Month: October 2024

Vision of John Winthrop on Meeting His 2nd Wife 17th century

Her Protestant hair
The birth place of sultry stars.
In the beginning, there was God.
At the end,
There will be God
Humans are the intermission in this part of time,
Wrinkled and frayed as it is.

Ethics bloom in comfortable places.
A day’s work, a moment’s pay.
She is an elixir to the dazzling day.
She is a wayward bird
She’s the last good thing in an ubiquitous iniquity.

The curtain is falling,
Time winnows wood.
Hell prepares  dormitories.
Rapturous butter yellow light,
Then, the last gasp,
Voices vivisected as though
Pushed through a sieve.

Hold hands
While you have them.

Lucid

I am quietly lucid.

I don’t say this to brag.

They say the only thing

A person can best the Devil in

Is humility.

Humility,

That soft yellow sheath

Over my glowing hot skin.

But sometimes my mind

Makes memories without me.

Other times she sneaks into my soul

And my prayers come out as cotton,

My hallelujahs thorned and unprepared

For the lustful day.

My mind plays,

Swinging between despair

And ecstasy.

Despair reeks of old fire

And dust storms.

Ecstasy writes my name

In pink pen all over Virginia.

I wish my mind was still enough

To watch children grow up.

They grow like bitterness between

The berry bushes,

Poking into the canopy

Like vines looking for something to strangle

So that they may survive.

I love all of them,

Though they chose mothers elsewhere.

Lucid Lisa loves lemon lime

Laser lights,

And she dances

(Hold on while she climbs

Back into her I)

I dance as though my feet

Were in love with the soil.

A sordid, sultry affair

Between earth

And her resident looney.

God has granted me a vision

Of aprons and crude stars

And I smoke my dreams

On my neighbor’s porch

While he mines for lobotomized diamonds

Crisp and certain.

Depression

My thoughts are gridlocked.
Red travesties everywhere,
Blue regrets blurring
Into a wistfulness that tastes
Of honey and old soap.
The dark force is here again,
Its claws reaching from my
Quivering core to silence
The voice I have watered daily
For 30 anxious years.

How can I trample someone
With more arms and legs than I?
Depression as spider winding webs
All over the courtyard of my once ebullient mind. 
Creativity needs me like the sun needs
Photosynthesis-
Which is to say she doesn’t,
But I need her desperately.

Peel the purposeless purple prose
From my prodigious mind.
Help me unearth truth,
Swimming as she does
Beneath us all
In the water table.

* Please ignore that the first lines are all capitalized. I can’t figure out how to fix that formatting problem on WordPress or in Word. It will be fixed before my book is published. This is a rough draft.

Water

Rivers run through my names, scoffing at the idea of unified identity and advantageous silt. Along one river is a boat named the Unbearable Blue. Named for Memory’s daughter – a blue so deep it makes me ache. My heart goes spastic. Horrendous banana flavored vanity leaks out on the floor like an unsupervised ocean. Help. The sharks are here with their collection of teeth and wits.

Inelegant Death

The man trapped in a rain drop drowns when he tries to smell it. The letter I wrote to you last year is pinned to a ray of sun called the Exorbitant Cuddle. My letters make mayhem with the luscious cosmos. Two drinks in and the year was drunk like the Communion wine. There is no end to the sort of suffering that will pull your heart out through your crotch. Only inelegant death, thriving.

Dreams

Circular dreams circumnavigate my life,
Forever rolling away to a lulling dreamland
Where my name makes love on the beach
To herself and my flagrant ineptitude.
Dreams are lavender fields,
The hand of God running over them,
Plucking his favorite from the crowd.
After that it’s all up up up.
God is height,
Is depth.
The stillbirth of my ambitions
Haunts me while I scrub the sand
Off the deserted desert.
Wind writes to me,
The party was fantastic!
I waltzed with Purpose.
He touched my clit
And I wept.
Caramel dreams stretch over my
Inebriated mind
With the same kind of power
A drop of water has
Eating at a rock,

Distempered Time,
Take me back to that first
Autumn morning
When Possibility held me in his arms.

Borders

Sly silky whispers
Wander through the wonders
Of my electrified mind.
Fluorescent thoughts identify themselves
As refugees
At the border of my consciousness.
We are all running.
The question is whether we run from
Or to.
Slowly,
Methodically,
Time wanders between my synapses,
Pruning blooms I tended tenderly for years.

Thoughts have names they use among each other.
I know one is named Lila and another Lorelei.
The rest are on a list floating
down the river to a sea
Filled with monsters.

Which thoughts will I permit entry?
The neon pink ones,
Jittery and cracked out?
The Kelly green thoughts hauling
Wares of wisdom?
He will cost a lot of power.
My lights flicker at the thought.
How about the putrid cyan thoughts,
Hauling their starving children up
Out of the deepest pits in a mind
Of iniquity?
Instead,
I open up to
Lemon yellow
And her sweet forgetfulness.

A Party

The wine soaked air curls
Around my hips,
My hips that once bore life
And now bears only blood
And the thrill of empty promises.

The jeweled sky pays homage to Van Gogh
While I chat with the lyrics and rhythm
Of a song I liked once.
This party has an impressive guest list.
Ambition
Lust
Greed
Credibility
Their wives eye my knock off bag
Skeptically.
It’s not really a cloud purse,
But it is made of a fine sewn mist.
I hold my head high.
I produced a rose in 16 million colors.
No one here has done that.

The night is younger than I.
The breeze is crusted with carcinogens
And no one,
I mean no one,
Wants to talk about it.
My husband puts his arm around my waist
And I remember planting the seed,
Praying for a flower I could only dream of.
Now the rain is acid,
Tastes like sour candies,
And I fear for the future of flowers.