1969 Hartford art school is magnet for exceedingly intelligent over-sensitive under-achievers alluring freaks congenital creeps and anyone who cannot cut it in straight world it is about loners dreamers stoners clowns cliques of posers competing to dress draw act most outrageous weird wonderful classrooms clash in diversity of needs some students get it right off while others require so much individual attention one girl constantly raises her hand calls for everything to be repeated explained creativity is treated as trouble and compliance to instruction rewarded most of faculty are of opinion kids are not capable of making original artwork teachers discourage students from dream of becoming well-known until they are older more experienced only practiced skilled artists are competent to create ‘real art’ defined by how much struggle or multiple meanings weave through the work Odysseus wants to make magic boxes without knowing or being informed of Joseph Cornell one teacher tells him you think you’re going to invent some new color the world has never seen? you’re just some rowdy brat from the midwest with a lot of crazy ideas and no evidence of authenticity another teacher warns you’re nothing more than a bricoleur! Odysseus questions what’s a bricoleur teacher informs a rogue handyman who haphazardly constructs from whatever is immediately available Odysseus questions what’s wrong with that? teacher answers it’s low-class folk junk  possessing no real intellectual value independently he reads Marshall McLuhan’s “The Medium Is The Message” and “The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci” he memorizes introductory remark of Leonardo’s “i must do like one who comes last to the fair and can find no other way of providing for himself than by taking all the things already seen by others and not taken by reason of their lesser value” Odysseus dreams of becoming accomplished important artist like Robert Rauschenberg Jasper Johns Andy Warhol he dreams of being in eye of hurricane New York art scene he works for university newspaper and is nicknamed crashkiss the newspaper editor is leader in student movement and folk singer who croons “45 caliber man, you’re so much more than our 22, but there’s so many more of us than you” Odysseus grows mustache wears flower printed pants vintage 1940’s leather jacket g.i. surplus clothes he makes many friends his gift for hooking up with girls is uncanny he is long haired drug-crazed hippie enjoying popularity previously unknown to him rock bands play at art openings everyone flirts dances gets ****** lots of activism on campus New York Times dubs university of Hartford “Berkeley of the east coast” holding up ******* in peace sign is subversive in 1969 symbol of rebellion youth solidarity gesture against war hawks rednecks corporate America acknowledgment of potential beyond materialistic self-righteous values of status quo sign of what could be in universe filled with incredible possibilities he moves in with  painting student one year advanced named Todd Whitman Todd has curly blond hair sturdy build wire rimmed glasses impish smile gemini superb draftsman amazing artist Todd emulates Francisco de Goya and Albrecht Durer Todd’s talent overshadows Odysseus’s Todd’s dad is accomplished professor at distinguished college in Massachusetts to celebrate Odysseus’s arrival Todd cooks all day preparing spaghetti dinner when Odysseus arrives home tripping on acid without appetite Todd is disappointed Odysseus runs down to corner store buys large bottle of wine returns to house Todd is eating spaghetti alone they get drunk together then pierce each other’s ears with needles ice wine cork pierced ears are outlaw style of bad *** bikers like Hell’s Angels Todd says you are a real original Odys and funny too Odysseus asks funny, how? Todd answers you are one crazy ******* drop acid whenever you want smoke **** then go to class this is fun tonight Odys getting drunk and piercing our ears Odysseus says yup i’m having a good time too Todd and Odysseus become best friends Odysseus turns Todd on to Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar” and “Ariel” then they both read Ted Hughes “Crow” illustrated with Leonard Baskin prints Todd turns Odysseus on to German Expressionist painting art movement of garish colors emotionally violent imagery from 1905-1925 later infuriating Third ***** who deemed the work “degenerate” Odysseus dives into works of Max Beckmann Otto Dix Conrad Felixmulller Barthel Gilles George Grosz Erich Heckel Ernst Ludwig Kirchner Felix Nussbaum Karl *******Rottluff Carl Hofer August Macke Max Peckstein Elfriede Lohse-Wachtler Egon Shiele list goes on in 1969 most parents don’t have money to buy their children cars most kids living off campus either ride bikes or hitchhike to school then back home on weekends often without a penny in their pockets Odysseus and Todd randomly select a highway and hitch rides to Putney Vermont Brattleboro Boston Cape Cod New York City or D.C. in search of adventure there is always trouble to be found curious girls to assist in Georgetown Odysseus sleeps with skinny girl with webbed toes who believes he is Jesus he tries to dissuade her but she is convinced

Toby Mantis is visiting New York City artist at Hartford art school he looks like huskier handsomer version of Ringo Starr and women dig him he builds stretchers and stretches canvases for Warhol lives in huge loft in Soho on Broadway and Bleeker invites Odysseus to come down on weekends hang out Toby takes him to Max’s Kansas City Warhol’s Electric Circus they wander all night into morning there are printing companies longshoremen gays in Chelsea Italians in West Village hippies playing guitars protesting the war in Washington Square all kinds of hollering crazies passing out fliers pins in Union Square Toby is hard drinker Odysseus has trouble keeping up  he pukes his guts out number of times Odysseus is *** head not drinker he explores 42nd Street stumbles across strange exotic place named Peep Show World upstairs is large with many **** cubicles creepy dudes hanging around downstairs is astonishing there are many clusters of booths with live **** girls inside girls shout out hey boys come on now pick me come on boys there are hundreds of girls from all over the world in every conceivable size shape race he enters dark stall  puts fifty cents in coin box window screen lifts inside each cluster are 6 to 10 girls either parading or glued to a window for $1 he is allowed to caress kiss their ******* for $2 he is permitted to probe their ****** or *** for $10 girl reaches hand into darkened stall jerks him off tall slender British girl thrills him the most she says let me have another go at your dickey Odysseus spends all his money ******* 5 times departing he notices men from every walk of life passing through wall street stockbrokers executives rednecks mobsters frat boys tourists fat old bald guys smoking thick smelly cigars Toby Mantis has good-looking girlfriend named Lorraine with long brown hair Toby Lorraine and Odysseus sit around kitchen table Odysseus doodles with pencil on paper Toby spreads open Lorraine’s thighs exposing her ****** to Odysseus Lorraine blushes yet permits Toby to finger her Odysseus thinks she has the most beautiful ****** he has ever seen bulging pelvic bone brown distinctive bush symmetric lips Toby and Lorraine watch in amusement as Odysseus gazes intently Tony mischievously remarks you like looking at that ***** don’t you? Odysseus stares silently begins pencil drawing Lorraine’s ****** his eyes darting back and forth following day Lorraine seduces Odysseus while Toby is away walks out **** from shower she is few years older her body lean with high ******* she directs his hands mouth while she talks with someone on telephone it is strange yet quite exciting Odysseus is in awe of New York City every culture in the world intermingling democracy functioning in an uncontrollable managed breath millions of people in motion stories unraveling on every street 24 hour spectacle with no limits every conceivable variety of humanity ******* in same air Odysseus is bedazzled yet intimidated

Odysseus spends summer of 1970 at art colony in Cummington Massachusetts it is magical time extraordinary place many talented eccentric characters all kinds of happenings stage plays poetry readings community meals volleyball after dinner volleyball games are hilarious fun he lives alone in isolated studio amidst wild raspberries in woods shares toilet with field mouse no shower he reads Jerzy Kosinski’s “Painted Bird” then “Being There” then “Steps” attractive long haired girl named Pam visits community for weekend meets Odysseus they talk realize they were in first grade together at Harper amazing coincidence automatic ground for “we need to have *** because neither of us has seen each other since first grade” she inquires where do you sleep? Todd hitches up from Hartford to satisfy curiosity everyone sleeps around good-looking blue-eyed poet named Shannon Banks from South Boston tells Odysseus his ******* is not big enough for kind of ******* she wants but she will **** him off that’s fine with him 32 year old poet named Ellen Morrissey from Massachusetts reassures him ******* is fine Ellen is beginning to find her way out from suffocating marriage she has little daughter named Nina Ellen admires Odysseus’s free spirit sees both his possibilities and naïveté she realizes he has crippling family baggage he has no idea he is carrying thing about trauma is as it is occurring victim shrugs laughs to repel shock yet years later pain horror sink in turned-on with new ideas he returns to Hartford art school classes are fun yet confusing he strives to be best drawer most innovative competition sidetracks him Odysseus uses power drill to carve pumpkin on Halloween teachers warn him to stick to fundamentals too much creativity is suspect Todd and he are invited to holiday party Odysseus shows up with Ellen Morrissey driving in her father’s station wagon 2 exceptionally pretty girls flirt with him he is live wire they sneak upstairs he fingers both at same time while they laugh to each other one of the girls Laura invites him outside to do more he follows they walk through falling snow until they find hidden area near some trees Laura lies down lifts her skirt she spreads her legs dense ***** mound he is about to explore her there when Laura looks up sees figure with flashlight following their tracks in snow she warns it’s Bill my husband run for your life! Odysseus runs around long way back inside party grabs a beer pretending he has been there next to Ellen all night few minutes later he sees Laura and Bill return through front door Bill has dark mustache angry eyes Odysseus tells Ellen it is late maybe they should leave soon suddenly Bill walks up to him with beer in hand cracks bottle over his head glass and beer splatter Odysseus jumps up runs out to station wagon Ellen hurriedly follows snow coming down hard car is wedged among many guest vehicles he starts engine locks doors maneuvers vehicle back and forth trying to inch way out of spot Bill appears from party walks to his van disappears from out of darkness swirling snow Bill comes at them wielding large crowbar smashes car’s headlights taillights side mirrors windshield covered in broken glass Ellen ducks on floor beneath glove compartment sobs cries he’s going to **** us! we’re going to die! Odysseus steers station wagon free floors gas pedal drives on back country roads through furious snowstorm in dark of night no lights Odysseus contorts crouches forward in order to see through hole in shattered windshield Ellen sees headlights behind them coming up fast it is Bill in van Bill banging their bumper follows them all the way back to Hartford to Odysseus’s place they run inside call police Bill sits parked van outside across street as police arrive half hour later Bill pulls away next day Odysseus and Ellen drive to Boston to explain to Ellen’s dad what has happened to his station wagon Odysseus stays with Ellen in Brookline for several nights another holiday party she wants to take him along to meet her friends her social circles are older he thinks to challenge their values be outrageous paints face Ellen is horrified cries you can’t possibly do this to me these are my close friends what will they think? he defiantly answers my face is a mask who cares what i look like? man woman creature what does it matter? if your friends really want to know me they’ll need to look beyond the make-up tonight i am your sluttish girlfriend! sometimes Odysseus can be a thoughtless fool

Laura Rousseau Shane files for divorce from Bill she is exceptionally lovely models at art school she is of French descent her figure possessing exotic traits she stands like ballerina with thick pointed ******* copious ***** hair Odysseus is infatuated she frequently dances pursues him Laura says i had the opportunity to meet Bob Dylan once amazed Odysseus questions what did you do? she replies what could i possibly have in common with Bob Dylan? Laura teases Odysseus about being a preppy then lustfully gropes him grabs holds his ***** they devote many hours to ****** intimacy during ******* she routinely reaches her hand from under her buns grasps his testicles squeezing as he pumps he likes that Laura is quite eccentric fetishes over Odysseus she even thrills to pick zits on his back he is not sure if it is truly a desire of hers proof of earthiness or simply expression of mothering Laura has two daughters by Bill Odysseus is in over his head Laura tells Odysseus myth of Medea smitten with love for Jason Jason needs Medea’s help to find Golden Fleece Medea agrees with promise of marriage murders her brother arranges ****** of king who has deprived Jason his inheritance couple is forced into exile Medea bears Jason 2 sons then Jason falls in love with King Creon’s daughter deserts Medea is furious she makes shawl for King Creon’s daughter to wear at her wedding to Jason  shawl turns to flames killing bride Medea murders her own sons by Jason Odysseus goes along with story for a while but Laura wants husband Odysseus is merely scruffy boy with roving eyes Laura becomes galled by Odysseus leaves him for one of his roommates whom she marries then several years later divorces there is scene when Laura tells Odysseus she is dropping him for his roommate he is standing in living room of her house space is painted deep renaissance burgundy there are framed photographs on walls in one photo he is hugging Laura and her daughters under big oak tree in room Laura’s friend Bettina other girl he fingered first night he met Laura at party is watching with arms crossed he drops to floor curls body sobs i miss you so much Laura turns to Bettina remarks look at him men are such big babies he’s pitiful Bettina nods

following summer he works installing displays at G. Fox Department Store besides one woman gay men staff display department for as long as he can remember homosexuals have always been attracted to him this misconception is probably how he got job his tenor voice suggesting not entirely mature man instead more like tentative young boy this ambiguous manifestation sometimes also evidences gestures thoroughly misleading after sidestepping several ****** advances one of his co-workers bewilderingly remarks you really are straight manager staff are fussy chirpy catty group consequently certain he is not gay they discriminate against him stick him with break down clean up slop jobs at outdoor weekend rock concert in Constitution Plaza he meets 2 younger blond girls who consent to go back to his place mess around both girls are quite dazzling yet one is somewhat physically undeveloped they undress and model for Odysseus radio plays Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly With His Song” both girls move to rhythm sing along he thinks to orchestrate direct decides instead to let them lead lies on bed while curvaceous girl rides his ******* slender girl sits on his face they switch all 3 alternate giggle laughter each girl reaches ****** on his stiffness later both assist with hands mouths his ****** is so intense it leaves him paralyzed for a moment

in fall he is cast as Claudius in production of Hamlet Odysseus rehearses diligently on nights o

Her name is yoni

            

              The divine who devours.
                   Deep inside of her
                       Lies serenity.
              A gift from the heavens
                   She embraces the
                Power of the universe.
                Through her majestic,
                          Earthiness.
                 ­    A sweet delicacy
                            She is.
                      A tender love
                        she gives.

Find the LOVE
In your heart
Let it be your LIGHT
It will shine from your eyes
The rays will BURST within you
Explode
A nova burning brighter than
The sun
Flares in your mind

The stars bow before you
Highlight of creation
Glory radiating around you

Express yourself
   Pick up the pen
   Let it take wing
   Fly to the outer reaches
   Down starlanes
   And garden paths

Roses
   Color of burgundy wine
   Glittering
   Glistening
   Gleaming
Sunlight on the petals
Dewdrops on emerald leaves
Reflections of scattered points of light

Butterfly emerging
Cocoon erupting
Revealing starchild destiny

Metamorphosis
From roots of earthiness
Free to tumble and glide
In cloudless azure skies

The chains fall away
Taste winged freedom as you soar

Capture the moments
The way you were meant to stride
As a giant
across the firmament

Golden gate spread wide
The road opens before you, beckoning
Starting in the dusk
Through twilight
Into the dawn of your new day

Set a torch to  coals of joy
Banking the flame of your essence

This instant in time was made for you
To seize all that was poured into you
Like wine
Drink from the cup and...
Humanize yourself

It was getting dark when I exited the Port d’Orleans metro station. The cold air hit me instantaneously, seeping in between my clothes and skin. I tighten my long coat around me, readjusted my back pack, and pulled out my phone to confirm the address of Tango à Paris. It was only two blocks north of where I was standing.  

It was my first date with Séraphine. I had suggested dinner. She suggested something less formal, a bit more active, how about tango, explaining her studio gave a hour long introduction before the milonga. I agreed, as I had taken a year of tango, and felt confident I could keep up, maybe even impress her.

I’d wondered how she kept her 5 foot 8, 130 pound-ish physique, swimmer lean, and now I knew, she was a dancer.

I liked this part of Paris, the 14th arrondissement, L’Observatoire, clean, tidy, having the look and feel of a Nordic city like Olso or Stockholm. The sidewalks were full of interweaving professionals, eager to get out of the cold, the drizzle, and home to their loved ones.  

I walked up L’Avenue du Général Leclerc till I got to No 119. I pressed the buzzer and heard back, “oui.” “I am here for the milonga,” I said. The door buzzed, I pushed it open, entering a small foyer with sign pointing up a staircase to the first floor. I could hear the muffed sound of music and feel the movement of bodies dancing upstairs.

I climbed the curved wrought iron staircase, the old wooden stairs creaking softly with every step. I saw the studio immediately: two traditional French doors swung open, exposing a gymnasium like dance studio, with clean, golden yellow oak hardwood floor. Men and woman dancing, swinging and spinning about.

I entered the studio, paused, and looked around. At the far of the room was the DJ, sitting at table, with two loud speakers on stands pumping out music at just the right volume: loud enough to feel the music, low enough to talk your partner without having to scream in her ear.  

To my left, people gathered around a table. I walked over, they were writing their names with a felt tip pens on self adhesive name tags and placing it on their chest. A woman turned around and smiled at me. “Bienvenue,” she said, “I’m Jolene.” and extended her hand. “I am Damien”, I replied, shaking her hand politely. “Is this your first time here,” she asked. “Yes,” I replied, “I am waiting on a friend, Seraphine.”

“Mais oui,” she replied with a smile, “she is one of our best dancers, talented, if not gifted.” Her head turned slowly towards the doors, my eyes following.

In the door stood Seraphine, wearing a spaghetti strap, damask black on maroon tango midi dress, slit high up her right tigh. Her shoes, opened toe, black thin strap heels, showing off her matching blood red toe and finger nail polish and lipstick. Her eyelashes thick, black, eyelids smoked dark, giving her the stereotypical look of a femme fatale tango dancer.  She was gorgeous, seductive, awe inspiring, like Bouguereau's The Birth of Venus. How could a man resist such a siren. She was goddess among women.

She walked over to us, said, “Bonsoir Madame,” and kissed Jolene
twice on the cheeks (faire la bise) as is customary among Parisian friends, then  turned to me, touched her cheek to mine, making the mwah, kissing sound.

I was intrigued. The kiss implied no longer an acquaintance, but in her inner circle of intimacy. It had subtle implications that set my mind racing about the meaning; it was also maddening, like trying to see a completed jigsaw puzzle while only holding one of a thousand pieces.

“Ca va,” she asked, bypassing the formal “comment vas-tu” greeting. “Ca va bien,” I replied. “Your dress is stunning,” I said. “Thank you,” she replied, with confidence.

She sat down, ruffled through her bag, and pulled out ecru opened toe tango shoes. I couldn’t help notice her feet, delicate, feminine, absolutely exquisite. I also couldn’t help noticing her tigh, exposed through the slit of her dress.

Before she could get up from the chair, an older man approached, extended his hand, which she accepted. She stood up, looked me in the eyes, and said, “it is rude to refused a dance when asked.” They walked to middle of the floor and started to dance to a slow, sultry, Spanish guitar piece. I sat down and watched. She didn’t just dance, she pranced, shook, and swayed her hips as only an accomplished Latin dancer could. It was amazing to watch.

The music repeated, slowed, and concluded. They walked off the dance floor, to the beverage table, topped with a variety of multicolored bottles of wine. He poured two glasses, offered her one, as they talked, she smiled and occasionally laughed. He bowed his head slightly, touched her upper arm, and walked away, as a cortina started.

Seraphine poured more wine in her glass and poured another glass, walked to me, and offered it. I took it, deliberately touching her hand as I did. She sat down, crossed her legs, the dress sliding aside, exposing her tigh, and asked me, “do you dance monsieur.” “Yes, mademoiselle,” I replied, as a new tanda of spanish guitar played. She stood up, extended her hand. I took it, stood up, and lead her to the middle of the floor, dodging couples along the way.

“Tango”, I asked. “Yes,” she replied. I move in close, wrapped my right arm across her back, pressing her body tight against mine, extending my left arm out in position, palm open. She carefully placed her hand in mine, her forefinger on my thumb, her thumb on the radial artery on wrist, as if feeling my pulse. It struck me as odd and was curious as to why.  She’d done it in a such a methodical way.

Her hands were warm, soft, supple, dewy. She closed her grip and waited for me. I swayed gently to the beat of Tango D’Amor by Bellma Cesepedes, as she rhythmically matched my body. I stepped back on my right foot, holding her tight, bringing her with me, then left,  then forward. My chest pressing into hers. My leg brushed against her tigh as I moved, slow, slow, quick, quick, slow of the basic 8 count. I paused for a second, for her to cross then pushed forward, slowly turning to avoid couples.

I sensed her body heat, felt the wetness of perspiration on her back, smelled the earthiness of her scent. She radiated animal magnetism. I couldn’t, nor wanted to resist her. I knew I was a moth, she the flame.

New music started to play, Fuego Tango by Athos Bassissi, a traditional fast staccato accordion piece with a distinct beat for walking, turning, and swaying. I placed my my hand between her shoulders. I couldn’t feel a strap. She wasn’t wearing bra. It felt intimate, seductive, only a thin layer of cloth between us.

She pulled her head back, looked at me in the eyes, and said, “Tighter, I need to feel you, your body, your moves, so I can respond to your body.” I wrapped by arm completely around her, pulling her tight against my me. My primal urges welled up. I wanted her, to kiss her, to protect her,  to provide for her, have and raise kids with her. I felt stronger, more powerful, like a man. I wanted her in my life before she disappeared forever.

She placed her forehead on my temple. I rocked back and forth catching the beat, stepping backwards with my right, and we started to dance, slow, slow, quick, quick, slow, in a vertical expression of horizon desire.

Bending my knee, sliding forward, my chest pressing against hers, pushing, stopping, shifting, subtly twisting, I signaled a backward ocho. I waited for her, than slide to the left bring her with me, waited for her to pivot then slid right, bringing her with me, then waited for her to center. I walked forward, stopped, signalling for her to cross. I waited for the beat then finished my eight step basic.

I could feel her breath on my cheek, fast, hot; felt her breathing, her chest rising, falling sensuously. She felt good in my arms, as right as rain. I liked holding her, feeling her so close to me.

I started an eight step, stopping at the cross, signaling her to move right in preparation for a scada. As she moved, I stepped between her legs, pivoting her and me 180 degrees, repeating the step 3 times, bringing her back to cross, and finishing the step.

I heard her audibly exhale, relaxing in my arms. She was giving up control, learning to trust, surrendering to me. And I, was one with her, nothing else mattered, all else had disappeared. I was in a state of deep mediation. She was the now and forever.

The music stopped, I looked at her, noticed the glow in her cheeks, felt the warm moistness on her back. But most of all, I noticed her dilated pupils. The glowing sapphire blue of her eyes, replaced by a fathomless blackness, which I fell into.

She looked into my eyes with a gentleness, a knowing, and smiled. A new piece started, Rain, by Kantango, clean, crisp, staccato. I moved, walked, slid, in step with the beat, losing myself in the sensuality of the music and the movement of the dance.  I pressed her tight against my chest, sliding forward, rock stepping backward, holding her tighter as I did a single axis spin. I heard her sigh in my ear and felt her body relax. I slid forward to the staccato rhythm, dramatic, forceful, almost charging.

I stopped and lean to my left. She extended her right leg back, and planeo-ed as I walked her in a circle, side-by-side rock, then to neutral. She tighten her hold, pressing me into her chest, her touch telling me so much, screaming her arousal.

I slid forward, to the side, staring an 8 count to the cross, going into a backward ocho, I shifted my weight, taking her into a moulinette, twisting to the right then to the left, as she elegantly danced around me, back to 5 to complete our 8 count.

I was no longer thinking, just feeling, one with the music, lost in the sensuality, in a type of bliss. I walked forward then back, turning her to the right. To my surprise, she extended her left leg, whipping it across the floor, then back, wrapping it around my leg, slowly sliding her calf up my leg, then unwinding to neutral. I walked forward, she spun around, and slowed her walk. My body colliding, pressing into her’s as we slowly stopped. She turned her face towards mine, raising her hand, touching my face, my cheek, gently turning, bringing it towards her’s, towards her lips. Just as we were going to kiss, she turned her face, my face plunged into her hair, the back of her neck. I could smell, Poison by Dior. I kissed the back of her neck, squeezing her slightly, as she moaned ever so slightly.

Why do you continue to sleep this night?
Like so many others, refusing to awaken
I am losing patience with your lack of knowing
With your avoidance to feel

Hear me ... Come to me

Come back to the fore mother's womb
Know your place of origin
It is time for you to be born again of blood and lust
Time to drink deep and be nourished by Ancestral *******

I come to you in the quietness of the night
I come to you with arms that ache to hold you
With a tongue that burns to share with you
All that has been denied you for too long


What is happening to me?

I did as I was told. I followed the formula.

Studied well. Worked hard. Fell in love..
.
Why was it all taken from me? What is left for me?


Doing and not “Being” leaves no time for the sacred
You wonder why the emptiness grows inside you?
Let me love you into growing and into knowing
The truth of the fullness of a woman

Time to leave your antiseptic cocoon
Time to touch, to burn, to feel
Time to leave the shackles of other's man made rules
And dare to create your own from having lived

So many fear the dark.
But water and fire gather in the dark places below.
The brave and bold have learned to go there eagerly
They run with pulses racing.
Their bodies flushed, warm, alive.

Hear me ... Come to me

Tonight we shall meet and touch
It is our intention to reclaim all that has been lost to us
It is our intention to give to you, all that has been denied
Dare to free your body.
Dare to open your soul.
Feel.

Hear me ... Come to me

Let me dig deep into your soul
Become one with your Ivory bones
Know the harmony of your blood's song
Find the place where I belong

Let my footsteps echo within your mind
Journey with me through space and time
Let me turn you inside out
Breathe the Breath from your sweet mouth

A pulse stilled...now throbs and rushes
A tongue denied...salivates
A covert glance...seeks to be engaged
Flesh and mind flooded with new yearning...are hungry
Woman of the heart, Let thunder roll
Dig in your earthiness,
Follow your roots to your flesh
And find us dancing in your blood

You don't have to tiptoe around your heart
Dig in. Know it. Own it.
Trust the knowing will bless your lips and your hips
And set your world on fire!

Janice you thought
prettier than Helen
more refined

whose voice
was softly spoken
as if her words

had been fresh baked
in an oven
in her mouth

and her hair fair
and well groomed
but Helen had

that down to earthiness
that brought her
closer to you

and something about
her thin framed
thick lens glasses

made her seem
more lovable
to your boyish world

and she stared at you
through them
and smiled

that shy smile
and said things
with a rough edge

as if she’d bounced
the words around
before she uttered them aloud

you can come to tea
and we’ll have bread and jam
and a big mug of tea

or if mum’s remembered
lemonade
she said at playtime

in the playground
out of hear shot
of the other boys

who kicked ball
or who swapped cards
or threw marbles

along the ground
or fought battles
with imaginary swords

or shot pretend bullets
from rat-a-tat guns
and she said

to entice you more
you can see my new doll
my dad brought back

from the store
ok
you said

sure
and she smiled
and her nose creased up

and her glasses moved
and some small place
in your chest thumped

like furniture being dropped
or a bed being bounced
in some small hotel

and you watched her
go off to play skip rope
that thin framed

thick lens glasses
working-class
school girl.

which breaks the faceless crowd
a gush of blissful warmth
soothing as autumn sun
fiery as raging storm

the earthiness of fields
and scent of blooming slopes
the wilderness of sky
a bustling city's soul

she is the riddling key
hint of a dreamy life
window which breathes the sun
blesses my being with shine

a nebula of birth
crucible of synthesis
my sermon on the mount
my fall into abyss

complexity of life
simplicity of smile
the fleetingness of wind
purposelessness of time

a father's solemn wish
a mother's selfless prayer
immortal as the sea
lover's listless despair

patience of dormant seeds
the certainty of death
innocence of a child
preciousness of breath

vapors of firmament
helplessness of loss
a tease of sun and clouds
the curiousness of God

she is the judgment day
a dream of languor warmth
the solace of my pain
cast in a fervid form

for she is all there is
and all there'll ever be
an era of romance
the reason for my being

as tranquil rainbows dim
and stars bestow a treat
my muse forever sought
i yearn the day we'll meet

Ghosts

The ghosts float about
sometimes above my head
sometimes in my chest
they wrap themselves
Oh to be lycan
I saw a wolf in the northwest covered with snow
blue eyes looking right through me
as if to say wake up you stupid human
stuck in the mud
float in snow my man!
I feel the heat on my inner thighs
creeping upward tickling enticing
as if the summer is trying to peak its head
through cold winter soil
the shiny black snake coils
around my ankles
squeezes telling me to be not afraid
of the primordial divine impulse
to take my earthiness and embrace it
bring it to the heavens where it belongs
with my spirit.

The Woman

The long thin silk scarf around her neck
***** and flies off her left shoulder
like angel wings in the wind
caresses my cheek and neck
wants me within her feminine self.
Ah! what sweetness to behold!
her soft skin gentlizes me
takes my hairy clunky body
lifts it into my dreams
into her moistness.

Awake

And now I am awake
to spring in its irrepressible green
daffodils at the base of the pear tree
direct my eyes from earth to sky
like an organic gothic arch
long puffy clouds stand still
against the bright azure sky
heaven on earth.

let’s run to the vermouth tree
let’s run up the bark
chipping off skin
showing smooth pane

you and me
you and me
just
you and me
you and me

we’ll be kings in our altitude

we’ll drink the sap
to makes us drowsy
we’ll take a nap
on the branches grand
like muscular thighs of amicable giants
planted right here in the sand

let’s run up the vermouth tree
and laze around like vagabonds
whose only inspiration is
to live
to long
and to live long

just like this horizontal wooden palace
which shall persist when we are gone
which shall resist broken innocence
for her branches always reach towards the sky
never regretting
or failing to try

its sweet earthiness
shall remind us
of the goodness of nature
as we drift to dreams

its sweet richness
fortified
reminds us of things
powerful
and magical

you and me
you and me
we’ll be befuddled atop her palms
held in her grace as we hang
as voluntary adornments
clinging on for love

returning home when the night’s to come.

until the setting sun greets us here
atop the cusp
flowerful smoke
defusing what’s become of us
while the clouds turn sad
at dusk
a must,
the rust
is true
and magnificent
and you and I
stay drunk.

I knew something changed.
Something that lingered transformed,
An overwhelming surge of clarity and comfort.
With its caffeinated beverages flowing crisply,
It's stone walls radiating warmth and serenity.

My lips shudder at the taste of bittersweet Americano,
A myriad sensations.
It's subtle earthiness,
It's tasteful tinge of brown sugar,
It's smooth transition from the tongue to the oesophagus.

My eyes widen, my hands tremble.
My world has turned upside down,
No, no, upside up!
This sensation is dizzying, electrifying.
I need to shout across these tidal waves of pleasure,
I must scream across the coloured books, the decorative lights.
Nothing can stop me.

His eyes are not crazy or wild like mine
in contrast- he is the calm to my storm
Air to my earthiness.
No mud shall build up from the waters of intensity
Iam sure to be dried out and become unstuck
and finely swept along....
sweetly and simply
sand in the wind
Safely, lightly, this desert is our home
Here we have our peace.
Together there is balance, no absence of anything
Unspoken acceptance of untouchable territory
He has his own, and I have my story.
the earth is to me, the air is his glory
It rains here and there but never enough
to trap us in storm, he carries us along
like sand in the wind

In the vortex
of my mind
      under layers
            of consciousness
something is opening
within me
like a reverse arc
            going deep
                into other landscapes    
                      kaleidoscopic spheres
                                              swirling                  
                            in new development
and I am holding onto
my living room chair
as a slow tornado
whirls around me,
new wisdom filling me up
in whisperings
unable to be heard
          to the naked human ear    
sacred utterings
beyond definition,
beyond the realms
                   of fear  
Seeds of knowledge
that burst through
old patterns,
a force that defies
All I have been
working towards
striving to rise    
pushing through debris
exploding, gently,
to the surface
   a coolness emerging
to soothe this burning
                          furnace
causing my secret
desert spaces
           to evolve
into green-covered
dense jungle waxed
exotic flowers
so tiny and so large
they look like caricatures
(but they're real)
and I had no idea
this was part of the deal
I stare in wonder
at the plants
and creatures
I have yet
to name
wildernesses
that preferably
must stay
         untamed

And into this clearing
       they venture
shyly, daring to emerge
from the dense,
intense forest,
all negativity
                      to purge
to eat from
           my fingers,
waiting for my
            primeval blessing
These sweet, feral creatures
I wish for each
and every one
to bestow upon me
their grace,
bless me in turn
as I stroke their face
they  almost seem
                   to glow
                    in their            
primordial powers
and let me
anoint their brows,
my hands grazing soft
and rougher patches
of fur, of reptilian skin
predator and prey
joining as one within
They come
to meet me today
to partake in my strength
They bestow me
with their
indigenous, glowing
           earthiness
written indelibly
inside their eyes
their innocent power
flowing, balanced
          between cloudy and clear skies
and as I gaze
directly into
the naked horizon,
            tornados ceased
I feel that something
             akin to…
                         peace
I am blessed in its
          rivulet, immersed in its stream
and I know I am
on my path to an
ever-sacred
           dream

Come Comedy, comely

of Errors or Divine, whether dark

even if dry



Come Comedy, comely

the quirks of your truth

bring tears to these brown eyes

come Comedy, be brute and quick

with your sarcastic, caustic wit

create an ache in my belly

unceasingly uncontrollably

(Oh nelly's & *******!s)

just leave me awry this way

almost like a mad mime

This comedy of latter days.



Come, stand-up

black or caddy

display / the punch line timely

come Comedy, comely

(please stay)

the hours of this life of mine

come Death, solemn and gladly


be stealthy and yes - be unkind....

laughing with the earthiness to our wine.



A cynic unable to cry.

nor laugh at the joke

which is his own lifeless life...



Come comely, sadly

all goodbyes...


a dark comedy

within bright eyes...

*(Pleading at the sky)

she was named after the mountains—
her irises flashed white and howled;
her sleep rumbled with the earthiness
of winter; her mind wandered through
fields of

snow.

i wanted to wander
with her. i wanted to bury my head in the drifts
and sink into her core. i wanted
to stroke her gently:

kiss the
        falling

snow.

The young mind and
The young heart in the making
Of a life - a green plant planned  
With kindred tree by Him
Into the earthiness of bond and growth
Into a mother out to a friend
Who is farther and a father
But not far from her
The phone brings
When rings, melodies of closeness
And runs a girl
Leaving her bath, books or play;
The water, pencil, or the wheel of the cycle
Rolls down dashing
Almost against a mishap
She has a perfect guess at the caller
And the call and gestures by her hand
To give the phone- the restless, impatient
Need to share forces her to dare
For a dire need of a talk
"Now you come six months have passed
Finish your work soon
You come, the first day you take rest
And the next day we will go to the park"
And so on but before everything the food and
Health and what  he takes and should not take,
Are the words  of a loving soul;
Enquiry and instruction
Remind him of a mother ----
His doting and dead mother
A three- year old, wide-eyed dear deer
While nibbling at the yielding leaves of life  
Told all before he landed from abroad
On his native land, a few years ago
"My son will come today
Women of the neighborhood
Wondrously asked,
"Who is you son, my dear?"
"My dad is my son,
He will come today"—

And his  departed mother
Got reincarnated
Through the daughter's
Prophetic words—

I enjoyed being a bellhop at the Student Union at the U of I in college,
everything went so fast.
I enjoyed being a dishwasher
everything went so fast, too, and I formed a relationship with
a gorgeous blonde waitress that I thought would last.
I enjoyed digging ditches for a home builder
it made me feel so earthy and the die was cast
for me being a manual laborer
'cause I know I'd crack up in the Army
and of course no flag would be at half- mast
and to be realistic
I'd be "doing it" for the rest of my work period
I was so serious
Then I used a sledge hammer and jackhammer
and more feeling of earthiness followed
and I knew I'd be delirious
at working here at something where I could see
my progress at it
and not get messed up in my mind too much at that.
Us workers would have the usual construction workers'
break beverage of a quart or bottle of chocolate milk
and we'd feel great
at mopping the sweat from a lot
including our cheeks.
Being a soldier
obviously didn't agree with me,
or I wouldn't have gotten
called on PTSD
but my stubborn flights into food service work
and even janitor work
were my way of fighting it
and my cup of tea.

i’ll never forget the first time we danced, at the social in august,
the heat and humidity of the summer night, intensified by the confines of the old wooden dance hall.

the music was electric, the crowd ecstatic when we locked eyes, and i asked you to dance. i took your hand, soft and moist, and led you to the middle of the dance floor.

surrounded by bodies, gyrating and spinning, i put my arm around you, pulled you near, pressing your body tightly against mine.

i held you in my arms, discovering, savoring the feel of your body, the wetness on your back, the earthiness of your scent.

i sensed the sensuality, the sexuality, the animal, inside you. never had i desired a woman as much as i desired you.

stars burn effortlessly
while poets scrabble
plucking words like agates
from the mind’s pebbled shore

they have in common
the pleasure of those who bask
in simple outputs
of mysterious affairs

all we have in common
are kindred thoughts
sifted from every scrap we’ve read
as we seek ideas to explain us

adopt them, call them our own, tell others;
we're ripe and designed to spread
through an inky vector
or letters, anyway  

if you do it well enough you get a piece of paper that says
you’re qualified
but one can partake au naturel
and still have a good time

this is my compliment to you:
i'll show you the worst of me
and you’ll feel perfect
in comparison

if i were a better friend, i’d practice
become a learned artist
to sing the best of you
barring that, i could cheat

you want to be a pebble,
i know the way
come down here
and i'll feed you something from my garden

it will probably make you sick
you'll use words like rustic or pastoral
when you mean shabby and feral
woozy from the earthiness of it all

you’ll be charmed into mistaking seduction
for enlightenment
a tragic folly
like warming oneself with spent nuclear fuel

but enough about my dissipation
let us laugh instead
a wink between old friends
that is nothing and everything

for this is my compliment to you:
remember you are devastating
even when an echo
is the only applause you hear

Waging a war
for peace. Rage of
silence abates.

The heart of a flame
has an earthiness. It will
bear a smokeless slight.

There was a terror
link. You could not handle
the trick.

Come to the fore now
and place the honesty,
on the back burner.

I will not speak
between life and death
going from light to dark.

I was the shadow,
and I was the moon.

Claiming my earthiness
in the starry night. A cyclone will
soon make a landfall.

Bright planet writes
a poem guiding towards the
truth of wounded time.

Take an old coin, buy
poverty from the hands of god
in weird utopia.