sip SIP inhalEEeeexhale
As vibrations from the speakers toss my insides
into a tingle.
I take it with ease until she enters…
I take it up a notch to the surface of reality
that must exist for lovers to not itch
I take myself out of the lush grass
to the land of tight muscles,
tight jaws creaking into the night.
I loose my form.
I take on the shape of another and I ask why.
Why, when it was me the whole time?
The one with the power
to change at the drop of a hat.
To find another
hat to wear.
Take myself for granted no longer.
You and I.
You are me,
I take you in my arms,
The one who has sold me on the story.
The one that has sold me on the relating of nothing
to everyone who relates to nothing.
Why did the stars form we know not.
It matters not.
Knowing the answer can do nothing but free the soul from questioning.
Yet questioning is what we hunger for.
It is the ultimate desire.
It is why we are empty when we figure
or believe we have figured
We need the unknown in order to feel alive.
In order to not die with addiction.
Addiction forming when the brain is bored in knowing.
The surrounding humans unable to handle
such awesomeness that can escape from one dream.
Unable to handle it enough to
dream for themselves.
Let it let it let it be.
times in repetitive forms of what but of course,
Everything is nothing and nothing is in all things.
All created equal.
For all things are made out of the nothing of everything. . . I soak.
Dance with me,
Take it in happy like wine
Take it in the form of her parted lips
She deserves this.
The kiss that will end all other kisses.
The kiss that makes her swivel her hips and take a whiff
exhaled by lover .
Left with no doubt of meaning.
good for you.
better for you.
Take the words given in the ache of a midnight
Take the information I give you.
Open her insides.
She waits. . .
she needs. . .
hair tangled hands to head to heat.
Meet and greet taking form of
holding down flesh of lover
taste of tongue savored.
Take these words in your mind and give her your lusting.
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
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.
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…
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 release and love the outburst that is us.
Let it be more colorful than beige.
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.
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.
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 the deep grey of doubt but I see you still.
Come about the way it leaves. Inhale earth medicine received.
Depression can leave.
The wounds were many, but nothing she couldn’t bare.
She knew others that had it worse.
She used to read old news paper articles on abuse cases.
One story she remembers particularly well.
A young boy 3 or 4 was put in a closet night after night. Arms tied in a shirt and hung in the closet by a hanger.
When the parents needed to get a little more aggression out they would pull out his teeth and finger nails.
The whipping child soon met a horrible, painful end. As you can only run from imagining.
And although she cried, a part of her felt relieved.
Relieved to know others had it worse than her. It made her feel as if she could somehow continue on.
As if someone else’s torture lubricated her cracked existence.
She acted out due to her abuses. Same as any other marked child. Acting out to figure out. . .
Her attention span fails her as she gets older.
She tends to ‘forget’ to let herself ravage the old memories.
So tonight she smokes more herb… and forgets to forget to let herself get anything out.
Inhale. . . Shhhhh…Let it out.
Exhale. . . Shhhhhh…get it out.
Heal thy self.