she stood outside the apartment
finger halfway up her nose
scratching with her free hand
a **** loosely encased
in patchy, ***** blue jeans
ratty sneakers with holes where
her toes and dignity poked through

usually a whiner, a brayer
a donkey among gently purring cats
calling down thunder and racket
like a motorcycle tearing circles through a lamp shop

today, of all days, she swayed

silently
in loose waltz time
to soft piano of a long-dead Frenchman
curling down from speakers
mounted in windows
across the street

her misshapen hips and flexing calf muscles
lifting her up in a rude en pointe
somehow made elegant
by a quiet ballad, a soothing moment
on a hot August morning
in Main Street
of the hinterlands.

2/12/2015

I saw you on the horizon, when I was laying on my back
I was looking at the big dipper, while you were speaking to the southern cross
I can't feel nor touch you, but you're in the wind
And you're whistling Indian hymns

I wish that I could see in your direction
But maybe you are the reason this side of the earth lacks perfection
Would it be foolish to capture your affection and hide it for a needed smile
Cause you dot my life like a melody, bouncing in and out of existence
I fear one day you will crescendo and fade
Like dark matter, you're always hiding under some kind of shade
But you're nothing short of an accolade

I can't find words for your affection
That's why you're the only untitled poem in my collection
And I'll riddle till the day I can grab the grass and touch the moon
Make the world look small, hopefully that day will come soon
Till then I'm just some lanky goon, paining my way to you

You're like algebra
Made up of x's and y's
I've always been bad at math
But even a mathematician couldn't define

Mixed signals is your zodiac sign
Every time I talk to you I get some laughs
But I also get an "I'm fine"
I never said you couldn't whine
That's why I'm here, I'm your religion, make me your shrine

I would cast a shadow if I weren't divine
But the bartenders have only got water tonight
And your bed sounds soft, but your heart sounds softer
And your heads a heavy burden to carry on a back full of knives
But I'm willing to do that for you
I will take you home tonight
But only with the hope of widening your sight

These unruly kites,
The froth of the world
     Know immortality.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

Little Red Riding Hood walked through the woods
Singing and swinging her bag of baked goods
When out of the brush leapt a wolf with a smile
And some florist’s advice for the innocent child.
So off went the girl, picking bunches of daisies
While Wolf raced ahead with a step none too lazy.

Then at Grandmother’s door he knocked and said
“Let me in dear Grandmother, it’s your little Red."
So with grandmother’s blessing he let himself in
And ate up the oldest of little Red’s kin.  
Then Little Red Riding Hood came through the door
With nary a clue of what was in store.
After noting her “grandmother’s” ears, nose, and teeth
Into Wolf’s gullet she went with a shriek.

As the transvestite wolf began snoring like thunder,
Along came a huntsman, who cut his belly asunder.
Out came Red Riding Hood, Grandmother too
While Wolf, so oblivious, kept sleeping right through.
With a few heavy stones, a needle and thread
Wolf, far too full, finally woke then dropped dead.  

After a party of baked goods and wine,
The huntsman gave Red a great wolf pelt so fine.  
“Thank you, dear huntsman,” said our little Red,  
“But I’d rather skin wolves on my lonesome instead.  
I know things now, of these beasts and their wiles
I’ll give them a lesson, with blood and with style.
Teach me to stalk, to chase and to shoot
The best huntress I’ll be - and the cutest, to boot."

The huntsman, he roared with his big booming laughter.
In a voice that rose straight up to the rafters:
“Why little girl, have you a taste for the hunt?
You’re better off sewing, though I hate to be blunt.”
But little Red pouted, and threatened to cry
So the huntsman gave in, with a shrug and a sigh.

The huntsman- he was a formidable teacher.
Now Red lives in fear of no living creature.
Today, when Red Riding Hood walks through the woods
She carries bags of new, furry goods.  
And when out of the brush leaps a wolf with a smile,
She smiles right back: “You’ve picked the wrong child."

When I was little, I stuck scissors into the electrical outlet
something I never would have had the urge to do if my parents hadn't told me it was dangerous
I was a rocket pop, always standing too close to the edge,
always carrying a matchbook in my pocket

I'm not the only one who flirts with death
Death is the quarterback, death is the prettiest ******* the cheerleading team
Death is popular at parties
And when someone seems so out of my reach like that, I tend to romanticize them

So I fantasized about pills that shone like pearls
I envisioned ribs sticking out from my skeletal frame, finally frail enough to ****** the object of my desires
I thought about razor blades scattered like flower petals on the bathroom floor
Etching memento moris into my skin
I dreamed of fenders and pavement rushing up to meet my lips for one last kiss

God, I had the biggest crush on death
But so did everyone else
And I saw them falling further in love as if they were tumbling from a skyscraper
This is not a love poem, this is a goodbye
Because I have instead become infatuated with beautiful things
I am a creator, so I must stop destroying myself

Dear death
I don't want to be just another girl who doesn't look when she crosses the street, hoping to meet you on the other side
I will be okay on my own, and I'll keep the scissors locked up in the craft cabinet

Do you remember '95 when we were caught in that monsoon
On that cloudy street corner when the moon peaked through
And we could see each others souls
We were like pale ghouls in our youth
And I loved the way you moved

You smirked and said you'd never forget
You said you'd remember this night forever
Like the way the cracks on the sidewalk looked Like a heart next to the bench we sat on
Like the name of the street, and every how every second fleeted faster with every palpatation of your heart
When we thought we could create things because we were quoting Jean Paul Sartre

We laughed at the irony of the songs that came on my iPod
And what our parents would say when we snuck back in at 6 in the morn
It didn't matter, you were everything I adored about the world
Because even after your death would I go to that street corner and see you soar
In the wind you were, always there
In my arms, grabbing my hair
Your weathered soul will always be fair
My ex lover whether you can hear me or not, I will never forget, I will always keep this ring on my finger