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Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Belated Celebration



In honor of the passing month. I would like to celebrate an anniversary (I won't tell you what kind it is) with this poem from the up-coming collection. I posted it up here a long time ago, and for those of you who remember it back then, you'll be surprised at how much its changed now.


This isn't Sex but

I'm Talking about Something like it



New electricity coursing through skin
hair, fingers, toes, muscle, sinew, bone – that order
the long ignored body nerves, dormant past the season for it
from the volts of jolts in unexpected legs
hips and lips that kiss with fury bordering on ecstasy
a lustful madness cloaked in nervous shifts or quiet seconds
passing like freight trains in the night –
rushing by ahead of a chance to hitch a ride and run
farther than sleep can catch before morning
comes to take this all away in hazy sun rays

But there's too much and my body
can't cope with the overpowering sense of
adriftness; like an old man at sea
calling out for departed wives and sons
only to hear the roar of a blue void
and then everything's mute but the wind

Leaving tingling remains of sensation crawling
like bees over a sticky honeycomb named confusion
trepidation, passion, or their stinger
punctures left in my skin to swell with something
more ambiguous than life or love

I feel like a child again
I am a child again
a woman's body is just too much
because a boy only needs a hug and kiss before
running far and wide to
see what there is to do
do what there is to see and
come home again to find
my room like I left it


When crawled into hiding under the covers, I won't see
this lust all tattered to pieces
because I'm just a fucking child – nothing more

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