There is something about a pen’s permanency
that makes me shrink away from it-
intimidated.
Too much pressure to be
right
perfect
clear, neat and always,
legible.
On white paper if I sign my own name, my own way
I am still told to
“PLEASE PRINT”
And should I dare make a mistake
I must either
crumble up my perfect white paper and start over
or
cross it out, forever being stamped with the scarlet proclamation,
“I MADE A MISTAKE,” with the error there remaining,
alive, breathing-pulsing-beneath the scribble, staining
my perfect white paper.
Never mind the lines are not long enough for all of my information,
or
the space provided is not large enough for me to make my full markings
or, truthfully,
my hand is trembling from feelings of great shame and regret
as I fill out these here papers…
while my body feeds, without my choice, this unborn substance left by my choice.
The one great consolation about pencils
is that a mistake is easily erased away…
like it never happened.
…I wonder if that’s what Jesus was trying to convey.
My Lover's Lips
“I'm jealous of you.
To you he retreats with for his daily embrace
always neglecting mine,suckling you between his folds
smoothly, gently
time after time.
Day after day,
hour after hour
he sits with you as his comfort
and I wish to become you so that
I might touch him, taste him, and he might need me, desire me
just as he does you
so faithfully.
Your narrow white body slips gracefully between his lips
feeling his wetness and the pressure of his inhalation.
I watch you nestling with his fingers-
a conversation my body has never had the pleasure of having.
While he clings to you, ignoring your slow poison,
he rejects the pureness of my heart and the cleanliness of my love.
Ohh, how I envy you for stealing time from me and leaving me
out in the cold, and old
shall I be
without a love story to be told.
Even when you are not around
there you remain,
his every breath
stained.
My lover’s lips are truly divine.
Yet it is you, not I, that receive of the wine,
a liquid velvet never to be mine,
that ferments daily between his couch’s split
and drips
from the tips
of my lover’s full lips.
You constantly burn, but not as I
with nothing of love pulsating through your insides.
You drop as ash to floor
leaving him unsatisfied and wanting more.
I too burn, but with a passion and a delight
at the sight of him, hoping
for just one taste, one lick, one long kiss goodnight
or a sensual bite…
I sit and wait
for him to let go of your bait
but as time waves goodbye
pieces of me die,
and my heart returns to her bedchambers to sob and to cry
.…and what I find most lamentable
is that I
am jealous of
you
a cigarette.”
To you he retreats with for his daily embrace
always neglecting mine,suckling you between his folds
smoothly, gently
time after time.
Day after day,
hour after hour
he sits with you as his comfort
and I wish to become you so that
I might touch him, taste him, and he might need me, desire me
just as he does you
so faithfully.
Your narrow white body slips gracefully between his lips
feeling his wetness and the pressure of his inhalation.
I watch you nestling with his fingers-
a conversation my body has never had the pleasure of having.
While he clings to you, ignoring your slow poison,
he rejects the pureness of my heart and the cleanliness of my love.
Ohh, how I envy you for stealing time from me and leaving me
out in the cold, and old
shall I be
without a love story to be told.
Even when you are not around
there you remain,
his every breath
stained.
My lover’s lips are truly divine.
Yet it is you, not I, that receive of the wine,
a liquid velvet never to be mine,
that ferments daily between his couch’s split
and drips
from the tips
of my lover’s full lips.
You constantly burn, but not as I
with nothing of love pulsating through your insides.
You drop as ash to floor
leaving him unsatisfied and wanting more.
I too burn, but with a passion and a delight
at the sight of him, hoping
for just one taste, one lick, one long kiss goodnight
or a sensual bite…
I sit and wait
for him to let go of your bait
but as time waves goodbye
pieces of me die,
and my heart returns to her bedchambers to sob and to cry
.…and what I find most lamentable
is that I
am jealous of
you
a cigarette.”
Longing for Jonathan: A Lonely Soul
"And the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David" Judges
Loneliness
is not the absence of a human companion,
but the absence of human connection
when going for a run at 4 in the morning:
the cool unconsciousness of the world
to your very existence,
unseen
unfelt
unheard
un-believed,
and a deadness to the fact that someone breathes.
Even in a crowd, amongst friends and family,
one feels these things.
Loneliness
is not the absence of a human companion,
but the absence of human connection
when going for a run at 4 in the morning:
the cool unconsciousness of the world
to your very existence,
unseen
unfelt
unheard
un-believed,
and a deadness to the fact that someone breathes.
Even in a crowd, amongst friends and family,
one feels these things.
Wind
I am the wind
you can’t possess me.
Enclose me and I will smother you.
Try to hold me
and I will become the tree from which is said,
“ they hung.”
I am of the form that slips through your fingers
your clutches, your grasps
I am beyond your intelligence
my structure takes no part in your buildings
and should I stir
everything you’ve built will come down.
I am the wind
my company is hidden within the aerial- the ethereal -
I am the unseen tower all around
I am the clear-liquid-filling beneath the clouds
and above the ground.
I am the spirit that leaves no trace but that of
bent trees, jovial leaves, and a sun-kissed breeze,
and all inhale my presence.
I am the wind
not earthen bound
no strings attached
to my back
but you must stay
as mere clay
with the dust
from which you were made,
susceptible to Disease and Death, who cannot not be appeased.
I am The Wind
Battle me
I’ll always win
too quick for you
unseen by you
un-powered by you
yet having power over you.
How deal you with gravity? Shall you teach me how I?
Tell me, which of your laws restricts me? I can kill at will.
I am The Wind.
You will always, never be
immortal, eternal, all powerful
and unlike you, I will forever be, and have always been
alive.
Mere men are you and offspring of men,
but I?
I Am The Wind.
you can’t possess me.
Enclose me and I will smother you.
Try to hold me
and I will become the tree from which is said,
“ they hung.”
I am of the form that slips through your fingers
your clutches, your grasps
I am beyond your intelligence
my structure takes no part in your buildings
and should I stir
everything you’ve built will come down.
I am the wind
my company is hidden within the aerial- the ethereal -
I am the unseen tower all around
I am the clear-liquid-filling beneath the clouds
and above the ground.
I am the spirit that leaves no trace but that of
bent trees, jovial leaves, and a sun-kissed breeze,
and all inhale my presence.
I am the wind
not earthen bound
no strings attached
to my back
but you must stay
as mere clay
with the dust
from which you were made,
susceptible to Disease and Death, who cannot not be appeased.
I am The Wind
Battle me
I’ll always win
too quick for you
unseen by you
un-powered by you
yet having power over you.
How deal you with gravity? Shall you teach me how I?
Tell me, which of your laws restricts me? I can kill at will.
I am The Wind.
You will always, never be
immortal, eternal, all powerful
and unlike you, I will forever be, and have always been
alive.
Mere men are you and offspring of men,
but I?
I Am The Wind.
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