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J Arturo Sep 2014
Dana: there’s skin, bed, today.
Snow we’d make.

Land, air, sun… wrote rain.
Running, tired, west.
Cold winter half started.
‘Sweat’, says summer.

Gonna, moments ago, die.
Hit. Lie. Believe.

Broken. Felt. Sat. Lives hurt.
Fragile tomorrow wind:
Hell outside.

        ****** flowers.
        Eat brittle regret ***.

Lima couldn’t Damian;
break wave forever.
Kind times, leaving wondering days.
Dead drive; fly hard, wishing legs.

        Lights turned bones.
        Growing rich soon, lines
        raised: broke fog.
        Easy fighting names.

Drove car. Dinner. Worked.
Survive Monday, certainly.

Hung grief. Drank *******.
Expect usual ceremony rocket:
Sarah. Puck. ******* Cusco.
Connor, Corey: we’ve gone.

        Stone **** hot soft body.
        Dying, wanting. Undress.

Tied. Nights used.
Dawn gave secret pause,
Painting blood poems:
likely self story.
Gods weak, fall asleep.
Surely meaning darkness happen.
Suppose **** stayed, brought knowing?

Mountain hair.
True thousand strings, grasp getting
Gently heard. Endless floor.

Another about my wife. See previous poems for rules and structure.
J Arturo Sep 2014
Like breath,
people feel distance.

Away, far: light sleep,
falling feels forgotten. We’ve
really make
love. Days. Words. Sky.

Morning: dark.
Stay solid,
eat remoteness. Space:
impending decline.
Children asleep long:
Hands. Eyes.

Tongue won’t

slow stagnant works.
Same concept as previous poem. This one about my wife.
J Arturo Sep 2014
Bones sing soul moments.
Understand: inside, just lips, eyes:
small nature. Soft hands, unable.
Need past; unable. Brain felt mortal:
motion golden, rhythm, knowledge, thoughts.



Sky abyss: laughter.
Wings lonely begin rain,
ocean attempt salty breath:


Skin, air, long-lungs:
drink selfish!

Realise. Continue. Remember. Try
heavy sweet waves. Comfort:


Feeling memory singing
cold bright veins; holds instead pulse-poetry.
Face silent: away-like.

Paint things. Kiss hours. Desire play. Fall truly.
Grasp emotion. Stop. Embrace smoke.
Bring childhood. Falling. Soil. Coffee.

Midnight wolf begins romance... bleed!
Separate prayer: gravity. Understanding, darling.
Sip magnificent ambition alongside decaying ribs.
Fingertips couldn't fight droplets. Must
follow moments, gone to where best clouds lie.

******* wanderlust. Swimming.
Fighting. Confused. Smiled & swallowed:

You mad scene poets.
This is for my friend Katy, It's a new experiment, and I'll probably follow up with more, I find a poet on Hellopoety and go to their "Words" page. Then I write something using only the words on that page, adding only punctuation and line breaks. It's been challenging for some poets but immensely rewarding for others. Send a note if you try it, I'd love to see your results
J Arturo Sep 2014
Part one

my understanding of youth was
interrupted vignettes, I guess.
the little moments overlapsed the
greater moves like
deciding to move to Canada.
or learning I could *******.

but all that sticks is little toys
received at Christmas, the
talking plastic face we tried to
stuff down in the side storage of the
family van on a long drive to the far
east coast.

the way some jellyfish stung my leg and
realizing there existed a kind of pain
that patience could will away.

but I had to go to England for a month.  to get outside myself.
coincidentally meeting up with a girl who'd
read my poems, thought them ok.
spent two days, stupid, with what we thought were romantic notions.

then walked that old dog through endless English fields
inhaling my hands incessantly until the scent at last had dried away.

I am a different person now.

But back then I walked till my feel hurt, then
collapsed in a city I'd never been, and
Only lamented the complications I'd caused
when she dragged me back to Lockerly again.  

Made bacon, warmed bagels, softened cheese, poured wine
in a house, not mine, in the English countryside.  
Are these not the dreams, when young,  we live by?

She kissed me on the porch, on a bench,
the night before she caught the train.
(I remember I was sitting on the left. )
Inside later asking, politely, if she would undress.
And the next morning, new to this,
offering  breakfast.

We were sixteen, what did we know?
We'd listened to pop music from a small stereo and didn't have ***.
And that morning all I
could do was go with her to meet the train.    

Then keep walking that small dying dog
as if he could fill in the rest.

Part Two (interlude)

She visited my parents' house later that season in a summer dress.
We sat at the dining room table, for maybe an hour,
Making small talk, and then she left.
That was the first time she'd worn a dress.

Part Three*

I came back from college wanting to do something stupid, so we
Put on headlamps and invaded the sewers, skewered
the brickwork waded in filth I thought
Who, if anyone, would follow someone through this mess?

Then we drank one beer each from our
sewage-soaked sacks, went to the unrenovated room
my parents had reserved, sheetboard and a mattress...
In case I ever came back.

We watched Perfume, the film, on a laptop, then had ***.
I guess.
I mean it was
***, but so much less. Less than the painting I had in my head.
Less than the time we ran away to France.
Less than four years of high school.
Less than a glance.

We woke around ten.  Dressed. She
looked me in the eyes with what I didn't know was goodbye.
Shook my hand, and left.

But in those first few half lidded moments
(when dreams are hit with light and turned to steam)
when you know what's coming next but first must find a missing sock, must
scan the room for evidence

When naked in bed and sober now and so
confused yet actualized at least lifted to
meet the north window winter light when this
immovable stone of a woman rose
put her
hands on my shoulders and coward-like kissed me from behind

I threw everything I thought I knew at
something I'd no right to know. Her
dark skin, her skinny fragile frame. With I
so grossly white in the December light. Wanting
everything, too young
to know what yet.

You know who you are.
You who laid there.
You who, raised up,
Placed lips on my my right shoulder, from behind.

You who kissed me in the back.

Then clasped your bra and
quickly dressed. Didn't want breakfast.
and before my stepmom could notice: left.

Several years have passed. I've

Maybe never felt loved like that.
J Arturo Sep 2014
particles never stay in the same place.
you were a tin can but now you're a horse, running alone
tethered maybe to a burned up stable
but mostly a creature of fire, muscle, sweet speed sweat that
takes pause only to graze from the land.

you are a machine.
a machine that runs.
a running machine.

and you tried to change, didn't you?
saw a California sunset in a psychedelic silhouette,
grew legs and became a beast of the land.

there was a great plain with mountain frame but
your legs. your eyes. your tail your flies by god
if I could tame.

very few could love you but those that do,
will dehydrate, expire, at the mirage that rises
and fades with you from view.

you are a horse running alone and my
body aches to be the stream you drink from, to be the
sunset that gives you solace, if
ever you require some.

you are different now and I am the same shape,
dressed even as I was the day you left.

I want your love for me
to be the ruined running ground
beneath sweat soaked feet:
stable, and strong
then impermanent, and weak.
J Arturo Sep 2014
we dreamt of a hiding place in
costa rica
with stars hung low on their strings
where I filled the bathtub
     running lukewarm
     across the back of my hand
     and you took a drink of cold cold water
     to calm your bones

and the sky wakes up warm
over the prime meridian
where we lift our eyes like lovers
and focus on the new dew, the old dawn
spilling out over the lawn
     your hands tight with callouses
     and my shaking brittle bones
     walls rich, in photographs of palaces
     and all our broken homes.
J Arturo Aug 2014
maybe it's selfish to say I'm
not strong without you around.
that the entire house burned down
and you make me wonder how much I want you
or just need you for shade.
who knows what love is anyway.
when lying alone in the ashes the
sun stings my eyes and burns my face.

I don't know what I want from you
but it's not to take from you, it's how
when you're around there's somehow more of me.

so when I say it'll be better when you get here I mean
this ground lay fallow, but maybe we won't build a house this time..
maybe a tree.
maybe these ashes could nourish a seed.
from a few weeks ago
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