two women

a single
Gemini
of desire

the yin
the yang
betwixt
the known
and unreachable

swinging
on wide
arcs of
extremis

inhabiting
opposite
polar worlds
and all
the spaces
in between
intrepid
sailors
dare hope
to explore

T
the outer
R
the inner

T’s
tiny
name
betrays
a big
robusto
femininity

bombastically
womanly

big *****
jazz *****
perfumed musky
hips and ****
that rock

and those
lips

oh,
those ruby red
Norma Jean lips

I’m puckered
up

begging her
to paste a big
rouge smooch
on my eager lips

press those
bustling bosoms
onto my face

wrap those
arms round me
with a rasperous
hug

shake me
with gyrations
of your gracious
shimmy thang

you wow
the bow
out of this
dog

taking lovers
prisoner
with the
coy blink
of wide
eyes

flashing
lashes
batting
brow
boldly
being
a force
of a
mothers
nature
bearing
and
belting
Bessie’s
*****
blues
to a
howling
crowd
wanting
more

fully
enthralled
bedazzled
enraptur­ed
with quixotic
hypnotics

I'm frozen
solid
hoping to
melt
into the
heat
of your
inviting
fire

R
bespeaks
whispers
from an
inner place

she lines the
lost desires
of a yearning heart

she offers the
softest curves
the delicious touch
the wet presence
of a delicate tongue

limpid fingers
hide shy sly
*******
offering
invitations
to hidden nests
humming the incarnate
dark forest secrets
of bloomed lilacs
and sweet carnations

the voice of poems
dance and flutter
from her mouth
as the lightest
butterfly
wings wayward
onto soft hearts
yearning
seducement

her
kimono
gently parts
at the slightest
suggestion
of a rising
breeze

her songs
invite lovers
to pillowed
chambers
daring
intrepid
men to
risk the
death of
desirous
tempests

I melt
into the
delicate
complexity
of your
fleshy heat

my dear
celestial
twins

the lovely
Gemini
each different
reduce me
in differing ways
to a puddle
of rippling water
reflecting
the glorious
elegance of
wondrous
ambrosial
femininity

Dedicated to
T& R

Music Selection:
Barbra Streisand
Pretty Women

Oakland
4/26/12
jbm

Graffiti is a beautiful thing
A splash of the soul
in an unlikely place
character and development
hardship and victory
every detail recorded
in ink
where mother big brother father of all
says should be bare
In the cover of my own
independence
I shadow in and shade
my very ****** skin
until I am a ****** no more
and I can see myself inside out
memorialized in permanence
that bespeaks adulthood
a grown up
graffiti

The first brave buds of spring burst forth
In shades of yellow and green.
They stand sentry at my door
Like fierce mujahedin.
They expel the bear of winter.
They sneer at frightful frost.
I wouldn’t want to be the snowflake
That they chance to come across.
In the seedbed things are stirring,
germinating beneath the sod.
There’s a riotous revolution
that bespeaks the touch of God.
Flowers are like people
They can be kept down just so long.
Then solar warmth will melt the snow
And birds break into song.
The garden trees are setting buds
That soon will dominate the scene.
It is Heaven enough for now
as things bloom and grow and preen.

Percepts of enlightenment & civilization to encounter
The grim aftermath of tales unspoken from the galaxies afar
Betokening Indian tales of deeper truths than ever,
For the Great Spirit still swirls in gestures previously milder,
At a snail's pace and surely winning the pursuit among souls or
Is example better than pre-conceived precept?
or
“Is that a dog in the manger?”
Now cherishing the viper?
The human dilemma between liberty & authority?
“Has mythology now become psychology?”
A dingy white color in disguise of tranquility
To suit the blemished features of the 21st century
With fair women & brave men turning fables into verse,
Yet Socrates’ doctrine about death bespeaks a wafture so callous!
The new-age “iron claw” screams nastiness in time and space.
The pretences of mankind like the puritan;
Mars trapped in the net of Vulcan,
Jupiter is serene and above the conflict to win,
While Venus tries to fight upon the plains of troy
That the Greek gods of serenity may win at Tuscany.
“When do these sultry groans of mortal remorse cease?”
To calm the sordid uproar that Love may peruse
Through the scattered white aromatic rose petals
In search of the scintillating path back to the highland stables
Were snowflakes are an irresistible lure for the Arctic snowbirds!
Nature herself is proud of her designs
Yet!
There is nothing grating in mortal cosmoses but direct villainy.


Sinister fate climbs the lonesome banister faster
Before the “fanged dawn” descends nearer,
As stronger minds virtually become weaker;
These “shameless actors” are melted into “thin air”
“Must they cheat themselves with that same foolish vice of honesty?”
Mischievousnesses feed!
Like beasts till they be fat, and then they bleed
As they are led to bend the curve of “No return”
Since it is only rational that after the darkest of nights
There is a brighter day to reveal the true knights
Of the once gloomy age of Democritus.
Tis plain, from hence, that our vows
Request hurtful intense things,
or useless at the best.

Great cities rise and have their fall; the brass
That held their glories moulders in its turn.
Hard granite rots like an uprooted ****,
And ever on the palimpsest of earth
Impatient Time rubs out the word he writ.
But one thing makes the years its pedestal,
Springs from the ashes of its pyre, and claps
A skyward wing above its epitaph—
The will of man willing immortal things.

The ages are but baubles hung upon
The thread of some strong lives—and one slight wrist
May lift a century above the dust;
For Time,
The Sisyphean load of little lives,
Becomes the globe and sceptre of the great.
But who are these that, linking hand in hand,
Transmit across the twilight waste of years
The flying brightness of a kindled hour?
Not always, nor alone, the lives that search
How they may ****** a glory out of heaven
Or add a height to Babel; oftener they
That in the still fulfilment of each day’s
Pacific order hold great deeds in leash,
That in the sober sheath of tranquil tasks
Hide the attempered blade of high emprise,
And leap like lightning to the clap of fate.

So greatly gave he, nurturing ‘gainst the call
Of one rare moment all the daily store
Of joy distilled from the acquitted task,
And that deliberate rashness which bespeaks
The pondered action passed into the blood;
So swift to harden purpose into deed
That, with the wind of ruin in his hair,
Soul sprang full-statured from the broken flesh,
And at one stroke he lived the whole of life,
Poured all in one libation to the truth,
A brimming flood whose drops shall overflow
On deserts of the soul long beaten down
By the brute hoof of habit, till they spring
In manifold upheaval to the sun.

Call here no high artificer to raise
His wordy monument—such lives as these
Make death a dull misnomer and its pomp
An empty vesture. Let resounding lives
Re-echo splendidly through high-piled vaults
And make the grave their spokesman—such as he
Are as the hidden streams that, underground,
Sweeten the pastures for the grazing kine,
Or as spring airs that bring through prison bars
The scent of freedom; or a light that burns
Immutably across the shaken seas,
Forevermore by nameless hands renewed,
Where else were darkness and a glutted shore.

The sun, so lover-like, ran her fingers
Through the glistening leaves,
Movements soft, so full of intention
Their waxy dew, shuttered in response,
A low moan played in the breeze,
The light of sonority contrasts the electric
Disharmonies in the stormy afternoon.

Though I could feel a forest now eased
The river that runs through
Carried the blood of a plural heart
Beating with a passion akin in power, though enemy in fashion,
As its waves beat the banks
Eroding them into, eating up the aridness
As though slaking were its due, muddying the sky’s blue
From its surface, piercing the eyes from its reflection
Discouraging, this turbid froth, from worth of further inspection.

It rages and rages over rocks so violently
Picking at its slimming walls, making and claiming
Detritus along the path so that all the beauty a river is
Crashes, collides, and disfigures—a chaos growing
Bigger and bigger—the speed of its wrath
Bespeaks of its wake, blasting the earth (Watch it dissipate!)
Out of my sight it runs its due course south
Spitting the detritus that arrives
At the mouth.

Totally like whatever, you know?
by Taylor Mali

In case you hadn’t noticed,
it has somehow become uncool
to sound like you know what you’re talking about?
Or believe strongly in what you’re saying?
Invisible question marks and parenthetical (you know?)’s
have been attaching themselves to the ends of our sentences?
Even when those sentences aren’t, like, questions? You know?

Declarative sentences—so-­‐called
because they used to, like, DECLARE things to be true, okay,
as opposed to other things are, like, totally, you know, not—
have been infected by a totally hip
and tragically cool interrogative tone? You know?
Like, don’t think I’m uncool just because I’ve noticed this;
this is just like the word on the street, you know?
It’s like what I’ve heard?
I have nothing personally invested in my own opinions, okay?
I’m just inviting you to join me in my uncertainty?

What has happened to our conviction?
Where are the limbs out on which we once walked?
Have they been, like, chopped down
with the rest of the rain forest?
Or do we have, like, nothing to say?
Has society become so, like, totally . . .
I mean absolutely . . . You know?
That we’ve just gotten to the point where it’s just, like . . .
whatever!

And so actually our disarticulation . . . ness
is just a clever sort of . . . thing
to disguise the fact that we’ve become
the most aggressively inarticulate generation
to come along since . . .
you know, a long, long time ago!

I entreat you, I implore you, I exhort you,
I challenge you: To speak with conviction.

To say what you believe in a manner that bespeaks
the determination with which you believe it.
Because contrary to the wisdom of the bumper sticker,
it is not enough these days to simply QUESTION AUTHORITY.
You have to speak with it, too.

My dearest,
I will miss you
After the morning light takes you away.

But honesty bespeaks my boredom of
Nakedness on ******,
Thrusting into you,
The screams of your pleasure-
It was satisfactory.

The soft scent of your spangled hair
As it ran playfully through my fingers
While I cradled your skull in my palm when
I caught the glitter of your smile as our bodies undulated
Through the oceans and across the galaxies
Where you dipped your toes into the cosmic pools
Before diving into the depths with me-  
then,
I felt you quiver.

Of all the arrows in the world, yours only was
Precise and lethal to the bone;
Searing straight through my universe and
Pulling it apart

To reveal not darkness, but merely the absence of light.
In it, I was not afraid.

joey
left today

the radiance of a
summer sunshine
gone dark

an icon
of jersey shore
memories

lost to the
rumbling
breakers

a joie de vivre
crested

ebbing waves
flow out

ushered off
by friendly
on-shore winds

the day bespeaks
a perfect symmetry
departing life's shores
on Sandy’s anniversary
marking momentous days
of passings and arrivals

may you safely arrive
on the seaside shores
in the place of eternal
summer sunshine

vaya con dios
mi hermano




for joey

Fleet Foxes:
Grown Ocean

10/29/30
oakland
jbm

They were clouds but they formed the longest white feathers it wasn’t the noted war bonnet of the
Plains no this was a head dress for a maiden that could only be the glory of love embodied to look was
To stall and stop time your breath slows your eyes grow wide in the throes of elements started in loves
Dreams untamed without bounds or borders the cherished object grew it was everything man knew and
Then more was created as the heart dared explore all the possibilities love drew and did spew the
Tantalizing the finest detail from the long mist of islands truly cloaked in mystery she walked somber
Paths her silence and grace tripped the scale of wonder elegance it termed in language that only poets
Could write her soft touch was the trinity of sun light moon light as it practiced the art of creating
Earthen things by just a softening glow with at touch of waters mist to complete the total design of
Natural fabrication out of all that is natural and human it bespeaks of spiritual clandestine movements
That created life in the first place all this resides in her eyes and the starry crown she adorns in the night  watch where she shares her magic to all who seek loves possessive hold on every fragment of thought
And being stir this scene with angelic fingers romance set adrift with the power to make emotions that
Last beyond life times the bedrock foundations of generations from thee eternal sky her forever
Dwelling place all lovers say thank you.

The ocean's pulse, the ebb and flow
of constant waves' re-nourishment
bespeaks to me of life, although
an undercurrent message sent
in whispered sighs of Gaia's breath
upon the shoreline where I sit
relates a tale of bounteous wealth;
the wind, the rain - that we exist
at all is purely by the grace
of Nature's cycles. Also heard,
a gentle, soft, disturbing voice
reminding me without a word:
when we have come and we have gone
the ocean's pulse continues on

The trembling thunder chains soul to awake.
Though depths be the bane of the weak,
To strike the divine is to drain the opaque.

What holds your reason, should judgment mistake?
Though the alternate prospects are bleak,
The trembling thunder chains soul to awake.

Were it be you, could comfort forsake?
No, unaware, your posture bespeaks.
To strike the divine is to drain the opaque

The valiant of will won’t welcome the quake
Empowered, the sordid, the broken, the meek,
The trembling thunder chains soul to awake

Ethereal dance, whose lost weavings partake
those apes, who stand tall, boasting technique.
To strike the divine is to drain the opaque.

Yet pardons, in diligence, to the transparent fake;
On fires dwell qualms of conceit.
The trembling thunder chains soul to awake.
To strike the divine is to drain the opaque.

Possibilities
Utopia can be found in borderless circles that interconnect traces are discovered in ancient England’s
Legends and lore King Arthurian Isle of legend Avalon hid within the mist at a distance is Camelot for in
These lighted climes your guide for the journey alone exists his common name is imagination but royal
Has been his reign nothing is found without his essential hand at the core and center of all places
Fantasy and real one central man is observed in this writing best described as mellow a soft spoken
Man the tiniest hint of sounds quietly rushing over gentle hills his passing caused blackest storm clouds
To render his beloved helpless empty and heartbroken for a length of time this power raged tears
Flowed Unbidden it bespeaks of early times when dating they set close in the car as they drove laughter
And Love emerged from simple visits made to home of friends or going out to eat and places of interest
Familiarity gently exposed hearts and souls that quickly were being knit together in strong unbreakable
Bonds a legendary song is seen in its deepest meaning you can lean on me the rush of life brought much
Happiness but in the first graying of life the mortal was made immortal now waves more pure than
Angel’s breath comes in the silence once detested now it holds the very essence of the beloved when
The home is still and lights are low know not it’s not the pillow that holds your head but the strong
Shoulder that many were the times comfort washed over you like the kindest stream mossy grass with
Blades of sunlight striking ever so deftly your face and hair in his smile you know he was enthralled by
What he saw, evenly you glowed words not necessary when richest feelings pass between lovers now
With morning light blissful you catch the happenings of the day values crested and crowned playful
Is the note that is struck none of time wasted in these severe tomorrows turn aside your mind the
Storehouse every memory is your possibility for regained laughter and renewed love boundless as the
Breeze you alone are its creation shape it fit it to the moment you’re in make it a dance that is slow and
Close feel his closeness every pore of your being engaged the magic will charge the room and reach to
The unseen his arms are about you there he follows the exact movements you are making worlds to
Collide especially in the Camelot of enduring love that defies everything but true heartfelt imagination.

They were clouds but they formed the longest white feathers it wasn’t the noted war bonnet of the
Plains no this was a head dress for a maiden that could only be the glory of love embodied to look was
To stall and stop time your breath slows your eyes grow wide in the throes of elements started in loves
Dreams untamed without bounds or borders the cherished object grew it was everything man knew and
Then more was created as the heart dared explore all the possibilities love drew and did spew the
Tantalizing the finest detail from the long mist of islands truly cloaked in mystery she walked somber
Paths her silence and grace tripped the scale of wonder elegance it termed in language that only poets
Could write her soft touch was the trinity of sun light moon light as it practiced the art of creating
Earthen things by just a softening glow with at touch of waters mist to complete the total design of
Natural fabrication out of all that is natural and human it bespeaks of spiritual clandestine movements
That created life in the first place all this resides in her eyes and the starry crown she adorns in the night watch where she shares her magic to all who seek loves possessive hold on every fragment of thought
And being stir this scene with angelic fingers romance set adrift with the power to make emotions that
Last beyond life times the bedrock foundations of generations from thee eternal sky her forever
Dwelling place all lovers say thank you

Donna
If I ever become brave enough to suffer the amount that you have to get special answers from God I would make this request that Enchanted love’s dwelling place be taken from its written form and be tailor made to fit your life exclusively the sentiment the piece extols would go beyond a golden gown made from golden thread for you to wear but mix it with your sweet precious soul these beautiful thoughts be your adorning this is our wishes and prayers from all who know and love you from your writings that includes Joe Tim and Hal just to mention a few God bless you special one

They were clouds but they formed the longest white feathers it wasn’t the noted war bonnet of the
Plains no this was a head dress for a maiden that could only be the glory of love embodied to look was
To stall and stop time your breath slows your eyes grow wide in the throes of elements started in loves
Dreams untamed without bounds or borders the cherished object grew it was everything man knew and
Then more was created as the heart dared explore all the possibilities love drew and did spew the
Tantalizing the finest detail from the long mist of islands truly cloaked in mystery she walked somber
Paths her silence and grace tripped the scale of wonder elegance it termed in language that only poets
Could write her soft touch was the trinity of sun light moon light as it practiced the art of creating
Earthen things by just a softening glow with at touch of waters mist to complete the total design of
Natural fabrication out of all that is natural and human it bespeaks of spiritual clandestine movements
That created life in the first place all this resides in her eyes and the starry crown she adorns in the night watch where she shares her magic to all who seek loves possessive hold on every fragment of thought
And being stir this scene with angelic fingers romance set adrift with the power to make emotions that
Last beyond life times the bedrock foundations of generations from thee eternal sky her forever
Dwelling place all lovers say thank you.

As the days go by without a word from you,
I'm left here wondering what is really true.
My mind counts all the possibilities
So here's a poll--won't you answer please?

There's no need to be cruel or unkind,
Just pick the choice that best bespeaks your mind.
And if somehow I missed your favored choice,
Use Other then to give yourself a voice.

Now if you're very brave, and Other's what you've checked,
You know how to find me: please connect!

I haven't written you because:
   a. You scare me!
   b. I'm waiting for you to get the hint: go away!
   c. My computer crashed so I lost your email. Thank God you wrote!
   d. You're divorced?  I can't even talk with you.
   e. I thought you wanted *** now--I don't want to be friends first!
   f. I got kidnapped by terrorists and have been held incommunicado!
   g. I got in a car wreck and I'm in the ICU.
   h. I met someone 'way cooler than you.  Drop dead!
   i.  Other

We here at Gallup thank you for taking the time to respond to our questionnaire. You may have been selected to participate in additional polls.

The ocean's pulse, the ebb and flow
of constant waves' re-nourishment
bespeaks to me of life, although
an undercurrent message sent
in whispered sighs of Gaia's breath
upon the shoreline where I sit
relates a tale of bounteous wealth;
the wind, the rain - that we exist
at all is purely by the grace
of Nature's cycles. Also heard,
a gentle, soft, disturbing voice
reminding me without a word:
when we have come and we have gone
the ocean's pulse continues on

As I think back on what took this squandered wanderer
To the nethermost pitfalls of hell,
Only the wickedness of mere existence can be adequate enough to delineate such misery.
A brute, stuck in a trap of one’s own making
With its stone walls, one’s lament echoes through the hallow chambers,
made of anguish & possibilities.
Shadows of what has been and what could’ve been,
Dance around to the cacophony of ones regret.
But what took this wretched man,
belonging to the heights of heaven,
into the nomad land of a melancholic sufferer?


Erstwhile, all pure and innocent with a fire,
Blazing bright with the desire to
Grasp and cling on to this abyss of dashing hopes
Called life.
In a realm where shadows sway in despair, and the air is filled with whispers of sorrow,
how can the flickering flame of one’s essence endure?
While Discovering peace within the realm of thoughts,
A journey embarked to the world concealed.
The path unknown, where mysteries abide
At the end of this journey

Was the triumph of knowing oneself.
He moveth upon the earth, through uncharted territories
Where spirits roam, and the monsters groan.
At the end of his path, shines a bright star, which he crawls to
His bright star blinks as it bespeaks eternal bliss
And the fire within him shines bright, beaming a lurid light
Both losing themselves to the rhythm of the universe
As the earth spins and spins in its cosmic loneliness.
The solitary nomad, crafting his own path in a realm shaped by the power divine
Moved in perfect synchrony with the universal

rhythm, while the flames of passion blazed inside him.
A budding sorcerer, weaving his artistry with the mystical alchemy of life.
With the ethereal melodies guiding his every step and the rhythm of life being his sanctuary,
He delved into the boundless opportunities that life had to offer, through his enchanting artistry.
He stood amidst the inky blackness, as it devoured him
The longing to know the unknown
And to know what detests to be known.
His fiery passion and his radiant guiding light,
Growing fainter with each passing moment.
The symphony of existence now reduced to a mere murmur


He had expanded the tapestry of the unknown to the edge of the world
And now he is a piece of the obscure, evading recognition.
Yet, how can a soul ensnared in the vast expanse of cosmic solitude,
a solitude it shares with the universe,
do anything but merge with the enigmatic essence of the divine?
A vast realm of endless possibilities and untold wonders
Makes one dance to the rhythm of
The almighty divinity,
A strict father, guiding the beloved child into the shadows,

And into the chaos of his own being.
Under the cloak that veils the world in mystery, where depths allure,
Subsume the unknown, while it beckons with a seductive luminance
bidding the conscience to explore,
To plunge within, seeking solace bright,
Amidst the darkness, finding pathways of light.

Loves Cost

When love’s promise spoke so deeply it was all consuming she was the streaming of love maybe
Some was because it was youthful and the first experience of losing your heart the hills breathed

The trees swayed as if joy was winging through the tree tops the thrill traveled the length of
Power through the wooded grain down all the way to the roots the color rose foot by foot into the  

Canopy emerald’s richest tapestry it bespeaks all that is right and ever can be you are stunned
Captivated by this silence that runs deep she was the infilling the flourishing unrivaled beauty

The coming of newness in a ****** life that it was the first time that love burst forth in a growth
Pattern that had never been known before the luxury of thoughts completed in a soulful way

Through innocence she spoke and acted her expression was the planting of invigorating spells
She moved like light piercing every dark corner a tender harvest was beset in bareness prior to it

Days were washed away in pleasure coolest voice nothing to do but surrender wave after wave
She did render me speechless as one silently reaching for the way and then quietly to hear the

Voice that combines truth strength and softness a calling that is incomparable and strikes a note
That is other worldly and is weighted with gifts and the foremost is magic can shadows by will

Create and dictate outcomes that are spiritual that sends you into valleys of mystery that produce
Lyrical harmony yes without question defeat and loneliness forever banished on brush strokes

And enabling power as if an artist of great depth has created a world inside of the world that
Was broken and couldn’t be fixed the telling of loves flame igniting nobility the embers may

Wane to a softest glow but all that is needed is a heartfelt blow and the burning leaps into a full
Flame that consumes all and everything that is contrary this wealth is incalculable I found this

In those youthful heydays I will forever be thankful for the love we shared

the poetess
bespeaks unspeakable
beauty
raises eyes to
glimpse the unseen
opens the mind to
understand the unknowable
unites the horror of love
with the ecstasies
of sorrow

Happy Birthday Roberta
love, jimmy

Claude Debussy
Claire De Lune

One mustn't take what is beautiful and pure
And taint it with ugliness profane
From tarnishing its beauty
Can one not refrain?

You would think the eyes would see
The trueness of its state
And not place blemish on it one
And all of its innocence berate

I suppose one must hold in mind
That each one of us is unique
In how we interpret what we find
And how to others it bespeaks

was i expected to just stand there and take their *******?--yes, i walked away, i said that i'd stay and get that information, but they were playing me for a fool and when i figured as much out, i walked out without saying good-bye, for who would say good-bye in such a set of circumstances as this?--wasn't it already bad enough that when they'd seen the planting of fennel happening, the ladies made me pull up to the hedgerows where it was all going on so they could get out and walk around and feel like they were part of something that they actually weren't a part of, something that, in actually, they'd been apart from their entire live so?--oh, i'd wanted to tell them, believe me, that they were ******* hypocrites, but what was the point of ruining a day that, for me, had been ruined the very instant they'd asked each other if that group of cars over there, up on the hill, had been theirs, if these were the ones responsible for all the activity that they considered losing themselves in--wasn't it bad enough i'd been dragged all the way out into the country just to drive through a bunch of cemeteries because they thought it'd be romantic to see what the old gravestones were like?--and what had they done when we'd gotten there other than say that those weren't the headstones they'd imagined, that those were too modern, too ugly, too *******, and why had i even taken them there when i could've taken them to this or that other cemetery?--wasn't it bad enough that for whatever reason the biological imperative had divined, i'd wanted to **** the both of them and knew in advance, knew even before i opened my eyes that morning, that i wouldn't end this day inside either of them?--and yes, i would dare to be this honest with them if i thought they'd be able to look me in the face afterward...it's not like i didn't know they didn't want me--it's that i had had nothing to do with my days so that i found myself in their company and after not a very long while, i ended up desiring the both of them--i'm not saying this makes me a good person, or a romantic person--quite obviously, i'm not talking about holding hands with them or losing myself in the depths of their eyes--no, i said good-bye to all that nonsense when i was still a young man and now that i'm not a young man anymore, i find myself asking if could pull off the whole "lothario" scene, you know?--just sleep with women and not find myself in a relationship with them...it's something i'd feared becoming all my life and yet, i'd ended up becoming a lot of things i'd once feared becoming--just look at how i woke up every morning: alone and in silence with only my breathing out a sigh so filled with the ennui of this world that i thought eventually the ceiling might start raining its own precious tears on my behalf--this was my life now and i wasn't quite thrilled at the prospect of living the next sixty or seventy years of it, not like this anyhow...and yet there they were, consciously splitting off from where i was standing by going off on their own, and was i to presume there were merely taking in the sights of nature around them?--were these two just innocent city girls walking about and snapping pictures of the volunteers planting what they told me was fennel but might've been anything on earth?--maybe they'd separated because they were going to whisper about how they'd been having simply an awful time and wasn't i just the most awful person to imagine themselves having a ******* with?--maybe they were kissing each other and snapping pictures of each other's face of pleasure and repeated ****** as they went down on each other...this is all the paranoia that was trapped inside my head, this is why it wasn't fun to be me sometimes, why i would try to lose myself in the previous night's dreams: because who in the world would want to walk about on his own knowing that two women, possibly lesbians, were ridiculing him as they were making each other *** and keeping their experiences "for posterity"?--yes, this is why when i'm asked at times, "why the long face?" i just smile and chuckle and say, "everything's fine"--again, would anyone want to be the one to say, "well, actually, if you really what to know, i've been dying to get this off my chest fora while now," and let those monsters in my mind off the hook they're barely fettered to now?--it was just here, when i was about to fell pretty deep into the whole "woe is me" routine that the people who'd been planting all their sprigs had found me and asked if i wanted to come inside and read their literature and listen to the tales of their collective journey, so i said sure because what else did i have to do, i was just killing time till those two came back wiping their mouths and looking at each other like i was some kind of ******* idiot not to know when, in reality, they might've just been out there really and truly taking in the sights and smells of the country they rarely got to walk about in...and yet, when those fennel people, as it really had turned out to be fennel they'd been planting that day, discovered that neither of the women they'd seen me with had been my wife or my girlfriend or even a lover, but were both friends--and, yes, i even think they sensed i'd wanted to put air quotes around "friends" when i said it aloud--that's when they understood their collective or cult or whatever this whole fennel thing was a beard for wasn't going to accumulate into its ranks three more that day, that's when they told me to stand there and that someone would be with me shortly, and of course, like a polite ******* i stood there and smiled when one called over two or three more to point me out and crack a smile as they tittered to each other and walked away...i stood there and looked at the interior of that home that looked like they'd just killed someone and assumed control of it for themselves: i stared at the pristine oak floors, the pristine white banister of the steps going upward where the pristine light shone sympathetically down as though it too were laughing at me--why didn't i just ask them who i had to **** to get some acknowledgement that i existed as someone separate and apart from all others, but who was a whole human being and didn't need to be attached to any collective or cult to feel like he was "someone"?--of course, this wasn't a real question, it was just my sheer frustration at feeling like i was being dismissed by everyone in whose company i was in that day: the lesbians who might not've been lesbians, the cult-murderers who might not've been cult-murderers...it all just bespeaks of the kind of headspace i'd been forced to live in all my life, really, i understood this too...and here i sound like i'm writing from the grave of one of those nineteenth century writers with all of this grammar that makes the writer seem so far away from whoever his audience is, but it's only because this is how i've been forced to live--i've been forced to accept that i just don't get along with people and this is so because i just don't trust them and this is so because i've been betrayed too often to ever trust anyone again--yes, it all makes me sound like a child, but isn't trust what everything in a relationship is based on?--true, there must be respect, and there must be some kind of human feeling or caring for the person, but without trust you're just going to end up like me: don't you see me looking all around the room, using my eyes, swiveling my head, turning around so or three or more times when it feels like there's something happening, something about to happen behind my back?--it could go on like this forever, and yes, with me holding their stupid ******* pamphlet in my one hand looking and swiveling and turning and turning...which is why i just left, i didn't even wait for whenever was supposed to get back to me with the time and number of their first meeting to return with that information because it was probably all just their way of having fun, of taking a break from the break that was their life doing all this "conservative work," which we all know is the labor of the rich, the pastime of those with too much money in their banks accounts and too little imagination in their heads...but i know, i know, here i am with far too much imagination in my head, here i am heading out and leaving those friends of mine, who are no true friends of mine--but who i wish were "friends" of mine--to their fennel fields with with fennel sprigs and to those who might be cultists or murderers or both because they all deserve each other, and whether or not it's all true isn't my concern anymore because i've been made to feel this way, i've been made into this creature now stalking its way back to the car--yes, i am an "it" these days, i am a sort of post-post-modern and meta and very self-aware monster that should not be and yet look at me, just look at me: i'm not even looking around when i start the car, i don't even care who i back over even though i know already no one's around, and when i reverse the car and get ready to turn back onto the highway, i roll down the windows just so i can try to hear what might be taken for the strains of their cries over the engine and in the distance, but i try to hear them so i can feel some sort of satisfaction as i press the gas enough to begin a gentle roll--i don't think i'd ever stop even if i could've heard them screaming for me to come back for them, to come back and save them--for all i know, they might've been in on it the whole time...or they still might just be going down on each other back there--

Time aways I remember you tangled in the crook of my neck
Your half lidded eyes
such a gentle boy
Accursed it may seem
Agonized inside these walls
You were desperate for my touch
as I am for yours now

Cruelty bespeaks me
how many dead lay in your path
how many lay in mine
Exhausted I would feel
Your hand lazily cupped over my breast
Squeezed and pumped through

Even now my skin burns
this lust only awakes for you
How pathetic that must be
Wanting so desperately
I would tear my teeth out just for another taste

Instead I lay numb in my bed
Trying hard to forget
Trying hard not to care
Trying hard not to want
Failure creeps in on me
You pound through my head
In the most unexpected places I catch your glimpse
I wonder if I could turn back time
My salty tears dripping on your chest
Your arms reluctantly holding me
How could I forget?

I tainted what good came my way
Come to me again
Forgive me
I begged for you not to let me go
I turn to ash and crumble
My skin has already been picked at
I forgot how to breathe

The overwhelm has beaten me to a pulp
Do I breathe heavy
my limbs feel limp against my sides
Wave crash over my chest
My words fail me

cloud cover thickens this emotional porridge
realizing distant leagues between letters
written on vistas vast and open prairie
with piled stones of a fettered heart

your silence bespeaks these iconic symbols
atmospheric visions, while I stay rooted
a fantasy and sage brush cumulonimbus
in Nazca Lines, shared love, lives muted

how many years and weathered months
as careless rivulets move each grain
and mountains crumble to their sea mounts
with moist remembrances of loss retained

-cec

and it's a cold evening,
the writings swirling on the wandering pavement—
your silhouette hangs on the tail of the lowering sun,
and gleams, a pale reflection, in the water below;
and crescendos of the waxing moonlight seem more like the
hushed whispers of starlight, like the
hushed silence of forest's night, like the
hushed breathing of your heart's bright, like the
hushed rolling and descent of all that might,
of all that stirs the spirit, and all that bespeaks the pensive, slumbering
winter infinite.

Dawn breaks through the darkened night
exhaling beams of sprinkled light
across dense blankets of snowy white.

Naked, bony limbs start snapping
reaching arms upward while napping
allotting chilled moss to lay wrapping.

Frosted crystalline water awaiting
the ice-kissed surroundings, while creating
melancholy moans of biting wind deflating.

Craggy hilltops bordering, in sharp peaks,
glistening barren landscapes in streaks
as relentless Winter hibernation bespeaks.