Suspended

Standing in that junebug darkness, there was lack of movement--

unless that hollow wind which blows sandpaper down to its dry dry shingly self counts as movement.

It's clear now how the well felt the day Snow White called down it: nothing.

A Very Forgotten Gem

Catullus 2

Passer, deliciae meae puellae,
quicum ludere, quem in sinu tenere,
cui primum digitum dare appetenti
et acris solet incitare morsus,
cum desiderio meo nitenti
carum nescio quid lubet iocari
et solaciolum sui doloris,
credo ut tum gravis acquiescat ardor:
tecum ludere sicut ipsa possem
et tristis animī levāre curās.


Sparrow, the delight of my girl,
with whom to play, whom to hold on her lap,
to whom, greedy, to give her finger tip,
and to arouse sharp pecks—she is accustomed,
when it pleases her shining with my desires,
to say in jest something dear I don't know
and her own pain's solace,
so that heavy passion is relieved, I believe.
I wish I could play with you yourself like [him],
and lighten the cares of your saddened mind.

Special hello to Sister Mark and your ever sunny classroom. I miss you!

(Unfortunately, all Latin has since flown the coop, so to speak. :) Got this translation from Wikisource. Many thanks.)

Also, photo credit: (c) 2009 Gianna Leggio

Hmmmmm(feel my heart)

Let's collect all the little pieces of me:

the things I think,

how little I know.

So first there's release of body

on cool surfaces,

something real-undisputed-

among everything else.

then the magic lists begin,

endless, my canyons of discrete infinity

(i wish i saw them such...)

a felted apple-dome skull,

after being in the office's corset for hours,

seasick heart-to-heart,

you fickle tide, you glowing sister.

also, imaginary:

tucked in a tucked away village

rapunzel's tresses on a muslin'd maid

and her prince among firs--

there's a castle beyond with a banquet hall

full of baked apples and silks.

don't worry.

an apartment in london, pick a decade:

thick & heavy turn of the century,

organized & sentimentalized 40s,

just give me your voice

of rolling masculine desire.

thames along with me please.

or being born maasai

grinning in the hard heat

knowing all from simple simple let's keep it so sweetly simple kind of things.

and always always:

being held as i sob my guts out

my inner lining falling away

in your arms

being held.

tight and strong.

hmmmmm.

Just Like Poor Man's Ditch

hey, there you are!

grandma and uncle and sarah jane (maybe?)

i love you guys.

you seem ever-multiplying, never the same one twice really.

except for the girl, trapped at thirteen

(you've got to be at least my age now. no?)

so anyway i see you (all)

it's been more than a decade now

and you're always there

pulling things from windows

and creaking trucks crammed in

a garage not unlike my own

really it's quite concerning the way you live

but you touch me like no other

your resilience--

you seem so defiantly alive--

your never-aloneness

when i see you, i grin.

you weren't a part of the plan

but,

hey,

there you are.

when i see you, i know i'm almost home

my timeless time markers.

you're you.

'You' is the Very Loneliest Place to Be

Well I don't know what to say

This thing's left me feeling real empty and scared:

Cracked worse because it always was.

O God take me away from here

To a land of rock candy skies.

An avenue among the tulips would be nice--

Safe in my flowery crevice.

(O God maybe I'm just a loser,

wishing always for what can't happen)

So what I'm saying is, take this anger;

so what I'm saying is, fill my cracks

please. please--emptiness is no good.

Fill these little cracks with good red clay

and some good kind strength.

Cause what I'm really saying is

fuck you to myself.

And I was raised right,

and so I know better than that.

'Dread is Drowning' and 'Unidentified'

Dread is Drowning

The dead girl felt herself drowning:
sinking, sinking, sunk.

Panic, terrible and thick,
Caught on the tip of her tongue.

A beautiful world bubbled bright above her,
Her eyes could no longer blink.

To take in all that beauty--
well, there was nothing left
to do
but
sink


Unidentified

Things I lack:
sweet dreams don't cut it anymore.
Instead, all I feel is
cut cut cut.
Cut up, cut out, cut cut crazy.

So hollow,
masking something scary swollen.

Harboring Gollum
was a place I never wanted to be.

Complications: Lines, Etc.

Where do we draw the line?

They all seem so intent:

one must be drawn

somewhere, somehow.

There's pride from

layers of history

too ancient to be stripped.

There's hair, and how to treat it.

There's family: gone or glue.

There's running the risk of erasing

essentials

in being lineless.

Yet these lines, lines,

they net,

confuse and prostrate.

They seem so silly to me

But I know they mean something to you:

you (oliveskinnedburkad)

who have something to lose,

and me (blondeblueeyedamerican) with nothing to.

________________________________________________________

My ancestry doesn't sizzle.

It doesn't scorch when touched

Doesn't recall ancient hollows

from gallows.

My ancestry doesn't create longing

Never had to fight for it

So never had to fret.

Your pain is a current event

Newspapers haunt and stir you

To action, frenetic and frantic.

While my identity stretches back, static.