I Don’t Miss Him

Ima go ahead now,
pick up glowy embers
radiant and stinky
with the fires of days
long past…pick them up

with new hands and tender
soft flesh that has never
known shackles and chains,
calluses, rough edges.

Don’t gasp, they can’t hurt me!
I’m alive now, and wreathed
in grace and I’m shrouded
in mysteries of mercy
falling on the hungry

hard flames of agony.
See?  There they are…
the remnants of him,
gone at last, and frankly
I don’t miss him at all,

in the slightest, and really
all I had in common
with him was this body,
“Guffaw of the Universe”,
but not him, nothing

in common with him…well
except air, we both breathe
air…well, I breathe air, but
he doesn’t anymore…breathe.
And I don’t miss him.tumblr_nvg937KivG1qdxn3oo1_r1_1280

The Convenience of Giving Up

It was my knees that began to ache
from bending over, my hands that
occasionally encountered some
stinging or biting insect of one
kind or another, my muscles
that would cramp my
fingers and hands
from relentless
weeding and
digging.de8f07312a3244f8cdb2e4d42f35b7d8Yet,
taking
notice of
this process
made me more
aware of my own
tendency to desire
the convenience of giving
up when things became difficult
and seeking a shortcut in the process.

Beneath Blood And Skin

we simply must face it,
we are on the brink
of loss blind as wind
and empty as death.

but loss is a gift
when you think about it
it gives us some space
and cleansing tears too

it gives sacred questions
pathways to the center
and old maps long lost
to ancient deep wellstumblr_nqyszmL6dg1qfr1oco1_1280distraction is gone
what’s left to distract?
we can burrow deep
under blankets of dark

and holes in our heart
that nothing can fill
but pure love and light
shining in and out

so now we can go
out into the world
and carry these things
to all who are hungry

for true things not false
beneath blood and skin
and deep in our bones
the true love of Godtumblr_nv8krmnkUW1s4uwt4o1_1280

Because A Man Slapped My Butt…

“I know that if women wish to escape the stigma of husband-seeking, they must act and look like marble or clay – cold, expressionless, bloodless; for every appearance of feeling, of joy, sorrow, friendliness, antipathy, admiration, disgust, are alike construed by the world into the attempt to hook a husband.
“Never mind! well-meaning women have their own consciences to comfort them after all.
“Do not, therefore, be too much afraid of showing yourself as you are, affectionate and good-heartened; do not too harshly repress sentiments and feelings excellent in themselves, because you fear that some puppy may fancy that you are letting them come out to fascinate him; do not condemn yourself to live only by halves, because if you showed too much animation some pragmatical thing in breeches might take it into his pate to imagine that you designed to dedicate your life to his inanity.
Charlotte Brontë writing to a friend who had been kind to a man she thought was married, only to have him fall in love with her because he thought she was flirting (letter dated April 2, 1845)

“…some pragmatical thing in breeches might take it into his pate to imagine that you designed to dedicate your life to his inanity.” –19th century sassiness is delicious

tumblr_nv63rejoTk1qllucco1_500

This Place Bleeding

really…REALLY?

we are here, this place bleeding out arterially
black blood cells fused from antique plants
and dainty dinosaurs and precious people
deemed damned

and all we care about is our artesan chocolates
and our tan designer bedrooms that match
our pocketbooks in fashion and depth
damned dumbtumblr_mzfwomsiDA1rxgoj1o1_1280wearing our fedoras, sporting our beards (of every kind)
and dreaming a whole country gentrified by Bushwick
the coolest of the hip and the hepcats’ litterbox
dumbed down

as it gets hotter goalposts shift and redefine
sauna and authenticity to fit profiles across all media
except streets bleeding violent red screams of dying ‘saurs
down dregsImage 003we snort privelege like cocaine and serenade
our drunken oiled selves with bad karoke to past themes
of Happy Days and Good Times and Holiday Road
dregs drunk

we reek of our carousing self-colonization spirit-displacement
we dizzy ourselves with ironic nods and imitation-perfection
that obscures the fracture…THE FRACTURE
drunk dashedtumblr_m5a7doL6nI1rxebiio1_500running thru it all no sense of self
disinherited by us and our need of approval
manufactured in cell phones and selfies
dashed dim

we are here, this place of escaping
necessary work to heal the deepest wound.
we are here to resurrect our capacity to care
dim deadtumblr_mmtqs48l7P1rrdu8mo1_1280to tend each other…each other’s space and culture
history and place…and own our own self-loathing
and heal our deepest wounds and griefs
dead dealing

we are here in opportunity to recover finally
from all our shame and triumphs, renounce our history
and live authentic life of no unlawful gain
dealing diamonds

we are here…now
and as to tomorrow
we are…?tumblr_n62lycv2ho1r3ypqpo1_1280