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There used to be days
where the sea met my toes
and my hair would tangle
and salt would stick to my skin.
I would lie down along the midnight shores
and listen to the echoes of madness.

The darkness
would swallow me up,
its soft, feathery insides.
I remember tears,
my throat closing in,
silent, static.

Cold air would seep into my bones.
Wet, distant, lonely.
A permanent malignity sifting
through the chaos of my mind.
Twenty-three years now and the same sun rises
along the rim of a big blue sky with layered clouds.
A myriad of kaleidoscopic colors leaks through
surrounding me with nostalgic warmth.
Remembering everything that brought me here.

That sticky, unbearable Texas heat
whirling in the wind of a summer afternoon.
Sleeveless dress, sunburnt skin, watermelon smile.
Five years of beauty growing into a thin young girl
who wanted to learn about everything,
Shifting into the youth of an actress in an over-the-top
melodramatic performance at a local theatre.
Selling art and collecting coins to travel
across our globe, and then,
my first plane ticket to Vietnam.

Nineteen came dressed in bittersweet wanderlust.
Packed my bags and drove my car to Portland, Oregon.
Four cameras, disheveled notebooks, ink-stained hands.
Those tall forest trees of enchantment,
a photographer's dream.
Traveling down the west coast to desert lands:
Seattle, San Francisco, Santa Fe.

Somewhere in there I ended up sleeping beneath the stars
with a belly full of wine in Alaska.
The summer solstice singing me a song while tears brim up my eyes
because the world has never looked more lovely.
Aurora borealis shimmering her lights above
a reflecting ocean of pastel
Reds and golds, blues and pinks.

A lucky lady who has touched corners
of love and sadness and wonder.
Burned imprints of goodbyes
in the crevices of my mind, but this is who I am.
Living and breathing in this extravagance.
suspended between two temporary homes
one swallowing me whole
and one,

it's been so long
it must be perfect

except for all the sadness
that has brewed inside
those deep crimson walls
where my bed no longer resides

when i break free of this
intoxicating city
i'll be thrown onto
air mattresses
and unfamiliar couches

but i will be happy
will i be happy?

i can never tell anymore
i don't remember just exactly
what this was all about
Left, right, left, right.
Darting from track to track.
They wind and intertwine,
join and turn back.
Around and around,
tiresome and lost.
Following false signs.
Creating, illuminating,
ignoring and disintegrating,
never ending cycle of
thought.

.. silence..

An Opening - a Clearance
Death? Disappearance?
No, just the sweet caress
of sleep.
 Oct 2012 Cara Samantha
brooke
could I speak wonders like you
something out of Perrault's stories
could there be diamonds?
To articulate my thoughts into something would be great.


(c) Brooke Otto
54

If I should die,
And you should live—
And time should gurgle on—
And morn should beam—
And noon should burn—
As it has usual done—
If Birds should build as early
And Bees as bustling go—
One might depart at option
From enterprise below!
’Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand
When we with Daisies lie—
That Commerce will continue—
And Trades as briskly fly—
It makes the parting tranquil
And keeps the soul serene—
That gentlemen so sprightly
Conduct the pleasing scene!
eyes as eyes.
  hands as hands
touch so dry
  evidently bland
lips as simple
  as your reflection
obvious and transparent
  strenous affection
good as bad
  bad as worse
sweet as sour
  love as curse
walk away my dear
  while you still can
I'm the hourglass
  You're but a
grain of sand...
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