an oldie, but a goodie... they say she floats and i wonder if she’s air or using witches tricks to rest in clouds oceans of vapor on the wind she told me that’s the picture so present it with your theories, your geometry made from integers, angles and imaginary #s and what the hell is that, an arcimedian pen writing recipes for the greatest designer drugs methamphetamine panoramas in the kitchen cooking formulas for sum = oxycontin shivers faultlines rest in her fingerprints and seismic needles dance to the quakes across my shoulders the aftershocks in that space tucked down beneath the blades looking at her in the morning light grazing on the curve of her neck the way her tongue comes out touches that dimple above her lip the resonance from the motion a tidal wave from a comets crash that in less than three minutes will reach this side of the world but not if time has stopped which i know you don’t believe but remember when you couldn’t breath craved mashed potatoes & a baby spoon somehow we got to twisting the clock to make up for lost time, all these months with our legs tangled in the covers there was this voice chanting in our ears creating a french paramour lovers noise creating the prize at the bottom of the box but still, the cereal had to be cleared away consumed in a bed & breakfast ritual and you can curl up in the corner afterwards hide behind the comforter but i know where you are, i don’t need contacts to see your wings pinned against the wall i don’t need chemistry to list your elements this mattress isn’t here to break your fall
green or blue? I’m dying to know what am I going to be looking at today who am I going to be talking to the little girl with pink tipped hair that grew up Shy in a computer chair who learned that men aren’t to be trusted cos they heard the question and don’t care and shh… don’t say anything. that wasn’t the telephone ringing; that was every stray cat off the street screaming for attention, for food, for help looking for your arms to curl up into so please pull the sheets over our shoulders right now is so peaceful, let’s go to sleep it’s not that simple, but I made a bed from couch cushions on a night long and far away you say I should’ve took you then and I should’ve, it’s that simple. nobody was looking or listening so just tilt in your head a little close your eyes and kiss me; I’ll read my poems tomorrow. I still feel confused my chest clenched up tight, I’m nervous as your fingers trace hearts on my arm it’s dark in here, I’m imagining things I don’t know, guess I still don’t believe that’s really you next to me with a constellation between your shoulders in the shadow of your tree
i´m hustling witchcraft in five peice packs on the street, downtown cafe types the usual customers, seeking romance, double dosing their cup of mocha after chanting a good luck spell. they walk off on a confidence high, attraction lines prepared to hook positive returns of any magnitude. with alluring walk, ignoring lures passed her direction, janine stops at the park ave. sandwich shack, scans the menu for french fries cos a paper cup of cholesterol & carbs would set up thick, settle and comfort the good-bye in her pocket: a letter for the lion-fish ex. he waved his wand three days ago and broke her down to ash, all she owned was left fat and swollen trying to swallow the thunderstorm. lighting up a stick of passion shackles, I walk up, push my product with: remember tenth grade, third period french, the fifth row cassanova on your shoulder cheating off your paper? he wants you to picture paris, a park bench on rue madeline, romance an intoxicating spice in the air, at times so thick it can be trapped & bound into incense. I could count backwards from ten to one, your eyes would get heavy, pink & purple smoke would assault your libido as resistence turns to the letters of my name, spelled out in some dark-age magicians script. those runes would rule the world, crash the cosmos into my cauldron of secret ingredients, the recipe: java elyssia
Wowzers. I applaud you here! -not that simple- reads like a meloncholic lullaby. So peaceful, cozy and yet a little despondent. Is it an oldie or a newbie? Just curious. I really loved it, your words flow like a song. And reek of non sugar coated honesty and of who -you- really -are-. It's wonderful.
"not that simple" is definitely an oldie, and a pretty personal one at that... glad it was enjoyed... thanks for stopping by kx and sylvan...
One million miles oppose provincial, hallucinated visuals optically deceiving, causing miscalculation and optimism for the encountered moment. (a) Down-turned, nervous glances waver between ceiling and floor only occasionally attempting to meet the opposite gaze. We wonder, is significance attached? Perhaps (b) moonlight catches silver fire to the cobwebbed conversation, but tongues stuck with cherubic shots, throats locked, bewildered by the power of human emotions, that we have wings for once, that merging feels so sanctified a dream state is provided for protection. As the winter begins concentrating cold miserable months, and snow, keep that electric blanket close and plugged in, and remember; calculate your provisions, babe, encounter optimistic opposition, and document dreams for fortuity.
I came upon a girl yesterday & all I can say is fuck, and oh my, for although there were melancholy, wilting rings below her eyes there was still a hint of radiance & it wasn’t from consequence of lamp, candle, or kitchen light but spirit, and yes, I know it’s an ambiguous word but there it was in every glance & movement & there I was, on the couch it always seems the couch delivers epiphany, but really, there was a glimpse, a revelation; this girl articulates fluent wit & I’ll be damned, I know bricks will never bust perception from their blow but the lesson was actualized; I’ve met an incredible girl familiar to conceptualized, perfect harmonic perception.
once again, beautiful work wow, this whole page is charged and on fire. you are such a passionate poet!
Excellent - great power. really effective use of language and rhythm! This collection continues to offer wonderful insights into human relationships, and I enjoy the way you turn the everyday into something worth noticing - pancake girl... - but this opening is far and away my fave piece...
What if I should come, crouched in predatory prowl, predicting probable escape routes? Animal intuition predicts: warm welcoming smile. The coffee table, the kitchen counter, the-- Hell, wherever Just you join me, my love right here, now, in testament to affection’s vibrant dynamo to desire’s plunging passion to pleasure’s climatic coalition and profess with me, yes! We’ll untie satin bound fantasies We’ll caress libido’s carnal mysteries We’ll confess all those lewd secrets, because, after all love’s littlest whisper revs up sensuality’s perception and in the morning your skins slick canvas will capture the sun.
Va va voom! *winks at you* This has a bit of a different style than your usual stuff, but that doesn't make a big of a difference because it's still just as unique and extremely visual/sensory as everything you write. Delicious stuff. :sunglasse
i do not care for the static build before lightning singes the air, the crack of trees splintering into shattered trunks, or counting seconds, waiting for you to get your act together. you’ve been unconstructive, claimed the coffee went bad, and so you broke the bathroom faucet, slammed doors and stomped and static is charging the air making my hair rise, making me think my studio apartment across town is built of sun and calm pacific breezes. a street-side cafe and table for two, a public place to avoid a scene, go figure. guess you’ve been talking to him again bout where to go, how to handle, what to say and well, you can pull the hair out of your eyes, apologize, swear to change and still you’d have to go and get a psych. degree before I´d fall victim to mind control. you just don’t know how much i regret that weekend in the snow that started all this, that case of beer, the stories still being told about who kissed who and how and where and you’d want details but I was right there, heard everything, and basically told the truth and still you wonder why you’re alone right now. just keep staring at this checkered table cloth and think it’s some cubist artists masterpiece and maybe the red & white off-kilter squares can hypnotize, illustrate a deeper perspective: there’s not much left to say, now, is there?.
We were once hypotheses broadcast across plasma fields synaptic transceivers detonated in broad, hyperbolic skeletons. we flexed the firmaments limits we fought our foreign dimensions we settled, finally, in the factual. a stockpiled, unkempt kitchen sink attested to alluring activities as honeymoon’s interval required closed curtains, two candles, and the alarm clocks light clicked on level one: minimal luminosity. there was no time to clean, so toppled bottles in the corner left caramelized clumps as a mosaic in the carpet. like we even noticed… a stockpiled, unkempt kitchen sink with busted borders, dirty cups and bowls correlated current, romantic condition failure was a predestined code wired to a lack of adjustments. reflection, after all, is fundamental to evolution of permanence.
a. its thursday and im thinking thoughts your friends here, but shes not shes cute but structures sentences to ricochet into every room almost like shes talking so the neighbors will hear as if im not right here shes telling stories about you and what happened in california with a corduroy punk in a pool guess you got over me wish i were over you I admit, i liked how your neck curved how your body moved how your heart hopped but intermittently youd drop your smile curl up on the couch arms tight around your knees and couldnt calm down or breath and ill never get over your petrified flashbacks their erratic materialization b. so, your friend’s listening but lacks information on rules of rhetoric the hidden language behind communication signals intimate questionable intentions when our eyes meet her face, flushed could cave the room in i want to talk open or be whatever it is do something a little bit closer
After that conversation we had about relationships. "static builds" is scary in how much it makes sense! truly stunning! And I can feel, see, the little sample of your life with this individual and its unsettling and troubling dilemmas. On the stylistic side...it was written just right. All the words are compacted to unfold your usual creative scenes plus they carry a somewhat hidden weight of hopelessness that I feel throughout...
You make me envious when you write stuff like "the kitchen sink" Remarkable stuff. A never ending, fruitful theme you've got in these poems...a blessing or a curse? I'm in love with this part ....purrrfect.
I have little to say about temptation just because I love it all....and I've said this soooo many times now about your poetry, it's tiring! I am amazed at how dimensional, multi faceted your poems are, this one included. This was scrumptious. Great food for thought.
