Listen up, sweater.

   take good care of my love now

         when her joy is boundless, hop around like a fool and
         revel in the excitement of each crisp little sound

                and in the cold nights lay warm beside her, whether as
                pillow or cuddlee and be the soft whisper for hands to hold
                the mooring point for beautiful dreams

                       (you are hers while I'm away because
                             I am hers no matter where I go)

            and in that rustle of fabric, that cloth to smooth skin
            do speak my name
                                 and retain all our scents when we laughed in her
                                 arms so she'll smile and close her eyes and
                                 burrow into you

listen up, sweater.
               take good care of my love now

I'm not one for superstitions
Generally things are going good
I don't believe in charms or trinkets
You must believe me, knock on wood

Spill some salt, throw over shoulder
Never do that one at all
You have to watch just where you toss it
If you're eating at the mall

You get bad luck for breaking mirrors
The curse has seven years of life
But, marry wrong...it lasts forever
Would you trade your mirror for your wife?

Good luck comes from certain idols
Rabbits feet and lucky charms
If that's true I have one question
Are there three footed rabbit farms?

Voodoo dolls they have bad juju
Zombies coming from the dead
I know I am not superstitious
But, I have garlic round my bed

Black cats and a leaning ladder
bad luck say the witches queen
But if bad luck is all around us
Why do people like 13?

Tea leaf reading and the tarot
Horoscopes and chicken bones
I think that they are just full of blarney
I don't believe but, I'll kiss the stone.

I taste rapture in your lips & feel nirvana flood our spines.

A stack of bone lit fire & this day ends, today I should try,
to see into the future,
something waits for you inside, reach in & find your comfort.
Drink heavy & dance, a warm nose carving mistakes into your once supple face.

Leave it alone & cry. Leave it alone for my sake.
Call me from the basement's line.

Save the words

& a change of tone.

a change of pace.

_Oh, dear gods,

we came so close & stand so far,
from that glorious fountain,
from that glorious superstructure of
love & tainted fate.

Stay close & I'll recite gorgeous tales of defeat.
I will
paint your face with the shame of those forgotten,
not in a lonely way
& this is not
the only way to stop these rhymes
of

once again

hearts torn,

one heart torn, turning forever
sleeping on the floor,
wishing your blood flowed through me.

open veins to shreds.
grab me, taste me.
bound by chains.

once undone,
these thoughts shouldn't be should so heavy,
moving my fingers in time with you.

whisper, oh I'm crazy.

But in this world,
in this
dear,
sweet
perfect world,
where you & I
sit
& sing
& commit your face to memory.
Holding on to you.
in you, my flame burns bright,
this pace grows dark as the wet woods cry in rhythm,
thinking of me,
old,
their hearts still racing for me.
their souls transport all loss &
their souls transports heat.

If only I was your source.

If I was your only source,
of light

of shadow & pain

of a perfect metronomic

never ending sometimes;

you'd pass happy.
you'd know defeat,
victory & all forms in between.

& looking back I sense there are words sealed tight,
dates forgotten & stories sans ink.
sometimes,
oh my sweet beautiful muse.
There is a shadow & there is a child
& there is a window
& there is a lord to call upon
when nightmares grab tight
& bullets fly close to this heart
desperation glides across these strings
& a voice is born,
snuffed,
buried
& forgotten in all but me.
killing the self,
waiting for the bars to bend
& waiting for the structure to dissolve.

A ghetto grown & producing
infinite
words &
mistakes.

Clear up my past,
discontinue
& continue to
work on these studies,
take all in stride,
a slow,
pain filled walk.

As mentioned, we came so far,
so close
& retired our passions.

So we ask
how do we die?

& when will we know?

& this change of tone brings

a change of pace.

I feel alive,
I behold what's in it,
what's grabbing
& shaking my soul,
which is,
listening to this power.

to the one i have loved:
How do i put this eloquently?
how could my best friend, my baby,
cast me away so easily?
as if I meant nothing, all along
you smelled out my vulnerability and capitalized,
but your touch and kind words,
how could you fake them?
with such a serious vehemence
in which my intrigue grew to enamor?
I can't bring myself to admit the illusion,
the delusion,
but how else do you explain
the insignificance that brought me this pain?
you may be but i am not
stoic, i am full of nerves like a funny bone or sensitive tooth, and i wear them openly and freely,
you may see this as my weakness but it is my greatest strength,
to let myself feel what i may and know that those emotions are okay
to feel the world the way i see it and let people in

I know i made mistakes, i am human, am i not?
yet here is the delusion: did you expect me to be perfect? visions of a perfect love with understanding and support, tucked in the country side with a dog and someday a little boy or girl?
I had them too. Before you told me you could imagine a life with me.

and I took that to heart.

But never mind the past, it cannot be undone, although intense longing and plea for answers besets, i know this is for the best, i trust that you did me a favor in the long run. I am much too strong of a woman .

So my darling, goodnight and i wish you well
But i want you to know, just my sentient:
you will hold a piece of me no one had touched, even if i was your way of forgetting an even greater love,
i just wish that love could have been me.

My process is…
What is my process actually?
Start to type… don’t over think?
Spill onto page… well over the brink?
Is that my process?
I don’t really think so
Oh my word! I don’t think I have one
All my words I just love so…
I’m sprung
My poetry and I
My craft and I
What we have is true love… fluid
I just write… if I ‘draft’ this may just die
So I have no process
I just begin and let this ‘true love’ thing possess
My heart, body and soul
And it feels so easy
I want to laugh now because I just read my last two lines and they read so cheesy
But I’ll keep them, I don’t have the heart to rip them
Off this piece
I feel I should round up all the ‘love’ ambassadors… hippies, Cupid… Et cetera
And speak to them of this peace
And if I could speak to my poetry I would have said to her
I never expected her
To be this much of a reliable outlet for my feelings
My beloved artistic release.

Those real moments in life.
The way your heart beat slows down and time stops right before a race as you wait for that gun to go off.
The smile on that baby's face when you do something so silly and pure with them.
The ridiculous noise that bursts out of you when you're sincerely laughing with your best friend.
The way your lips blend into theirs when you share a true kiss.
The heart beat rhythm shared during a meaningful hug.
That terrifyingly sweet moment as you open up an AP Test and seal your fate with a good or bad pass.
The day you set off and start a new school.
The feel of the music grooving through your soul at a show.
The sereneness of peace achieved after honest prayer.
The tears that run down your face when your heart gets broken by a loved one.
The quiet time in your room at night, totally undisturbed silence as your thoughts are unleashed.
That loving glance from family given to you when you accomplish a goal.
The moment you pass the finish line of a race and your head is still in race mode.

What is life?

One girl kissed me in the morning,
A woman had by noon,
But Lady only gazed by dark,
And did not kiss so soon

The girl's kiss was lost in jest,
And the women's lost in play,
But the kiss in my Lady's eyes
Will haunt me everyday.

Upon a crest of ruby flames,
  Was writ a list of seven names:
Of gods and goddesses untold
  Whose quiet tenets never sold.

Mavis was the nymph of pallor,
  Patron saint of putrid squalor.
Watching, with a tender eye,
  The lives of those resigned to die.

Beatrice, with hair of scarlet,
  Took the throne of seething harlot.
Harbinger of crippling sadness;
  Queen of darkness, death, and madness.

Paul, whose eyes had never wept,
  Ensured that secrets would be kept.
Cursed with blindness, deafness, dumbness,
  A walking vault of tortured numbness.

Talim broke her mother's heart,
  And many others from the start.
She, the deity of glee,
  Knew ignorance and apathy.

Alastair, the golden thief,
  Toed the boundaries of grief,
He sang to people with his flute
  That there was more to life than loot.

Tess won't look you in the eyes;
  Mistress of the compromise;
Smiling, even as she hums,
  That "maybe next time" never comes.

Alex comes to break the silence,
  God of wishes, drugs, and violence.
Crashing through with mighty clamour;
  Hope the nail, and he the hammer.

Of all the deities we cherish,
  Even those whose memories perish,
None are sad as those who don't
  Beget belief. Or can't. Or won't.

And on a crest of ruby flames,
  Another list of seven names,
Whose carvings have been long forgot,
  Will sit amidst our trash and rot.