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La Jongleuse Mar 2014
Did I speak too soon?
Because here I am,
back in the mud
of emptiness
Will I make mountains out
of mundane or I have
learnt better?
I now know the world
is nothing but kingdoms
of bad men
and their rules,
how they restrict
and constrict,
exorcising gasping breaths
like a python to power.

I picked the fruit
of the dead men's orchard
in a dream-like landscape.
They told me to come back
down to earth
and finally, I could no longer
pay the toll of the cloudy road
so I obliged.

But then again,
here, I am low.
and how it comes & goes
the feeling of nothingness.
Jesus christ, can you even imagine
what I see I close my eyes
I wish you could know the ways
in which my mind splits,
how many atoms I dare to split.

I contain, contain it all.
in the rise and in the fall,
and I hate how you try
and make me feel small.
Leave me to my ascension
and quit  weighing me down
by shoving reality
down my throat.
I swear to God,
one day I'll just quit breathing.

Your objectivity isn't real
that ******* you insist upon
reeks of nonsense
it's such flimsy gravity
I'm not afraid to say it.

Watch me explode, for
I am a supernova nebula
La Jongleuse Mar 2014
i spotted
black cascades,
on a concrete canvas
in that southern twist
that kinks me like desert trees.

i wanted to lick your eyes
when I first saw you
& then,
i don’t know where it came from
but i began to feel like a spider,
when i shouted
"you’re beautiful,
you must sleep in my bed”

when I grabbed your hand,
you followed
I knew I was going to taste
every single inch of your body,
so i applauded nonexistent gods
in my heavy laughter.
(did they frown upon my intentions?)

your lips,
they’re red like mine
but you don’t know what to do
with your mouth.
i do,
i’ve been there and done all of that
in the season of orange peels,
it was sticky and it’s only just now
that i’m no longer stuck.

you spoke to me in tongues
i’m not sure you knew
that you took me back
to places I haven’t seen
since the last time
i made a claim
at the Lost & Found
so i still haven’t added you to the List

i hate resistance,
you’re beautiful for not being
so beautiful
but i want to know just what it is
that you see when you’re
covered in smoke,
when you’re sinking in a bathtub
when you’re putting sugar
in your coffee

don’t speak,
just give in,
appease me
while i exercise
well-honed techniques
up and down
that thing you’re trapped in
(this isn’t fair, maybe
feelings will follow)

it felt like returning home,
for the first time
portal, portal: your open body
it could have been the last time
i’m coming back for more
La Jongleuse Mar 2014
We step away and then,
you close the door
(you always knew how to close)

The palm of your hand (I)
shut(s) my eyes
and I imagine you must be thinking
that my head is spinning
only, it’s not.

I’m tired this time around
and all that we’ve had,
in cups, in pantomimes,
in black bottles at the back
of your grandfather’s closet,
is beginning to weigh me down.
I am an anchor
lightly kissing
the bottom of an abyss
in a sea.
But you don’t swim
and I know you never will.

No, my head isn’t spinning,
but the world is.

Before, I thought it ceased
to halt when I found myself
alone with you
in that enclosure
I craved from the back
of my throat.

I was possessive of your presence
without good reason.
Never had any good reason
and here again, I’m without it
but I no longer allow myself
the delusion of believing
in the immortal exceptionalism
that I once painted
on your face.

The auto-intoxication has stopped.

We step away and you engage
my mouth once more.
It has never been the way
I’ve wanted.
I gave you permission
and you close the door.
(I am now closing my eyes).

I was blind
now I ignore
the way this body
has never been more
than a robust instrument.
I use it as such.
You dismiss my thoughts,
that is your mistake.

Your hand on the back of my neck,
pulling down to devour.
We always speak of ***
as in hunting terms.
A predator hunts his prey.
The prey traps her meal.
But I no longer resist
and I admit that violence
no longer shines.
It is nothing and makes
for one hell of a drowsy exchange.

You disrobe me,
these mechanics are boring.
The choreography of two
relative strangers (I hardly know
you in the end, we don’t talk)
moving their bodies in
a badly needed rhythm.
Pure imagination.
We dance for the other
without listening
and you step on my toes.
I crave the scratching halt of the song.

Your tongue is metallic.
This has been ugly since day one.
I shut my eyes, my head not spinning,
and its only now that I see.
I no longer wish to force
stimulation through the filter of my body.

You shut the door
and I shut out the world.
La Jongleuse Mar 2014
He’s stumble-hungry,
& ****** to the sky
manifest destiny
in her naive eyes

Yet amongst the
ethanol mirrors
and heavy smoke,
this sharply curious
array of odd pieces
begs the question:

I am not vestigial, am I ?

Posing some lovely injury,
he bares his hands-
& in his silence,
he admittedly fails to ratify

*I am,  I am
La Jongleuse Feb 2014
We just swallow & stitch on
flimsy pharmaceutical feathers,
with gobs of spit and wax.

We circle the sun
hoping this simulacrum,
weighs more than a hedon

We practice ephemeral mechanics,
only with bridges on the river Styx,
then wonder why winter never seems to end.
La Jongleuse Feb 2014
Il y a moi
et puis, il y a toi
et encore,
il y a cette pièce
qui fond
il me semble,
sous la pression
de toutes ces
années pondérées
et pesantes.

il y a tes mots
et puis,
il y a mon silence,
et encore, il y a
plus de 365 jours
dormants entre nous.
j’avale toute,
cette histoire que je n’ai pas su ranger

je connais la déception
et je sais à quoi ressemble
un présent enceint du passé
et comment il ne cesse à
rendre amères les jours à venir.

il y a moi,
et puis il y a toi,
et encore,
il y a une passivité
encaissée au fond
de ma gorge.
il me semble
que tu m’as
arraché la langue

et personne ne sait
à quel point
ma voix me manque
français, french,
La Jongleuse Feb 2014
In the space
of a moment,
your hands unclasp
and I unfold.

All of this time,
I have dreamt
of lost vultures,
awaiting dusk.

I did not starve
on memories
of flesh: those long
fever dreams.

Through the tempest,
the mind slept
but surely now,
this body knows

What it is, hunger,
and how bones
****** dry, taste
only of dust
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