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Autumnal equinox of a long season standing raw sun
Sweating drips become ripe
As the bottoms of watermelons do
Lying ripening swelling
Swaying feel the stem
Tighten become draught
I turn
Sway in the lengthening
Days
Like an old woman
On a wooden porch
A Hand fan and a flowered dress
In an old oak rocker
Lean
To one side
Redden
Brown Crispen
Brittle brittly
Spin in one
Great fall
Off
Down I spin now
Now alone fall
Fall to earth
Dissolve
And how else
Should life
Be
 Apr 2018 traces of being
Born
Walking on the badlands
secluded darkest part if this planet
My heart melts, as I relay this dreaded tale

She crawls with a dwindling hope
Her worn out feet couldn't carry her any longer
HELP ME, she says
With a fainting voice, low parched and raspy  
that's dying from existence.
but the society dares not to blink
From the mare that stares with great fright

She drags her feeble legs
Holding on to chair next to her
While attempting to stand up
Trading her life for mercy
RESPECT ME, she yells
Am I not a human being
for without my womb
Would any if you exist.
A man paused
and paradoxically stared at her
with unquenched thought  of great irate
"what is this thing doing here?"
A glimpse of what women of today go through.
I dreamed I
Saw fields of straw
Hallucinated the waves
Coming to me

I begged on
That little
Self inside me
To prove

His realness
And he said
I just am
And I

Answered
But the field was
Real to me all
Waving

Standing
Applauding
A festivity
Of me

And you are who
A homonculus
A being
Inside me
Have you

I questioned him
Myself me
My being
Mine ID

Have you
Little my
Senses of self
Monitor

My matriarchal
Patrician
Overseer
Have you

One too?
A little you
Inside you talk
To question

Go to in stress
For advice
And if so
Does he too?

On and and and and

Ononon
We went
Late


Into the night into day
I went

Back
To
The
Field
I feel my bones soften
when I kiss you
then I am this supine
and mysterious thing
a black cat caught hot in
the moon-lit heat
 Apr 2018 traces of being
ryn
Wish
 Apr 2018 traces of being
ryn
Confide all you want
But listening ears bleed too
If only you’d see
Lingering coastal fog
  climbed up the seaside cliff head
    The windward crest-edge
       sprawling  out
        the rolling waves
        misty breathe,
       shapeless as an ocean
      sigh betides;
    cloyingly crawling
  through the lush
hillside meadow verdure

The clinging mist dissipates
   like teardrops soon forgotten:
      the Dawning of the day
          caressing the evanescent dew;
             an ebbing tide
               remembered for a while...
               Dawn awakening
               newly sun kissed Daffodils
            animated with felicity and mirth;  
         lilting ballerinas
     gracefully swaying,
   contagious with the leavening
    serendipity of the westerly
      sea breeze ~

        Velvet bisque painted
            daybreak constellations,
              embossed by sunrise
               splendor ~
              each root bound bouquet,
            kismet choreographed ballerinas
         in Spring's  Rustic  Ballet


                        Jesse
.               11 March 2018

a favorite spring meadow trek just above the ocean off highway 101
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