sweetly swimming
in the colder tides of
emptiness—
tidier than the backseat and
your umbrellas; tidier
than the rolling crests of
suburbia;
tidied by the frayed smoothness
of sea.

I wish there was a better way to say I just cut myself again
a tidier way,
something that makes it sound less morbid and a bit more romantic
like barbados
like *** on the beach
for the irony of sabotaging a fling of intimacy for myself
sabotaging swimsuit and short-shorts season
I don’t want anyone to touch me
or even look at me
anyway
so it’s all in my favour
with
nails that are painted colourful like clowns
and there’s a red and white polkadot bow in my hair
personally, I think it’s kind of funny
that when people look through a kaleidoscope, all they see is
pretty colours instead of shards of broken glass

If I tore apart
What was art
And made it real
Not to conceal
My thoughts and aspirations
Insinuations
Inoculations
My trials and tribulations
Meaning nothing
No education
No learning experience
Forced into labor
Tormented to dance
One supplication
Give a little back of what you took
I wasn't asking for all
Just a sum
Less than you took from me
And I begged, and I pleaded, and you ignored
  
Well, yesterday you had your chance
You could have been a man
Instead you choose ignorance
*** 'em, *** 'em, *** 'em
*** 'em, *** 'em, *** 'em
Funny language you use
Now I get the name
And why people marry for revenge
  
Well, there's a fat cat at
Ninety fourth and
Sea Pea Double You
And their doorman is my doormat
And he stains
And he stinks of *** fat
And the bloodstains on your door
Will they silence your high *****
As she bleeds in the high roar
Of the flaming fire down below
Across the Styx
  
Given every chance I know
But, the fat cat could not let go
Now his friends they talk real low
'bout the crazy guy named joe
How he sits with his cold toes
In a lonely old jail cell
And the fat cat and his kitty
Had a chance, now it's o'er
And the worms feast as they bore
In to fat cat and his kitty
  
Don't you look at me as bad
For I know what you did was sad
And If I give your girl a name
I owe her that and much more pain
Roll over now or
Turn around
You haven't ears to
Hear this
Sound

The first time I spent the night in his room, I did not sleep.
He laughed when he came back from the bathroom to see that I had folded his shirt while he was gone, asked me why, and I did not answer him.
At four o'clock in the morning I slithered away from his bed, wearing his sweatpants.
I folded them neatly in my closet.

When you grow up with a single mom, you learn quickly that there are times when you will have to be alone.
You learn to do your own dishes and check your own homework and wash your own laundry.
You learn to fold things neatly and put them away.

There was never anything neat about you.
No matter how many times I folded that shirt, my feelings for you were always messy and they were everywhere.
It reminded me of laundry day,
Clothes scattered around my room, listening to upbeat pop songs as I gathered them to be washed.
Some things were muddy from a rainy October recess, there were white pants stained red from a ****** knee, a green sweater splattered with grape juice because I just couldn't keep my glass full.
Some things almost looked clean, but I knew better.

My days with you were full of almost clean.
Evenings of red wine and laughing and card games that became nights of drunken giggling and pulling off my white tee shirt, stained with grown up grape juice.
And my mom isn't here to help me get the stain out.
In the morning, you made me tea and sang me Bob Dylan songs and I almost felt clean until I remembered your hands clasped at the curve of my waist the night before.
But I am well versed in cleaning up my own messes.
I lathered your sweat off my body with too-hot water and vanilla body wash, but your finger prints stayed under my skin and I couldn't remember the recipe for homemade stain remover and besides, it kind of looked like a pattern.

I should know by now that wine is not going to make the messes any tidier, but it's nice to forget how bleach smells sometimes.
You didn't notice how nicely my shirt was pressed when you were talking to her, and I guess that's when I realized that you didn't really mind the stain on her collar or the wrinkles
And I realized how harsh I looked next to the dirt on your canvas shoes and the rip in your jeans.

I guess I thought that if I folded my feelings for you neatly enough, you'd think it looked pretty,
But I never imagined that you wanted me messy, you said you like sleeping outside and you wish you could see the stars in the city,
I thought,
I wish you looked at me the way you look at the galaxy.

When you brought my sweater back to me, you told me you tried to fold it like I would, but I thought it looked better crumpled up and half-folded.
As I took in your disheveled hair and wrinkled tee shirt, I said goodbye.
I never really took my body out from under your fingers, and maybe that's why my chest bruised when you left,
And all I could do was fold my sweater.

it'll get bad reviews, we should scrap the project before it breaks the budget*


we sit and talk
art and beauty, love and fear
my heart cracking open,
and you, rushing in.

we sit and talk,
play at the deadly game
ignore the consequences
shun the inconsistencies.
the words, words, words
they swirl,
and we slip, we slip, we slip

--its a real cliffhanger

hearts on sleeves
music weaves
stories come to light

secrets, oozing out between
the well crafted lines of
our carefully scripted plot

we sit and talk circles around
the herds of white elephants
that come to watch the show.
mocking us, they laugh
as we tiptoe through
fields of daffodils
under dark skies
with rainbows.

(scene change now)

in dark of night
i squeeze out hope
from my heart.
god ****** hope
twists up and knifes
me in the side, leaves
me bleeding on the floor.

and you, fool you are
rush to my aid.

if you're saving me,
who's saving you?

you with your secret
decoder ring from your
box of caramel corn.
cracking my heart,
you peel my layers.

your questions run deep
but your feet will run faster,
and i'll fall, i'll fall, i'll fall.

gravity's a real drag,
i've felt it's pull before.

me with my third eye
see the pan and play.
this show will end
leaving us all sitting
in our seats wanting
another thirty minutes,
a tidier ending.
this ain't Disney.

we'll feel like we've been
ripped, ripped, ripped

no refunds here,
go file your complaint
with the man upstairs.

the audience stands,
turns to go.

white elephants know there's
no silver lining, no *** of gold.
they threw popcorn at the screen
but you didn't notice.

i always hated white elephants;
i thought you did too.
who invited them to the show?

we step outside,
no curtain call,
no applause

this hail falls down
on a sunny blue day.
afraid to touch you, but

i want to catch you in my mouth.

would you please
just go away
before i end up with lumps
on my head, in my throat?

my eyes blinded by the sun,
the hail, this ill fated show


--bruised orange

'It'll get bad reviews, we should scrap the project before it breaks the budget.'*


We sit and talk art and beauty, love and fear,
my heart cracking open, and you,
rushing in.

We sit and talk,
play at this deadly game,
ignore the consequences,
shun the inconsistencies. The

words,
words,
words,
they swirl,
and
we slip,
we slip,
we slip.

It's a real cliffhanger.

Hearts on sleeves,
music weaves,
stories come to light.

Secrets, oozing out between
the well crafted lines of
our carefully scripted plot.

We sit and talk circles around
the herds of white elephants
that come to watch the show.
Mocking us, they laugh
as we tiptoe through fields of daffodils
under dark skies with rainbows.

(Scene change now)

In dark of night
I squeeze out hope
from my heart.
God ****** hope
twists up and knifes
me in the side,
leaves me bleeding on the floor.

And you,  fool you are,
rush to my aid.
If you're saving me,
who's saving you?

You, with your secret decoder ring
from your box of caramel corn, cracking
my heart, you peel my layers.

Your questions run deep but your feet will run faster, and

I'll fall,
I'll fall,
I'll fall.

Gravity's a real drag;
I've felt it's pull before.

Me, with my third eye see the pan and play.
This show will end leaving us all sitting in our seats
wanting another thirty minutes,
a tidier ending.

This ain't Disney.

We'll feel like we've been
ripped,
ripped,
ripped.

No refunds here,
go file your complaint with the man upstairs.

The audience stands, turns to go.

White elephants know there's no silver lining,
no *** of gold.
They threw popcorn at the screen, but you didn't notice.

I always hated white elephants;
I thought you did too.
Who invited them to the show?

We step outside,
no curtain call,
no applause.

Hail falls down on this sunny blue day.

Afraid to touch you, but
I want to catch you in my mouth.

Would you please just go away,
before I end up with lumps
on my head,
in my throat?

My eyes blinded by the sun,
the hail,
this ill fated show.
​

Aberrant bloom, you doggedly ungrow-
once scarlet, now a pale and formless bud
(much tidier to nip when drained of blood)
writhes grimly down into the earth below.

O! fruitless vine, you hide yourself away,
ashamed to drink the stars' sufficient light-
and so, though worthy in another’s sight,
unworthiness begets a sick decay.

Baruch met Yehudit
off the bus
it was her half day
off work

and they were going
to spend some time
alone together
as they used to

before they’d' left school
she still had
her work uniform on
and make up  

and her hair
was tidier
than it had ever been
can we go

to your place?
she asked
yes sure
the house is empty

until 3.20
she nodded
and they walked up
the road towards

the house
traffic rushing by
the sun warm
in the afternoon sky

hell of a day at work
she said
that manager
kept on at me

this is not how
we do it
he says
that is how

we do it
why is he
such a creep?
Baruch said

he thinks because
he's manager
he can get
girls to do things

but I always
put him straight
and he doesn't like it
that I don't let him

Yehudit said
report the  prat
Baruch said
a rook flew noiseilly

over head
she looked up
and down again
who would believe me?

I'm just a 15 year old kid
he’s a respected manager
been there
for 20 odd years

who are they
going to believe?
Baruch frowned
won't any

of the other girls
stick by you?
will they heck
most have slept

with him
they're not going
to show themselves up
as ****** are they?

she said
guess not
he said
they reached the house

and went in
the gate
and along the path
to the back door

and opened up
coffee or tea?
he asked
no

she said
let's not waste time
we only have
about 2 hours

so they went up
the stairs to his bedroom
and undressed
and got into bed

you ok with this?
he said
of course I am
she said

it's not you
I have a problem with
and besides
this is an expression

of my love
he kissed her
and she kissed
his neck

and he took in
her *******
the softness
the smoothness

as he ran his fingers
over them
and his pecker moved
and the room enclosed

and protected them
from the world outside
as they made love
the songs of birds

distant traffic
a ticking clock
her uniform
flung over

a chair
then they lay there
breathless
each moving

in a different world
breathing in
the same air
and on the bed post

hanging
her bright pink
flowered
underwear.

This is a Me
(hands indicate the body that they are a part of)
A responsive sock of meats
flush with The Other
and stringy with Thinker

From The Other
opperations may be performed
Within this mix
a View dwells
and this could be said
to be a Me

It's a bit of a confusion
but it can be worked
It could be tidier
With this as thought
The Being makes
a physical step forward
A Me indicated that it ought to
and it did

Down the dusty lane
The Wind she calls my name
Good enough to count the sleeping hamlets
She puts a smile on my face
lit by childlike candles
Tidier with bloom
She unfettered my gloom
a gushing  bride

Pro's
LOVE!!!!!
Unity
Harmony
Bliss
Great ***?
Love is blind (at first)
Beauty is only skin deep
Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder
(get it out with optrex)
And if the bed collapses
I'll see you in the Spring
Con's
love....
End of Honeymoon period
Excessive wind?
Excessive snoring?
Messier than yourself?
Tidier than yourself?
Picky?
Financial implications?
FAR RIGHT
FAR LEFT
RELIGIOUS EXTREMIST
NARCISSISTIC
COERSIVE
BIGOTTED
RACIST
SEXIST
XENOPHOBE
­BULLY
DISLOYAL
CONSPIRACY THEORIST
None of the above?
Then there is hope!

by Jemia

day 44.

maybe she is breathing out

it has changed maybe it
is the extra time though
we have the same time
we always had now we

use it differently

shall i write to tell him
that things are tidier
neater that
colour creeps in
yet most of my paints
are unavailable

shall i write to ask
if all is well
or leave it all to chance?

last evening i looked at the price of wooden stilts
then ladies light bicycles
would you believe?

how things take us in this time of quiet with this
longer sentence
in all respects

i have at least another six weeks yet with recent
findings it may come longer

sunday