letter for procne

new year

2008-01-01T07:12:00.000-08:00

an expended vessel thrown toward hope
tossed endlessly upon the white crest
and mocked by the bird’s eye
it carries inside the words of salvation
a dream for home
still fresh as the salt upon lips
alien
alone
passing through the shadow of time
a thousand clouds casting doubt for the wayfarer
a thousand beings in the belly of samudra
all destruction for the message borne internal
and still the vessel floats onward
for a warm current tirelessly whispering moira

same old stone

2007-07-19T01:14:00.000-07:00

without hesitation
i walk away
my footsteps
a death march
like a fetus without a womb
this cold body and still no tomb
i seek only rest or home
which ever may come first
or cause me to see, at last

inward

2006-04-17T22:57:00.000-07:00

For all the time I spend memorizing moments
storing them in degrees of light and color and temperature
in order to reproduce reality in my most secluded moments and
play them as a movie on the proscenium of my mind,
I find myself empty for story or connection to humanity
as I, the one, make up the audience.

Black

2006-04-09T21:07:00.000-07:00

Without a care and unaware
Head lifted towards the cloud
When silken colors will never be worn
And home is always another’s front door
Where trees weep Apollo
Out onto the ground

Discordant song, your gift and comfort
Now in memory
Of manna overcoming a disbelief
From the sky, like a dove, white-winged
Descension
Intended viscerally

Words withholding definition
You tell all black and bold
How even the darkest have a place
Approbation among the graced
Regardless of guilt
Or the past we hold

Curious your raucous lesson
Taught without conceit
Nothing to show when it’s all in the open
Life still holds warmth for the things that are broken
Beguiling more
For what lies beneath

At the Foot

2006-02-28T21:28:00.000-08:00

And as finally it comes to this
Releasing what I have already lost along the way
Mere memory
And possible time
I stop and lay my suitcase at the foot of silent steps
Sitting among the cracks
Simply to ridicule continuation once again
I sit in detached fall
Wearing cotton loneliness
Nearby, children laughing
For things they don’t understand
I sit in dense air
Body pressed against atmosphere
Opening my container of leftover belongings
Pushing to the deep and pulling out antiquity
I see it there
Love burnt in color
Lights on paper
A moment of life framed perfectly by
Scientific advancement
Another way to prolong
The lengthy process of growing
I sit alone and listen to
age unaware of what will come
I sit alone
Wondering
Were I but blind
And unable to recognize your form
At the tip of my fingers
As finally it comes to this

Knowing I have conquered years
It is moments I am overcome by

Transient

2005-12-30T09:31:00.000-08:00

Love hid its shaggy head until I could no longer recognize its face
Endless to the shoes hung over the line, I cannot find familiarity in this neighborhood
As I wander the dark streets, stopping to invade a quiet house with the light of my eyes,
I feel outcast, a stranger to warmth and presence
with anonymity hanging beside me like a thin knit web
The pressure on my soles
The display of science
The mathematics of living in a small room with a fish at my feet
And when the last veil is raising, I will see my bride in all her glory
Apathy
Outcast
The leper in your song
Oh, stand by me once more, love,
that i may brush away the restiveness from your face
and park my running mind in the solace of your sanctuary

Matutine

2005-10-26T00:41:00.000-07:00

In the memory of my sleep
You were but an apparition in my grasp
With two jeweled questions fixed upon your face
movements treacly, contiguous with time

From the beginning, a sealed casket you were
allowing no room for bargain
But my insides, like a river before you
left no mystery in how I felt about quondam love

I expelled you long ago, drowning your story
At the bottom of the ocean I created
A heavy stone from the pit of my stomach
Tied to the binding, sinking all reminiscence

But still it is not enough, for in matutinal moments
You arrive, an unexpected torrential
To steal peace built heart-shaped in my core
And replace it with a vespa

old pages found

2005-08-02T00:16:00.000-07:00

come full

When the embittered winter has had its last laugh sitting on spring’s porch
and the old man stands, bearing a cane and a well hummed tune,
ready for another year’s sojourn
The audience of wildflowers will sit with wild garb
colored by hope and paid for with the rising of a new sun
And I will return to my love, thus pausing to look in a mirror
Finding her there in a moment of remembrance

a new chapter

2005-04-18T12:44:00.000-07:00

Breaking

I display myself before you
for a lesson in analytical ridicule
while vespertine fluids
the ruins of emotion left standing
weave a lucid memoir upon my cheek
hand over heart to say the word ‘Messiah’
to stave off mendacity in the wake of habit
to cut with razor precision
the string of words imposed upon the brain
wherein lies untruth intending to destroy
a bridge so delicately built to humanity
self worth
and entitlement

Chance

at last i find myself knocking at serenity’s door
hoping for allowance without expectation
like the waiting for a doctor’s diagnosis
i inhale the passing of time, breathing out the dust from a journey
that made my insides public

now cleaning my feet with selfless focus
turning the attention of the child behind my eyes to you
with both hesitation and vacillation
my scalpel fingers grasp the cold circular form
that with a twist may either reveal the Delphi oracle
or the universe inside Krishna’s throat

the reality of illness

2005-03-05T10:31:00.000-08:00

i see shadows living on the outskirts the edges and i am aware that they move and breathe in time with the ticking in my head
i see the shadows and am aware that they don’t belong to life forms but rather they belong to me
they have followed me since i was a little girl and this is how i know that i am the same girl that was last year and 10 years ago

for those of us who care
stand up
and receive all the honor of a dying flower
sucking sunlight dim from a fading hill
behind the woodpile where the lost kitten makes a home
of people’s left over junk
applaud the rigid walk from room to room, in and out of buildings
holding in the secret that there exists a world far grander than the one your feet trod
inside the heart of you where no one can traipse uninvited
crushing daisies
there below the tennis courts an avalanche of emotion
where we sat and talked of lost virginity robed in white and tied with a gold bow
a holocaust with one survivor
fear
underneath the weeks that the monarchs came with a thousand or more wings
invading the privacy of the thinning air
waking the movement of season upon season
the change
a circle exhibiting a straight line
my hands knowing without seeing,
the width of one rail that holds me up from plummeting below
not death but insanity
recognized by the voices that come with the waking of the bats

to everything turn

2005-02-25T02:49:00.000-08:00

june
it is a solitary experience with nothing to relate to but a quick inhale
when i open the door to find you after all this time and misunderstanding
where there are no colors to the picture
but everything is bright and the motion is in full
and now i am running through the myriad of vocabulary words
to lay the right ones at your feet
in welcome
in anticipation of where this moment will lead
of where this time will end when the clock stops ticking
and i am once again in your embrace
in that i have found myself marching in time to your breath
and coming through the alley past the dumpster
past the grey cat with no name
to push up a flight of stairs into a place called home
because you exist as a monument
a creation of wealth
stolen by Smog and hidden in the innermost part of my chest

november
i will bury these things i know to exist
with these words that jump to attention on my tounge when you are near
i will bury them in the back of a furniture store
with the antiques that are too old to sell
the history that people no longer will spend a dollar on
in the back of a light that i simply cannot catch
in the back of a door where the corner hides things once vigorously searched for
in the cobwebs
in the dust of a generation that had so much wisdom to offer
right next to a broken mirror i will bury them
and as i dig a shallow grave i feel no regret
for these are the things that taught me to stay quietly after the show was done
as the credits turned the screen
and wait patiently for your name

solace

2005-02-18T23:39:00.000-08:00

in my tired mind, i can recall a moment when you laid your head upon my shoulder, and in that moment i felt exactly the same way the gentleman sang on the vinyl. as the needle scraped along, your head became weighted and you surrendered to the stability i could offer for the moment, a shoulder, a portion of my body, a little piece near my heart. warmth occupied my hands and your head preoccupied my thoughts. wavy hair. bubbling liquid. jazz sung of this moment long before we arrived.

looks like a pity party

2005-02-12T01:46:00.000-08:00

remorse in a shoe box in the back yard

it is an old doll
it has an awkward expression
it wears no fear, only time and soil
it is missing a shoe
it is missing a name
and where it once closed its eyes
it now stares endlessly with pale blue to a fate
how things that do not grow up get buried

carry

i will spread my hands as far as they go and close my eyes and scream it over and over in my head as if i could move your heart with my thoughts
i will point my toes south towards the end of the bed
and hoard the pressure of your body on top of mine
i will carry this secret deep within, where even you can't reach it
and hope that it is enough to protect me, to protect us
for one chance of sunlight on this wilted flower, for one chance of rain on this dry pot, for one chance to stretch up as tall as possible and carry a beautiful blossom

found and lost

2005-02-02T00:15:00.000-08:00

i wear this song like an old comfortable coat. no need to listen for i have memorized every step half-step sharp and flat like the movement of your face. like the tears that slide down a hill to your lips and the flurry of your lashes, the wings of a small moth trapped on a windowsill.

as the journey to a wooden hut in the middle of nowhere reaps the finding of a girl they called philomela, meaning singer of a night song. maybe it is too late and the candle has burn down to a piece of metal and the tapestry remains unfinished. and we say alas, how sad, what a waste and shake our heads in disbelief and pity.

try again

if i knew the way to your house i would go
i would ride a white horse like a newborn lark
covered in fresh flowers and grand ideas
and the parade of memories would follow me like a circus
but i would be unaware
unswayed determined that this time
this time, i will not hesitate

if i knew the way to your house
i would dress myself in poetry about love and patience
fearing nothing but carrying it all with me, like an elephant
and i'd wash my feet from the dust of my journey
and say there is one more door to pass through
before i jump off the cliff into a watery grave
finding you under all that exists

if i knew the way to your house i would go
and perch like a falcon on your doorstep
as it has seen, seen a million miles beyond
to its prey and its hunted
and the fear that comes with taking to the ground after flying
would dissipate into tiny bubbles
a fountain of visions that have haunted my dreams at night

a memory

2005-01-31T23:11:00.000-08:00

a hard memory for a hard day...

when i try to remember the darkness, all i see is the light. and your outline in the doorway, one more time leaving, one more time, as i lay drunk with misery. i don't even have words i would say to bring you back. i can't comprehend owning such a vocabulary nor can i comprehend you staying.

if i wear this read existence. if i were this beautiful. if i carry your guilt. then you live.

i can lie awake long after you are asleep, long after you are satisfied. i can lie awake by the light and hum of the computer. i can lie awake in your embrace, fashioned out of habit and guilt. for sleep would mean safety and this i am foreign to. sleep would mean running together time and moment and fear and dreams. numb. cold. fashioned after a piece of meat.

if all the fear in the world could be bundled up as a gift to me, it is what you left me. it is how you left me. it is why.
when i could not even find the strength to hold open my eyes. that is when you struck, with all your venom. weeping tears of venom. a child holding the hand of a viper. a lifeless form manipulated to become the friend of pale death and apathy. this is what you gave me, when my insides crawl with terror and I drink a time machine to the future, a wistful thought, then a catalyst. this is why i talk with a limp and apply make-up in the day. like a vampire, i am revealed and know my time grows short, eternally short eternally dark eternally still. ekleipsis

fragments of

2005-01-12T01:35:00.000-08:00

What i know is this. i loved once. once. it was a rainy day. a sunny day. the sky was. and we sat together and said more in our silence than a wall could tell in 10 years. i fell when i loved. i flew and i sung a song about a life that was handmade by a humble carpenter and a middle of a mountain that breathed blue springs into grey trees, that harbored a fire dragon. i saw a fullness around the earth when i leaned back my head and looked as far down as possible to the motion of rocks in black air. i know this. i was carved into your body and roosted like a morning hen. i fed on the words that grew wild from your soil. i drank solidly the gleaming hope that the raven spoke of. your solid frame was a block for my babbled voices, your fingers an atlas for my body. alas, i know this. when the black hands of the clock come at me like a knife, i am cut fast from being. and the trees grow crooked without a sun to seek. and the stones fall silently without ears to hear. for it is not without you that i am lost, but in you. and now, as you have gone away, i am left with blindness. what i know is this.

to: anyone, with love: ekleipsis

2005-01-10T12:10:00.000-08:00

scenery

how fast i fade into the scenery
how quickly the pale row of flowers, witnesses of time
mirror my face, keep my secrets internal
how vast is the existence of one person
when all the knowledge of the world and the logic of science and the beauty of art and the deepness of war are levied upon him
and he still awakes alone with one hope in mind
to be known and understood
and then to be accepted

moved

moved to beauty by fear, by submission
by flight into a dream lived out long ago in a bright room
when all the toys were put away and the carpet was clean, impressions remain where she fell upon trying to fly
standing tall at a white chest and spreading her arms
this was the chance to give birth to something great

you're invited mrs. radly

when you leave this time
don't bother to tell me
and i will have tea at noon
and you will be there in your finest clothes
and the sugar cubes will stick together
and you will say, lovely to be here today

when you leave this time
don't bother closing the door
and all the grackles in the yard will come in
and line up along the back of the bed post
and sing a song hideous
and i will say, nothing changes

six true legs and ten prolegs

2005-01-08T23:56:00.000-08:00

Oh to be cunning like the caterpillar. He does nothing out of logic, for who would wrap themselves in darkness, weaving a wooley tomb without foresight of a transformation? But he does nothing out of emotion, with no hope for future wings no need to cover himself, no broken heart asks him to slumber, no lack of love causes his disappearance. And yet, he weaves and works his way into a stillness that in turn causes more freedom than his little caterpillar brain can even imagine. Flying. Can we call this faith? Are his actions based upon laws of nature, simply being that he does what he does when it is time as the law of nature has told him? Or does he answer to a higher power, following a will that he cannot deny, not asking questions or fearing the deathlike trance that awaits him? Who can say what faith to its fullest could produce. But how I long to have his broken restraint. his colors. his view of the world as he flutters by on the warm currents of spring.

the beginning

2005-01-07T00:05:00.000-08:00

i will start this way. i will start by telling you i am afraid. i will start by admitting that what is in the suitcase may betray me. it is not my deepest thoughts i am afraid of but rather knowing that once the light comes on, all will be revealed for what it is. a shallow water. that and nothing more. thank you Poe.

they say that the bitter cold makes old wounds ache. maybe i will take a long walk in the cold. maybe i will taunt the past with the words of a 5 year old.

tonight i drove down lamar and the motion made me think of a memory...

If I could go back to the moment, the split second before we met somewhere between the letter m and n. if i could ask the silence to go back to before, back before, before the beginning, before a small record store. if i could go back back before the accident and there had not been a transference of energy. back to the moment of eternity we spent together in the motion of that car skidding on the wet cement. if i could. go back. take an adult mind back to a child's year. embrace the full force of jumping down 20 green steps into silence. until right before the cars collided until right before you said hello. until right before i reached out to the m. until right. if i could go back to slow the process of aging into knowing you and knowing me. the relentless excitement of a stranger looking your way. the danger of stalling. the fate of searching the alphabet. but, you say, you speak of a broken heart and i answer no. and then before putting my fingers into my mouth, indulging an old nail-biting habit, i say...i speak of a broken memory.