The Billychic Files

One for Mark.

2009-12-10T23:08:00.001-05:00

Pain of soul, of mind;
A broken heart is all that
I have left from you.

Birdwire

2009-01-30T11:26:00.002-05:00

I always wondered why
birds walk on such precarious places
little feet
on little wires
little ledges
small spots, where only they can stand - but barely.

Perhaps that's why -
for only they can stand there
alone
without the plague of company.

I always wonder why
people walk in such precarious places
scared hearts
unfamiliar territory
feels like it's on a ledge
trying to share space with someone
who may or may not want to be alone.

I'm birdwiring you -
not sure what my options are
I love the feeling, suspended when we fly
yet feel like I'm in such
a precarious place
and at any moment
I could fall to the ground.

I hope we walk on ground
I hope we lie on the ground
I hope.

Dylan's Goodbye to Bradlee J

2009-01-16T18:50:00.004-05:00

I looked back
And there you were, down the road
Tunes of Dylan in my head
I smiled to myself
Despite the fact that I was crying
You were so far away
Yet close enough that if I reached out
I just might be able to touch you -
But there was no need.

You were too far gone.
We were too far gone - nearly 6 months gone.

More - if we're honest -
Were we ever really honest?
Hiding behind talk of love
Which we do, but -
Hiding behind little things
"Wow, you have the same birthday?"
Mish-mosh theatre
Love of friends
Love in our hearts
But unable to share it.

I look ahead
And I see new skies
The clouds, the storm, the ice cold rain
Is a mist, now;
Something - someone is in my path
I'm not sure what he wants
But he'd like a little of my time -
And you, you always had my time
But didn't want to take the time
Your love wasn't enough
And you knew it -
I tip my hat to you, sir,
At least you knew when to get off the train
When it stopped running.

Yes, you just kind of wasted
My precious...time...
But you also gave me love.
And warmth.
And solace - and I thank you.

So you're down the road
Away's from me;
I hear your voice
But your face -
I can barely see
And He is by my side
Don't know for how long,
But I'm enjoying the ride -
Didn't know I could again, but
Dear god,
I'm enjoying the ride.

Don't think twice -
It's all right...
I'm enjoying the ride
One way, into the night.

Relationships 1: Haiku

2008-02-20T14:53:00.001-05:00

Confusion, it reigns
when heart and mind don't agree;
silence is too loud.

Bring It

2007-10-09T20:39:00.000-04:00

Bring
Bring it
Bring it to me
Bring it on home

Rock n' Roll fantasies
Sonny Boy Dreams
The Zeppelin comes to town again
High note harmonicas and
Tight pants, high pitched screams

Bring it
Bring it on home to me

Play it again
Play both for me
Slide your hand under the cover
Pull out the cd
Give me your music
Both of them, baby
Play it with abandon child,
Bring it on home to me

Music is the universal language
So said my mentor Lee,
And for those times when talk is too much
Just bring that on home to me;
Just make a sound, sigh your sigh
Slap your hand upon my thigh
Shout my name,
Hit that note
Hotter than Plant could emote -

Bring
Bring it
That's it, Bring IT

I'm Bringing It On Home to You.

Haiku'd Pleasure

2007-09-21T08:51:00.000-04:00

Furiously, you
Touch me; tenderly you kiss
Me; I am in awe.

Untitled 1

2007-09-18T12:56:00.000-04:00

Like unwrapping a present on
a special day, eager to
try on the garment or
use the toy, shiny
beautiful like you knew it would be
Yet there is that Fear
underlying, permeating:
What if I lose it?
What if I get it stained?
What if I break it,
from too much play, for it gives me such joy
that I cannot contain my pleasure
and therefore may ruin such a good thing.

One cannot surround their heart
or their mind with
the never-ceasing chatter of
the What Ifs and the Might Bes,
but I find that they are constant companions
uninvited, to be sure,
yet always there - guests who
try to eat all the food
use all the toothpaste
and steal all the sanity
until all I have left is a shell
of the initial joy I started with,
joy of this wonderful present
a present that has found its way
through my window
and into my heart.

Anger sets in, at myself
perhaps, or at my lack of control -
why must I control what is not
in my power to do so,
and what should just be allowed to BE
and like the tulip that grows overnight,
or Jack's Beanstalk -
if it grows exponentially beyond
ability to reign in,
if it's good,
then why fight it?

Indeed.

So I won't.

I'll unwrap my present
wear my garment
play with my toy
lose myself in abandon
give over to childlike wonder
for one cannot question the power
of a beautiful gift.

It's Like a Fist

2007-09-16T19:48:00.000-04:00

Ever seen a human heart? It looks like a fist wrapped in blood. Go fuck yourself...you...WRITER. You LIAR. Go check a few facts while I get my hands dirty.
-- Closer by Patrick Marber

Exactly. I think I'm just going to shut up about love, about trying to be poetic about anything...it's all just a bunch of bullshit, and I'm just a hack.

Happiness, Rage, Fear, Sadness; I swim in these mediums like the way I once swam in the Blue Lagoon in Jamaica; salt water mixed with fresh water in currents that were cold and hot, wrapping alternately around your body like silk scarves with life in them.

Fuck.

Ode to Mr. Barcia, Jr.

2007-07-24T14:25:00.001-04:00

Among the men I've met during my travels of late
You were a walking paradox, perhaps destined by fate;
What fate that could be I could not fathom
For dialogue with you was an uncrossable chasm;
The paradox being that someone so free in bed,
Could actually be so uptight in his head;
However, before I go off, I would like to take this moment to say,
That despite being a schmuck, you were a FABulous lay.

Talking with you was perhaps as delightful a chore
As being strung upside down - yes, Sherlock, you were a bore;
Perhaps being brought up a Guido in an armpit borough of New York City
Made you feel the need to try so hard to sound brilliant and witty;
But I'm here to tell you your attempts at intellect and wit
Only made you seem even more of an arrogant shit.

Just because one reads the news and has a teaching degree
Does not make him superior in life's knowledge to me.
Quoting facts, names, and dates like an oral exam
Is not impressive if you don't take time to know who I am.
Christ, just trying to have a conversation with you,
I felt like I was on a fucking job interview.

I wish you well and hope that you find
Someone from Mensa who can treat you in kind;
But the irony is that anyone can talk circles around you,
So a truly smart woman will only want you to screw;
I mean, c'mon, kid - how does a self-proclaimed musician, a DRUMMER whiz,
Not have a damn clue who Art Blakey is?
I mean if we're going to have an intellectual/cultural pissing contest,
Despite all your facts and dates, I'd still be the best.

You've traveled to Greece
I've traveled to Hell
You ate an olive
I rang the Bells
So don't even try to act Joe Cool with me
Because I earned a much higher life's degree.

Precision In the Tearing Away

2007-05-18T00:30:00.000-04:00

Your words
are biting
descriptive comments tossed carelessly
or perhaps precisely
their effect measured
in how quickly
my
self esteem was torn away.

Why?

A new friend had joked
about backhanded comments
that had made me laugh;
I think about
the things that you say
and I don't feel
the back of your hand -
more like the crushing blow
of your fist,
ferocious in verbal intensity
yet insidious in its power
over me.

I suppose if I told you more often
that your words of kindness
meant as much as they do,
then perhaps you would
realize that what
you say that wounds me
cuts thrice as deeply
as any mere flesh wound.

Would you think
twice
before
expounding your diatribe
concerning
my physical inadequacies
and how I have so far to go?

No. You would still call it love.
But I suppose that's what family is for.

Haiku You

2007-03-29T00:09:00.000-04:00

Ex-husbands are ex
for many good reasons that
one should not forget.

Rusty Spoons and Brick Walls

2007-03-12T16:48:00.001-04:00

If I could cut you
Out of my mind and my heart;
Head beats a wall, silent.

Especially This Time of Year

2006-12-19T00:15:00.000-05:00

Holidays
seem sad to me
fleeting
you turn around
and they're here again
cold
you're older
someone has died since the last one
you're still alone
someone may die before the next one
every year, there is a memory.

Music plays quietly
wrapping gifts by oneself
drinking
singing dirty carols
drunken shouts at Jimmy Stewart
to go ahead and jump
could give a damn
if Clarence saves him or not.

The magic faded
grown up and now bitter
Toys-R-Us
makes you smile
wish it was for you
dream of staying up late waiting
for Santa and reindeer
and the oblivious nature
of that which should be childhood.

Racing to buy
buying to please
Anyone
who will listen to a broken heart
can't hear it above the
static on the intercom
there's a sale in aisle nine
fought fifty women
trampled like the old man
in the 80's, killed for a
cabbage patch doll.

I buy a tree
a simple thing
lights
burn away shadows
make a lighter room
more colorful
for which to cry in
scents of pine
mixed with wine
my pets gather 'round me
protective paw
whiskers wipe a tear away.

I Hate My Fucking Job (Whistle While You Work)

2006-12-06T17:02:00.000-05:00

Here at my job
I am in hell
Getting kicked in the face
As they wish me well;
Making barely enough
To put food on a plate
While shrewish voices
On my nerves do grate;
Veiled threats and barbs
Are casually thrown
By ruthless women
Who drag me down;
Half of whom can't spell
Or speak their mind
Unless it's petty,
Catty, evil, and unkind;
Who talk behind backs
And smile to the face
Making every passive aggressive effort
To put one in their place;
Surrounded by cunts
Who leave one out of their clique
Behaviour not fitting of work and superiors
Enough to make one sick;

Superiors - a strange word indeed
For it is the furthest from the truth
Superiority in name
Only under this one roof.

Perhaps it is me
I ask myself day to day
Who takes it to heart
When I should just walk away;
But I've always maintained
That I wish to try
To give the benefit of the doubt
Without asking why;

So while I search for another
Job that will fit
I try to pass the time
While I'm mired in shit;
I dream dreams of the wicked
Of retribution and pain
Of my victory in their debasement
Of their losses and my gain;
Yet all it really does
In the end, I must admit
Is remind me the need
To just up and quit.

Little Death

2006-10-20T01:26:00.000-04:00

It was yet another night
Of angry sex,
They say that is always the best
And it was -
Yet I didn't want to taste you
For fear of tasting another
On your body -
For I knew I would;
You always seemed to
Forget to bathe
After you would cheat on me.

I could still smell her
Something light
Not just your musk
Or mine
A third party in the bed
I'm sure your fingers, too
Had the salty sea water scent
Of sweet 16
Peaches and cream
An innocence I could not
Compete with.

You were asleep
Afterwards
Your mouth, parted
Long dark hair, like mine, falling
Across your lips that
Had whispered
Apologies
And love
While I rode you,
Tears still in my eyes.

I watched you sleep for over an hour.
Do you know how close you came to
Death that night?

They say that
Hell
Hath no fury
Like one such as I,
And as my mind drifted,
I observed the rise
And fall
Of your chest
And wondered what
Would happen if
It would stop -
Your breathing -
As well as all the madness.

My eyes traveled to the gas heater
A nearly broken thing,
So easy
To blow out a pilot light
And turn up the gas,
Shutting the doors behind me
Doors that you had just sealed
To keep out the winter's cold.

I thought about killing you for over an hour.
Then, you stirred.

Your eyes, unseeing,
Opened slightly,
You grabbed my hand in your sleep
Pulling me down into the bed
To spoon, my eyes getting heavy
I couldn't smell her anymore
Only you,
Your sigh in sleep
Like a child
Sounded beautiful, precious,
And murderous thoughts melted into
Sadness,
And Love,
And the morning.

What's Wrong With Me - For Now.

2006-10-08T16:10:00.000-04:00

Illness is tiring;
I laugh about how
more painful it is to complain -

What
a
bore!

That's my front, what I cackle,
along with

Good gawd, it's
such a pain in the fucking ass, isn't it?

It's what many want to hear, instead of my depression -

That's what it seems to me
when people
don't want to call you back
until you are well.

That's what it seems to me
when I
don't want to call people back
until I am well.

A month of debilitation
Of uncertainty -
What's wrong with me?
Doctors mean well
But are too scared to be wrong
As I grow old
Waiting for them to take action.

I have little to complain about, really;
My friend will walk for Cancer's Cure
next weekend -
She lost her uterus.
My other friend lost her breast.
Others lose their lives every day
to anything and everything
I realize as I get older
That I have good reason
To be paranoid about dying
With everyone dropping like flies;

I don't have Cancer.
Thank God.

All I have to worry about now
Is a spinning dance I don't want
Vertigo on the half-shell
Equilibrium is a funhouse
Like a night of
too much drinking, topped off
with a joint.
How the room then starts to turn wildly
and you see double
it spins or half-spins
and goes back to the beginning
like a broken record of visual distortion -

That is what it is like at a moment's notice.

I reach for the cereal box
on the top shelf
and nearly drop it
as the room spins and tilts.
I walk down stairs and hold the railing
like a fucking frail creature
sixty years my senior.
I sleep at night
like Joseph Merrick
laying down flat makes the room fly 'round.
Recent headaches,
weakness, and a desire to do nothing more than sleep
and feel sorry for myself.

That is what I am for right now.

Vestibular blah blah blah
Meniere's something something
But we're not sure that's it either
As they smile with uncertainty.

I'm certain that I'm ready to move on from here.

Making a Difference

2006-08-31T01:28:00.000-04:00

I watch the rain land
On the concrete, drops
Seem to make narry a difference
To the ground beneath.
A change in the small puddle of water,
To be sure, but that is only
A veneer, a surface that will
Dry up and fade away
Once the sun has returned.

Do I make a difference in you?

Or am I a raindrop
One of many that has been there before,
Trying to gain purchase
Attempting to make a difference
In a brief, uncertain world;
Only to make but a slight ripple
In your surface,
But whose attempts are then forgotten,
Once the sun has returned,
Once again.

You.

2006-04-21T12:00:00.000-04:00

I had a thought - but it doesn't matter;
Any thought that is not of you seems to be lost from memory.

I've had loves before,
But the echo of their passion is gone -
Anything beyond what is your love
Pales in comparison,
Was never so blinding
Or so true.

Our time's end is approaching;
Heated hours and
Endless kisses and
The drop in my stomache when both
You are here and when
You are away and when
I knew you would soon be leaving;

All I will hear is a maddening clank
Of a door that will not stay shut
The lock fastened against itself
As an old wind of what was lost
And what could have been
Blows it ajar,
Never allowing it peace
Like an old wound
That we learn to live with,
And embrace
As a friend.

Lady in Waiting

2006-02-17T21:36:00.000-05:00

What have I done?

Sold my karma for a gentle caress
Heated afternoons in cool weather
The light, like golden slits through my bedroom
Playing across our legs entwined
So busy was I feeling not thinking;
My need so strong to be loved.

Time does not wait for lovers
Restless bitch that she is
She wears these silver hearts
That were once a part of me,
A part of you,
A part of us all;
Turned from beating, bloody life
To a frozen moment in time,
Hoping against weary hope
That there might be room for us all
To find the happiness of which we dream
Only to be handed a snapshot
Like the ones they offer you
After a thrilling ride, your
Body suspended in time
Like your emotions.

She does not wait -
And laughs as my heart
Atrophies, while put on hold
Turning silver, like a lucky charm
A delicate gift of such beauty
That I had never received before.
The rest of me will pass as well –
The glow of my youth spent
Roses in cheek turned ashen
Barren in body and soul
Deceived by the best intentions
Naive to think that history of such
Ill-founded albeit deeply-felt love
Repeats for all and everyone
But me.

A Brief Sonata

2006-01-23T23:02:00.000-05:00

Was what I thought it would be
Words escape me, brilliant fleeting things -
They carry me as fast as
You were that day, catching me,
Snatching the pipe from my hand,
Where were my friends, Bravado and High,
To cart me off to the next room?
They were hiding, under chairs,
Afraid of what they had seen;
A teenage rebel who had shamed her father
In his own place of worship.

I walked into my past tonight,
And it was the same as I thought
It would be, different, yet
So much the same, except for the walls -
They were painted a dark brown
That you would not have approved of.
They kept the office, the studios,
Bathrooms were untouched - the same stall
Where I caught Kerry pissing in the women's toilet,
He was too much in a hurry,
Toilet paper stuck to his Converse.
The same, down to the fucking tiles,
Right down to the payphone in the same spot,
They couldn't think of anything better, Dad,
They couldn't have made it any better if they tried.

The theatre was changed, only in the seats;
One clustered clump of a mess
So different than the kind middle aisle
From which I used to sit across from you
And mimic your every movement.
A girl, one of a million,
Took my ticket, and I remembered
Actors who were then idols,
Ushered in to see works performed
Directed by you.

If I could,
I would go back to where you began
Your dream of a theatre,
The reality of what was momumental for so many
Lives made better by what you did;
I would give you the choice, again,
To go or stay.
Either way, I would find a way
To make sure that they remember.

Drinking Deep

2006-01-22T23:23:00.000-05:00

Drinking in deeply
No need to come up for air
You are like air to me
I breathe, drink, taste
All the same, it is
All you, it is;

Your wine runs down the corners of my smile,
Fills my lungs with that
Which is sweeter than any oxygen,
The scent of musky release
And I inhale all that I can,
Imbibe all that is your beauty
Sustained on all that is your spoken word
Licking the juice from my fingers
As I stare into feral eyes
As heated as my own.

"The whole body... imbibes delight through every pore"
-- Henry David Thoreau

Saturation Point

2006-01-08T01:37:00.000-05:00

Whiskey isn’t an answer
But it’s a start.

Your embrace could drive a woman to drink.
Hot amber down the back of my throat
Trying to wash away the taste of you
Which always stays behind,
Like your scent on sheets
Laundry does no good,
It lingers, like your touch
Gentle bruises where only you and I can see.

Where, why, how –
Can’t make enough sense to finish the questions
They get caught in my throat with your name
And fragments of what to say to myself
In response to my physical reaction
To your close proximity.

But it’s far beyond physicality.
I hear you in my hips
Which buck to the sound of your name
I taste you on my lips
Which have contoured to your tongue
I feel you in my mind
The way you take me played over and over
I smell you on whatever you left behind
The indentation of your body slowly disappearing from the bed
I see you when I close my eyes
A saintly devil’s grin that has touched my soul,
And my heart,
Burning itself to memory.

I listen to an old delta bluesman
Crying through speakers,
Of the need for whiskey
To rid that woman from his mind;
But whiskey isn’t enough,
When the senses are saturated
By stronger stuff.

Sweet Spots

2006-01-07T21:30:00.000-05:00

He spoke to me of love -

And I drift into the sound of vowels and consonants,
I see your lips move in my mind
And they repeat the word, the phrase
And it sounds so foreign
Yet it rings of the familiarity
Of an old favorite pair of jeans
Soft and worn well
The sweet spots rubbed just right
Where you can find them in the dark.

I respond to him in kind -

Repeating this phrase,
Three words that scare me
Yet are the most important three in existence
Strung together like notes
Of the hardest music to play correctly
So is the strength of such a phrase,
Yet it is more of a sigh, for I know
You are in dilemma
Throughts draped and scattered across
The floor of your mind
Like the remnants of a child's party
Left for the parents to pick up;
Your affection is gently felt
Yet it comes from a medium of existence
That I cannot share,
That you don't truly understand
And in that state comes desire
For what's on the other side of fences;
Perhaps my side's intriguing angle
Draws you near, but I fear soon
You will find the grass will grow too high,
The sun's shiny morning fingers on dew
Will become an irritation,
And the wood will look dull and lackluster,
Once the thrill of the new is gone.

But it is your affection,
A joyous thing that,
That has kept parts of me well-fed as of late;
And that is what it is;
Affection, pure, bright and beautiful
But nothing more -
Yet, nothing less
And thus seems to be so right.
The irony is not lost upon me
That a modern day Goldilocks
Has stumbled upon her greatest challenge yet.

I'm Johnny's Little Girl...

2005-12-11T22:37:00.000-05:00

Your Daddy Is Johnny Depp

What You Call Him: Old Man

Why You Love Him: He gives good spankings

Who's Your Daddy?

Off-White in Color

2005-08-29T15:25:00.000-04:00

She plays piano, alone.
No one is there to hear
The striking of keys,
Black and faded yellow
Strange sounds, like an old
Memory from an attic
Where I was yesterday,
Sorting through my life -
Funny how a summation in
Photos is all that is needed
To remind you of where you were
And where you are not;
No, and I could not
Finish leafing through pages of regret
Which brought forth knowledge,
Clouding my vision and
Running down my face,
That when I went back
Downstairs
You would still not be there;
Except for the vague sounds,
Of fingertips on ivory
Keys so piss-colored
Like the walls, from
The cigarette smoke,
You can only see it if you
Move the bookcases and
Compare it to the depressing
Eggshell-off-white, I didn't like that color either
And maybe the scent of old sex
Love made 40 years ago
Do you play to forget it?
The feeling of hands
Running up and down the crevices and skin
Which are now wrinkled
Dry, yet smell of
Baby powder, fine perfume, and
Death, who, dapper fellow
Awaits eagerly on the doorstep
With a bouquet of posies in his hand.

Then she called my name, for water, and I was upset,
For she called me by your lover's name instead
Isn't her name like
An exotic dish of food
Sustenance, no doubt
Food for thought,
Mine is simple wordplay on myth
Like what I am, a myth,
Named after what she thought was a sensuous Goddess
Of the Moon, it sounds romantic,
But Diana is known for many things,
Even as being the biggest dyke in Greek mythology
She killed the man who watched her bathing with her maidens
Beguiling in her beauty,
The irony is not lost to me,
A woman who loves both sexes,
But whose mother acknowledges only one.
Huntress, alone with her animals, often kind, more often cold - Diana;
That is now what I have become.

My heart, it feels, but
Not what I would prefer;
Only with those who are friends,
Can I be kind,
With those I desire, I am lost.
When I begin to feel the stirrings
Of what I want,
I claw the feelings out
Like a mongrel dog
Who chews off his own leg
When caught in a trap,
For either way my heart will feel the pain;
Whether it is unrequited
Or what could be something true,
Regardless of how long it takes, I know that it will end.

Where is the sensitivity
From which I have always
Said was my most cherished attribute?
It is nearly departed, with the wind,
Which now blows a frigid,
Dusty path through my heart and out the door,
Down to the street
Where sonatas of sadness,
Struck on sour keys
Of yellowed memories
Are born.

Reflections on Vice's Versa: He As I

2005-08-17T14:17:00.000-04:00

Did the dream you had last night
The one about the wolves again
The one about the haunted house
And the scary room upstairs
Did it seem less oppressive
In the morning light
Because someone else was laying
Beside you
Instead of me?
I have been gone for so long;
I know that I did not bring much comfort, just an
Exclamation and comparison of
My own worries, no wall to
Bounce off of, no
Shoulder to lean on, just a shell
With a talking mouth,
Talking, talking, no listen here,
Only the ability to say
'Yes,well,so...I hurt, too'
As if that was some small comfort.

Do you remember the time you fell,
And I did not help you up,
I thought you were faking,
Faking like you would later do for years
Isn't that what actors do,
Strut and sweat and lie -
And I was surprised that your ankle
Was swollen twice its size the next day.

I remember the sun
Burning white heat through the window
Over and onto the pillow
That was empty beside me.
The dog lay in the space in between
Not at all concerned, for
At least one of us was there
But if he knew how little you cared
For either of us
He would have picked up his bone
And howled at the injustice
Of it all.

I knew I was a Rockstar...

2005-08-11T23:27:00.000-04:00

You Are a Chick Rocker!

You're living proof that chicks can rock
You're inspired by Joan Jett and the Donnas
And when you rock, you rock hard
(Plus, you get all the cute guy groupies you want!)

What Kind of Rocker Are You?

Being Silly

2005-07-06T23:17:00.000-04:00

Since no one ever looks at this blog, I can feel free to post whatever...and this is just a note to self:
You're doing it...keep going. Lookin' better all the time, girl.

For Tim

2005-06-25T14:21:00.000-04:00

I let the book of
Poetry by Hardy
Rest in my lap, my finger
Wedged in the crook of the first poem's page,
And I can't go on.

Their love is over,
The two on that page
By the autumn's dying tree
Dead smile playing on her lips
Dead like an animal run over
In the road.

Their love is over,
And so is ours; funny thing
I had thought it already was
But had forgotten the ghost
Of what is called friend
Or what is taken for granted
Late nights, feverish from hospital stay
You took me home to get well,
Slept on the sofa
And I knew I could count on you -

No more.

The notes of our tune are fading out
The last stanzas of a song played too long
Yet one that was played well
Can you still hear the echo
Strains of some old jazz score
Like the one you sang a capella
In the bar where we met that night
Or like the Burning Star
Sung to me under stars
On a damp campus field
At the end of summer days.

I wish you well; you can sing those for her now.

Funny how you don't realize how much
You miss a friend until you know
That you cannot really call them friend
Anymore.

How Often

2005-04-22T22:50:00.000-04:00

How often is it
That the day comes to an end
And you already wish that you could replay
The events, mundane or maniacal as they are,
Redo them;
Take back everything up until right before the point
That you were five
And you told another girl that you liked the boy in the other class
And later that day six kids came back and made fun of you
Until you cried and went home;
Back to you when you were eight,
And the little fat fuck in the grade ahead of you
Kicked your weeble-wobble (and they don't fall down) punching bag
Into a californian cactus plant at your birthday party and
It deflated, so you went with Dad to get the pizza
Because you couldn't stand to be around the other kids
And it was YOUR party
But even then you knew that they were all different than you;
Back to when you were nine and 3/4 and you wrote Brian Froud
And told him that you DID believe in faeries and that he was wonderful,
Adding a picture you drew in the letter,
And he wrote you back and told you to BELIEVE;
Back to when you were 12 and really thought that
You would marry Dirk Benedict from Battlestar Gallactica (the real one)
and the A-Team;
Back to when you were 16 and on location with Mom on a film
And smoked pot for the first time with the movie crew and
First kissed a 41 year-old-man who would change the standard
That you set for what a kiss should be from then until now
And who became your first Mentor;
Back to when time stood still,
Whether it was dragging along during a boring class,
Or sashayed along during a wonderful day driving around with the gang
Or gently swayed under the stars being serenaded by your future husband,
It still all went more slowly, the minutes and hours took their time
Whereas now they rush.

Even the slowest most boring days at my job fly by
As if they are in a race to get somewhere.
The days skip almost as fast
As the small lines form around my eyes
And the furrowed brow that is a mild crease
It looks like my sister's,
We both look quite young on a good day,
But we'll never look as young as our mother.

If I could replay it all, back to it all,
I would bring it back to the time before the watch was invented;
An old friend once told me time was simply a joke
Invented by the Swiss
So the watch would come into fashion.

I am still trying to figure out if he was right.

A Month..

2005-04-17T11:54:00.000-04:00

...since I've written on here. Why? I don't know. Just when I started to let fly with a zest for writing that I hadn't had since my last fiction class, I lost the ability to write anything that I would call substance.
My heart isn't in anything lately. Granted, I had surgery a couple of weeks ago, and so it put this whole past month in a whirl; that had more to do with it than anything. But, as a whole, I feel like a walking...the word corpse comes to mind, but I don't mean it like that. I suppose shell would be a better term, an empty shell devoid of any thought or action of substance.

I'm sad. I'm angry. I'm fearful. I see aspects about myself that I want to change, that I desperately need to change, that I don't quite know how to change...but I know that if I don't, I will be painfully unhappy.

And there was one who did not heed
What was said by the winds that were God
Through the tempest of the mind that He made
For the way was given, the path cut;
One that was lost, forever, in search
Of the true peace that all men seek:
To know that the effort was made,
Regardless of failure or victory.
— Anonymous

I am afraid of everything; so afraid that I can't seem to make a move. When did this happen?

Inspiration from a Friend

2005-01-19T08:58:00.000-05:00

Remember the time when
You pulled me into the back of the cab
Told the driver to drive until we told him to stop
Held my wrists in one hand
While your other found its way
To all the places it needed to go
Breath on a window, fogged pane
I could see the eyes of the driver staring into mine
You could not see him
He could not see you
I bit my lip until I drew blood
Trying to not cry out
You licked it away, my lip
Pulled my coat together
And told the driver to stop.

The tip was given
But not needed, a sight
For sore eyes had been fulfilled.

We stumbled out,
I was wet from the rain
And my legs were to weak to walk.
We made it to a brownstone
You pulled my shirt away as you pulled me close,
My lips teeth tongue on your chest,
And you took me, there on the cool wet red-brown rock
Our cries, my scream
Silent in the passing rain
Except to the passing cabs
Whose backseats still felt our impression,
A collective unconscious of heat and desire
And a few drops of evening dew.

Just something I'm workin' on

2005-01-15T01:32:00.000-05:00

I believe it started when Allison came back from her summer abroad. She said that God had touched her while she was gone, that she had received some kind of divine inspiration, that she was a chosen one.

I asked her if she was serious.
She said yes.

I smiled then, slightly, the well-worn creases that I had begun to notice in my face a bit deeper than usual due to the amount I had drunk the night before, in the knowledge that she was coming home. Nodding, I took her coat, her bags; began to carry them to our room. She was home now, and that was all that mattered, no matter what nonsense she had begun talking about.

Yes, I had put one on the night before; the thought that she was returning, that I had accomplished so little, that I would have to tell her certain things I had done – all of it proved too much to think about. I had politely asked the girl I woke up next to at dawn to leave very early, and, eager to avoid a problem, had cooked her breakfast and made her coffee. I believe she took that as a sign of affection; I took it as a polite way to kick her out of my house after having fucked her all night without causing a scene. My wife, so to speak, was returning home, and I wanted all traces of everyone who had graced our bed while she had been away gone by the time she arrived at 7pm.

I had then set about the task of vacuuming, mopping, sweeping, dusting, laundry, changing sheets, cleaning up after the cats and the dog, double-checking for undergarments that weren’t hers, erasing emails, cookies, and answering machine messages, and throwing out everything and every trace of everyone that I didn’t feel would benefit her knowing about at this time.

I then sat in front of the computer, with a snifter of cognac, for nearly two hours; trying to compose a love letter of sorts, the one, perhaps, that I had not sent the whole time she was gone, but that she had always wanted.
Better late than never, I thought darkly, daylight turning to twilight turning to early evening; the blank screen as much a testament to my lack of affection as the empty bottom of my glass was to my affinity towards drink. I poured another, and had gotten halfway through a paragraph that delighted in the velvet touch of her lips on my breast, when I heard her key in the door downstairs.

I met her as she made her way halfway through the front hall; her blond curls falling all around her face, made all the more beguiling by the small smile she had for me. I took her in my arms as she dropped her bags, kissing her deeply; running my fingers through her locks and taking in her scent. It had changed; whereas before it was more floral, now it was earthier, muskier, like an animal that has been in the forest. I liked it, and let my hands roam over her body for a moment, my face buried in her neck, inhaling her scent.

She pulled away from me and looked at me with that half-smile of hers; her eyes searching mine for answers to questions she had perhaps been saving for the past three months. She cupped my face in her hands and rubbed her nose against mine, slowly.

“Eskimo kiss.” She said, and bit her lip. I grinned and laughed, remembering all the things I loved about her and why I had chosen to stay so long.
“I have something so important to tell you.” She said.

“Oh really?” I had already grabbed one of her bags. She took my arm and made me put it down.

“Yes,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. Oh, here it is, I thought, here is where she asks me about the other women, or that she needs space, or that I didn’t write and she’s so upset…
“I found God while I was gone. He spoke to me…told me things. I am one of his children.”

I didn’t know what to say. That was not at all what I had expected. All I could do was smile, grab her bags, and pretend that she was simply pulling my leg. Or was temporarily mad.

Happy Knew Year

2005-01-02T02:21:00.000-05:00

Was what was shouted from rooftops,
What they laughed in the streets,
Drunken celebration, hopeful kisses
And the possibilities that maybe this year
Would find a new way to live
One, no doubt, less in self-imposed exile,
Procrastination, inebriation (ah, yes, the irony), self-flagellation
The world a proverbial oyster,
On a string, as the song says,
Swung around and around
While we all held on,
Hoping we wouldn't fall off,
Delighted that gravity would not set in until morning.

I am willing to try to recall
All the events of a spotted past,
Divide them by all of the uncertain possibilites of the future,
Add my Karma
Multiply them by my dreams
Subtract my fears
And find a sum total of all that I can really be for this year onward.

I wish the same for you, my dear
As you walk home,
Your gait broken, your mind restless,
Disheveled in your mind's tempest
Scattered in your body's pain;
You are light incarnate if you choose to be
Your soul's beauty like the moonbeams in the rain.

The Atlantic Delta

2004-11-24T01:30:00.000-05:00

Skip James sings the blues
And I drink mine
Dark Stout for a rainy day
The sky almost as dark
As the deepest recesses of my mind
Or even the severed and tattered strata
Of that muscle that pumps the blood
Throughout this aching, weary body of mine.

Drinkin' the memories down with a bottle,
Howlin' the blues
Crying out to be heard
Through thin apartment walls,
Into the damp and cold streets,
Past families that are tucked in, waiting for tomorrow
Beyond the man who lives in the cardboard box on 17th street
Around the corner from the child who lives in the youth center
Next door to the woman who stole you away
Through walls of icy glass
Into your heart.

Fingers play on a guitar
As my fingers play on this bottle, my second of many for the night
And my mind plays on times when being alone
Did not seem like a sentence of solitary confinement;
The silence broken only by the crackled recording
Of an old delta bluesman,
My uneven sobs,
And the sound of my bottle as I rest it unevenly on the table.

Water on a Tile

2004-11-13T01:31:00.000-05:00

There was pool of water from yesterday
Resting on the tiles of the backyard
And I watched the world ripple and blur and be still
With the meanderings of the wind,
The reflection clouds seeming so close
A world that I could step into and touch.

If only the world that I watched
Was like the world that I live,
Aspiratons as close as that sky seemed to me,
Fall's branches still clinging to the life left
A brilliant burst of color
As is sings its last breath
Cold and silent until the birth of spring calls again
For life to come out and play.

If I could, I would reach to you
And whisper a tale
Of a girl caught between reflections of what could be
And solidity of what is,
Her mind as fleeting
As the wind on the water of a pond
So small a body of water,
That she is the only one who knows
That it is there.

Breathing

2004-11-09T22:39:00.000-05:00

Workdays have an added dimension,
Restless thoughts fly back and forth
Gentle pressure, applied so well
Has brought forth a sigh from deep within
That manifests through the day
Like a gnawing hunger for something sweet
And she has to cross her legs again
Her heart quickening
As an echo of touch is felt once more.

The screen blurs;
She scarcely noticed what was on there
As she catches her breath
Remembering a surrender into strong hands,
A decision to not make decisions,
The closing of eyes, falling back
Not sure if she would be caught
Or if the world would swallow her up whole,
As limitless and dark as the tiny pit of fear,
Which is known by some as desire,
That has made its presence quietly known since she was a young girl.

Then, in an instant, she is back,
The screen is clear,
As is the mind,
Laughing to herself about Basinger and Rourke
And stories of O’s
And other letters of the alphabet.

Her legs are still crossed.

He Who I'll Never Have (II)

2004-09-22T22:37:00.000-04:00

I watched you tonight, and
You were beautiful, your smile radiant
You looked to me for approval
Cowboy shirt fit so well
It's going to look so good on stage
And I fell in love all over again
Like the way I did two Springs ago
When you reached around from behind me
And presented Vieux Carre, from which we would perform,
Your voice a low, soft, murmur into my hair
And I knew that I was lost, and would always be lost,
Without you near.

The thought of what will not be
Ravages me.

Sleep does not come easily
For those who love unrequited
Or to those whose love is returned
But not able to be fulfilled,
Or to those who know that
The one who owns their heart
Will eventually drive them mad
By the tempest fury with which love is given
And the casual ease with which it is taken away.

For Bryan

2004-08-25T22:42:00.000-04:00

Not sure what hurts more
Saying goodbye to you
Or saying goodbye to sweet night comfort
Warm embrace, cool sheets
Like peaches, sweet taste
A lumberjack man-child
You're going now, gone for good
Off to roam the wild country
In a van made of dreams and vagabond expectations

When you step outside and see the stars at night in Canada
Think of me and then tell me what you see
When you wake at early dawn and watch the first sun's light rise over Kansas City
Think of me and tell me what you see
When you wish you could share the world as you make it wherever you are
Remember my lighthouse
Whose door will always be open
To a kind man whose kisses
Were and are damn near all a woman could ever really need.

I will live vicariously
Packed in your bag
Alongside your artwork and slides,
My dreams to roam the world
With wild abandon
Not forgotton
Just, for a time, set aside.

Underground Woman

2004-08-22T22:44:00.000-04:00

She walks through the crowded train station
Her gaze straight ahead
A small smile on her swollen lips
The dull pain in her back and thighs a delicious reminder for tomorrow
The mark of his teeth on her neck hidden behind her hair
The sound of movement, sighs
Still echoing in her ears like the strains of a tune that she does not want to forget
Her legs hardly able to carry her
Giddy, throbbing
Yet she feels stronger than ever
Could lift a car with one arm
If she felt so inclined, but why bother
When all she really wants to do
Is replay the movement of his hands, his mouth
Everything
In her mind's eye.

And men follow her with their eyes
Which is something they sometimes do
For she is lovely in her own way
But tonight almost every man who passes
Notices something worth a second glance
Men, women, even couples see it,
Some assume she is drugged, no doubt
The small satisifed grin that plays on her lips
Taken for a less natural intoxication
For she is in another world that she has made from delights of this one
Feral strength and relaxed sense of self
The scent of sex cloaks her, like perfume
The heat of recent passion and release ripples off of her skin
Like a tangible echo of the screams she cried just an hour ago.

What is it that marks a newly made woman?
Her libidinous nature coming out to play
Like a child in the night
The crowds parting for this lovely lady
And her languid state,
Letting a creature by
That now knows no bounds.

He Who I'll Never Have (I)

2004-08-03T22:45:00.000-04:00

Who is this?
I haven’t seen you for a long time.
I missed you and didn’t know it;
Perhaps it’s seeing you in your
Entirety, or perhaps its seeing you
For the first time.
Yes, I think that’s it;
I have never seen you like this,
With these eyes,
The eyes of a woman,
And not a little girl,
Or even a young teenage vixen.
I remember you,
Those pants, black
Tight in their jeans
Globes of male and thick cock
I wish I could make up for lost time
That I even forgot I had
But I forgot to make a list of those things
That I most want to do, possess, and go to,
And it would have included you, my dear.
I can’t look you in the face
I blush like a young girl that I am
An average prostitute innocence
A delighted young girl who loves to fuck.

You excite me
As I excite myself
And I continue to live in delusion.