hands will push letters
rivers of white will burst outside my mind

I will say things I would not do
I will do things I would never say
caught in between
like a sturgeon and the silt

words as floppy as fishes
swim upstream to spawn
if not completely undone by the journey
will develop into erstwhile muses
then swim back in the other direction

sturgeon

sturgeon

art created last year for an illustrated project

this is a writing piece from last year
I’ve been going through some of my earlier writing
revising the pieces that can be salvaged
many are not wonderful and must be left to
drown in their owner’s ick;)
thank you

“river of white” is actually an old publishing term describing the white spaces created between words on a page

words are never empty

empty words
no such things
words have never been
and can never be empty
heavy, yes
thick, cumbersome
devoid of life
platitude dense
all these things words can be
but never empty
they are full
sometimes so much
their very weight
drags inspired arms
to the floor
gentle hands
lose hopeful grip
souls, hearts
cannot defend themselves
against cutting letters
so don’t ever tell me of empty words
there are only hollow thoughts
where your heavy words
have collapsed

Harem Eyes

Harem Eyes

art previously published