head to toe kissing


I   the mundane

moonlight madnesses, a possessive noun,
commissions gravitational pulls that disobey and obey
laws of interstellar loving. The antique modalities once and forever, forever laying still, stilled in places of antiquities and historical need, are thundershower and hail rudely reawakened, the undertow of
pull and push, the yanking hands  of need for others, for others,
it’s the explosive-knowledge, the opening of the old kitbag of perpetual principles, that crazy head to toe kissing is no less necessary, more so, than the computation of the total breaths mundane, unnoticed even now as I write of them, that we will count from that very first, in deed, they are one and the same, like the same
kisses given from head to toe

II   the profane

at the first, the body insists, I am but a long haul trailer, no taxi me,
cargo and passengers, are my quatrain accompaniments,
traveling companions boon, my own toons, too soon disembarked,
songs of parents and lovers, children and others, your visage passed
without your permission, but with your happy encouragement,
to generations that will see things that futurists dare not
even mention, but the profane urge to warn them all, kisses from head to toe, elevates, and overcomes...so when most of my names dusted with forgetfulness, lost in the waves, my scorching soft lips will be recalled just as an airy flight of light brushing upon a newborn’s eyelids just at the moment of birth.  A rustling more felt than heard, the ****** and bruised carrying body will sensate and instantly forget, but nonetheless transmit genetically, that the profane of birth and life renewing can be only washed away, when past and future, recalled and recreated, kisses from head to toes, dripping with softening saltwater tears, a chemical organic reagent of creation,
inside the histories of head to toe kissing

III  the insane

so when, somewhere, some place, a man’s body prepares  
tous ses adieux, his memory foolishly sane and strong,
his wasted paper bag container ship, rust bucketed,
crinkled and wrinkled, skin folding in on itself, hanging to bones
by stretched sinews and tendons that no longer tend to business,
loosened and gangly, they hang on barely to the bare nakedness of
evolutionary processes, mostly not, offset, by the tenderizing effects of kisses, from invisible attendees,  unconscious they,
willingly and unwillingly, offering farewells in actuality...
head to toes, noses to belly buttons, tatted, tattered, and still tasted by dying cells.  It’s insane to think it’s even possible  one retains each and all, but he does, those few given, those few  millions he gave away for cheap belly laughs and poems, decade upon decade accumulated are the totality of him, all of them free and sealed in kisses from head to toes

I've owned up
To my Unfading Scars
The ones that didn't forget
Your touch.

I do not post my writings on here for likes. and attention.
Nor is it for shares or follows.
I am not seeking the crowds who applause.
Cheering and ranting for more.
I do it to simply find and intertwine with my soul tribe.



-Jennifer DeAngelo
Copyrighted 2016

My bones are yearning for so many things.
Here I lay with eyes open and my heart bounded by chains;
Where do we begin to rearrange the broken pieces?
Try to fix something so far gone or just leave and forget the damage.
Bruised bones and haunted memories, no longer can I look at this blasted ceiling.
The world doesn't stop turning when someone's screaming.
Why do we purposefully chase the hearts we know we'll never win?
Wait for someone to save us when they're busy saving themselves.

We can change the present, the future and the ending.
But I'd like to reserve the right to change past.
I want something illogical, to be free.
For why not lie on this ground and knowing that as hard as I grasp for the stars.
There will never be a time where I can call the sky mine.
Yet that's all I've ever dreamed.

The pain draws you nearer
Won't need me
If I don't need fixing
I feel like I'm going to
Have to keep running
Towards the edge
So you can keep
Pulling me back
From it..
Do I have to cast myself
Into the storm
So we can dance in the rain?
Do I have to jump
So we can fly?

I am the product of lost civilization;
hanging in between circles  of  modernization ;
who tells
Whether its rising or setting of sun  or globalization
The era of bindis
Or glamorization
Of going to Pubs
or piligrimization
Of  mothers going to kitty parties  
and  of socialization
Of works of Picasso's    
Or hussainization
Of  belief of gods
Or Sensationalization
Of act of democracy
Or  just rationalization
Of laws of science
Or limitization
Of acts of defiance
Or patronization
Of loss of love                        
Or dehumanization
Of views of people
Or individualization