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gunpowder [Sep. 11th, 2009|11:13 pm]
i hold the cigarette at the edge of my lips
and then nervously clutch it between my fingertips.
it’s not that i love you more than words can say;
it’s just that no words i say
or witty remarks i make
are going to convince you that i am a woman
who could make you feel alive as you ever will----
like when i kissed the innards of your thighs
and you let out the most vulnerable sound i have
ever heard come out those armored lungs.

with every breath inhaled
i savor pain.  i savor it like i savor the night we made each others
bodies feel a little less alone.  our words did that too,
but at the end of the day, it’s the explosions that count,
not the gunpowder.

you are left with the explosions,
and i,
i am left with gunpowder and cigarettes.
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a view of the ocean: III. i am not edna pontellier [Jul. 4th, 2009|01:00 pm]
hanging above the sea,
propelling over the vast plane of Earth you convinced yourself was corrupt,
you construct a polemic against the ocean.
its wicked water fooled you into thinking
it was sustenance.

you swam for miles,
until the shoreline faded into memory.
marooned where the hum of bees, and the musty odor of pinks filled the air.

it was then that you could not distinguish between the ocean and your tears;
they were to become one, regardless of your protest.

in a moment of despair,
in a moment of distance,
it is convenient to forget that it was the sea and his overwhelming embrace
that taught you what it means to be alive.

how easy it is to massacre the muse who propels us to our point of terror.
all it takes is a little white lie, the slightest delusion.
and yet, honesty tempts you to admit your flailing body is not surrender, but resistance.
the ocean's current showed you what you're made of
and it's the sort of strength that's product, not instinct.
fostered in the memory of an embrace,
and the sustenance of a failure worth every evanescent misery.
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a view of the ocean: II. repair [Jul. 4th, 2009|12:59 pm]
in a moment of repair,
in a moment of distance,
it is far too convenient
to consider one’s
immersion into the sea
a baptism;

an invitation to enjoy
the renewal of the
persistent wave;
to become one with the
Earth, loving you into submission.

above the sea
propelling over the vast plane
of Earth you eagerly convinced
yourself was a rebirth -
you loved, you lost,
you emerged from the water
a stronger woman.

it is easy in one’s distance
to reimagine an experience;
to neglect
that the ocean
oppressed you with
its force;
that its waves’ violence
filled your lungs with
salt water.

to admit you were scared
when love failed
miles from the shore
might compel you to negate
the wonderful numbness time provides.
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Scenery [Jul. 3rd, 2009|06:25 pm]
Battered but familiar,
a city escapes black and white renderings
of stockyards and factories,
of the endearing enclaves that grace
my family’s photographs.
The smooth numbness of the train ride
deterred for a moment,
with the excessive, abandoned tracks
and seemingly spontaneous
exhibits of deconstruction,
a cityscape concurrent to skyscrapers.

Hearts in idle protest watch history collapse into scenery.
It wears its neglect without embarrassment anymore,
but do not confuse its abrasive honesty as a badge of honor.
The once resilient machines now rusted are not dancing with the leaves,
they are being smothered and suffocated into submission.
Do not mistake its brokenness for dignity,
do not romanticize what could have been.
Those are lies we tell ourselves
to keep far from the guilt of the vacancies we engender upon
a scorned lover,
who eventually surrenders herself
to unreciprocated love.
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a view of the ocean: I. untrue [Jul. 3rd, 2009|05:52 pm]
the sea appears pristine
as you immerse your whole body into it,
and precautions
cleansed with the persistent wave.

for a moment, all is clear – the Earth loving
you into submission.  the hesitation of your
allusive nerves conquered in a steady stream.

you taste the salt on swollen lips.
you refuse to ruin
the wonder of this moment with
the concession the environment
forces one to make: saline purges,
but it cannot nourish.
you cannot, cannot, cannot admit
that you can only swim
as long as the shoreline remains
on the periphery; this is not
a space for survival.

above the sea
propelling over the vast plane
of Earth you convinced
yourself was pure, your
perspective is realigned.
distance disrupting harmony, as
you see through the ocean’s blue
and discover
the sediment lurking beneath.
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Untitled [Jul. 3rd, 2009|05:42 pm]
My scorched thighs
beg you to teach the sun
how to make them burn.

For nature cannot replicate
some intolerable pleasure
I once knew.

It paints scarlet on my skin,
but knows not how to activate
the crimson of my blood,
that engulfs the everythingness
of my tortuous body.  

Muscles that tore
through flesh at your ignition
pity the weak sun.
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Nosferatu's Shadow [Jul. 3rd, 2009|05:33 pm]
I saw my mother’s breasts
hang from her body
like pears from trees.
I winced as their stretch marks
abused my eyes, taunting me
with their flamboyant flaws.
My seven year old self discovered
it was not in my nature
to be perfect; I am more bearded lady than beauty queen.

The mirror mocks me,
reminding that I am my mother’s daughter.
I linger and lament the scars adorning my
hips – they are there to frighten the meek
I am the Phantom’s malformations,
Gwynplaine’s grin.

Solace of the screen,
the lost causes of chivalric romance.
Concealing disfigurements in futility,
for the beloved will never
be without disappointment.

I seek love
under masques and disguises.
I obscure my curse
through slight of hand
and gestures of distraction.
Through my charade
I pray you were saved
by the darkness of the room,
when you took in my nakedness.
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Honesty [Jun. 22nd, 2009|11:48 pm]
I try to hush my body –
    I am almost certain you can hear
    my muscles contract and expand at an accelerated rate
    inappropriate for friends.

I harness fugitive thoughts
    that have escaped to my vocal chords, propelling
    forward admonitions and I’m scared.
    Scared that I’ll confess, sure, or if not,
    that my teeth might shatter, that my tongue
    might rupture in their resistance.  They plead
    to some false sensibility that deems this

My fearless pheromones must be tamed, before
    they render the same state as when you first laid
    your hand on my thigh, gleaming anxiously at me,
    wondering if i would flinch or flee at your trail-blazing

I didn’t move.

I encage that woman, not because
I have forgotten what it is to love you,
but because I know the truth
won’t set me free.

It is a nice thought
resigned to fantasy,
because it won’t always work
out how you want.
And sometimes, its better to
share a beer with a friend
and keep your quivering lungs
to yourself.
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Healing [Jun. 22nd, 2009|11:48 pm]
I resign myself to knock-offs as of late:
generic substitutes like
“facial tissues” and “pain relief medication.”
I can’t afford the real thing anymore,
and it gets the job done.


it lacks a certain quality
I can’t quite place
except for its offness
flawed to my sensual perceptions.
Practical, but incomplete.
Never measuring up,
but enough to make do.


love is not utilitarian,
and sometimes
we are left
mended but unsatisfied.

is potent
and poisonous.

This pleasant numbness
an admission it’s not the same.
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Haikus of First Kisses [Jun. 22nd, 2009|11:19 pm]
1. Watching a movie
on my couch, my parents gone
A rebel at fourteen.

2. Hours of conversing,
Depart my porch a friend, to
Return for a chance.

3. After a heartbreak
In the back row of a film
I believed again.

4. In my bed, as I
stumbled awkwardly through words
you told me to cease.

5. The most honest man
I have ever known kissed me for
A day and no more.

6. Anticipation
for months, we marked each other
where folks eat donuts.

7. Wish it was when I
sat at your side at a club
in a place foreign.

8. Four in the morning
As we lay, drunk and lovestarved
Disrupt loneliness.

9. Your cheek on the bus
Your lips on your couch - it was
not as I had wished.

10. When no one looked
In a bowling alley, we
drank beer to forget.

11. Inched my body
Closer to yours. An infant
love born in your lips.

12. Despondent, I
agreed it was years in the making
A bar of your name.

13. A scene recast and
rechoreographed, it was
doomed to underwhelm.


The numbers may be forever inclined to incline---
but sometimes,
I let myself revisit
to compare and contrast and admit
how your lips made my body ERUPT,
the magnificent violence that moment
and that man
could render.

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