One of the most sublime and hazardous moments in human experience comes when two people lock eyes and realize that they are sexually attracted to one another.

-Roger Ebert (review of Damage)

type

Lisa couldn’t believe she was actually standing in her pajamas at 2:20 am--but even stranger, fielding questions from someone she hasn’t had at least one paragraph in their history, until now.
But she was drawn in to his words, his fit frame, his deep seated eyes and maybe now what he called his truth.
He spoke with passion about everything that came from his mouth, as if he could do the same describing a bowel movement.
She had to reject him. She had to pull back. She had no time or energy to see this play its way out. He was the desert that lay out in front of the great Baja race, and she would rather watch it on TV than participate.

Two years ago, Lisa sat next to Christopher. He was on his way to California, and they both waited as their relationship gathered itself in front of a firing squad. She stared out at the planes, the workers. He held tightly to a cup of coffee and read the Sun times. In the car over there,they exhausted themselves through closing arguments, and she resorted to fidgeting with the radio stations, as picked a spot through the windshield and focused.
They had met first in high school in a ceramics class. His coffee mug was not hallowed out well and exploded in the kiln destroying everyone’s midterm exams. He denied it to the hilt as if he was preparing himself for his future career in law, but the class had already discovered that he grossly lack artistic fingers.
She like him.
She like the fact he didn’t align himself with anyone

type

“I want to name my son Nasdaq.” This guy leaned over and said to me. I couldn’t help but glance down at his stomach, which appeared squeezed over his belt and poured underneath his T-shirt. It moved as if it was heading further to wards his knee as he let out a loud cough and recovered back into his chair. “That’s what this country is run on, but I just like the name.” He said while clearing his throat. I still wasn’t sure why he started talking to me. I made no indication that I was available. I knew I had properly concentrated my eyes on my magazine, leaving no pauses in my eyes, but yet there had to be a chink somewhere. Was it in my body language? I should have hunched over further creating more of a connection--a relationship with these words. But here I am possibly stuck with banality.

Leu Armada

I am the Rome of old.
The lightly falling terra cotta
is
not
fazing me.
Her great armada can come and go at will.
I
hear tales.
I hear of exhausted cities; subjugated and fallen ones.
Countries praying for just the Stone Age,
topography reversed.
I
hear
of paralyzed bodies
watching spectacular bombardments of the senses.
amazingly deflective, just to realign and mishape our essence.
I hear
of the borrowed and battered logic; one that imbalances our footing in the world.
And
I
need
to
hear no more.
I have seen
the great arsenal
in the distance;
Its
ominous presence
circling
my soft belly.
Understood--my cerebral cortex pulls at my pant leg.
and
I have
yet observed
terra
cotta
trimming my face.
But
I am
the Rome of old
and
I can
only hope
there are no signs of
cracks
in my
mind
and hope
that quake
is the earths.

The slow person in front of you allows you to contemplate your existence.

Listen to my brokenness, life will repair it.

Zen Calender

No one is injured but
by himself.

-Michel De Montaigne

Poet

"THE POET'S JOB is to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth, in such a beautiful way that people cannot live without it; to put into words those feelings we all have that are so deep, so important, and yet so difficult to name .
The poet's job is to find a name for eveything to be a fearless finder of the names of things; to be an advocate for the beauty of language, the subtleties of language."

-Jane Kenyon, poet

TOLL

My mind takes a toll
My teeth took the
toll
and strange ingredients happily passed
hydrogenated
dextrose
yellow
5 lake
My mind deflected as commercial's dance,
my reading interrupted,
my body, a blind canidate;
a wild horse, a 8 year old who has piled up in my head with
the: taste buds--its leader,
making demands it can't contemplate.

My body takes a toll.
I
at the command center have enough problems staying out of cars
I don't need,
electronics I shouldn't buy,
false impressions I shouldn't embrace.
who's in charge anyway?
My
mind
has
taking
a toll.

Unleash the Dogs Of Love

...and watch as someone is snared in their enamel. What could be more beautiful than this?
Ah...only if they would stay still, and allow themsleves to be consumed.

Zen Calender

All human beings should try to learn before they die
what they are running from, and to, and why.


-James Thurber

L.P.

Bare

Turns out my good friend in the photo above can not bare herself. We agreed that she would be the only one at a blistering naked beach in a parka.
She would be Virginia Wolfe but instead spending her entire life looking for a pen.
She sees herself as the Wicked Witch; trying to careen people away with her disposition;her grumbling.
but instead she is the lion.
a sniffling
nose slapped
lion
Don't worry she wants me to do this. She wants me to call her out. She wants to expose herself; release her soul like thousands of other people, who have turned parts of themselves inside out on here, but she needs help. What she's written is only smoke and mirrors; it's the warm up act. Her tank is full and it needs to be emptied, we need to help her www.lorey.blogspot.com

reading.

The little Sun

He is not in my lab
My veganism
My Charlotte Gilliam
My Aristotle, Tori Amos or Wynton.
Our divide is a river that is turning into a lake.
My lab,
the one I created against the grain, out of tears and loneliness
One that is free from self inflicted heart disease,
and literary ignorance.
One that is humorous, and envisions healthy relationships, rather than scalding ones.
He is not in my lab, but the worlds grey one,
and
its
soldiers-- are even the ones closes to me.
This lab fits into a snow globe found through irritation, contempt and deceit.
I wouldn't now how to explain.

Mail

What a dream...Definitely tell me more

I see us walking the streets of New York where we buy tons of magazines and sift through them one morning as we have breakfast I see your head on my chest and us talking for hours in a tub.

You know it so very interesting how you just stay in my mind, how I just desire you so. I just feel so connected to you, almost as if in our past lives we were something for each other, and our beings are overjoyed that we are communicating now. It drives me nuts sometimes. When I looked at your photo I just saw how utterly beautiful you are and how it pours through those fingers that rests on that sink. You are the culmination of what my lover is in this life and beyond.
and we have not touched.
I sometimes try to heavily question it; attack it in my mind, in my poems (some of which has shown up on my blog(2), strangers who have found it told me to embrace you* laughing) trying to best control myself I just can't believe how much I have sunk into you. How much I have fallen for you (the CD you sent with those seeds were something else for me) It can be overwhelming at times and I want to run from it; hide thinking it can't be real. I feel not worthy....I know I know I am drama filled. But I am so passionate and I am sorry for pouring too much of my sun on you, but it excites me.

In person I would be a little boy and probably say little....my writing is my refuge...sigh.
It's interesting how we have so much in our lives it is so perfectly place there so we can just be out of each others reach; enough to raise our temperatures. I've said this once before, that is why there is Virginia Wolf, Sylvia Plath Shakespeare and Picasso etc. this is where love Stories and heartbreaks come from; this adoration; this love.

Remember whatever you need I am there for you.


MER

My friends

In doses, my sun
turns thee engaged
to the unbridled.
My love
pours like paint-
-sticky and ruined.

It turns up the heat
It accelerates my cause
It expense's
all
of
my
magic
that you- also a magician-
has.
Only my death will render an apology.

What heart's must I break , what lie's must I maintain... from Pollock