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 Jun 2012 Lee Turpin
Pen Lux
consumption
play
consumption
sleep
in the moments between
I'm not sure if this is a dream or reality.
a greeting from someone I thought I'd lost
and my heart bounds forward.
you look different.

how could I forget such a face?
how could I lose it?

was mine too overlapping in anxiety to notice the kindness in yours?

time has given chances
I'm not sure how many of them were wasted in weakness.
decisions to move on, move out,
and then forward.
I miss seeing you smile.
To me it seemed that you laughed and kissed me for everything, but it was probably a mistaken impression, a
result of shock!
wonder!

Could you imagine my surprise,
how it could be unexpected?
How often is the soul’s desire met?
I can recall not ever, ne’er, near naught
save in amniotic baptism, had every
object subject—every ancient tissue
attended by an enzyme—every ray of
sun snuck between the blouse’s buttons,
around my mother’s *******, and
divined upon me was let there been.
I cut myself following consciousness
with my longest fingernail, did laugh
too convulsed, tickled by light did induce my birth;
I cried (they’ll confirm this), I
wept to rob my mother herself, so it seemed,
inhaled the endless time and limitless space.
You can imagine my surprise then
with your covered mouth at my joke.

To me it seemed as if I had body again, hadn’t had a hand to grasp, hadn’t a hand with to grasp; then,
like had putty-gilded muscles earthed
unearthed, did.

Have you ever seen creation?—
well, yes, of course, it did not except you.
As close to ex nihilo as your patience can manage
you would have seen the time and space
repel each other in a nail’s length
of chaos, Fiat Vita, about which there’s little to be said.
My patience breaks in breath, Fiat Lux: when
time and space colors the light and refracts
the matrix and gives fire to my soul for a body.
Rilke writes, “Every Angel is terror,” which we
love, “because it calmly disdains to destroy us.”
I know! I know! I bite my nails penitent still.
And my patience does extend yet further, still within;
before my birth following it:

Look! I can open you this door,
give you that,
carry you thus far,
lead you here,
can reach your smiling mouth
with a terrorized will to kiss withal!
I can endure as the “arrow endures the bow”;
as all matter collapses upon itself in effort to grasp itself,
so it does to grasp all itself in one grand handful;
as atrophy takes me from you as quickly as I give you it,
I am surprised to find that I have retained all of you;
not expecting that you might have hid me, too, where
I would overlook, where only you could go, where
the light silhouettes, for me can just stop breathing.
I can see without patience—as much as light allows
and just as long.
 Dec 2011 Lee Turpin
beth winters
i carry your bones
the sad smooth curve of your ribs

i cleansed what was left of you under the tide
i'm back. the site is different and i'm needing a change. my style's a little different, and i haven't been writing a lot.

bantling, n. a very young child.
 Dec 2011 Lee Turpin
beth winters
a finger in my mouth:
rough sound from above,
from somewhere in the dark.

my skin wrinkles,
sags around these heavy joints.
i am so much noise.

evening dawns
my hands wander,
unsure of their purpose.
 May 2011 Lee Turpin
Pen Lux
I hold you         closer
                         (in thought). you're a dream (a memory).
alone: you are my bedroom criticism.
I hate: when you're afraid to kiss me
(with pickles on my breath) "I hate you"
you     in the same exhaustion
             as walking up stairs.  
give me confidence
give me pudding
             tell me secrets
             tell me lies
show me hunger
show me face (your face)
               buried under the sheets
               hidden in shadow, laying in snow.
vinegar's ringing. pick up.
                                      "I'm not good at this." (your shadow)
"It's morning, what are you planning to say?"  "Can we do this another time?"
                                      "I'm not good at this."
vinegar's tired.
                                            hang up.

I stared at you for hours                "I don't know what to say."
"you're beautiful when you                don't know what to say."
                                        "make me laugh."
the things you said: "please" "go to sleep"
                                                                ­  I'll tell you more tomorrow.
 May 2011 Lee Turpin
Pen Lux
"I don't want you to love anyone else but me,"
Lips scabbing at the idea of saying out loud:
I write it down.
beauty
           the way your legs bleed when you shave
           and how young you are
                                                   when it's time to say sorry.
Madison Gregory, I waited for you.
you told me your name like you meant it
you told me your name because I told you mine
Madison Gregory, you don't exist.
                                                      I'm afraid because I talk to you
because I think of you
                                    killing me with thunder
                                    killing me with touch
stop me from being tender
stop me from being myself
you're so dark, your head turned away
backwards                                              you whisper
                                                         ­       and stutter
repeating the name your mother gave you
repeating: "Jesus" (about everything) "Jesus"
                    "I'm sorry" (about everything) "I'm sorry"                        
you look perfect. don't      
                              say sorry (about anything).
as your mother: I forgot about you when you went to school
                              but I still made dinner when you got home.
i positioned my hair so that it wouldn't part in the wind or when I kissed you.
it made sense at the time to be enamored of something imaginary, i caught fish between my teeth and used toothpaste to get it out, used your fingernail to spread the minty flavor.
I told you lies so that you wouldn't touch me, but it was sad and unnecessary in the end
cold, without skin, i am only something you remember
and I parted my hair so that you could touch it.

the feeling of having you back in my arms,
the feeling of having you back inside of me,
I touched your scent with kisses until you fell numb,
having a seizure of joy in your mind.
i couldn't taste any remorse, but you were always good at hiding those sorts of things, and socks.

you can't hide feelings between the sheets
so we slept in separate beds and had separate dreams.
I wasn't sure why you cried at night,
and you weren't sure why I slept with earplugs
touching, but never feeling
used books on repair
second-hand gifts
back up plans
love
'i'm still nervous' when the phone rang
and i let things become silent so i may better understand my own breathing patterns (this will continue)

but what is it that i've convinced myself now?
that some form of being is greater?


a friend told me she was "lost
in between one feeling and another"(not much space, is there?)
and i told her i knew what that felt like(but i didn't until now)
she let her coffee get cold speaking.

ask me something, anything, and i will know how to answer
sometimes it isn't until you're honest with others
that you can be honest with yourself.

i'm not sure what there is to understand about this
(i'm only rolling credits)
i can't seem to place my focus on something tangible
(everybody cries sometimes)
you won't be able to change my mind
(just hold me)
you understand my impulses too softly
(it's better if i'm alone)
we are experimenting, but our safety goggles are getting in the way
(sorry for being so intrusive, abrupt)
we are touching, but our clothes are getting in the way
(i'm too cold)

i am asking you what is beautiful about this
what is beautiful about being here or anywhere or nowhere with you
how can two people or even one feel so much
i am asking you why it is so frightening to be lost
and why it is so hard to just lose myself

i wish i could fall asleep in your arms every night, where
i can be comfortable, and wake up
to your eyes each
morning, where

Everything is nothing when I am with you.
I know you have feather eyelashes and that your scars make me want you and
crave you but I don't love
You. I can't love you. I can't love
someone capable of doing all of this
to me

But WHAT CAN I DO when I could die in your arms and go straight to heaven
Or hell
I don't care 
Love is stupid and so are you
You don't see what you have and you don't see the sun or the fact that I'm wearing flats even though it's still
cold outside. 

I wish I could throw you away but our fingers are attached. Finger centipede. You are sick but I am even more

I hate you
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