She keeps dancing
over the dark water;
The flash of iridescent blue
Beneath her wings,
Quick as a breath.

How else could they see?
The dragonfly dart;
Then hesitate above
The mossy green bank –
As if it gave liberated pleasure.

How could they perceive?
The green dimness falling;
Between trees, that antique stillness,
Then the vermilion leaves –
Startling, unexpected,
Like an exclamation of delight.

How could they receive?
That moment when one, then two,
Then three dragonflies skimmed
All over the once pure river.

(9/11/13 @xirlleelang)

Zeus and Amphitrite
edge of the sea
reflecting down
looking up
god or goddess
reflecting the same
draped in gold
Hercules Coronal Borealis Great Wall
superstructure feathered on the shoulders
skyward brilliance reflecting
shaking future stars
comets meteors meteoroids asteroids meteorites
rain down around
deafening sound of the greatest thunder bolt
hear me
hear her
**** this
**** that
roll good times
patience is virtue
zero point
generosity kindness affection pleasantness
waiting on the ecliptic plane
sun and heavens
where
hummingbirds dragonflies soaring creatures
rise out of the abyss
propelled and lifted
seahorse air bubbles octopuses chant
straight ******* propulsion ****** velocity
magic of the darkness
ready set giddy up

floating on
the pond
dragonflies zip
above me
thinking I
am an
organic substance
an algae-dipped
                nympth
my hair in fronds
the subtle ripple
of sunstreak
on thigh
like reflections of
rainbow lanterns
upon skin
my skin, puckered
from melding
aquatic escapade
is soothed in this home
of kissing koi
who welcome me
in fin brushes
bubbles on the
small
of my back
sweet as the
lush harmony
of waterlily voices
that only I can hear
as the gaze of frogs
and forest dwellers
imprints upon
the inner lids
of my
      starlit
eyes

Left my soul in the trippin spoon. Gave it a shot now I think I'm through. Now watch me ride on and see it through. Until we meet again. A chicken crows in the dead of night. Another tweaker, been up all night. In the dark chasing dragonflies. Now its time for the morning light. So welcome home. The phone rings but I don"t pay the bill. I probably spent it on a ****** pill. But he still can't find a thrill. Where did the mortal go. Back to the trippin spoon.

I could write about all of the things that make you wonderful,
or all of the things that don't,
but either way you'd be getting what you want.
I could write about your eyes,
and how they make my bones vibrate.
The way that they morph into hollow chestnut soldiers who have accepted their dreadful fate,
Or the way they surrender to your smile prompting fire to question it's purpose.
I could write about your lips,
and how they're the strongest magnets I know.
The way they ******* my elbows and make my fingertips tingle,
Or the fact that they taste like my favorite flavor of euphoria.

But I'm sure you've heard it all before,
So instead,
I will write what I feel.
Because your eyes are yours,
and your lips are yours,
but my feelings belong to me.

You know that feeling in your lungs when you've just run a thousand miles,
that pain in your head after you've cried a thousand tears,
you are that feeling, you are that pain.

I used to be a granite countertop,
shiny and cold,
as still as a living stone could be.
My eyes were a place for people's empty glasses,
nothing more,
and my smile was a painting made from the grease of half eaten pizzas.


At first, you managed to make gravity give up on me,
the granite shattered and I became something else,
hovering above success and failure,
elation and pain.
Unable to touch down because none of the above sounded okay.
Afraid of the good as well as the bad,
no laughs and no tears,
no daydreaming about future love affairs,
just an observer,
a hot air balloon.

Then you touched me,
And it burned like a cult of dragons,
Breathing fire down my spine.
Your hands turned my skin into sparkling water,
Bubbling and fizzing,
Unsettled razzle dazzle.
Each time our lips touch,
I taste a bitter happiness,
Sour, spicy, sweet,
Pixie dust and dragonflies.
Time has lost it's steady pace.

I am a slave to your existence,
Like the way that jellyfish move, without control or purpose,
or the way the sand can't run away from the sea.
Somehow you've managed to pump wonder into my lungs,
and fill my head with weeping willows.
the dancer in my beating heart, found her rhythm in yours.

Some nights, after you've fallen asleep,
I imagine myself sleeping atop your eyelashes,
cuddling with constant contradicting comparisons,
snuggling with smug smiling faces,
spooning the speckled souls who speak without thinking,
tangled in your secret stash of picturesque ideals.


I wish we could jump in a death cab,
and go somewhere brand new,
because baby, I could stare at those bright eyes for all of eternity.

Alpha and omega like a womb;
Visions and visages in kaleidoscope rooms...
Hanging on drapes of blue;
Impressive orbs of translucent hues...
Waves break in an
Eternal haste in time
As you float down into
Space and
Your tummy aches on
Seemingly misplaced dreams.
Dreams spewed together, in an internal river that shimmers
Like a dragonfly wing,
Like lava lamps and vintage photos, out of focus...
Or when the
Whispers disperse,
In the rain..
Reminiscent of bubbles floating,
Suspended,
Guided inklings and transparent meanings;
Reflections in mirrors or
On water,
In spoons or car windows...
An underbelly of inner kingdoms
Almost pillaged and buried by age;
Remaining only by hope or faith,
Like Camelot In its wake,
Only to glide to sleep
Where redemption sweeps in soft on swift heels.
Reminiscent of the rose bushes in that fairy tale Sleeping Beauty,
Where soldiers bodies were left to decay.

I walk beneath the shadows of dragonflies and
in fields of stunted daisies
A witness to migrating monarchs
Whose voyage is eons from being completed,
when they only have 3 weeks at most to live.

I walk in pale fields of dusty sunbeams
and loud fading moonlight
Humming crickets play accompaniment
to solo pairs of feet, making way for still creeks
and large lily pads
to find a nice place to think.

God's foxholes,
pick your poison,
burn burn burn, and
snare, flesh out an idea
and let it take hold. grit
your teeth, strip the bark
or just strip instead.
cherry, rabid, dragonflies
and headlight eyes.
this dream running us
ragged, this glittering
copper and boil before
you burst.

There is a piece of your skin that refuses to burn.
I keep sinking my teeth into it.

I wrote a letter the other day.
dancing around the subject of dragonflies
I don’t speak in their language
honestly its too complicated
because I don’t speak in nuzzles
I don’t speak in love
I speak in the cold attitude of indifference
I mutter thoughts in blue ballpoint pen

To him I speak in keyboard clicks
with a snap of a twig we flip
and we are in the same room
matching cereal bowls
emptied of their contents in the sink
We speak in notches on a bed post
and a mattress on the floor
We speak in unwashed sheets
He crushes my disdain as if it were a walnut shell
and informs me that I speak in my sleep

Whatever the weather we stay at home
stare out the windows at the fairy lit wilderness
jotting down whatever concepts come to mind
he is cream rolling in peaks
smooth and whipped
poured over his duvet
as if he were cool whip on peach pie
He is my worst intentions personified

I wrote a letter the other day.
dancing around the subject of dragonflies
I dont speak in their language
but he speaks mine
even though its complicated
we don't speak in words
we speak in private displays of affection
we speak in caring closed door moments
and the texts he asks me to send when I walk home alone
To make sure I am safe
and In the end I may mutter thoughts in blue ballpoint pen
but He reads them loud and clear and responds in love

At the age of 18
I entered into the unknown
As many had before me
To plant the seeds I'd sow
It was a big change.
Where I'm from
Chickens
Cows
Ducks
Goats
Sheep
In layman's terms; a farm.

And here there are animals too.
They're just made of metal,
Metal and flesh,
And the flesh ones are scarier.
But this story isn't about the flesh ones,
It's about the metal ones
And the mettle of one so little.
I've been here for a year now, give or take a summer break
And I sometimes find it hard
In a city so full of sound and light
To enjoy myself. The little things.
I haven't seen the stars, for example,
Since I moved here.
Coming from country air and clear skies
That's huge.

I miss it.
I miss the smell, too, because let's be real
Cow manure and roadkill
Still smell better than this town.
But most importantly
I miss the little things.
Squirrels
Birds
Dragonflies;
I remember each summer, at our old house
Because of this little body of water in our back yard
We'd get HUNDREDS of dragonflies.
Maybe even thousands.
And I never really appreciated that until now.
So believe me when I say,
A snail
Was the most exciting thing on my walk home yesterday.

Funny enough, a sweaty teenager carrying two suits
crouching to look at a snail for
what I think was up to 15 minutes
Wasn't even slightly out of place here.

Anyways.
It wasn't just the fact that I'd seen this snail
But the fact that this snail's little trail
Had come
From the street.
Before I continue, I'd hit a wall.

There's piece of street art outside where I live that says
"do something every day to remind this city why the hell you're here."
And for the life of me,
I couldn't.

I'd try to sing,
but lose the words
I'd try to write
and lose the verse
I'd try to act
and lose the truth
I'd try to dance
and couldn't move.

And here
in this concrete jungle
A snail.

A creature so small but so incredibly strong
Carries his world on his back all day long
Can't give up his burdens until he dies
And I watched this snail with tears in my eyes
Because he'd crossed the street
Believe it or not
Against all odds
He'd slowly fought
his way across the asphalt road
full of fleshy beasts in their metal thrones
but his mettle proved greater
and at a snail's pace
he found himself crossing
and lay at my face.

I made sure no salt rolled off me to him
Because that would be an unfortunate end.
And I thought about words
And verse
and truth
I thought about how I could barely move
And I envied him.

Never did I think I'd say
That I wish to move at a snail's pace.

And if he can do it,
Why can't I?
This is what brought the truth to my eyes
The verse to my song
The words to my lips
The movement in my feet
My legs
My hips
I sprang into life
And went home to write
Because if he can do it
So can I.

It's the little things in life.
And in this labyrinth of greed and strife
Polluted by gasses and animals alike
Just remember to stop and breathe, and then
A snail might make the air clean again.

dragonflies melt
into each other.
flowers meld
shaded silver
upon silver.
string whips of
cotton float by like jacks
thrown by children,
unsusceptible to
the force of gravity.

the mechanics of
heart machines
crank awake.

steel knees bend dull and
swollen.

venetian mask with
sterling tongue
skims the tops
of tiny toes
and errantly spring-ed
grasshoppers..

warm bodies
in bubbling steel
meadow—
cool in nature,
stolen like
gold
crafted and
crafted again
in heat.

Below the river’s mirrored surface
Sun-catchers collect the eyes of fish
And in reflecting rainbows
Cast shadows through the currents.  

The slippers of dimpled stones
Tip-toe down-river-bottom
The same direction that the
Weeds blow.

Naked bodies that gleam blushes
Connect with the hot rocks
And rippled movements,
Each one dives into the cold clutches of aqua
Each one leaps on the rocks to lie in the sun.

The black and blue dragonflies,
They boast their fast flight
In full circles and angled turns
And from their deep-set ebony eyes
Pierce the spaces under rocks and between leaves.

Grains of sand are thieved from the shores
By the fast fleeing waters that do not
Stay in one place long.
Those under the water
Those that listen
Hear the music that is so subtly drawn with each grain of sand
Hear the music in the reflecting sun-catchers
Hear the foot-falls of every dimpled stone
Hear the music in the movements of those naked bodies
And in the speedy flight of black and blue dragonflies.

The dragonflies and meadow-sweet
Follow the banks of ‘The Wandle’
Allowing what is hidden and not heard
Behind posted iron railings
To be noted, found on a map, imagined
Its very name conjures up the river’s journey
Drawing one into its currents and flows
A place of beauty where time seems slow
Rippling the edges of thought, living as a space,
Exploration, given  by inclusion and exclusion
Forever to ‘wandle along’ under the sky
Between the gaps in the real
And what finds itself from what
Came before in experience and words.

Love Mary x
The River Wandle is the largest river of the south southwest sector of London, England. Its name is thought to derive from the community around its mouth, Wandsworth. About 9 miles long, it passes through the London Boroughs of Croydon, Sutton, Merton, and Wandsworth to join the River Thames on the Tideway..
Mouth: River Thamesnn

I am sore muscles, burned food,
lit windows of houses I’ve seen
while standing out in the cold,
dead leaves underfoot, dreams of shoulder blades
pushed against plaster and a lump in my throat,
catching someone check their reflection
when they think no one’s looking,
running after an ice cream truck, airplanes crossing the sun,
laughter shooting from the chest,
vehicles racing along pavement,
the tenderness of the air this morning,
shadows stretching across snow, my gut fluttering
when we’re alone together, poems I write in which
nothing is true, the migration of birds,
lights dimmed and all the music turned up, constellations of stars
I will never know the names of, my thoughts chattering to no one,
driving on ice with a pounding heart,
dragonflies and thunderstorms with one ear-bud in,
a head on a shoulder,
hugs tight enough to hurt,
swerving to avoid strangers in the street,
poetry read on full eyes and an empty stomach,
waking in the middle of the night to
move through the house while everything’s soft and quiet,
leaning into things with base violent passion,
strawberries picked in August,
things I want but will never have, that great numbing beauty,
laying back on an unmade bed,
laughing and sobbing like a *****,  hurling rocks
into the navy monotony of the ocean,
electric jealousy,
inhaling dust of old books,
euphoric indie riffs, photographs pinned to walls,
jogging to catch up with a new friend,
spilled milk, a cool pillow at the end of every day,
shifting seasons, happiness louder than bombs,
lungs full of breath,
affluxes of glitter in my eyes,
a roar building in the space around me,
love and love and love

Dragonflies and Damselflies
Symbols of good fortune
From water nymphs
To flying orchestra in tune
Beauty in symmetry
Fragile Forktail
Ebony Jewelwing
Common Whitetail
Eastern Amberwing
Autumn and Amber Meadowhawks
The Common Green Darner
Such beauty in variety
5,900 species of wonder
Ode to the Odes
Dragonflies and Damselflies
Another splendid nature code
Filling my skies

r  
4 August 2013

An oblique path cutting in two a blue hill,  
bathed in a cobalt ocean of morning glories.
On the blue hill there were also a red mill,
Crickets, ants, bees, and many-hued damselflies.

A haven was the fresh upside-down coquille
For long stories untold and movements still
Of difference and dragonflies of fluttering
Over a bluesky ground of mute uttering.

On a dry log pitched not too far from the mill,
Rose an artless sign in the hushed sound of the hill;
Each of whose letters was written in blueberry -
Surely placed there by a traveler in a hurry:
“No matter how often a road is traveled by,
It never tells twice the selfsame story.”

(c) LazharBouazzi, Carthage, TUN, August 23, 2016

"Memory is more indelible than ink."
—Anita Loos

~
Europe, after the rain,
the sun lending warmth and comfort.
fringes come into focus.
shadow journal,
fiscal dreams,
becoming ****** lines on a page;
procession bells
for young brides,
veiled in lace.
a touch from her
outstretched hands,
this honeymoon phase
running up the thigh,
the holding quite still until
she smiles for pendulum.
at first light, breakfast in bed,
granting pastel wishes on
boxing night,
then a letting go of the kite string.

new fingers in the medicine bottle,
tiny geometries
inside a house of reciprocal numbers.
paradise in mnemonic children:
cartwheels and handstands,
coloring books of
neglected spaces,
future ruins.
one hundred violins
play to isles of ignorance,
stray embers settle
along the solemn Chemin De Fer (railway).
a catalogue of afternoons
on the bike path
thru propeller seeds and dragonflies.

arriving in the haloed flesh:
skin dive,
the place of couloir descent;
**** beach,
the place of odd glances;
gun chamber,
the room of secondary light;
all horizon variations.
an algebra of darkness,
this dense Roman twilight,
their exiles unreflected
in blind lanterns.
our brightness will become
refracting silhouettes,
a broken yolk in the incendiary sky.
~

You pick every word I say
With rapt attention.
So I tell you about tangerine skies
In Vermont, how I shape them.
I tell you my dad invented Cuban cigars
In Argentina.

You heard about the prawns,
The ***** and the lilies. A story only I could tell.
I could tell it in fluent Yoruba.
You watch me sleep like I don't have a care in this world
Snorting away while chasing dragonflies and seahorses
In my oblivion.


You watch me walk in the shadows
My gait like gridless frames of a restless gate
blown open by the wind.
(If I was the night, I would be bright.)

Finally you see my hands well adapted to cutlasses and owes,
Irrespective experienced with oriental oils
and manicures.
'One day I will be king', I thought I said.
But you heard it from my mind.
You heard it alone.

Yesterday we owed this to ourselves.
Tomorrow we will be lovers
Today let's be friends.