Irritable Self

The words are tight in my chest today. Tight from holding them in as I survive another holiday. Another attack of thoughts and color. Sound that overwhelms and makes you grind your teeth at others. No one in particular. Grinding at all who walk by. All who ask why. All who are all. All including myself. I grind my teeth at myself the most. Continuous grit of sounds deep in the eardrum. I fling them from my mind now in tantrums of tingly emotion. I exhale and  ask to have peace with my irritable self today.

Image

Yes?

You think of me again

yes?

You wonder if the reality was warm

Yes?

And it was but

God

it is so much richer now

in distance

Let us be lovers of words and watch each other

grow.

You are whispered on my lips

and

hips

as well.

Thank you far off lover.

lets write and sing drastic songs sent from afar

but close.

rodoor

Lessssssssons

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Where are the whispers that used to fill the inside of veins, “you want more”.

Give me lessssssssssss ons.

Give me lessons?

Give me freedoms.

Give me sleep.

Give me guiltless memories.

Give me kind interactions and a pillow of done enough.

Give me…nothing…no worth.

No.

No lessons.

No grace.

Give me jokes in face.

Your moms face.

Your moms face burnt with fire the bombs left her.

Left her an eye to give back to the soldier that saved her life…but he took that eye.

Lesson learned.

Why aren’t we laughing?

Remember, there’s a time lag of half a second from when you perceive something to when you become conscious of it…There is no choice but to live in constant catch up.

Remember

remember the Poet,

loosed lipped and easy at the hip

her taste buds are still forming

her mind still wondering if the goose bump will drench your skin

the skin you love.

Her give

your

tug.

Remember the timing of what was right

right before the fight came storming.

the stars missing the gaze of

your eyes watching out as they passed her by.

Remember the HEY that the horse ate

and the tan lines of laugh lines

now torn tears from good bye.

hold tight and ache why, ask why, be why

Remember why not…

Remember the wander of the wonder

how words came about from ink of swivel

now the flick of the tip just the tip tip tip

of hand

that caries meanings she herself

would never dare to dream of knowing she dreamed of.

Remember that day when the sun lifted the spirit

and your dress while you danced.

the poet birthing

herself

and dancing

to the gods created before the gods,

created after, and the ones no longer needed…

Talking to you

Talking to you is like talking to air…I wonder if the clutter it takes for me to ache ever reaches your ear.

Do you hear?

Do you hear?

Talking to you is paper bag brown and vulgar.

Lusting exits, slumber begins…the death of bed.

Talking with me is no better.

If the words fall sour and the tumbler sticks due to lack of lubricated intimacy, click tracked to conversation of space and time, the sound of foot prints fading, I must hear…clank, clunk.

 Ravage me damn it!

Take it in and give it back out in the shout of your quiver.

Talking to you could be nothing, or everything. If I would stop to listen.

If you would drop in to listen.

If you would

Talk

to

You

   More.

The decomposing of me.

Crisp moon at my feet, reflect to me my truest nature.

Lie to me not, for you know no such thing as ego.

Tell me, let go.

“Let go.”

 Tell me…

Arriving at the green blades edge, my spine straightened by the freeze of the mountain water.

I fall into cold.

                                           .

                                                              .

                                                                                                           fall into feeling…

Memories once shoved into the cozy corner of the forgotten, are now jolted from their slumber.

Rushing the front of my brain like daggers shot from a booby-trapped tomb. Piercing the core of my denial.

Moods flooding, the murky reflections of meant to be.

The smell cringing in bubbles exiting my mouth.

Let me feel the burn of it.

Let me drift to the bottom, toes touching upon mud

Allow the fish to eat my eyes first.

No longer needing to see.

The pain they have witnessed, not just of myself, is enough to ache for the tinge of the first nibble.

The decomposing of me.

Hold death, let me feel the weight of water filled lungs, mouth gaping, deceived by the assumption of oxygen’s availability to me at all times.

Let me feel the disappointment.

Let the childhood stories, beginning with sledding and ending in crumpled panties and lost innocence, tag along with my last scream.

Allow me the release of knowing I am food.

Not driven with purpose yet fulfilling THE purpose…to feed what I have eaten.

No permission needed,

All are welcome to the piece.

Whispered Flaws

I write to you in my sleep.

Diamond sky, stardust lining ALL skins.

The waters touch quenching ANY thirst here or after.

The desert crumbling beneath toes dipped in valley.

You are there.

Visioned.

Seen.

Falling from risen.

True in being nothing.

Giving everything a meaningless meaning of seeing.

The dreams, like clouds, we dance upon their vapor.

Whispered flaws yelled from clasped claws…

Sleepily you write to me also…

Mud

Let us not loose our minds.

Let us know we are the stars children, created to dance in the colors we choose to flail about.

Let us not let our eyes roll back in ecstasy only alone in the room of closet.

Let us release and love the outburst that is us.

Let it be more colorful than beige.

Bland.

All color taken out.

Let it sear the skin and make all things seem inevitable.

Let the pleasure dry the mouth and moisten the hips.

Allowing the swerve of the curve of your lip to rest on the knee.

Tickle the insides of me.

Let us not loose our minds in the desert of doubt the plantation more raped than pleasured.

Let us breathe in the sweet smell of delicate encounters chipped by desire.

Let us not reflect like glass yet soak up like earth.

Allowing the moisture to turn us to mud.

Feet swollen with ache in fun.

Ache in romance.

Ache in acting.

Ache in painting.

Ache in laughter.

No ache in heart. Leave ache of heart in the land of bland.

Give in.

Give stand and. . . well. . . dance. 

Look alike

The face of why.

The grip of a good bye to an idea that was . . . you.

Who you thought you were is no longer and what you are becoming is . . . painful.

But necessary.

A given even.

Take in the addictions you have craved since birth.

Let out the ones that no longer serve your purpose.

The poison can be caring and it also can lust. Creating dust in the mask of self kindness.

Give nothing to a mind that is driven by snow and madness.

 Give everything to the sky that birthed you and will survive long after the skeletons.

Dance in the purple fungus of time and relate to all things even the sadness.

Even the death.

All is all. All is all. All is all and so are you.

All is taken from the example of a mad man.

You wonder if the moon will still hang after these tears are shed.

The smile returns with medicine encrusted in promises the land never intended to make forbidden.

Raped are the medicine men.

Their children’s dreams driven out by desire of more.

The herb takes form of smoke and lets the thoughts trickle back out and they are free again.

Free to take on this look alike. This crazed ego that was given to them by sand.

Breathe in mother Earth, breathe out your idea of mortal.

 Take with you the idea that nothing is how it should be and all is as it seems.

The boogie man is real and he was not nurtured by the earth but will ravage it and all who try to dance upon it.

The fog lifts and you see again.

There you are.

In there.

In the deep grey of doubt but I see you still.

Come about the way it leaves. Inhale earth medicine received.

Depression can leave.