Words activate something in me
even if I’m just thinking, not writing.
So I soon find myself back at the keyboard.
It seems that my life’s been a series of keyboards.

My motor’s always running—I idle fast.
But I’ve been untying my intellectual shoe-strings recently.
Dissociatively avoiding intellective pursuits,
and embracing entropy (since school ended).
It’s been relaxing—I’ve felt new to my body.

There’ve been happenings lately,
particularly in the nocturnal theater of romantic nights.
My bf Peter’s here—trying to look impressed by an under-grad degree. He’s a pretty good actor—for an amateur.

We’ve been interrogating the richer aspects of love,
testing it’s configurations you might say,
with constant motions and lush indulgences.
We’re savoring this temporary freedom,
devouring it, like mindless carnivores.

Peter lives in Geneva, you see, while I’ve been in New Haven.
If I’ve learned anything, in my ivy league, senior year,
it’s that you can’t cheat closeness with virtuality.
He may have a new job in New Jersey and I'll be in Boston.
I've already calculated a year’s travel expenses from
Logan to Liberty and back 52 times = ~$62k. Make it so.

I'm an enumerator, I count everything
—the left facing croissants on a tray,
the days Peter and I have been apart,
and the modicum of hours we’ve had together.
I’m somewhere on that obsessive-compulsive bell curve,
and I’m a Libra, uncomfortable in an uneven world.
Perhaps there's no shame in this.

I wonder sometimes, when we’re separated, if we’ll still work, when
we’re reunited, and then, like sunlight can suddenly define shadow,
we can see that it does.
That love is more potent than wine.

I dream of things I can’t have—yet,
like the life I’d like to live—someday.
Hey, I’ve something to look forward to.
.
.
Songs for this:
Love Train by The O'Jays
Easy by The Commodores

Slippery, as a fish.
You were born to the sea,
and breathe only by moving.

~
I like the number 2,
so much in fact
I like it twice,
as in 22.

Now 2+2 equals 4,
but some say 2+2 equals 5,
It's quite the moral conundrum.

Still 5 is a cardinal, a prime,
why the Pythagoreans
thought of 5
as the marriage
between heaven and earth.

I empathize with 5 though,
for that's a lot of pressure
to put on a single solitary digit.

But I think I like him too,
he's a friend of 10,
which reminds me of
fingers, toes and Bo Derek.

But let's get back to 2,
which supposedly is company,
and 3, you see, is a crowd,
yet odd first and foremost
--Mersenne knew best, I guess.

Which brings me to 1,
small, but positive,
coveted, but united,
a face of multiple identities.

And should any other number
devise against it,
they would have no
success at all
--none, zero.

To be honest,
I think 1 likes 2,
and vice versa,
they're a complimentary couple
--both highly dutiful
and attracted to each other.

After all, it's said, "Someone may overpower
one alone, but two together can take a stand against him."
~

Mother is beyond mother
A force of nature
a woman, a life
divided in roles
Just like water
a necessity
United in love
the most primitive kind

Mother is beyond mother
A daughter to her mother
she has been
the same as me
but she gives me more
I see less of her,
She makes me more of me

Mother is beyond mother,
She is life,
A part of nature,
the goddess from scripture
but humane as human
some times mistaken
by me and the world
the sweetest creature,
she forgives me
and gives me more

Mother is beyond mother
Carer of every relations
a neighbour, driver, sister
she fits in to be what I need
Mother, how do you begin
there is no ending,
how tiring is to keep caring
sticking with me
through thick and thin.

Hoping for a symphony
Expecting just a penny whistle.
Praying for a miracle
Getting a vague promise.
Looking for the Hollyhocks
Finding wilted daisies.

Offering a helping hand
Finding no one needs one.
Asking for a helping hand
No one reaches out to me.
Giving one last urgent try
I write my number on the wall.

And hunker down behind a hedge
To see if anybody reads it.
Or if they only walk on by
Pursuing other goals and visions
That have no bearing on my needs
And leave me here with hands outreaching.
ljm

The poets dwell
within their Hell
on a Sabbath day
witching hour

Their minds a wreck
Their hands  
of tech
They grind their teeth
in angst

Silence staid
The beds unmade
Searching for who
knows what

Snaps a pencil
It's indefensible
He can't go back
to bed

Quasimodo?
Was he noble ?
Played center for
Notre Dame

Came draft day
He was cast away
Which foot was it
you ask ?

Well the venom's drip
that sank a ship
Manned by mushroom
brained morons

Will be the first
to experience the worst
That trickles down
that piggies leg

"We all live in a yellow submarine"
It's just another "Day in the life"
After all happiness is a
warm warm gun

My Motherland, my mother,
Your heart is a boundless sea,
The kindest love you've offered,
Pouring endlessly on me.

In seasons fair and darkest night,
Your gentle hand has guided,
A constant, unwavering light,
In your warm embrace resided.

Yet shadows creep, the terror's touch,
A cruel and chilling reign,
Seeking to take far too much,
Bringing sorrow, bringing pain.

But sweet mother, strong and true,
Your kindness never wanes,
We stand as one, devoted to you,
Breaking these terror's chains.

This pest, this foe, we'll drive away,
With hearts united, righteously,
Together, till the final stand,
United, hand in loyal hand.