April 16, 2014

NaPoWriMo 2014 #11

When slowing down life...

     am I an open thirst-way/ a human causeway/ a one way in my own way/ is today just like any other day/ do I  or don't I place-matter my declarations as pieces of time/ outside of my own thoughts/ any thought of a here constrains my observations/ what I think is/ a realization sees me as you probably do sometimes, if you’re looking/ I’m in for your penny/ in for your pound/ in for what your once was/ I’m in for trying not to fall for nostalgia again/ in for my arm hair to always be raised bumps and anticipations/ I’m into baring myself as thin as molecules pictured/ I'm in for the poems, in for how they will come and go/ in for their tiny stops and starts/ their clocks and stars staring at my every in…

     hungry Spring is honing her raw parts/ I lash myself falling for her/ surrendering to lust at every turn of wind and rain/ I am in a raising raised clutched determination/ another fantasy I have of Spring's large round ass/ enjoying the tilt and swirl her velvet weddings can nick you with/ where your eyes are crown noses searching the smells of instantaneous urged blind/ little hooks, pulling in pearls/ telomeres spawn poems too/ as you unbutton I writhe/ we grind, staying alive instead of dying inside/ sometimes scent itself is what thirsts for sensation/ memorizing the pheromonals, mapping the replication zoning fixed chaos/ the mandates we set upon our souls/ names we carved by wind/ the hungriest knives let us know where we are set in stone/ where we are libraries in the long look back through dust/ where we are calendars regaling…

     where I can dive right in/ pulling your hair/ wearing fantasies of fucking/ stealing time after midnight/ downward dog you lean/ back looping language into pure ionic bonds/ syllable durable temporary master slave safe word maybe the baby can hear us/ the wren is listening/ the titmouse too/ singing the same sort of pleasingly familiar humming sound that we do, when we are just now begging for more continuity…

“where are we
when we found ourselves
drawn and incubated
in a Fibonacci sequence
part of someone else’s
bone-art chemistry
and sound…”


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