March 2012
better
standing still on the last eve,
the snow mother says goodbye in this last little tilt,
the moon was so bright and brilliant last night, it’s guests of Venus and Jupiter, protecting father and lovely daughter, swinging their meaningful glances down at us,
and now, the winter flakes are trying so hard, little whispers from the snow sprites, they’ve been so quiet this year, but now...
UNPOLISHED STONE, PICKED FLOWER
i always know its there, under that peach pit, and its under my plum skin too—
that little hump under our backs, that ugliness that wants to eat, nay, gobble, nay CONSUME—
nestling under the feet of neurosis, you’ve held my arms bound in a rope sung out of songs, disguised under a pretty,
but—
so—
now—
i paint a star on my forehead, call my eyes new, and...
why is the only place i get hit on the farmers market
**not that im complaining
February 2012
small minds dismiss small people
i can’t sleep and i feel such a stone at the bottom of my belly,
i see little quails at my feet everywhere i go, i keep waiting for saplings to spoonfeed me little white flowers, or honey bees to spin circles round my golden hair, or to be greeted by poppies—
but i’m not in calfornia,
and when im here i am so misunderstood.
i dont understand—
i have so much love to...
forest-plum asked: your collection is so peaceful and beautiful
just now realizing i look at so many people with only one eye
and it’s time to stop pretending the other one is made of glass
so i replace that old blind eye that i’d painted to look like a wildflower—
but no more.
briefly, i let you paint my lips blue,
and i would’ve ground my teeth into dust and then into gold—
gold flakes that i would’ve happily shared and showered upon you——
but...
“Why are you sad?”
“Because you speak to me in words, and I look at you with...”
– Anna Karina, Pierrot Le Fou (via rabbitinthemoon)
“A person who thinks all the time has nothing to think about except thoughts. So...”
– Alan Watts (via rabbitinthemoon)
im floating downstream on my back,
my hair pools around me,
my face is white white white, my freckles flash golden
old petals from forgotten flowers meet me downstream, they’ve come to me in hope we can make each other beautiful, to hold each others hand through the process
they swirl around my pale cream dress, lifting me up and over the rocks
above me is the rolling fog spreading its...
my stomach shakes like turned over earth when you look at me,
but if you’re an earthquake then there’s no predicting when, or if, you’ll move the ground from under me
so im keeping my knees bent, im stronger that way,
but you’re now making those weak too———-
now i must decide whether to move under the table or to embrace the quakes that may eventually...
