A thousand tumbles takes a bottle in the sea-
a thousand dashes and whirls and swoops.
A million grains of sand takes that bottle in the sea,
to break apart, to come to me
in fragments like a snowflake fractal.
How many mermaid miles till she hands that glass to me?
For I've taken out my very-ness, for you.
- And my crossness.
My judgement and wrath.
I've taken out slight hot breathe
               (for you to melt the ice on your whiskers.)
I've taken out my toes when they are reaching for yours in the cavernous blanket world  through the forest of our lazy limbs.
I've taken out my righteousness
and my second guessing.
I've taken out for you (a surprise, I was going to surprise you!)
all the times you were going to be wrong to me-
          and to wrong me...
taken them out to sea, you see?
In that bottle, pretty bottle. Broken now like too many vows.
I've taken out my knowing best and finding better.
I've taken out the half moon of your thumbnail as well
...I will miss that in my night sky-
(perhaps I'll keep that after all.)
I'll take out the complacency of holding your hand getting out of a chair.
and the mindless strokes
as you explain
my commonplace crazy
to
simpler minds-
I'll take out the very-ness of me, and the we-ness of us.
and fill a bottle with a the brine of a thousand tears from hundred slights not slighted quite yet.
I fill the bottle and gift the sea
with the softness of you and the brashness of me.
A thousand turnabouts it takes to reach you on the beach,
a sea glass diamond ring, engage me you engaging man-
and the tides tickles my feet in anticipation, marry me. marry me.
just a sea glass promise
for a mermaid bride
waiting for the sailor man to sing her sweetly with salt on his lips
Just a sea glass lullaby from the man who loves me so.
Marry me, marry me
And we drink sparkling water from a sea glass flute
and we drink all the us and we drink all the we
for sea glass could never hold a second in,
sea glass is far too vain not to shine in the sun fanning
your invite out in a spectrum of color that
a small child's hand creates when he holds it up to the rays.
Spills out all of my intentions
Spoiled child, loved child,
Spills out all of my intentions carelessly on the sandy floor for the tides to swallow whole.
My sea glass prism chucked unceremoniously back to sea
and me the mermaid bride left at her own alter...
But a seashell to your ear and her my wailing sorrow calls,
'marry me, sailor. marry me.'


sahn 8/5/14

As i throw it, watch it shatter
Pick discretion-make them matter
As i fumble for the clock
And **** upon his lovely ****
Because my tongue is sharp and wicked
You taste of lemons when i lick it.
Remember when I'm going down
This queen wears a jaded crown.
And when your grip has found my hair
Pull it till the devil's there.

Sahn 4/16

sorrow like a garden grows,
around my feet
and
      through
                  my
                        toes.
sahn 5/11/14

I thought when I'd turn to moss,
- when i had left myself to root.
When I had laid me down at last,
Than I'd not miss you endlessly.
I did not know I'd find my soul
dancing lithely in a flame.
A spanish dancer I've become
flickering my reds and blues.
I jump from wick to match to ash
and dance my saraband, contritely.
Yet I thought that when I sighed so lastly
undone would neatly fold away
like origami boutonniere
I'd be pressed between your book
something that you'd heave to shelf
and only gather dust and time.
Regrets, it seems, don't like
to die. So
I'm left haunted by my haunting.
And had I known before I wept
that remonstration without intention
was leaving all the notes unsung
by leaving catching in my voice.
I am singing in the mountains, madly
about what does not skip in the fields
and what does not drip from the sapling...
For love does neither frolic gayly
as much endures beyond repentance.
and I am left, on pebble shores
forever with my sharp withholdings
Stubbornly I held onto them,
Now they cut my like small diamonds.
I am glass and they are listless
wasted, mindless, pointless prattle.
Remind me fresh our penalties for
All the love we do not spend.

Sahn
7/01/2014

It all spins
gravitational pull
and I-
astronaut distance
orbit it sadly.
My only regret-
out in the black nothing
is not feeling my back
against brick
one more time.
Push me against
the cold and cutting
and kiss me with your
hands by my head.
Ever so cleverly
holding the wall-
holding the world.
Holding out on me.
As I tumble,
astronaut girl
and look at the blue beneath my toes
my only regret is
not learning how fly that kite.
Learning how to ride currents
with colorful
useless
beautiful
toys.
So very stuck, was I,
on all of the moons
That I never took
to dragons with tails
or red and black scales
and days taken hostage
and grass that can lasso
and pull me in earthbound.
Now I am anchored to nothing and watch
as the blessed and foolish dance at weddings
and funerals
and I watch from above.
Astronaut, I am
my only regret is that
all of this time
I've spent farming the stars
I never did learn
to correctly love you.

Sahn 4.13.15

I catch you in the petrichor,
I catch the musk of you-
the dark of you,
the vanishing drought of you
I dance within your jejune dusk-
empty hollow hunger howls,
'no substance here, no substance here'
and in every day that I get to love you-
I'll love you in the jamais vu.
so that I can forget I know how
and learn to love you
yet again.
Felicity, I'll bring to you.
In a basket, on a bike-
I'll wear a fetching hat
with a ribbon down my back
as I sing to you in symphonies that echo in an empty room.
I'll sit delicate on Icarus wings
and love you till I melt-
Knowingly I'll greet the sun
swimming in the candle wax-
I'll have done all these things yet not enough
Till I've loved you when the day is done.


sahn
6/30/2014

come to me.
to the floor where i kneel
in front of you.
follow me- pay attention close
and bend.
your will.
your beliefs,
your promises.
your boundaries.
your comfort.
follow me with your stare as i slither back above the floor.
and crawl over
your expectations
your judgments
your rehearsed words
dripping like drool from a baby's lip.
delight, devine
as i slide off this good girl's skin
contain your
greed
disbelief
desire while i
take you up mountains in your mind, lover.
i raise you from the center of the sky.
while i  blind you with lust
'till you feel silken places inside-
so fragile they will tear
ill bring the goblet to your mouth sir-
with the richest ruby reds slither down your throat as if it were alive.
oh yes, we will climb,
feel the mount behind us holding us up... wind up so high must be stealing our breath
I will give you touch, lover.
the kind you never found in all your searches.
the kind the does the touching with it's shadow not it's skin
and the shadow dances to tickle in the most promising of places.
yes ill give you whispers up here-bounce them around
like a helium star
slowly whisper here, bouncing, slowly whisper there.
rake what used to be my fingers....
now though they are sticks from the forest bound together to
glide through your silky hair and leave their beautiful pine scent.
come to me, and share old magic
just a baby of the woods-
lay you on a bed of branches
cold leaves, borough in your naked skin...
bring to me now your empty pallet
and fill my sorrow with your fight.



sahn.  
11/23/2018

Hi there. I think you are beautiful people and poets if your name is on this list.

Here is the list.
There are more but if I just paste every poet I like on this site's name then it doesn't meant anything there are too many so I'm going to post later ones with the names of the poets I really like but I'm going to limit it to ten per post.

I strongly suggest you check out their poetry because it is amazing.

The order of the names has nothing to do with the quality or my favor they are all equally loved by me in different ways for their work which is all a different shade of beautiful.

I invite everyone to post a poem with 10 beautiful poets' names on this site that people should check out.

Yet another one of my challenges. If you do the "10 Beautiful Poets Challenge" add "10beautifulpoets" as a hashtag so people can find it.

Also feel free to message me if you post one of these so I can check them out too :)

Just a great way to let people know about specific beautiful poets out there.

Include something about their poetry specific to that poet beside their name. :)

Here is my list for the day:

-AllAtOnce magnificent and seriously extraordinary poetry

-Spencer Craig genius and wonderfully written

-D'Arcy Sahn Hilarious and lovely writing with good meanings

-Ena Alysopriano Powerful and phenomenal writing seriously life changingly exquisite

-Theara Steglaidias  Incredibly spectacular poetry and such original fantastic ideas and well structured

-WickedHope Particularly relatable, BEAUTIFUL work AND poet

-Sir Poet Genuinely kind poet also STUNNINGLY superb and deep poetry

-Thomas A Robinson Excellent poet and poetry, fabulous work

-The Creep That Loved You Divinely marvelous poetry you need to read more than once and awesome poet (pretty awesome name too ;P

-Parsavagely Kompenere  Unbelievably relatable and strikingly delightful deeply moving work and wildly talented poet

So yeah!
Check them out! :D
PLEASE REPOST THIS SO THAT AS MANY AS PEOPLE AS POSSIBLE GET INVOLVED IT WOULD BE COOL TO TELL LOTS OF OTHER PEOPLE ABOUT AWESOME POETS SO THEY GET OO ENJOY THEIR WORK TOO AND MAKE IT LIKE, A THING. 10 BEAUTIFUL POETS CHALLENGE. I ENOURAGE YOU TO PARTICIPATE! :)

A waiting doll
in your waiting corner
where you left me to love me later.
Your jointed, painted playmate
stilled,
eyes wide and thrilled
where you left for solace someday.
I am timepiece.
mantel placed with Christmas lace?
I am mark the date
your ticking tock tock knock
three chime movement, seconds flat
chiseling out time to spend
Am i your singing cherub child?
Red faced ruddy,
trilling and wild
Am i your avec la voix des fleurs?
a note that waits here on all fours
patient to be heard
to sing in lazy ear someday?
waiting willing wanton woman
serving sarcasm
and delivering indifference
to the audience that's left behind
two cents to the dollar now
and the floors electric with the sales
of mighty stocks and mighty bales
and two cooper, two
is what i gave you.
for the love of a girl
in disgrace of her moral path
shall you advance her
or will she be placed below.
two pennys two.
between her and i.
avec la voix
avec,
la voix.


sahn shannon april alice 11/24/2014
sahn 11/24/2014

I.
We received a letter from the Writers’ War Board the other day asking for a statement on “The Meaning of Democracy.” It presumably is our duty to comply with such a request, and it is certainly our pleasure. Surely the Board knows what democracy is. It is the line that forms on the right. It is the don’t in don’t shove. It is the hole in the stuffed shirt through which the sawdust slowly trickles; it is the dent in the high hat. Democracy is the recurrent suspicion that more than half of the people are right more than half of the time. It is the feeling of privacy in the voting booths, the feeling of communion in the libraries, the feeling of vitality everywhere. Democracy is a letter to the editor. Democracy is the score at the beginning of the ninth. It is an idea which hasn’t been disproved yet, a song the words of which have not gone bad. It’s the mustard on the hot dog and the cream in the rationed coffee. Democracy is a request from a War Board, in the middle of a morning in the middle of a war, wanting to know what democracy is.
—E. B. White

II.
Ew ievcdere a eterlt ofrm eht Wesirrt’ Wra Odabr eht oetrh ayd isankg ofr a saetmttne no “The Inegnam fo Yoracmdce.” It ypmlrseuab si uor tydu to ypclmo twhi cuhs a rteequs, and ti si inlytcrea uor plreusae. Elusry the Odbar nwosk htaw dymcercao si. Ti si het enli that froms on hte trghi. It si eht ond’t in nod’t hesvo. Ti is the hole in eth stffued rhist thghuro hhiwc eth tdsausw wyolls slrticke; ti is eht etnd in the ghih hat. Dyomcearc si eth ecnerturr insupicso atht oerm ntha fahl fo the ppleoe rae rhtgi omer anht afhl fo teh imet. Ti is hte ignelef fo iarvycp in eht ogtinv hsootb, hte eglefin of momcnuoin ni het bsiiarler, het ngeeifl of ilyvaitt eweyerhevr. Merdccayo is a lrette to eth eidort. Mdeccyaro is eht csroe at hte ninbginge fo eth nthin. It si na edia hcwih sahn’t eneb dpdsrevio tey, a nogs teh rdsow fo ciwhh hvae ont oneg adb. Ti’s teh damtrsu on hte hot dgo dna hte ermca ni teh deoanrit efcoef. Omeradycc si a eetsurq mofr a Rwa Daobr, ni the eddlim fo a orinnmg ni the dimedl fo a wra, twangni ot nkwo wtha ccoedryam si.
—B. E. Ithwe

III.
ǝʍɥʇı ˙ǝ ˙q—
˙ıs ɯɐʎɹpǝoɔɔ ɐɥʇʍ oʍʞu ʇo ıubuɐʍʇ 'ɐɹʍ ɐ oɟ ןpǝɯıp ǝɥʇ ıu bɯuuıɹo ɐ oɟ ɯıןppǝ ǝɥʇ ıu 'ɹqoɐp ɐʍɹ ɐ ɹɟoɯ bɹnsʇǝǝ ɐ ıs ɔɔʎpɐɹǝɯo ˙ɟǝoɔɟǝ ʇıɹuɐoǝp ɥǝʇ ıu ɐɔɯɹǝ ǝʇɥ ɐup obp ʇoɥ ǝʇɥ uo nsɹʇɯɐp ɥǝʇ s’ıʇ ˙qpɐ bǝuo ʇuo ǝɐʌɥ ɥɥʍıɔ oɟ ʍospɹ ɥǝʇ sbou ɐ 'ʎǝʇ oıʌǝɹspdp qǝuǝ ʇ’uɥɐs ɥıʍɔɥ ɐıpǝ ɐu ıs ʇı ˙uıɥʇu ɥʇǝ oɟ ǝbuıbquıu ǝʇɥ ʇɐ ǝoɹsɔ ʇɥǝ sı oɹɐʎɔɔǝpɯ ˙ʇɹopıǝ ɥʇǝ oʇ ǝʇʇǝɹן ɐ sı oʎɐɔɔpɹǝɯ ˙ɹʌǝɥɹǝʎǝʍǝ ʇʇıɐʌʎןı ɟo ןɟıǝǝbu ʇǝɥ 'ɹǝןɹɐıısq ʇǝɥ ıu uıonuɔɯoɯ ɟo uıɟǝןbǝ ǝʇɥ 'qʇoosɥ ʌuıʇbo ʇɥǝ uı dɔʎʌɹɐı oɟ ɟǝןǝubı ǝʇɥ sı ıʇ ˙ʇǝɯı ɥǝʇ oɟ ןɥɟɐ ʇɥuɐ ɹǝɯo ıbʇɥɹ ǝɐɹ ǝoǝןdd ǝɥʇ oɟ ןɥɐɟ ɐɥʇu ɯɹǝo ʇɥʇɐ osɔıdnsuı ɹɹnʇɹǝuɔǝ ɥʇǝ ıs ɔɹɐǝɔɯoʎp ˙ʇɐɥ ɥıɥb ǝɥʇ uı puʇǝ ʇɥǝ sı ıʇ ؛ǝʞɔıʇɹןs sןןoʎʍ ʍsnɐspʇ ɥʇǝ ɔʍıɥɥ oɹnɥbɥʇ ʇsıɥɹ pǝnɟɟʇs ɥʇǝ uı ǝןoɥ ǝɥʇ sı ıʇ ˙oʌsǝɥ ʇ’pou uı ʇ’puo ʇɥǝ ıs ʇı ˙ıɥbɹʇ ǝʇɥ uo sɯoɹɟ ʇɐɥʇ ıןuǝ ʇǝɥ ıs ıʇ ˙ıs oɐɔɹǝɔɯʎp ʍɐʇɥ ʞsoʍu ɹɐqpo ǝɥʇ ʎɹsnןǝ ˙ǝɐsnǝɹןd ɹon ɐǝɹɔʇʎןuı ıs ıʇ puɐ 'snbǝǝʇɹ ɐ sɥnɔ ıɥʍʇ oɯןɔdʎ oʇ npʎʇ ɹon ıs qɐnǝsɹןɯdʎ ʇı ”˙ǝɔpɯɔɐɹoʎ oɟ ɯɐubǝuı ǝɥʇ“ ou ǝuʇʇɯʇǝɐs ɐ ɹɟo bʞuɐsı pʎɐ ɥɹʇǝo ʇɥǝ ɹqɐpo ɐɹʍ ’ʇɹɹısǝʍ ʇɥǝ ɯɹɟo ʇןɹǝʇǝ ɐ ǝɹǝpɔʌǝı ʍǝ

IV.
˙ǝ ǝoɹsɔ ʇʇıɐʌʎןı;
Ʌuıʇbo ǝɥʇ ǝʇɥ bǝuo.
Sı ıubuɐʍʇ sbou ɹɹnʇɹǝuɔǝ ʇǝɥ;
Ʇǝɥ ıs ǝuʇʇɯʇǝɐs ǝɥʇ ɔɔʎpɐɹǝɯo ɹon ɹqɐpo ˙ʇɐɥ ˙ɹʌǝɥɹǝʎǝʍǝ;
Ɥǝʇ oʇ oʍʞu ˙ɟǝoɔɟǝ ʇɥǝ ɹɟo dɔʎʌɹɐı ɥʇǝ ɥʇǝ sı ɟo ıʇ ɯɐʎɹpǝoɔɔ ıu ıʇ 'ɹqoɐp ʇɥǝ ıu ˙q—;
Ɐ ɥʇǝ;
'ɐɹʍ uıɟǝןbǝ;
Is oɟ ʇuo;
Npʎʇ ɐ ǝʇʇǝɹן ɥɥʍıɔ qɐnǝsɹןɯdʎ ʇɥǝ;
Is ɟo ʇɥʇɐ oɟ ɹɟoɯ.
Ǝɹǝpɔʌǝı oʇ ǝoǝןdd ɐʍɹ ǝɐʌɥ;
ʍɐʇɥ ןɥɐɟ puɐ.
ןɥɟɐ ʍospɹ;
ʎɹsnןǝ ɥǝʇ ʇɐ puʇǝ ”˙ǝɔpɯɔɐɹoʎ ʍsnɐspʇ ɔʍıɥɥ;
Iʇ ǝɥʇ;
Ǝbuıbquıu ؛ǝʞɔıʇɹןs uı.
˙ʇǝɯı ʇɥuɐ ɐup.
Ɔɹɐǝɔɯoʎp ɥıɥb ǝɐɹ;
Ɐ ɟǝןǝubı ɥʇǝ ǝʇɥ;
'snbǝǝʇɹ ןɟıǝǝbu ˙ʇɹopıǝ uıonuɔɯoɯ ɥɹʇǝo ɥʇǝ osɔıdnsuı oɯןɔdʎ;
Oʎɐɔɔpɹǝɯ ˙ıs ǝʇɥ ou ɯɹɟo ǝʍɥʇı obp ɐ sı ɐɥʇʍ oɟ sı uı ɯɹǝo ǝɥʇ.
Ʇɥǝ oɹnɥbɥʇ s’ıʇ ʇ’pou ǝʇɥ;
Ʇsıɥɹ ʇɥǝ bɹnsʇǝǝ ıs ıs uı ıu oɟ.
Ʇı ɥǝʇ.
Ɯɐubǝuı ıɥʍʇ ʇ’puo 'ɹǝןɹɐıısq.
ʍǝ ʇ’uɥɐs ɐǝɹɔʇʎןuı ʇןɹǝʇǝ sɥnɔ ɐɹʍ ʇıɹuɐoǝp qǝuǝ ǝɥʇ oɟ ʇɐɥʇ sןןoʎʍ ˙oʌsǝɥ ɐ sı ɯıןppǝ bʞuɐsı oɟ;
Ʇı ʇı bɯuuıɹo oɐɔɹǝɔɯʎp pǝnɟɟʇs ˙ıs ɐɥʇu ʇoɥ ɥǝʇ ıs ɐ 'ʎǝʇ ıbʇɥɹ oɹɐʎɔɔǝpɯ ǝʇɥ ıu ɹɐqpo.
Ǝןoɥ pʎɐ ˙qpɐ.
ןpǝɯıp ıןuǝ ɐ.
Ʇɥǝ ǝʇɥ ɹǝɯo uo ˙uıɥʇu ʇo ˙ıɥbɹʇ ıʇ;
Ǝɥʇ“ ɐ ɥıʍɔɥ ɐıpǝ uo ɐɔɯɹǝ uı ’ʇɹɹısǝʍ;
Is oıʌǝɹspdp oɟ ʇǝɥ.
Iʇ oɟ.
Sɯoɹɟ 'qʇoosɥ ɐu ɹon ˙ǝɐsnǝɹןd ɐ ǝɥʇ nsɹʇɯɐp.
Ʞsoʍu

V.
˙ʇɐɥ ɥɥʍıɔ ʇɐ oɟ. Ʇı ʇ’uɥɐs
ɹɟo puʇǝ ɯɹɟo ıs oɟ ǝʇɥ oɟ. Sɯoɹɟ
ɐ ɐɹʍ ɥǝʇ ɐ oıʌǝɹspdp
˙ʇɐɥ ıʇ ؛ǝʞɔıʇɹןs ɟǝןǝubı ǝʍɥʇı ıu ıɥʍʇ
ıu ɹɟoɯ. Ǝɹǝpɔʌǝı ǝɥʇ; Ǝbuıbquıu ɥʇǝ bʞuɐsı
ɹon ıʇ ”˙ǝɔpɯɔɐɹoʎ uıonuɔɯoɯ ǝɥʇ. Ʇɥǝ ɐɥʇu ’ʇɹɹısǝʍ; Is

ıubuɐʍʇ ıu puʇǝ ıu 'ʎǝʇ
qɐnǝsɹןɯdʎ ɥʇǝ osɔıdnsuı ʇ’pou ʇןɹǝʇǝ ɐɥʇu ɐ. Ʇɥǝ
ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʇ ıs oɹɐʎɔɔǝpɯ 'qʇoosɥ
ǝɥʇ ıs ʇɥʇɐ ǝʇɥ; Ʇsıɥɹ uı pǝnɟɟʇs ǝʇɥ
˙ʇɐɥ ؛ǝʞɔıʇɹןs uıonuɔɯoɯ ɯɹǝo oɹnɥbɥʇ
˙ǝ ǝuʇʇɯʇǝɐs sı ʇɥuɐ ou ʇo ɐ

uı. ˙ʇǝɯı ɐɥʇu ıs ʇo oɟ. Sɯoɹɟ
ʇǝɥ; Ʇǝɥ oɟ oʇ puɐ. ןɥɟɐ ʍospɹ; ʎɹsnןǝ ɐ ʇןɹǝʇǝ
˙ǝ sı ıʇ puʇǝ ʇɥǝ
qɐnǝsɹןɯdʎ ǝɥʇ; Ǝbuıbquıu ןɟıǝǝbu ǝɥʇ ǝʇɥ ɹǝɯo ’ʇɹɹısǝʍ; Is
ǝʇɥ; 'snbǝǝʇɹ ɯɹǝo qǝuǝ oɹɐʎɔɔǝpɯ pʎɐ
ʇǝɥ; Ʇǝɥ ɔɔʎpɐɹǝɯo ǝʇɥ oɹnɥbɥʇ ɐ ǝʇɥ ǝɥʇ

uıɟǝןbǝ; Is ɟǝןǝubı s’ıʇ ʇıɹuɐoǝp ıןuǝ
ɹon ”˙ǝɔpɯɔɐɹoʎ ǝʇɥ; 'snbǝǝʇɹ ɥʇǝ sı ɥǝʇ. Ɯɐubǝuı oɟ
ɐ ˙ʇɹopıǝ ıןuǝ ɹǝɯo ıʇ; Ǝɥʇ“
ɹɹnʇɹǝuɔǝ ıʇ ɥǝʇ ǝʇɥ ɯɹǝo ɐ oɟ. Sɯoɹɟ
ɥʇǝ ǝɐɹ; Ɐ sɥnɔ ɐ ǝɥʇ
؛ǝʞɔıʇɹןs ɯɹǝo s’ıʇ uı ʇןɹǝʇǝ oɹɐʎɔɔǝpɯ ˙uıɥʇu

bǝuo. Sı ʍospɹ; ʎɹsnןǝ ؛ǝʞɔıʇɹןs ʇɥuɐ uo
ıu ןɥɐɟ uı ʇɐɥʇ bʞuɐsı ıu ʇo
ǝɥʇ dɔʎʌɹɐı ɟo uo ɐıpǝ
ɔɔʎpɐɹǝɯo ˙ʇɐɥ sı ou ıu ʇı 'ʎǝʇ
bǝuo. Sı ʇɥǝ uı ʇıɹuɐoǝp oɟ
ǝoɹsɔ ɹɹnʇɹǝuɔǝ ʇɥǝ oɹnɥbɥʇ ıɥʍʇ ɥǝʇ uo

ǝʇɥ ʍospɹ; ʎɹsnןǝ oɟ ıbʇɥɹ ǝɥʇ
ɥʇǝ ɟo ʇuo; Npʎʇ oɟ ʇɐ qǝuǝ ˙qpɐ. ןpǝɯıp
ʇʇıɐʌʎןı; Ʌuıʇbo ɟo uı ɯıןppǝ ɐu
ʇʇıɐʌʎןı; Ʌuıʇbo ǝɥʇ oʍʞu ɥʇǝ ɥʇǝ; 'ɐɹʍ oɟ ʇɥʇɐ
ʇɥʇɐ ǝɥʇ; Ǝbuıbquıu ɟǝןǝubı sı ɹɐqpo. Ǝןoɥ
ʇɐ ɐup. Ɔɹɐǝɔɯoʎp oɟ ʇı ıu ʇo ɹon

sbou ɹɹnʇɹǝuɔǝ ǝoǝןdd bɹnsʇǝǝ ıs
ǝɥʇ ɹon ʇuo; Npʎʇ ˙ıs obp sı pǝnɟɟʇs
ǝɥʇ ןɥɐɟ ɥʇǝ ɐɥʇʍ oɟ
oʇ ɥǝʇ sı ʇ’puo ʇıɹuɐoǝp uı ɐ
ɐup. Ɔɹɐǝɔɯoʎp ou ʇ’pou ǝʇɥ uı
˙ʇɐɥ ǝɐʌɥ; ʍɐʇɥ ɥʇǝ ɹǝɯo ɐ oɟ. Sɯoɹɟ ǝɥʇ

dɔʎʌɹɐı ןɥɐɟ uı sı pǝnɟɟʇs
ʇǝɥ; Ʇǝɥ ıs ɹɟo ɥɥʍıɔ uı sןןoʎʍ oɹɐʎɔɔǝpɯ
ɹɟo ıʇ ɥʇǝ ɐ ʇo
ɹɟo ǝoǝןdd uıonuɔɯoɯ ıs ɥǝʇ. Ɯɐubǝuı ɐ ’ʇɹɹısǝʍ; Is
ıs ʇ’pou qǝuǝ 'ʎǝʇ pʎɐ
ǝʇɥ ʇǝɥ; Ʇǝɥ oʇ ʍsnɐspʇ ɐup. Ɔɹɐǝɔɯoʎp ɥıɥb ʇǝɥ. Iʇ

Seven times I told you,
Seventy pins in seventy dolls on seventy dusty shelves in New Orleans backrooms.
Seven times I warned you
Seven hundred aches, seven hundred acres
I run across.
I outrun the burn and I outrun the grief
The witch in me, I race with her too.
Seven miles to run, seven miles behind.
And I pass that playful laugh of yours, grab at it
and stick it in my pocket, shove it deep, deep in my pocket.
And I pass that twinkle in your eyes
and I grab that too,
send it on a paper rocket flying the speed of light into seven universes far away.
I grab that last promise
the one that was slippery and hard to hold onto.
I grab it and hold it tight
And I run.
I told you I would
(you looked so surprised).
I run and my bones hit the ground with the rhythm and pulse of a tribal drummer
He drums out in my head
Run, Run, henny Run.  
He drinks my optimism from a cup, then beats his drum. Run, chickadee, run run.
He vomits my clarity at my feet all the while his brown weathered hands drum a ceaseless beat. Run, baby. He loves you not, run.
On the seventh day I run from you and
I find that I am made now from the down of your hair
so I run until I am bald.
I find that I am made now from  stalactites dripping from your tongue.
Celtic knot of assurances and reassurances.
I am made up of moments that I didn't make.
I am made up of your indecision. They bounce gleefully "I don't know, I don't know..."
they insist as they hit walls and corners.
They are lazy, I outrun them with ease.
Seven times I told you,
Itchy souls need to find a branch for stratching.
Seven miles between me and you
Seven hundred to go.

Sahn
6/12/14

My Darling, My Dearest
I sink to the dirt,
My regrets swirl around my body like a brides wedding dress.
White lace, virginal unsoiled regrets lay about me lazily-
biting my ankle, scratching up my legs to be held.
My Cherished Treasure,
I will carry my torment like an old man carries his walking stick
Gnarled with time and miles,
before any step I will take-
My regret will mark the path.
And I will walk for all of time with my walking stick. I will walk until I bend over in a broken bridge of bones, all the while letting my regret lead me onward.
My Beloved,
I will wallow in the mud of my sorrows and grief
I will roll and dry, caking dirt on my belly-
like the beast I have become.
My Beautiful,
The wounds that mortification of the flesh will produce-
will be sorry attempts to understand your pain.
The whip braided in tight thick leather
but I can never cut deep so I might
produce enough depth so instead will I bleed-
another sin, another crime!
I cannot feel your suffering-can only guess at the depth.
Oh the endlessly black waters of your sorrow!
I hold my breath, stones piled deep in my pockets.
I dive, I dive...wanting, needing this sacrifice.
But **** this survivalist in me. My lungs betray me-
sputter and cough.
I inhale my water of my sins and breathe them deep so I may drown and
free you from the shackles of my crimes.
My Cherished one, my Shining one-
Forgive this old sinner, forgive this reprobate heart.
For I love you.
When the stars exploded, when universes expanded
I loved you.
When the first blade of grass poked it's willful head above soil,
I loved you.
When first Adam kissed Eve,
I already loved you.
In the next life where you are caterpillar and
I am stump,
I love you then too, and beg you use me to reach closer the sun.
Forgive a fool his foolish ways, he knows no better
Forgive me, cherished one
and let me love you,
Let me love you as the faulted love the Divine. As the sinner loves the penance, as the child loves the stars.
Let me give you the moon, let me put it in on your lips.
So you may kiss the moon, beloved, kiss the moon.

Sahn 7/6/14

In a memory, in a postcard, in a corner, in my mind.
I tuck it there and wrap it well
old newsprint to mark its date.
In a bottle, on the bottom, in the lake, in winter,
I ship it there and throw out anchor
and watch it as it bobs.
In a place I won't remember
as soon as I remember to forget you-
I'll have shelved you
and stocked you
inventoried and packed you.
And then I'll say,
"just where did I leave that thing,
that heart of mine?"
And then I'll say,
"What was that thing I remembered to forget?"
In a thought that I won't think of you
when I think enough to think again
Is where I'll banish you to.
Yes, In the that place where the lost things
stay lost.
In that place where broken pieces stay broke.
I will take you
and your soft way-
long kiss, tired eyes, weary heart.
No. No, I'm remembering again.
Infested.
I'm infested.

Sahn
9/18/14

Rotted soul of good intention,
mine is an apple core
on an old black road
in a holy heat.
Sinner, slow down!
Sinner stop your dancing
and start praying
for your people
-mmmyes-
that they start praying
for you
child.
'Cause it's gonna take a churchyard full
of bake sales,
mmmhmm
and it's gonna take a winter full of galoshes by the church door
whoowee,
it's gonna take a village to save you, child.
Heathen, pull your skirt down!
stop them hips swaying left, slooow,
swaying right, sloooow
as you walk down that dirt road kicking up dust
like you was a young colt running.
Oh it's gonna take a lot saving,
Yessum, it's gonna take a lake a dunking...
Oh but Lord! It's gonna take a lot of praying,
Hallelujah, gonna need a lot of rosaries
to save your eternal life, girl
I am as rotten as a pit of peach,
dried and without yield. no value, no good.
Child, it's gonna take a revival to save this soul.
Mama, start that revival and save your babies soul.


sahn
2/6/15

Storm into that room so you will be seen, and
hold up high, sun salute
that body, that vessel you got!
Take every vertebrae, mmm pull it taught
Pull it.
Pull it as twine itself
wrapped around my words-
each bone
creaking like footfalls on old wooden stairs.
And look directly at your soul-
Do not squirm in the shame
of your nakedness -
beautiful lustful abundantly naked-
Instead
Crest, oh lord,
White swirling madness of intentions.
and  take these old bones, baby-
take this body
Take these old bones of mine and pull them up,
Stretch, find the strength! and pull-
Take those limped shoulders and throw them back to the gods!
Oh your rusted soul, fill it with water from the Darma ***** Crick.
And it might
burn-
sting and sour.
Make you cough, choke and sputter.
But oh
Renewed, Renewed!
And you start out with the feet, kicking rocks on the road, mmmm.
And end with the head bowed back with a psalm bouncing on
red berry lips, mmm
Oh, yes! Hands out to glory, oh feet moving, dancing
hot pavement below like Hades.
Step and another, another.
Until  your out of  frame...
Oh glory is the road.
Cleaned and cleansed as you go,
Hear me? Cleansed as you go, down Sinner Lane.
Cleansed and cleansing is the road
of the
revival parade.

sahn 8/25/14

I saw you over there, lustful man.
I braided **** ribbons in my hair
so they could make you think
of wrists
and feet
and places of interest.
Ribbons of heat
curling from
the effort of
not watching me.
The devil leaves a sinful man
who fights within himself-
The devil leaves the sinful man to battle
lonesome.
The devil knows what you do not-
you'll never leave as victor.
I pass my glaze of a glance of sigh of a slight turn-
you de-watched me too.
That is to say
you watched me so tightly
you had to un-think me with purpose.
You had to descend on those
deviant rungs
step ginger down,
rung by rung by rung
and you stopped half way
between me up here
and me down there.
and oh! what a glorious place you stopped.
The holy place of me- where I am still a Mary
and a Magdelene?
I've yet to be.


Sahn
3/3/15

You will lean across my body,
you pause as we both stare.
inside the cosmos of our eyes
two universes ask each other,
will you kiss me?
will you let me?
and you will lean across my body.
and you will breathe a breath so deep
it blows my hair behind my neck
which tickles my ear
and i hear you whisper a thousand secrets
in that tickled breathe
of how wicked, how divine you are.
and you will lean across this body
and your chest will heave mighty gasps
from mighty heartbeats
and quicked breaths.
valves that open and close like butterfly wings in pursuit
and you will lean across this body, my body
and i will feel your lips and they will feel as vast and endless and unforgiving as the ocean,
and you will lean, you will heavily... with all your might, you will lean across this body,
and you will grit your teeth like lovers will, when lovers want.
and you will lean across this body,
you will push across this body and you will grasp and dive, and fall, and tumble and
and you will lean across this body, my body, and you will kiss me
and i will wake.

sahn 4/29/2014

You are my dandylion
and I wait with stealth of a summer day
for you to stop preening in the field
of high grass and green bottles.
Yes. I wait, stroke you gentle
with the ease of the summer breeze
as you sway and waltz
for the primroses and the cricket.
I watch with willful patience
like the ripening of the wild belladonna.
as you tease with your burst of yellow
for the field mouse and the garden gnome.
Yes. I will wait like summers heat
And when you are done,
And when your pretty
petals
lay
limply
at
your
roots,
I will take you gentle into my summers grasp
and with my summers breathe
blow your beautiful grey afro out unto the world to swallow.
Dandylion, pretty primping boy are you.

Sahn 6/7/2014

I missed you today.
With a suddenness, a bereft slap across my skin.
When that familiar hair ahead of me on the sidewalk
turned.
And it wasn't you.
I missed you in the hollow of the moment of the stranger who wasn't you.
And with resounding howl
Like a grieving mother
I missed you.
I remember in the sheets we'd tangle,
I smelled them. I smelled summer air and my perfume
I smelled  your soap and your musk in that minute second on the street.
I stopped and I breathed in deep. Inhale, Inhale.
Before you turned and it was not you.
Like a sailor's wife on the shore
I watched as the stranger who wasn't you turned back down the street
Growing smaller and smaller in the distance.
And a thousand piercing stinging blinding pins of light forced themselves.
They stabbed at me and took my breath.
Took your scent and the bed we lay.
On the street, on the street
as you walked away, the stranger.
Paralyzing me with your nearness only to be someone so very much not you.
I missed you and i stood in the street and gravity gave up its pull to laugh at my foolishness
and my eyes filled with tears to celebrate their perfect deception.
and my bones forgot how to hold on for dear life
and I slid to the ground
to the ground
because
I saw you today on the street. The stranger that wasn't you.
I have learned the art of hiccuping you inside.
Memory, hiccup. There you are now tucked away inside.
Kisses on the soft hairs at the nape. Hiccup that away too.
And all of the hiccups came out in a swallow of your name...
A hundred swallows, truth.
They flew wickedly around my head  gleeful in my faux pas.
And ten hungry vultures came to take the remains of my hope.
Pick away greedily at my anticipation.
Satiated on the last of my blind faith and now they are too fat to fly.
And I am too weak to run.
Because I saw you on the street today,
The stranger that wasn't you. My beloved. My adored.
Such a peculiar street.
I will not pass this way again.
sahn
04/09/2014

I want each step to land my foot
tangled heather
ash and soot.
And lead to where the wicked go...
where the darling schoolgirls know
when to turn with redden hue
gasping their  intact virtue.
Yet I long my footfall down-
mossy sinfully buoyant ground.
Run to meet him by the stone
kiss him on it's granite bones.
And he'll swing me wide with wonder
pirate, he'll be, ravage. plunder.
I go where all the good girls shant.
all my christian vows recant.
Yes I will meet him by the river

and onward I keep
through the creeping myrtle, creep-
and the sinners sandbox
and painted ladies swings
(where I rest my chastity case)
that's covered in leather and ******* with lace.
Delight  
as I watch good girls gasp-
as I swing wide hips, wide.
Thier ****** ******* clasps.
And that night will give birth
to a wretched new way
I am wanton
and crafty
and
unwelcome at tables-where ladies
demure
and insist on "no more!"
and
need polite conversations
to endless relations.
I'll roar down that path
like a thundering herd,
like an air stream that carries the weariest bird.
I'm curved, I'm pillowed.
I'm chest out.
I'm willowed...
I'll have holes in my souls
all four of them dotted.
Or six of them spotted?
Like a cat's lives they'll feed
so that reaper, recedes.
It's this path, though, you see them?
The Glories
majestic.
Twined up the tree trunk
and my heart is arrested.
I'm put in the mind of those
sinewy women
and sin
comes in scent
where that glory blooms nightly
and clasp hold of
these moments
of recklessness tightly.

Sahn 1/12/2015

I am running legs flying like Hermes wings.
I am running past, so far beyond the pain.
I am running from that kiss... tender kiss. Stupid kiss,
wanton, lustful, bursting kiss.
full of promises and tasting like salty beer and silky words
slithering arm around my waistline
making me forget I have time to waste
I am running,
from your words.
I am running from the picket fence and
picket hearts
and how do I belong in this circle of things ?
I am running and
I breathe so much better out here alone.
I am running until I can't see that house with
manicured lawn and
manicured family
me so wily,
wooo so wild.
If I hear my footsteps
I've come too close to my heart.
I am running and the trees, they race me in a blur
                                           when I turn my head
                      They are waving back.
I am running and the sun gets a head start,
but always falls behind, behind.
I am running
can't
outrun
you
can't unrun
you
can't unring
you
can't ignore this bell.
I am running and as fast as I go,
I can't outrun a circle,
and I hear the bells.
Yes, I hear the bells, runner.

sahn
9/14/14

In that,
the tiny pushpins
that invade my clumsy pulse.
In that
I find you
in that-
the electric scarf
I wear around my neck
Insomuch I find
you choke me
so I am not wordless,
I am not without screaming-
dripping and falling from my lips
wrapped like gifts of mortar
more out than in
no I am not wordless.
I see you and tiny electric pulses
dance on me
dice through me
I feel you
touch so perfect
like a violin string
strung-
strung taught
tight against my mouth
tight against you leaving.
I am sensory.
I am sound that bounces angry
I am sound that chisels
the prayers of the prayer wheels
upon the bumps of my spine.
listen, listen
for your footfalls
and you will touch me,
perfect touch
of space and air
and fingertips that have no bones
no skin
just a note on a
cello-of a touch
and a kiss from behind my neck
a strangle,
such the kiss is tight.
tiny electric pulses through me,
oh, love,
for the tiny electric pulses
that bounce through,
move me.
prayers on the prayer wheel
spinning.
sahn 01/22/15

how many ways must i give you up?
grief is just a sport for lucid and the lame.
how many boughs till i break this falling-
to the mossy hill below?
where grief is just a shallow pool
with reflections of me beautifully crying
We ugly mourners live to talk.
selfish shallow pool of grief-
my yellow rainboots fall madly
upon my mirrored head.
i am just a puddle
and i wear it like a man because
sometimes...
grief is just a tailored suit
all dressed up in pawpaws best
neatly pressed.
the seams of your life sewn in a straight line.
it's easy to compartmentalize the times you weren't your greatest you.
in death you leave the lovely
behind
and take away the rest.
in life you leave the death
behind and take away the lovely such a wasted irony.
grief is valentine.
wont you be mine pinks and whites? sugared promises of time.
grief is a lovers candy heart. sentiments on marble etch the total of our time.
grief of mine, such weather beaten blanket. when did she become my lover?
cast aside your sadness.
grief is a friend of mine, grief is a friend of mine.

Sahn 4/22/2014

I stretch, and stretch
up towards a place where my head is far
further above so
that I cannot hear the jet engine of your words.
I hear my bones creak
with the effort to get
away from the pollution
of your coal train ramming me.
I hear only my body
cracking like spring ice
as I rise, rise -
rise above your noise toxins
that settle like limp and sodden cardboard crowns
worn about your tortured head.
High above your hollow community
above your entitlement park,  
above your tiny-
tinny voice.
I hear it. Your hateful sounds like poultry jibber
so far down in
atmospheres
below.
I laugh to hear your wordless squawl!
I stretch but  now to bend
and see you
beneath my squishy toes.
Bend at the waist
to see who's nipping at my ankles
and I cry a tear of mirth.
A white rapid that
whisks your bitter apple groove
far away.
I stretch you gone.
I stretch you indifferent.
I grow myself pardoned, I grow my self free.

sahn
2/15/15

Destroy me.
Take what you can from the middle.
Take that golden yellow moon-
that sherbert sunset in the center of how I exist,
**** it, take it!
And Stubbornly I'll be.
When all that is left is bones for the jackal to
satiate on
when all that is heard is bubbles popping
and the jaw creaking
from
the overuse of what was inside me-
When that dark and silken predator
lies lazy on it's back
with my contents fuming in its distention...
destroy me, do.
***** my remains
with huge heaving gusts of your gluttony.
Because you will.
Because I am too heavy to carry, I am too light to settle.
Oh, yes I'll be your posion,
and into every cell I will invade
marching with my army, marching with my anger
I will wiggle in your ear and chew through the pictures in your mind,
eating at the corners of everyone you covet most.
I'll call you in a singsong voice that does not end.
In every room you'll look to hear-
in every corner your try to hide from it.
I will flood your soul with my wrongdoings so you
carry mine as well as yours.
Yes, destroy me-
dust.
And you will perish from my digestion
and you will carry my heavy sins.
Oh, what is left? What is left?
Just the eternal weight of light
and you cannot eat that,
On light you can feast
but not thrive.
It will not still the noise
of the rotting wood
that sits solid and solitary
in the place
where someone stole
your exclusive rights
to feel
joy.


Sahn 3/26/2015

He sits on the carousel wheel,
her lover neglectful-
looks over the night as the neon illuminates the shiny people.
He sits on the carousel wheel
and loves to get stuck at the top
so he may contemplate jumping,
so to contemplate swinging with madness
from one
cart
to
another
and then
safely
to the
cart that
holds her. Hero, him.
He looks over the crowd as they swish around him-
sway around him
moving by him as if they were dancing to a song in his head
but he is not dancing.
He's looking for her.
He pops several balloons with a fiery dart
walks away from the girl with the silken stockings held to her
thigh by violet bow...a violent blow to his lustful ways, he looks firmly down
to the dirt on his boots, kicks rocks, kicks air.
Stops at the man who swallows fire from a stick,
"answer me, answer me"-
the man spits ember lies.
He's looking for her in each clown
pulling their make up down with his finger
and it looks like they're crying
so he can't really know
if it is her he has found?
Oh neglectful lover.
He busies himself by winning a prize
for his beloved, his lost
A prize- his reward for believing in true love.
He busies himself, knocks down milk bottles-
and punches the punching bags
insults the slow and disgusted carnie hags,
He moves from gate to gate
and it feels more like Hades
inside
where he's lost her
so he's been lost.
When he's lost her he's scared
that she will not feel, lost but found.
And he will not feel found-
but destroyed.
Teacups to twirl around
the dance he will swirl her around to
the day that he marries her,
if he can find her,
nay- when he can find her...
he'll put her in the teacup ride and
never let the spinning stop.
He'll fill her life with lights and sounds
and cotton candy
and he'll marry her he will
right on the tiptop
of the ferris wheel
where he sits looking round.

sahn 10/19/14

Here's this marble heart to give you
Sculpted by the schoolyard scrapes
And kitchens grapes
Fed one by one
Cool and sweet beneath my tongue.
A wooden heart that's held inside
These metal ribs to catch my sighs-
And when I feel the need to flee
I'll kick start this rusted knee.
Inside this ancient Chinese vase
Is my very lovely face.
Valuable to only me-
Filled with cracks that you can't see.
My fingers long, the wedding band
For I married sugar sand
My hair is heaps of fireflies
Who whisper sweet their bedroom lies
And you will take me by the thread
That pulls me back into the bed?
And you will take your time to paint
Straight lines that divide the saint?
And you will watch my crippled frame
See Monet inside my pain?
I'll open up the garden skies
To meet him where the trestles rise.
For I have met a man today
This time, I may not run away.
In my outstretched redwood palm
Fate has left me coins and calm.
Bite, my lover, as they quiver-
The lips that kiss you,
Bite the giver.




Sahn 4/13/16

lady, lady i love you,
this could be truth but mostly undoing.


Sahn 10/16/2014

here's the part where you lie to me.
here is the part where you lie.
effortless as i rake my fingers across you shoulder blades.
and i feel the bones connecting.
here is the part where you lie.
and you say you love me.
(that's not the lie)
and i keep tracing circles on your shoulder
and you lie in the same circle and
you lie.
as we lay, as we lie in bed.
as i feel your your skin under my fingers.
and you lie to me.
and i don't want to hear the truth.
and you don't want to tell the truth
so we lie and we lay
in the bed that wraps around our feet and the truth
tangles between our intertwined legs and
the truth creeps up our thighs and the
truth tickles our bellies
and we lay
and the lie dances and
the truth, that willful truth thrusts
and we lie like lovers do.
and we lie like lovers will.
and we lay
and we lay intertwined like ivy on the old brick wall.
and the truth, it hurts.
and we lay. and we lay.
and the lie it bleeds through us
and we lay.

sahn 5/24/14

I wait for the crashing fight.
for the tire screech,
the door slam-
for the lava words
that roll magnificent red from my tongue
and slowly drip ashen black onto the wooden floor between us.
I wait for the broken flute,
tiny bubbles, tiny dreams-
all absorbed by Berber Carpet
and mailbox stuffed
with molehills of mountains.
I wait for the heaving pressures
that blow things upwards,
that blow things inwards.
That makes canyons
and mushrooms
I wait for the fury that turns my eyes
cast with doubt, cast with coal dust.
my lungs puffed with indignation-
so little room to breathe
that I am high from venom.
I wait for the disgust to
wrap around me like a Sunday School wrap-skirt
colorful and gay,
and dropped to the floor without
consideration.
I wait for the hate to be early.
with hope already so foolishly spent on each other,
with faith so carelessly blown away
riding in invisible
paper airplanes-
such are the kisses sent across busy roads.
Waste, waste all these desires of the mundane
when lust drives
outside forces divide,
heat and sinner unite us
and I wait,
I do.

I wait for it to pass.
So as to get to the stuff a day beyond the splintered wood
past the love,
past the lush.
past the lace on my forehead.
I wait for it all to past so as to get myself wholly to you.
For it is not the very last of days
I wait to spend with you,
It is the very all of days I wait to spend with you.


Sahn 3/16/15

I'd like a sometimes-shallow river.
Just enough to dip my feet in deep until they land on smooth, cold stones.
I'd like a tree to hang a swing on a cliff that hovers over my cold water river.
I'd like a road soft on my wet toes
(moss will do)
-that leads to my swing that hovers over my sometimes-shallow river.
I'd like the mossy path to start at the front of a white wrap around porch
that hugs a cottage of the palest of blue with creaky steps to  my squeaky screen door that opens to my hardwood floors.
My wet footprints will leave ghost steps in my parlor beyond the porch.
I'd not sit in the fine couch that I'd  have only for the company.
I'd like to have some tea to warm me after my swim... I'll drink it in the sunroom
just beyond the white kitchen.
I'd like to see a vase of white daisies with sunshine yellow center white on white on yellow in the pristine kitchen of mine. The daisies-I've picked them fresh,
...From the garden
...that's in the back off my cottage and set them in an old jam jar on a worn-with-love wooden table.
I'll hang my daughter's summer jumpers on a line that runs from the willow tree
(she'll have auburn ringlet curls that gleam in the sun as she dances through the drying sheets)
-to the cherry blossom tree that I'd like to think would be right just below my bedroom window (so I'd smell them in the morning when I'd like to think of me yawning and stretching in a bed of pale pink lace and soft wide pillows)
I'd like to think the cat would meow and he would pet her lovingly.
I'd like to think he'd be kind to animals and to me.
Perhaps handsome with his crooked smile.
I'd like to think we grow old here. And grow happy.
And the children. Oh how the children have grown, lives of their own now.
I'd like to think we can dip our feet in that sometimes-shallow river, not that they are older and settled and it's just him and I.
Now that all the years have lovingly passed with ease.
I'd like to think.
Yes. I'd like to think so.

Sahn 4/30/14

Fury I wear like a slinky fox stole
whose beady little eyes look up at me in a deathly calm,
hanging loose around my boney neck.
Anger I hang like the Christmas star
blinking on to illuminate the dark with it's yellow hue
On.
         anger yellow.
Off
         anger black
Regret I type into block and wide letters
resembling the words like black ninja stars
hurtling, hurtling i throw them
with precision...returning the hurt- to your tiny -ling heart.
Black and White and Read all over you,
Blue, man. So blue
and that deep purple hue... the healing rainbow, black and blue
and green and grief, is it not so?
Oh, grief, oh fire of grief
burning the driest kindling that is hope, that is faith.
I am tissue paper flowers on the float in the parade
I am tissue paper flowers, that bloom until it rains.
And I'll tuck my indignation and I'll shove my righteousness
down deep into my pockets
(such a shame you never darned that hole)
Bellow.  Bellow out my rage
Wrap it in a shiny box, and tie it with a silky bow...
the gift of
knowing all the blackness
festering inside.
The gift of knowing  how loud the mother's howl can sound.
I learn the curves of the drive away,
I learn the legs that will take me to run.
Anger,
I am born of this, today.
Tomorrow? Ill be born of these ash as all that is good begins and begins again.

sahn
8/25/14

i lay down my
vanities
like
oranges
at the altar.
i pour out my
pride like water
from the Krishna-
sodden ribbon of faith
runs around and over and
through your hands
and i lay down my
face on your lap
and i lay down my face
on your map of the world
and the oceans whisper under my ear
and the future
is a boxer inside of your chest
throwing fist-
bom, bom
after fist-
bom bom
at the shadows on the wall.
and i lay my faces down
all five of them-
six of them.
and i lay them down to
be eaten by the dogs.
while they chew merry on my
presentations, my false introductions.
i look to the night sky of your face
and it looks like it may rain.
sorrow rain. snowflake fractals falling on my
cheek-
great rivers of regret and sorrow
and restraint.
i look up
Rigel Kentaurus
is shining from somewhere deep inside.
and i find you, and i find my way
around the black hole
inside you and i move swift around the comet that is me.
fire, fire, pieces of planets and fire
fiercely forcing it's way through the universes until
i finally hit
a force stronger than i.
i shed my clothes.
as naked is the eyes that see me, true.
i shed my pride.
as forgiving is the soul that nurtures.
i wear your adoration like cherry blossoms blooming
i wear your eyes, i take them from you
to see me,
to see me
and i do not disappoint. i am naked and beautiful and modest
just as you said i would be.
beautiful vessel
the Gods choose well,
so i lay my silks and finery at your feet.
blossoms in the sacrificial bowl.
let me lay, just a little longer,
on your lap that is the world
let me lay here
while your hand of the softest gossimer fingertips
rides the bumps in my spine.
let me find myself in your lush silence
and in this divine be forgiven-
oh! That I find myself forgiven.

sahn
1/19/2015

I don't always see the ghost-
he chooses a wicker chair to sit-
seems to be the problem when past comes to dine.
I don't always see them-
the empty obscure references
as they drip like baby saliva from pale lips
places we've been,
things we've done.
The past sits across.
pinky out daintily
as past will do
when drinking champagne
and talking about the
good days.
I see him like James Dean leaning against the door frame.
I feel like Grace Kelly
Flipping blonde hair flips in dip and twirling curl,
licking pink lips as if they were full of icing on cupcakes.
Yes, I do not see him.
Here I go again flirting with the past.
I do not see the emptiness of the stare
as he looks across to me
I think foolishly it is star crossed love-
and grab his hand to slip wistfully through my own
and pull him grudgingly forward.
I zoom with him room through room,
looking for a place to hold him.
And the  present sits forlornly on my front porch.
dejectedly he sits.
And the presents gift-
of soon wilted flower
lay on his lap...
And the present stares through the window
as I waltz with a ghost.
I do not see, I can not see.
I do not see the ghost.

Sahn 10/03/14

The water that is crushing me
is keeping me afloat.
I cannot feel the ground beneath,
and I'm not sure I can stand.
The pressure that is bearing me
is holding all my insides in
No longer see a shoreline
and I can't know I won't drown.
As I navigate myself,
and twist to find my East and West
I realize I've made quite a mess-
Left my compass with a gull.
The bird you see,
liked shiny things
and as I thought I had no use
for which direction
I might take
I felt it
quite an easy trade-
the weight of choices off my hands
And the bird with flightpath clear.
The sodden feel of water now
has permeated all my pores
and left me to shed salty tears
My feet ache for the ground.
I will tumble like the seaglass
with each wave my edges blur
perhaps the the sea will make me clean
Stripped of sin
and stripped of ache.
Perhaps this long night will end soon
If I can just
keep
floating
just keep
treading water...
just a while more.

Sahn
10/30/17

it's so perfect.
so divine.
inside she finds
that safe place and
like
a marble is blue
like a gesture
is small
like yeast must rise-
like the cat's eye,
paw at you.
because
as the cat waits
with the sunbeam she plays.
the tea
and the teacup-
exquisitely she waits.
she waits.
empty she will.
so
deny
still
exquisitely
majestically  
instinctively she waits.
on her own bone china
pretty little fragile
thing
on her own
she waits,
exquisitely she waits.


sahn
12/4/14

I'm difficult and broken
-and not at all difficult and broken in that oh-im-so-difficult-and-broken-beautiful way that some women can be.
No.
I'm just difficult and broken in all the ugly ways it manifests.

sahn 4/10/15