nor am i

nor am i
the beginning
or the end
but a vicissitude
of beginnings
churning over
and over
and over
again

my walls

i am worthless, small, stupid, insignificant, ineffectual, human, slowly, dying. how many times in a day does such a thought cross the frail human mind? yet here i am, holding the key to my own power, righteous, enlightened, firm. i have built my walls greater than ever before. they are thicker, stronger, taller, wider, made with better materials, by better craftsmen, in a better place. they are resistant to fire and disease. they contain all my secrets, my desires, my spirit. they protect my virgin-hood. my walls can only be flooded, from the heavens above.

digging deeper

i used to laugh
at women studying women
because i was afraid
of digging deeper
than i had already gone

i need to know:

who closes their eyes
and forgets?

heart of glass

my heart
is made of glass

it used to be a perfect vase

you remarked how sad
my flowers were
once dried

but i saw the beauty 

in being forever
alive

we are four

i have a brother
with thick brown hair & scared eyes
he inhabits my body
because he completes me
i have another brother
he lives and breathes
with the grace of god in his eyes
because he is an Artist
i have a sister
with eyes that seethe green

rebellious in her spirituality
because she is misguided

we are four
we even the score
bonded by
the same whore

swinging there

A. came and he is late. he is coming to get his things, there he goes again, coming and going. maybe i kicked him out or he is living somewhere else, but he has to go now. i look down at him over the bannister of the white staircase. he gives me a big Fake smile so i know he is there. he is angry underneath the skin, but he whistles and sings to himself as he gathers his things. he reminds me of T., the gap between the two front teeth. sometimes i am afraid he wants to kill me. C. and i rifle through a bag of his things, full of women's makeup and some pills. i try waiting for him in the small room but we keep coming in and out. then we are swinging there, high above the trees, facing one another.

late in season

you enter me again
and my dreams open drawers with forgotten treasures
here there is a switchblade and some lingerie
and tiny satin pillows for kittens to lay their heads and play
you are wet like mud for my empathy
and as the crust forms my skin softens like cheap perfume
it must be comforting to penetrate the gaze of someone without boundaries
like a general who gallops arrogantly into a nation's grief
i am holding the unopened jar of your unfolding
because i know your void is an earth of serpents hunting -

it is like me to lick the whip of your cream from a cold spoon
as laying in the folds of my bed conjures a serene cloud
bursting, ripe and leaking
like a persimmon swelling
late in season

preferences

what happens when
you prefer the smell
of your own skin?

the american country

there was an experience which touched me deeply, in the airport going through american customs, where we were all treated like criminals, and a free woman in a red coat was swabbed like an animal, randomly, as though she was being tested for rabies, and then she wiped her hands on the back of her pants because she felt dirty, she was released, and started talking to herself and blinking madly, i remember feeling she had been treated badly, it made me angry, but i was also filled with sympathy, not only for her, but for the whole american country;
totally atrophied,
a travesty

yet, i

yet, i -
anticipate your coming
like spring always
does
while, i -
let you in on dreams
still unfolding
in space
again, i -
knead bread as pain's
interlude dances
modern
and, i -
blow dust in the heart
of your sword's
incision
now, i -
like the kiss of sun
face death
enamoured
knowing, i -
am just a young flower
in mid-
blossom
still, i -
scour barren fields
for bones and
feathers
finding, i -
linger tranquil on the
floor of crystal  
waters

i like the way

i like the way
mexicans speak spanish
like a young tongue
lapping pussy
si, si,
todo bien
aqui

becoming pink

earth shattering,
explosive,
volcanic
opal
soft iridescent
limestone
set on
heavy metals
iron oxide,
copper,
petals:
i am  becoming

pink

curling, unfurling

that flowers could bloom and
 be open:
in barren fields,
 expressing nuance -
curling,
unfurling,
breathing
 in & out.
rose petals
 drifting
on sunburnt hay,
woman sits in her
Throne,
 always, alone.
and lo!
atop a mountain-top
a glimpse of something
 Better.
touching you,
 touching me,
  always
            Together.

man with breasts

i was lucky enough
to meet a man
with breasts once.
but i was too
hungry and
i ate him Alive.

strange feeling

there is a strange feeling
i get in your presence.
as though i could be myself
and everything would be
alright.

give more

i was dead -
now i feel alive.
thank predators
for the chase.
i ran,
i ran out of breath.
i found another
dead-end.
the old feeling
lingers.
maybe i am supposed to
give more.

love is Big

love is Big.
dwarfing, dangerous,
violent.
she is Ugly.
love her,
anyway.

love is a transience

love is a transience.
under earth,
i struggled to come
to light.
i writhed,
underneath.
love is a transient
art.
it is not for the weak -
of heart.
it swallows and does not
apologize.

remembering

how precarious a stack
of books can be.
when they fall,
i feel angry.
but they are
just things.
i am just
a little thing
remembering to
breathe.

vast reservoir

your ego is a vast

reservoir.

an empty dam,

concrete.

ideas to write poetry on and other concepts

that nature is beautiful,
perfection as an impossibility,
a painful ending that torments you for several years,
uprooting a garden,
a death in the family,
mental illness as a gift.
deformity as an expression of innate self-loathing,
that your father does not understand you,
a wound so deep it leaks from the spine.
the whim of a child,
bare and free.
braids as a fashion statement in millennials.
the reflection of narcissism in one's relationships,
the realization that one's qualities are neutral-specific,
the acceptance that your life is a by-product of your unconscious drives.
that character is not a value judgment.
fear of engaging a legacy.
wanderlust,
running away,
pining over past lovers.
the psycho-analysis of the dejected spirit.
loss of life force and vital energy currents.
carnality.
anxiety as a result of feeling unloved,
unhinged.
dreams, fleeting but
important.
hard to pin down,
hard to point a finger,
hard on oneself.
the idea that something is wrong but not knowing how to fix it,
or where it exists.

give me life

i am altered,
shattered, violent.
a blank canvas,
pulling teeth from a cyst.
the future
unknown.
watch the statue grow,
glistening
black and green tourmaline.
protect myself, love,
from the monster
i become.
she, who is lonely,
digs.
watch the ship explode,
wait,
listen.
hear my voice,
shattered,
broken.

i am

no, no, no, no, no, no
no

no more
i am
i was
i am not
anymore

leave me, lightened

betray me, soul, 
i am forsaken.
like lost lives, 
i loved, i fell, 
i resurrected. 
help me, change, 
hear me whisper.
soft lips, softness, 
nervous quiver.
i looked into your eyes
and saw my emptiness.
i want to feel, 
see me, lightly, 
starving. 
i want to let go 
without holding on. 
i hate her,
her, she, walked away from me
before. 
she walked away from everyone 
before me. 
the sadness in your heart 
was my burden. 
my shallow, pool.
the memory i cannot grip. 
help me, change,
empty me.
leave me lightened - 
my being,
before. 

dust to ashes

i hollowed you -
so your greatness
could grow.