Monday, November 30, 2009


Poetry to Prose VI

My acid tongue will burn you, eat into your heart, and corrode it away. To an outsider, they're mere words, but I'll rip to shreds all you've ever known, and you'll love it, you'll take it. You'll beg for my newly sharpened tongue to cut deep into your soul, into that wall you built. You don't know what evil dwells here pleading to be unleashed and set free, to spread her murderous rage and slide her rusty iron hands around your throat to choke your words, crush your air, and leave her handprint branded on your neck. It will be a permanent reminder every time you look in the mirror. Those words, those killing words, and the massacre your eyes laid on me. Look at me and see yourself. Turn your coward eyes on me now. Look at me and see your creation. Love the sharp acid tongue, and invoke its use, take it inside. Feel the fire, the blazing wound, and watch your sanguine covered hands ball into fists. It's futile to resist. You'll look at me and beg for more.


Poetry to Prose V

You move in and out, my ocean, and I know all is not said. Your waves come crashing in unexpectedly harsh since I wasn't looking your way. It's all a little too soon; I hadn't braced myself well. Your salt angers my wounds, and I only want more as you wash easily into my sores, dangerously deep. Since then I've been aware that it's all too much, and I'm not ready quite yet. You drag me deep underneath, and I can hardly breathe. Your ripples distort my visions, my impenetrable trance; I was daydreaming anyway. It's a little too dark in here, and I didn't hold myself high enough to keep your rough tides from pushing me away, but I know how things are. You flow effortlessly through me, disturbingly coarse since I was imagining softness, and now it's all I feel. I can't stand steady here. You cleanse all you pass through, and I am clearly gone, but your flow wears me down more, perfectly smooth since I wasn't moving away. I stood a little too still for you. I haven't found myself yet.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

My Morning Dream

Poetry to Prose IV

He's a beautiful dream unable to withstand the morning sunlight, a whisper in the breaking dawn, and I wonder if he's real. He shines lonely over the divergent paths I'm traveling now, the gravelly crunch beneath my feet. There's no broken glass here. A beautiful sadness emanates radiantly through his ice blue eyes, deceptively clear but walled behind. I wonder what he feels. His image retreats into an abyss of softly faded dreams I've had, dreams no longer able to be recalled, just a wavering thought. He'd dive headfirst into an empty concrete pool and land softly there; I'd just drown happily in his eyes. I wonder why that is? He's all white marble and copper waves flowing through my fingertips, and I know I'll never be able to hold my morning dream.

Strange Breeze

Poetry to Prose III

I'm waking a stranger in my own bed, unrecognizable in disguise. It's always the same silhouette, but now with newly saddened eyes. Sit down, listen, repeat, play; it's my mistake to make. So let me, and let me go. Underestimate the draw and wonder if it's mere reaction. I wish it were; I don't want it to be more. It's my perfect situation, but the timing is cruel. Then again, isn't it always?

My pieces no longer fit the way I once knew or thought. This stranger-she's not special, she's just like every other one. I can feel the bricks being carefully placed silently so as not to disturb. You were hoping I wouldn't notice, but I do. And when I do, I daydream and drown. I'm lost without my map, and my jagged puzzle pieces are struggling to find a fit, to regroup, rebuild and make sense.

Let me look at you a little longer there in the doorway before you go and I stay, watching alone and waiting for the hard hit at the bottom of your well. Waiting for the soul-dulling pain that I love only because it's the only time I can feel. Remind me I'm alive. I'll take it and love it because I can. I'll ache and love you anyhow.

Swandive into the rosebushes, hoping for thorns to rip completely through. My metamorphosis from stranger to thief, quietly crafting, oppositely drafting. Kiss me gently across the street; I'm bitten at the curb. Consider me a novel unwritten, with constant tears in paper, down my face. Unstoppable water rips, hidden by gentle words and soft smiles, kind eyes and loving touches.

It's all my fault. I'd be different if I could. I'd set you afire, but the best I can do is softly flickering candles laid gently beside your bed, waiting with certain anticipation to be blown out. A gentle breeze from your lips kills me just the same.

Not Going

Poetry to Prose II

Believe it or not, I know that where I'm going is not what we agreed, but I'm not headed to the furthest realm. I'm not going there again, babe. No, I'm not going there again. Listen to my words and hear me, please. No... See me in my elemental image. Feel the dirt underneath your fingernails, and wash your hands in me. Watch me dissolve, just you watch.

Wish me away from you now, and quit enjoying your reflection in my eyes. Just sleep and dream my dreams into oblivion. Play in the sound of breath, my love. Breathe, my love. Build it; she will come at you yet and be everything you never wanted. Don't look back when your dreams come because the truth lies to your heart, and you'll never know you never knew.

Glow bright. It's beautiful on you. I'll finger the lines across your face, trace your profile, tangle my fingers in your hair, let them linger along bodily lines. My touch fades slight; I'll fade away. Believe me when I say, I wish I weren't here. I'm flying where I'd rather walk alone or at least floating when I should stand. I'm not going anywhere now, I know. I'm not going there again.

Friday, November 27, 2009

Poetry to Prose

I'm going to be experimenting in the next little while with converting some of my poetry into prose. JeffScape has always thought my poetry was more like prose anyhow, so might as well see if that works. "Clairvoyance" is the first of that effort.


I started writing this for you before I ever touched you. I couldn't have known how accurate it would be until I felt you in my arms, and you were even better than I imagined...

I can feel you from a thousand miles away, feel your breath on my ear and the air that escapes from your lips. Imagine that as you hover your face so close to mine that the warmth of your face radiates between us and I sync my breath, my heartbeat to yours, I close my eyes, invite your lips to mine. I can feel your fingers slide up my thigh, and glide gently around my hip to caress the small of my back, trace the outline of my body, find my waist in your hands.

I can close my eyes and see you here
. How my heart aches to see you go, and how it flutters and skips with barely a glance and shudders with a jolt when you touch my skin. I love to see you watching me watching you and how the corners of your mouth turn up when you realize how fixated I am on you. How your eyes reflect that you know exactly what I look like, the curves of my frame beneath my insignificant clothes.

I can feel your weight coming down on me
as my hands glide around your back, fingers arched, pressing deep into your flesh, smoothing over your skin, pulling you closer, deeper into me, into us. It's been so very long, and it feels like forever since I've felt a heart reaching into mine. I imagine I've pressed my lips so soft against yours and savored your flavor on the tip of my tongue. It's been forever since I've wanted to lace my fingers, intertwined my hand with another, since I've wanted to press that hand hard across the sheets.

I can feel my hand locked into yours, pressing into your pillows
while I breathe the scent of your body, getting high from your essence. I'll trace my nose down your neck, onto your chest, inhaling every inch of you because I love to breathe you in. I'll run my fingers through your hair, trailing them along your jaw, and stare into your eyes. I'll pull you closer, close my eyes and breathe deeper than ever before because I love the way you smell, and I love the coolness of your skin, and I love the way I feel when you hold me so tight I can barely breathe. And in those moments, in your arms, I remember that I knew what this would be like before you ever were.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Muddy Sunday - 10thDoM If Geeks Ruled The World...

I'd rise above it all if I could, and sweep it all under the rug where no one ever looks. I'd drive hard into the sunlight with my radio blaring high, and love you without pain in my eyes. I'd run in all directions at once, and crawl across muddy puddles in my Sunday best. I'd dream in black and white, and wash the color swatches from my geeky little mind. I'd swing up to the moon and back, and touch the clouds with my saddle oxford shoes. I'd ride bicycles backwards, and litter banana peels in tomato gardens. I'd play Scrabble til my eyes would bleed, and win your heart by letting you get the brown wedge in Trivial Pursuit. I'd creep along the hallway walls, and jump out with a full-breathed "boo!" I'd cry only at commercials with monkeys and their big brown eyes, and hold my tears in when all I want to do is whine. I'd sleep curled into a fetal ball, and surround myself with a representative Twelve stuffed bears. I'd shine my smile along the way, if I ruled the world.

Monday, November 9, 2009

Exhale - 10thDoM Moon

Dive in. Head first. I'm water; I'll flow, you say. Slowly, I tiptoe to your crest, and I can feel the rush of cool moving in, lingering for a moment, retreating slowly, begging for the tips of my toes. I laugh at the idea, but it makes me smile. So I climb to higher land for a better view, am awed by what I see. Exhale. To breathe is a luxury these days. I'd love to swim freely through your waters, feel you wash over me, your flowing currents playfully surrounding me. Don't look back. The air is thinning, the sky is black and the moon is high. I can't stay up here forever.

I close my eyes and listen. Your night voice is calming, calling. I'm still hesitant, standing at your edge. Going back is not an option. I need to get away from the fire. He is destroying me. Deep breath. I'm in, I say, not sure if you'll catch me, but hoping you will. The sting of my bad form breaking through your surface is jolting. I realize your waters are unsteady and I can't swim. Your waves crush against my chest, my heart, pushing me away, driving me to the shallow ends. I'm suffocating beneath the weight of your impact. Washed to shore, the sand is rough; there's not enough of you here yet to hold me high enough to breathe.

Pushed too hard, too fast. Now those same surface tides that pushed me out slide underneath themselves, holding fast, pulling me back into you with their stronger undercurrents. You are water. You do flow. But you do not control your tides, and I cannot control the moon. She waxes and wanes in her own time, and I am helpless to fight as she phases through you. Crash into me, push me away, pull me in, hold me up, let me float. You're not what I expected. I'm not what you wanted. But your waters are calm for now and I can breathe. Exhale.