Neo-words

Focus focus discipline.

I can’t I can’t I can’t win.

Lose it, lost it, once again.

Seek it, sought it, find the pin.

Laser, loser, precision.

Dueling needles, under skin.

Dig it, dig it, carve it in.

Kick it, kick it, in the shin.

Focus focus, self-control.

Hocus pocus, rig’marole.

One track mind, my mental goal.

No fault for a lack of soul.

Darling, darling, darling dear.

Keep me, keep me, keep me near.

Show me the darkness you fear.

Take me with, don’t leave me here.

Call me gorgeous, precious sphere.

Shed a crystalline blue tear.

Underground, bones rotting here.

Living hell, my darling dear. 

Darkness, darkness, in the hole.

Hill of beans upon the fool.

Working with the crudest tool.

Found my mind and lost my cool.  

Ode to [My] Sense of Humor

What saved me in life?
It was you, it was you.
Just by doing,
What you do, what you do.
Pointing out ludicrous found comedy,
Teaching my eyes just what to see. 

Cracking a joke,
For a laugh, for a laugh.
Teasing was always,
Your craft, was your craft.
Punchlines and smiles, sublime divinations,
Joshing and giggles, more motivation.

Humor was what
Got me through, got me through.
Laughing was all
I could do, I could do.
It's better than viewing a pure tragedy.
It's better than sex....allegedly. 

Ode to Spirits

Crystalline view of your insides;
My fingers trace your curves.
Show me where my courage resides,
And give to ego what it deserves.

Craving my lips over your mouth,
Both bodies open wide.
An evil spectre, a poisoned Self.
I fight you off...most of the time.

My face pressed up against the glass;
Distorted cartoon features.
Outside, looking into traps.
Nectar for soul sick creatures.

Exit my body; I drain the well,
Purposefully pouring out potion. 
I hold on through a spasming hell;
Paying the price for my devotion.

Ode To Body

Abundant substance, I behold;
matter over mind.
Obscuring truths sevenfold,
blind led by the blind.

Abusive fingers curl around,
the handle of a gun.
Liquid bullets to my lips;
death by consumption.

Barbara Kruger, "Untitled (your body is a battleground)"

Faithful subject, loyal friend;
true through darkest times.
Rights of passage, means to ends,
scenic view of crimes.

Restrictive habits starve my soul,
unconditionally unkind.
Sustenance---myself, I stole.
No fruit, only the rind.

I pledge my love, I make a vow:
nothing that I think,
Will from hereon ever weigh you down,
Or cause your heart to sink.


9.21.2013

Writer's Block and Compelling Tells

I have been meaning to finish up so many writing 'projects' for the longest time but I just haven't been feeling it.  Scrawled words emerge from time to time on random substrates, but I have been distanced from my writer's mind for some time.  Well, not the mind, just the motion.  Lines pop into my head as usual, but I don't grab a pen.  I let them fall to the bottom of my mind, and figure if the words were that good...they would come back to me.  Some do, some don't. That's the funny thing about words.

I like to have my trusty Moleskine with me, and it is usually in my purse, but I've been using it only for concert noting on the go, as of late.  I've been lost in thought instead of words.  The truth is I have dozens of journals and notebooks...aching for words.  Blank pages scream at me from every corner of my space, but I have not felt compelled to touch them.  I've been lost in instruments more so, but have been lax with that as well, until last week when I was compelled to pick up my Alvarez for three days straight.  Being compelled is another funny thing.  It's almost like a program in your brain you have to follow; you are driven to carry out the mission.  I just didn't seem to want to do anything else, so I just went with it...and let the housework back up.  My bathroom paid, but I was rewarded.  It lasted three straight days and then waned.  It felt good.  Sometimes, I am just compelled to do things and it feels best to just go with it.

So, today while I was in the store for a few things, I was compelled to buy a notebook and pens.  Stationery.  It should be known that I have a thing for stationery; I'm drawn to it like a moth to a flame.  I wander away from my husband at the site of the paper aisle in a store.  I am ridiculous in Staples.  It's borderline fetish.  Okay, I don't feverishly rub composition books on my genitals, or anything, (although if it was a leather bound journal, now...) there is just nothing like a fresh tablet and brand new pens! So, even though I know I have plenty of notebooks of every size and color, I for some reason felt I needed to purchase a small 3 subject Mead notebook and a pack of pens that claimed they were 'The smoothest in the world!'  The Bic Velocity. Good pen.  Smooth.

I felt compelled and went with it and got the tablet and pens.  If my Self says she wants a tablet on a whim, then what does that say?  What deeper tells does my spirit show?  Perhaps that she is ready to write again.  Perhaps that she wants new paper...for her new words.  Or...perhaps she is just a fetishist after all.  Let's see what she is compelled to do with it.

Entanglement

Mom and Pop shop under the block,
Baby's in back with a bottle of blue.
Cornered by stars blazing out a new trail.
Solemn is secretly starting anew.

Equally distant and equally whole.
Silence is golden when silver is loud.
Learning to fulfill a much greater role. 
Shadow is darker when under a shroud.

Switched off; what is my folly?
Why be I the record broke?
I've housed myself inside your body,
swinging from your bloody rope.

At last I plummet from the cliff,
and settle in the stench of death.
I struggle to my feet, legs stiff,
To take my first eternal breath.