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Jan 2017 · 411
La Jongleuse Jan 2017
It’s once again, midnight
humming arrogantly with
a churning of the wheels.
It's a soft-spoken rapture
& brutal shedding of rust:
in the hour when ghosts in
their shadow-cloaks come out
to play,
all nice.  

This is what with which
you are stricken :
Silence & alien gestures
you’ve rehearsed

Sometimes, your blood  
won't evaporate as quickly as you'd wish
-when the swallowing gets laborious.
He looks so pretty and easy prey.
His words fell on you like bullets,
His hands fell onto you like oil to water.
Slaughter & Divide
All you've wanted to hear:
All he knows to say
Blame beta fathers , such farmers
with borders & no horizons-
they never went to the moon
And you are selling  prime real estate
somewhere in the Milky Way

Here you easy come easy go
in the pseudo-celestial shallows,
Yet you are still nothing more,
nothing less than your shotgun grandfathers
and their drinking women
with ******* aflame.
Black hole reverie or Persephone
Make the call.

However, this is such a regular revelation ,
you are always saying the past has yet to come
as you set the record to repeat and
let the meridian of time rot.

Then he looks at your thighs
and listens to your speaking,
and you wilt in the glitter
because it's scripted, wilt so
So needlessly.
Shutter, revoke, indulge, repulse.

Tonight in your belly, lies the gravestone of insanity,
unrooted by some ill intended resurrection of goodwill and humanity.

You are always missing the mark
but so quick to pull the trigger.
Full of so much of what's easier done than said -

You lie down in ethanol meadows making dust-angels amongst the metal beehives,
as he's looking at you
like some sort of promethean redemptress,
asking you meekly for just a touch
and then you swallow your refusal,
cramping up in a paralyzed and vampiric ecstasy.
Who first taught you the word ephemeral again ?

He reaches
You retire.
You say I have no sugar
For myself
Let alone for my brother
But then again, you let it flow
from your bubbling mouth.
Flagellating yourself with the same cane.

Then you pray for absolution on a bended knee
for the form alone, mockery of a jellyfish woman
Indeed, the skeletoned live on another plane entirely.

And you beg for mercy
Beg for forgiveness
Lest they love you not for
The alien cancer petrifying in your gut.

He beckons you over
You fold and bend down,
One should only ever be primitive
In this menagerie of sunsets and sunrises
He jumps your bones
But you're already nothing but dust
Mar 2015 · 381
La Jongleuse Mar 2015
every morning,
with excruciating strokes of grace,
the light of the distant sun,
orchestrates entire symphonies
against your violent skin,
as if only for me :
the humble audience
for these divine harmonies
that transcend my sense(s).

your multitudes are to me
what flash thunderstorms
are to quiet, summer forests
and in your presence
I have crossed these shadows,
erased their weight,
for you revive
the colours of my dreams
& their vibrancy.

I know not from which place you have come,
nor how long you have traveled to reach me.
I know only that you feel like home
and now, that I have waited so long
(for you)
to arrive.
Jun 2014 · 354
La Jongleuse Jun 2014
On the last day,
in nervous & incoherent scribbles,
clinging to the lines of a
crumpled & stolen piece
of office memo pad paper,
I confessed:

I can no longer tell whether
people have distinct faces.
Focus escapes me.
How, despite looking,
seeing has become impossible.
Their eyes all melt in the dark,
into a blurry array of blue & violet,
(the way fresh oil paint smears under thumbs,
as if the painter himself felt betrayed
& then submitted the canvas to some frantic violence).
The same panic consumes me,
now that the others all begin to appear the same.

I was perhaps,
born with too thin of a shell.
Sometimes, I feel
like one of those dolls from the old country,
You know, the ones that sleep inside one another,
with their faces painted
(mechanically these days.
all the authenticity has been stripped away
just for the sake of appealing to the masses).
Maybe I too crack easily,
(I shatter at the slightest touch.)
I thought once that there was beauty in fragility
but I alone held such a belief.

Just as those figurines,
I too reduce continually in size,
Always shrinking by half,
In the hope that if I am just small enough,
No one will see my emptiness.
In the end, I think I hardly even exist:
I hardly even bother the dust settling around me
& if anything,
that internal void takes up more space
than I have ever wished.

I’m disenchanted by those idiot boxes
& their flavors of the month.
Whether it costs you a penny or a fortune,
I’ve somehow always felt Truth
had to be more than whatever they are selling,
Good God, something in this life must have value.
I need to know this.
So I’ve been out looking for it,
But we are at war,
The people are always at war,
because peace is for the birds,
(or so they say)
Yet I always step on land mines,
By now, they’ve blown off my hands
& also my feet.
So, I can no longer touch,
& I, sure as hell,
cannot run.

You know, my lungs just may burst.
Patience tastes like a barb-wire
in the back of my mouth.

No matter those sprawling views,
& the ever static landscapes,
I am starting to forget what
it feels like to have a home,
(as if before, I truly knew that,
I don’t think I did
but you know,
the mind has ways
of making things feel
softer in retrospect.)

In this way,
I miss what I’ve never had.
I am still so eager to taste
the fruit of a tree,
I’m coming to understand,
grows nowhere.
& so I’m going to rest my bones
Along with the other dead idealists:
somewhere between complacency &
blood that runs ice-cold.

(Do you think that dreams can rot ?
Or do they only ever petrify?)
May 2014 · 437
drinks outside at 1 pm
La Jongleuse May 2014
Open your brain my love,
have just one more to sip,
I like how you close your
eyes & tremble those lips

She murmured: mind yourself,
what matters always rots,
what they insist I need
can never hit the spot

Leaning against cold stone,
and licking backs of glass,
I’m hungry for love as
she splinters my fleshy mass

These things that they’re selling,
on big billboards, in glances,
only ever half as full,
as these drunken romances
May 2014 · 393
to & fro
La Jongleuse May 2014
The women sit amongst one another,
speaking of hands and plans,
whilst I myself remain anchored to a chair,
using my own to tug on what remains of my thinning hair.
This is why I lick the back of my teeth
and this is why I cannot speak.

I am above wondering
what a life contains:
the moments of swallowed words,
lost dreams and particles of dust,
gutted & compacted
lightly calicified in my spine.
My mind, captive since that time
when my flesh was still peachlike
& ******.
How it flies forth,
How I lie back.

The charade progresses,
I swallow.
Still hollow, with the hallows of being.
Those hands the women revere,
dizzy my head.
Apr 2014 · 329
Mar 2014 · 432
La Jongleuse Mar 2014
I cannot help but remember
that things got awfully sad,
the day you began sleeping
around the clock.

I was never one for time
but then again, I found
myself sitting alone
in the yellow kitchen,
wondering if you would
find the courage to climb out of bed.

Once it was midnight,
I salivated and began
to dream of railroads
and the places they could take me
if only I could stop counting
and forget the way
you left
the stove, barren.

That was the first time
I knew hunger intimately
and then for years,
I would taste forgiveness,
chewing it over and over
until I finally could take
no more, throwing it up,
in the hope that I would
find answers in my emptiness.

But the clarity never came
in that way and I stopped
looking to others to make me whole.
I ran and ran so far
that I forgot about to think
about you and your weight
yet I know it slept in my spine:
the Pavlovian response
of procuring the void
I so desperately wished to comprehend.

My body took me
to the places I dreamt of
that night when I was a
ravenous girl,
You always told me I was beautiful
but I felt maybe
that I was too much.
I tried to shrink down so that
only my mind remained
but I’m two parts mad,
so at least I know I’m made
of something.
Mar 2014 · 1.0k
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
Mar 2014 · 339
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
Mar 2014 · 429
the back room
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.
Mar 2014 · 494
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
Feb 2014 · 1.5k
Elysian economics
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,
Feb 2014 · 348
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
Feb 2014 · 573
La Jongleuse Feb 2014
the rhythm
and teeth
I thought,
it pacifies,
so quickly.

see now
how tightly,
our arms
have been
tied behind
our backs
(and it was
us who
the cord)

and yet,
i flail my tongue
hoping to
trap a square
that could
all that
sad acid
rotting in
your gut

of the brain
and even
less of
the heart

but I feel
to reach out
Feb 2014 · 468
be gentle
La Jongleuse Feb 2014
(you tell me that happiness exists
and I beg you to allow me
a few moments, to dissolve
those smiles plastered on that
family portrait you hang so proudly)

Exhibit A:
a medecine cabinet full of pills,
and a woman whose throat is a bit too loose,
whose head is a bit too woozy,
from trying to erase those 10 odd years,
when her uncle knew the insides,
her legs better than he knew his wife’s,

Have you seen
the man who prays too hard,
for redemption at some backwoods’ altar,
begging God and all those who witness
for forgiveness of sins he has yet to commit ?
He has forgotten how to sleep,
pacing and chasing far too many a dream over a hill.

Find next,
in a girl whose body feels like space,
forever bending over her knees,
to pull that monumental trigger
lying at the back of her empty throat.
that boom-boom, flash of violent thrashing
and a quiet flushing of the toilet
She never could quite remove what felt so heavy

Turn your eyes up the stairs,
to a nervous women who runs
a scalding bath, hoping that
maybe if her skins burns hot enough,
then she’ll be washed of all that
hellish responsiblity, submerging
the animal circus in her that’ll
paint her tombstone peasant anti-ghost

allow me a moment to clarify:
not all that lies at the surface
speaks to the distance
a soul can travel through time,
allow me a moment to make
an exhibition of struggle
and remind you that
nothing is ever quite what it seems
Feb 2014 · 763
i can see you struggling
La Jongleuse Feb 2014
your disorder and depression aren’t ****,
and I do not admire the way your nails
have disappeared, nor the way your
hand pratically clutches that half-empty mug of beer.

know that i find you pretty ugly
with that inebriated smile
slurring about your cowardly mouth,
swerving along the tight lanes of your lips.

nobody can stand to believe anymore
that there is depth inside your eyes.
You cry trenches, insisting like a hungry fool,
Abyss, I retort, empty, shaking black hole

gobble, gobble, chug, chug
you listen to the same sad songs on repeat
proud, like they were your signature fragrance
just know that you reek of desperation

There is absolutely nothing courageous
about your endless consumption,
yet you somehow continue
to bite the hand that feeds

i imagine you should wish
to starve to death, so go on.
but stop ******* other skeletons dry
and quit hanging around until last call

(unless it really is that you are simply
trying to douse that flame that makes you
a firefly in august, in which case i say
burn yourself to the ******* ground)
Jan 2014 · 1.2k
pretty patience
La Jongleuse Jan 2014
In a haven of cotton and chiming clocks,
I whisper to you that there will be time
& time again, to talk of our troubles
that hang around like ghosts
in the back of an empty apartment.

You leave empty jars
scattered amongst the books
and unlikely photos that remove you
from the stiffling four walls
you’ve come to call home.

You dream of certain travel
in faraway lands where
they do not speak your tongue,
whilst your own, buzzes and breaks
like electric cables in a summer storm.

I have precisely one thousand questions,
and a hunger to know what haunts
you when you are left to your mind
and it’s scheming devices
but I find the back of your hand
too soft to think of anything but touching.

I taste your lips on the back of my neck,
not knowing whether my body trembles
because of the night’s intruding cold
or rather that I am anxious
for this velvet moment to last,
having never felt such tender thoughts

Your emerald eyes scream urgency,
and I whisper to you that there will be time
& time again to talk of our troubles
La Jongleuse Jan 2014
I sat beneath you,
when your colors were fading,
in the dusty autumn
of thoughts and songs
you burried in the sand.

Furry, amber tracks of absent vines,
outlining the spine I had only dreamt of
Cowardice and missing chlorophyl,
I hoped to dizzy myself,
chasing the rings of your voice

I friviouslessly kissed the wrinkles
that gathered around your eyes
like ridges do that of a tree's bark.
I caught falling leaves
and told myself the spring
would soon return
whilst you rotted from the inside-out.
Jan 2014 · 813
it's january again
La Jongleuse Jan 2014
I kissed a boy out of sheer timidness.
He tasted like salt and bad decisions.
I held her hand tightly when she said
she was going to terminate the pregnancy.
I’ve got 25 years beneath my belt
and I still have yet to tell you how I feel,
every time your eyes grace my field of vision,
rather, I mean, everytime your name
graces my ears, I gulp deep breaths of
I hope he hasn’t forgotten me

But that is what you said,
It was goodbye, if my memory
doesn’t fail me,
oh yet, it fails me
for I’ve swallowed everything
this earth has to offer
and I still cannot erase your new wave voice
and I’m no sponge,
but you, I’ve soaked to the bone.
There is no fancy wine to erase,
there is no jazz band,
to take me back a few years,
rewind and forget,
the way you made me feel
like I had been some sort of mute
audience, clinging to the end of
a long-dead television show.
Indeed, I felt you more of a
leading man, than some shiny fool
with bright teeth in some 1960’s commerical.

I refuse to utter the 2 syllables
that call you forth, a spell.
I’ve forgotten how to swallow
and you’ve forgotten how to spell.
We are lost in paradise and
I am not sure I wish to leave.

I repeat, it takes 3 years
It really does, but I haven’t the patience
nor the mind to wait.
I swim in shallow depths,
but you’re no savoir and I’m sure
you’d let me drown

This face is too pretty
to be spent be scraped off
of some cement ground
in the middle of a dog-day summer
when I’ve still got a skeleton of calcium
and a chest full of oxytocin
to spread amongst another
like rancid butter
on old bread.

They say  *I love you
Where are you beautiful? *
I am lost in the cosmos,
calling your name,
to a dead audience of
long deceased stars.

I will come back for seconds,
Feed on these remainders,
for my mind is among the heavens
and my heart is beating inside of
La Jongleuse Jan 2014
I thought you a foreign king
as your body spoke
some awfully powerful
dead language

Now, you are far, far away
like the ocean
to be conquered
in a landlocked town

To be fair,
I once built a boat,
but desire no more,
to go out to sea.

They told me
to trust time,
so I courted the clock
waiting for the hour

what has been
between you & me,
was just incidental, ephemeral

From bruises to burgundy,
Amongst the letters and the lies,
I feel you shrink
How did I ever afford you so much space?
La Jongleuse Jan 2014
It’s only ever once
I’m inside the box
of your mind
that my tongue turns
misty blue
and in small whispers,
I pass away,
dying in some nonchalant way.
Oh how the days race on by
and how you pretend not to notice
that I’ve got my eagle eyes on you.

Easy shells,
we’ve made a mockery
of legitimate feelings
but I cannot deny such vraisemblance

You are a beach
in September,
or a summer in
rigor mortis.
I think we were both dead
when we met,
only just beginning to beg for rebirth
and I brought you maps of no-man’s land
so now here we are

Stuck in the mud
of a pneumonatic love.
I will always be the coughing Queen of Anomie
and you’ve still yet to unleash
your lungs.
Jan 2014 · 590
new foundling
La Jongleuse Jan 2014
I was born twice,
once when the moon
was burning up
and then again,
when you whispered
my name for the first time.

I pressed a flower
in a book
to mark the date
when you hung
words, lost
somewhere in
my shelter.

I felt then
for the first time
since I took that
primordial breath
and  lungs expanded,
I was hoping
you’d stay.

They say,
all that glitters is not gold
but your new wave voice
sent shivers down my spine
and I spent
what seemed like
an eternity
trying to shed my skin.

But then,
I was nothing
if not a bundle
of nerves & ashes
and you let me
Mind the door,
lest it hit in you on the way out
Jan 2014 · 829
Vacuum, Vacoule
La Jongleuse Jan 2014
Your mouth is usually dry,
I’m sure an incubus
sleeps in your gut.

You were, at first,
a twilight ride
on a stormy night,
unprecedented submission
I confronted in autumn

I place your tender brutality
in the very back
of my medicine cabinet.

Amongst the radio and drug deals,
I lost my will to speak
You saw my sure hands
do all of the talking

There is contact
and then none at all.

The spectators cry
Plot ! Affection ! ****** !
But I play a probe
and you embody a shell

There is crescendo in your throat,
a cloud of static air in mine.
It is the punctual friction
that provokes combustion
yet there is nothing
about your face or history
that compels me to
douse myself in gasoline.
La Jongleuse Jan 2014
I’ve been lying awake,
suffocated in plastic,
in the wooden vessel,
the people from town,
have left for the dead.

In my sunlit sleep,
I allow my eyes to roll
into the back of my head.
I spend the time dreaming
and poisoning what Tender
remains inside of my heart.

When I was younger,
it was never a duel.
My mind was home to singular thoughts
I was never playing ping-pong
with the mirror.
But now, I suppose it’s all I do.

You could say that I once knew thirsty color
but I’ll admit I’ve grown to forget
It was dragged out of me.
I once was pretty.
I no longer am.
But this is how they want me to be.

So I, myself became a
lazy Snow White,
paralyzed and possessed by
the emotional Fascists
and their ardent marching
which has made a doormat
of the monumental feelings
I once sheltered.
Dec 2013 · 1.1k
La Jongleuse Dec 2013
No, I let them come & go,
consistently riding that
endless wave of ephemerality.
Parade on in,
Provoke! Provoke!
I’ve got hours upon hours
to spend, delicately tracing
the hopes & hard-ons of young men.

By midnight, the cathartic compostion
is unravelling or rotting
& I’ve got my hand
down his pants,
hoping to call forth that
Saint-Lazarus sleeping at my core

Oh yes but how I do like you so,
said I, drowning in clouds
& flying through the bottoms of
sticky plastic cups
It wasn’t the truth
but God knows, I wasn’t lying

I would love to love you
I get utterly intoxicated
when you let me swallow your smile,
whilst you’re sleeping in my eyes.

It’s just that,
I only know to project my dreams
and lie awake,
melting beneath the cowardly heat.
Oh it lives on, the stiffling tension
of a fool with a thousand feelings
and a limited vocabulary.

I must admit
there isn’t much beauty to be found
as I left my courage far behind,
in spring,
in a bedroom,
inside some other vacuole of desperation
and he fed it to the birds.

These days,
my declarations are dosed,
I keep my tongue on a leash
and my chest begets a cage.
I crawl inside my mind
and close many a door.
La Jongleuse Nov 2013
Young man
Words tumble out of your mouth,
Please, show some restraint

The bitter gave birth
to budding trees and
now I’ve come to know
the color of anguish.

Oh,how now,it tastes so shiny,
like iron, 100 shades of silver
Your lips are burning like a shell.
but I simply cannot fill you.

Love, you already know this,
I suppose this is why,
in your mind’s eye,
You see me folding neatly into your box.

Don’t bend me,
I won’t break.
Springboards or slinkies,
The bounce will bruise your baby-face.

Teeth, flesh, scars and pupils,
You expand and gasp for air,
feeding the fire.
I fear it may engulf you entirely.

I have no roots.
Clip my feathers,
Cover my eyes.
I could salt your garden.

Have you ever seen glass shatter ?

You’re stepping over me,
head fixed towards the sky.
All while staring straight through my skull,
and telling me I’m beautiful

But you won’t even look at me
Nov 2013 · 505
break & enter
La Jongleuse Nov 2013
You keep your feelings
locked away in closets
on the 2nd floor of
the house you were raised in.

You hang your anger
on brass doorknobs,
tossed on display

It’s been a decade since
a pair of lips graced your own
and now, you never feel
quite at ease.

The candles in your bones
are flickering.
Soon the windows on your face
will melt.

But you must see that these days
as there is dust collecting on the mirror
and all your razors have grown dull
You keep sweeping in circles

I asked you to love yourself
while waiting for the arrival
of those guests for whom
you left open the front door

But then again, you’ve haven’t
yet invited anyone in
and certainly, as you remind me,
nobody will ever come knocking

So who will be there to make you feel at home?
Nov 2013 · 817
La Jongleuse Nov 2013
It takes all I have within me
not to give in to the vibrations
that throw me against the wall
saying, lick the residue of salt
that coats the back of his neck
like the condensation of a room
that we could bring to a boil.

It takes some serious restraint
to keep me from tossing aside
all abandon, shouting put
your hands on me and make
maps of pleasure dribble
out of my neglected body.
I’d return the favor in an instant.

Call it dual exploration.
Oh, I’m swelling and aching
hoping to provoke the tension
quivering on the line.
I want to taste your flavors
as they pour out of you.
I’m starving for so much more
than what this safety provides.

Let’s :
Pulverise the precedent.
Run with risk.
Rebel, revel with me
Split my thighs where they part.
Grow where you will.
Spill some swollen ***.
Pop me like a pin.
Sweat, swallow, breath
with absent eyes.
Be ferocious.
Whisper then scream.

I would do the same
and explode.
Feeling my heart rattle my chest.
La Jongleuse Nov 2013
There are stars in his eyes,
and a knife in his hands,

He never felt so heavy
with that perrenial void.

So he’ll swallow all he can
in desperate & deliberate gasps

He’s made himself sloppy,
swaying and stupefied,
saying justify my pathetic effort
or I’ll cut you open
and take what pieces I need.

He just can’t leave empty-handied,
God forbid, he lose face by asking.
*I’ll cut you open little thing
and show you the color of vacancy.
Nov 2013 · 646
String along
La Jongleuse Nov 2013
so you pose that question
and yes, i feel quite well
what exactly were you expecting?

that I still be molting my petals
like some relentless flower
under an anonymous summer heat?

i think i’ve drank ‘til my thirst,
swallowed raindrops whole.
For which, I itched from the roots.

But these days, in a somber autumn
a passing, capricious wind
won’t ******* down.

I’ve got hands of my own
and I’ve been keeping them to myself
Sleep alone & let the dreams invade.

It’s enough to keep me alive.
And I still dance in the train.
I still gulp the eyes of strangers.

(none of which sparkle,
but I can see more than a face)
"Hold me, hug me, love me"

I don’t say it much more
'cause there's no use in asking
People only give what they’re looking for
Nov 2013 · 1.1k
so what
La Jongleuse Nov 2013
It’s constant battle between your mind and your chest.
Which one is holding the reigns?
That’s easy enough to know -which one is buzzing more ?
Are your ribs rattling or is your head swollen?
Can you not think straight or have you got blinders over your eyes?
Maybe both?

Have you let your feelings taint your thoughts?
Have you too sweat through sleepless nights
courting delusion, tasting insanity on your tongue?
Have you mumbled "well at least, I feel alive"
Did you feel ashamed of this authenticity?
Have you bargained for meaning?

Did "but I love him" tickle your teeth time & time again?
Were you screaming inside…?
Did your skull tell you to shut the **** up?
and did you listen? Could you?

Did you let your desire die?
Did you forget that feeling?
(***, primal, I crave intimacy
Adorn me with your burdens
Feed me what makes you alive
I am human too!)
Could he not see it?
Was this vulnerability not beautiful enough?

Did you beg one last time?
Just once more.
Love me, love me.
I’m carrying dust in my chest.
I’m composed of particles of me and you.

I was full of feelings, naked sentiments
that brought meaning to the electromagnetic field.
I saw it all for once, burning my perceptive orbs.
And then I gave up.
I gouged out my ******* eyes
Traitors, betrayal to the brain!

Did you empty out?
Did you carry a heavy void about for a month or two?
Does it still sting to stare?
Did you cower to complacencey,
bowing down to the boring humdrums of I’m okay ?

You know what I’m talking about.
Keep that beating heart in it’s place, lest it overwhelm your brain.
Don’t let them meet up because God knows, united they’ll stand
and divided you’ll fall.
Nov 2013 · 441
La Jongleuse Nov 2013
I grew up,
upside down in a place
where numbers
reigned supreme.

Who are you?
I grabbled for words
and they responded
quantify little girl

Well okay : 16, 27 inches,
a 95 percent,
45 miles per hour,
in the 5 signs of a zip code

I never felt as if my sequence
meant anything really,
what about volume?
Measure up or move on they insisted

As the people paced
back & forth, palms open,
putting their digits on display,
I counted the number of empty faces.

Their pockets are blooming green,
Their houses, the envy of the Jones,
& yet they hide 10 something-odd pills
in the back of a medicine cabinet to hypnotize

Now, they don’t yet know there is no
divine ratio for satisfaction
and the number that matters most
is the one they’ll put on your grave
Nov 2013 · 899
Copper & Distance
La Jongleuse Nov 2013
These days, there’s a whole lot more than
a telephone wire separating us.
Blame yourself, you were beautiful.
I cannot handle such intensity in
small doses, like hard shots in tiny glasses.

That sort of proof just finds
me spilling my insides on the floor
of some rich fool’s apartment
in the lonely 7th district.

He came on too strong
I said ok, but no
Call me a cab
I’m no longer sad and he won’t make me happy.
So I’m leaving if it’s only his hands that are open.

I feel as if I left my old mind
backstage in the concert
of a spring that tried too hard
to be a winter.  

I didn’t say goodbye,
it just left.
& I don’t miss it,
that season where I played the pilot fish.

The endless rain and grey skies
kept us all trapped in boxes,
well above & well beneath
the sidewalks that almost
seemed to cry.
I drank my weight in liquid
to keep it from spilling out of my eyes.

From a bird’s eye,
I suppose the streets bled together
like last night’s make-up does
on a Puritanical ******’s face
when she swallows horror and shame
at 8 am, riding the train home.
Her throat burns and the line
just keeps on buzzing.

You can’t play with fire and not get burnt.
I thought myself the Phoenix,
but I was blind.
What you ingest, you expulse.
Indeed, in the end, it was me who retched all the ashes

I once said I was melancholic
and knew black was the best color
because I thought it held depth.
But there weren’t ever any holes, just shadows
dancing to a dreary song that
I never really even wanted to sing.
I let it sing me, nonetheless.

So life goes on.
I crawl forth.
You fold and move on.
The past falls asleep inside of our skulls.
I still see a thousand faces when I dream,
but now that’s enough for me.
Nov 2013 · 868
Halting rotation at 2 am
La Jongleuse Nov 2013
I chose, well before the poison set in.
No, not this time. Shut that door.
In the darkness, I chewed my thoughts,
Palpable question, **** those old ideas.
They burnt out fast but I did much quicker.

Told myself to take warmth
beneath some other shelter,
because I ached down to the bone.
Yet I was too busy stifling the moan
Radiating from my gut.
Swallow, stare, shall I part my hair?

Fiddling with my fingers-
a child’s pantomime
At least I dare to speak
but I’m no longer at home
and not a soul
my language.

I bent my head on the ride back.
Dragging my neck, crooked in delusional defeat,
my glances traced trash the metro floor
afraid the people were staring daggers at the surface.
Indeed, somewhere a light bulb did burst
but I was already making my way up the stairs
so the shards were at a distance
I escaped unscathed

I chose well, before the poison set in,
No not this time, I shut that door
In the darkness, I slept alone
Pas de question, **** that history
I give heed to dosing & remain alight
Nov 2013 · 510
the Catalyst
La Jongleuse Nov 2013
We laughed, we spoke.
I drank your ideas like a parched man on a dog-day afternoon.
We laughed.
You spoke, spilling “life is one big joke” to passers-by
I laughed, we drank,
I fell, you pulled.
We drank, we fell,
I pushed, you pulled.

We fell asleep at dawn.
I cursed my alarm clock.
We drank, we ran,
I tripped, you jumped.
We bathed my body covered in bruises.
He left, they left.
I slept, I cried.  
You called, I confided,
your mouth remained shut.

We laughed, still.
We drank in lonely streets,
licking bottoms like we were empty
We ran, we tripped.
We slept still at dawn.
You pushed, I fell.
You pulled, I slept.
I split apart.
I left.
You stayed: laughing, drinking, screaming, jumping, pulling.

You pull.
I push.
You scream.
I speak.
You cry.
I run.
You drink.
I sleep.
You call.
I call you
the Catalyst.

"Life is one big joke"
but no,
no, it’s not.
La Jongleuse Oct 2013
Excuse me,
but sometimes my teeth feel tight
as if the space between weren’t space enough
It’s not,
It never is at night.
Excuse me for speaking freely
but I think I’ve earned the right.
I think
I’ve earned the right

Let’s just be honest here.
Let me just tell the truth for once
More often than not, I feel confused.

I grow impatient,
when my phone doesn’t ring,
when your name begins to sound far away,
but I won’t ever call you
and even speaking about you makes me feel *****,
like my tongue just finished tracing the some rotten peach fuzz.

(I’m allergic to pit-fruits but I love the taste,
I love
when the juice falls from my lips
then my skin turns red and I itch.
It makes me feel special
but then again I’m stupid)

Don’t spit in the left-over soup.
Oh but I do
Don’t bite the hand that feeds.
Oh but I do

I’ve got two plants in my room
but I can’t bring myself to
water them.
I just leave them under the sun,
hoping they’ll stay green
and grow.
It wasn’t me who put them there to begin with
so don’t act as if it’s my fault when they die.

I ask myself, aloud,
then silently
over and over
why can I not walk down the stairs,
why can I not check the mailbox,
why is that bottle of milk you bought
still rotting alone in my fridge?

I’m not responsible if I didn’t act
but nothing occurs if I don’t.

Christ, I curse myself.
Be a woman,
not a girl,
Go, go out in the world
and stop living in your head.
La Jongleuse Oct 2013
You were left open
dusty, a bit tattered
like a book that has
spent too many days
on some forgotten shelf

I like to think
I was gentle

I like to think
I made an effort

I swallowed
what I could
& fell 5 stories to your spine

Could you feel my hands
as I turned the page ?

I skipped to the end.

I certainly missed
the ******,
and never got the plot

Oh but I feel regret
for my impatience

You slammed shut.
I had papercuts
on the tips of my fingers

despite the words on pages,
the volumes read,
I feel only ever illiterate
Aug 2013 · 794
tellement absurde
La Jongleuse Aug 2013
on a scale of one to one-hundred,
no, one to one-thousand,
your lips tasted like cinnamon
Brought heavy feelings below my waist
til I thought I just might explode
Call orange the new numerals
and red the better alphabet
say A B C then 1 2 3
sickly sticky and sweet
Doughy flesh that melts in summer heat
How many moments does it take
to burn pasta on the stove ?
Enough for me to get up and watch you go
Aug 2013 · 578
reality pt 2
La Jongleuse Aug 2013
I dreamt
& in this dream,
I was happy.

Rivers flowed,
& the magnetic
poles of the earth
were not switching

Things were calm.

I should have known
a storm was afoot.

I dreamt
& in this dream,
you appeared.

Pinching me
at the waist
as you always did.

With those shining white
American teeth.
& those laughing eyes
Laughing, smoking, complaining.

Come back to me
Come back to me

You made me want to swim upstream
despite having already smoothed over
one hundred thousand river rocks.

I dreamt
& in this dream
we were happy.

It was but a dream, I know
Aug 2013 · 466
La Jongleuse Aug 2013
If the world weren’t divided
by the East and the West,
I’d be able to tell you that
my love was endless
Like habitual summer rains
that eclipse the afternoon sky

Maybe I’d be more a storm
and less a drizzle
Maybe I’d rattle your windows
and leak in through the roof
But I’m forever collecting as drops
as the morning dew does year-round

But as the world turns
So does my mind
And I wouldn’t ask for it to halt
I wouldn’t dare to ask
Aug 2013 · 1.2k
La Jongleuse Aug 2013
Oh this felt-lined heart,
with all that cotton bloom filling
maybe I’ve grown some soft once again

In time, the mossy dank dark
shrunk as if the sun exploded
& chased down its rentless rays

Think of the hands of the clock
Thinking of his hands
& all that empty tenderness

The thing about exploding
is that no one puts you back together
& ragdoll courage will be all you’ve got
Aug 2013 · 1.0k
this is easy
La Jongleuse Aug 2013
And there we were,
just the same
Metal hooks, green leaves,
& doors that don’t shut
you left yours’ wide-open!
So I walked right in…
I don’t need a key after all

On the walls,
of a delapidated city home hung
atlases & art
Memories taste sweeter in ink.
You want to put a map of Buenes Aires
on your body
I said your belly
& made you laugh

I like the way your smile
reaches the corners of
your ember amber eyes.
It dances about the ledges of your lips
Soft & corporal Hermes of oxytocin
You light up, oh well I do too

Fireflies, summer heat
blades of grass & midnight dips
in shallow pools of abandonned hotels
In the gentle release of a humane kindness
I remembered that it’s a falling
& not a pushing that we’re all after

sing to me
tell me your secrets
feed me beets & chardes
brown sugar
leave your window open all night
I’ll love you in the morning
Jul 2013 · 1.0k
La Jongleuse Jul 2013
On a Sunday afternoon, in the city,
I sat on your porch watching,
a panicked papillon dance about
(that means butterfly in French, boo)

You were running back & forth
Smiling, slamming doors & saying
it’s hot, but I sweat through
& I said, good ‘cause I like *****

So you ride your bike & keep a garden
but you don’t put your money in the bank
& I think that’s quite foolish
what about inflation my dear?

so you love cheese but you don’t drink milk
& you won’t ever fall in love
because you reckon you’d get too fed-up
with their complexities & mazes

well me neither I said, but
you stole those words from my mouth
& I have a hard time believing you
when “baby" seems to be your favorite word

You’re always saying the things I expect
& it’s what I’ve always wanted to hear
yet the simplicity is suffocating
& I’m somehow just as easy as you

& last night, when we were lying
in your room, on a bare mattress
Under the heat, I wondered if the words
pathetic,easy & empty circled your mind too

I wondered if you wondered why
we were already using terms of endearment,
why they came without effort or care, or
why we laugh & lock eyes in a week’s time

And you said you never sang aloud,
but in a moment I heard your voice tracing lyrics
& I said that’s really quite sad
& you said it’s only emotions; count yourself among the few

What an honor, what a privilege

I thought maybe we’re both lying to ourselves
& maybe you feel kinda lonely too
only because I’ve said the same before

You said I noticed that you
don’t listen to me when I speak

but then again you’re always telling stories
and I am but a woman & you are but a man

I thought I’d want to touch your feet
You reached out to hold my hand
But there’ll be distance to maintain &
I know better than to get any closer

We split asleep, turning our backs
towards mirroring walls, space enough
I dreamt I lost a lung & when I awoke
we were tangled up like ivy on ruins

This paradox ****** my mind
& I’ve been silent ever since I left you,
standing on the sidewalk
with cold coffee in your hands

*When do you leave, again?
Soon, soon enough.
Good, good, get excited.
The city is melting but I’ll see you soon
Jul 2013 · 505
La Jongleuse Jul 2013
she spoke softly,
in a low growling whisper,
dripping with the twang
of a proper young lady,

her hands folded,
neatly in her lap,
clutching one another
with a white-knuckle grip...

She held her head heavily,
like that of a neglected orchid,
as she said, rather composedly,
"I'll hear nothing of that"
Jul 2013 · 990
La Jongleuse Jul 2013
The way things were when
sunlight started to terrorize the morning
and then eventually, the evening sky.
My chest thumped at a glacial pace.
A slow hibernating thaw.
Those days I slept quite easily
whilst my mind ran away with the time.
Taking time with clowns & thieves alike.
Sponges indeed, sponges after all.
You crept in one night, hanging moons beneath your eyes.
I had exploded.
I closed.
On the loom, black lace then white cotton.
In my room, a screaming then a humming.
Cigarettes scattered the floor like sacrifices to some distant deity.
Who must have heard my prayers.
Something about all your silence
threw blankets on my lungs
and off my bed.
In your youth,
I feel soft.
Joy, I want more
Jul 2013 · 357
1 am
La Jongleuse Jul 2013
I dreamt it was one o’clock,
and  that you loved me.
I dreamt there were people
in empty streets, then sheets,
tasting one another as if
the twirling world
had come to a halt.
Jul 2013 · 622
La Jongleuse Jul 2013
une semaine serpentine,

des pommes empoisonnées pendent d’un arbre perché,

j’en ai mangé jusqu’à la rupture,

et puis sept soleils sont morts, l’un après l’autre,

mais l’horloge ne s’en est pas rendu compte

et depuis

des poussières ont envahi ma poitrine,

ce qu’il y avait avant, je ne sais plus,

mais je n’arrive plus respirer …

mes poumons sont gonflées par une fumée noire

pendant qu’une brume funèbre m’enveloppe le cerveau

et ces jours-ci je n’avale que mes larmes

peut-être ….

quand je ne serai plus qu’un squelette,

je pourrai disparaître en toute tranquillité

de cette terre étrange

où les bêtes parlent à l’envers dans une langue inconnue

entre-temps, j’avale la mienne dans l’espoir de m’étouffer

d’où vient l’homme primordial

d’où vient cette femme lâche
Jul 2013 · 3.8k
La Jongleuse Jul 2013
******* has no calories

yet it keeps you from dreams

& sometimes i feel that i may never fall asleep

& other times, I feel that I may never awake
Jul 2013 · 496
Slash & Burn
La Jongleuse Jul 2013
Wrists exposed, I bled for months on end
Hoping maybe you’d put a stop to the leak
But that day never came and my suspicions
confirmed that maybe all that seeping black came from you …

As time passed, your words grew sharper, like knives
Bull’s eye of my chest, your aim was off
I’d known had I not fragmented my mirror
Sometimes feelings make clouds of my mind

In fields, where beautiful things once were born,
In fields, where I slept and dreamt endless dreams,
Battles ravaged on and all that greenery shed its surreal color
Those fields now salted dead by an eternal cascade

Before you lay yourself down,
check once, twice, thrice
that you’re not sleeping with the enemy
and that he has got a pulse
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