Cooling purple breeze whirls around the bedposts, caressing my skin into decadent relaxation. Every shiny scale is tingling and singing. Delicious suspense fills me up, stirring waves of anticipation. Gossamer cobwebs cascade down in drapes. We have waited for this night, preparing diligently through ancient rituals. All other cords have been released, the inky blood spilled and purified through death and stillness, and now we are born anew to dance this dance. We explore the newness of every fold and feature, with eyes, and fingertips, and lips, and tails. Shivers of pleasure make the ears and toes curl. Every passionate kiss leaves a trail of fluorescent wetness. I am aglow, with each breath I can see my skin turning closer and closer to that divine pre-culmination blue, that iridescent heavenly hue that only true passion can bring out. My lover's tongues are so skilled and dexterous, they wrap around my limbs, gently squeezing and licking. The middle one that forks so deliciously does triple coil around my thigh. The touch of suction cups is like a thousand kisses all at once, unleashing pheromones from their hiding place. Pale green light of the moon sparkles in the droplets of sweat, its bitter jasmine-like scent hangs in the air. My body arches in ecstasy, supported by a pair of arms. Another pair buries itself in his silky furry patches of copper curls, grabbing, squeezing, bonding. Thankfully I have a third pair of hands to feel his face and eyes, touch the very tips of the ears that eagerly respond with delicious shivers. Light electric shocks elicit guttural moans, and the sweaty urgency builds up. Limbs mixing, twisting and grabbing, teeth probing, caressing, nibbling little pieces oh so delicately. I suck on his skin until pores begin to ooze sweet nectar that tastes better than bliss. The pain of tenderness is exquisite. I can see his third eye glowing, ready to take our bonding to the next dimension, merge and take flight, tickle each other's dream state. As the ancient sages, we too are creators, dancing the gods' dance of creation. Desires and dreams drenched with the morning dew of our love nectar seed the stars. Let the magic unfold. We fall into each other, the great abyss of universes yet unrealized. A myriad of golden nets weaves itself into a web of life, and we dream new realities with the supernova of our bliss.
Does your partner smoke cigarettes on a regular basis?
Leave them, or threaten to leave them. Let them know that if they don't stop smoking in a month and a half, you're gone. You'll no longer support their habit with your presence.
Does your father smoke tobacco?
Let him know you don't want to watch him die a slow agonizing death. Take him to a house somewhere where the Hospice nurses are there with the family everyday, the family of a man who smoked marlboros more than he drank Water. Let your father witness, second hand, the sunken in face, the discomfort of constipation from all the pain meds, the anxiety, the challenges of walking to the next room over. Tell him to look into the eyes if those loved ones who know he's leaving the planet too soon. My father left the planet too soon.
Does your neighbor smoke?
Ask them not to smoke upwind from your house. Let them know you don't like the smell or the non-health benefits. Make them have to think twice about their addiction when they step outside to get unfresh air.
Does your niece smoke camels?
Tell her how bad it is for her skin, how it will give her wrinkles earlier. Tell her it will stain her teeth too and give her a not-so-pretty smile. She's probably really into her image right now, maybe it will help her quit. Inform her that the tobacco industry targets young people, in their sneaky little ways, to make them think smoking is cool, in hopes to get them hooked for life.
Do you smoke chemical-laden tobacco on a daily basis? Do you know why you smoke? Do you know why you wouldn't stop smoking?
You can go ahead and up your chances for the most common diseases like cancer and heart disease, we've all gotta go somehow... Just want to let you know for your family's sake, that watching a loved one decay like a Holocaust victim while tobacco companies' pockets grow deeper, is nothing short of morbid.
There's a man gauging my thoughts
playing my body like a guitar
knowing how to feed me
when to kiss my wrist
when to shut up.
It's saves time but now I have too much.
There's a washing machine in my belly.
I use my machine almost daily.
I clean everything; clothes, towels, sheets, rugs.
I never feel clean, not all the way.
I even wash stuff that's suppose to go to the dry cleaners.
It's surprising when that works. I don't own an iron.
I save time but now I have too much.
There are dead people in my phone book
more than I want to count.
I could delete them but that would take time.
I'm saving time but now I have too much.
There's a traffic jam in my head.
I don't sit in traffic.
I avoid it
taking short cuts
traveling off hours.
I'm saving time but now I have too much.
I'm always the one driving.
I don't like being in the passenger seat.
It's a control issue.
I don't like the way others drive.
Don't touch my radio.
It's about freedom; coming and going as I choose.
It's saves time but now I have too much.
I've gone out a window, jumped over roofs
snuck out back doors, hid in a parking lot
snuck out a fire escape, jumped out of cars.
I've lied, rationalized, bargained and bribed.
It saved time but now I have too much.
What can you do to help the world? Just say No! Say no to buying GMO food, say no to getting into debt, say no to having children if you know you have a genetic disease, or if you already have two or three kids. Saying No is not as easy as it seems. Our ability to say no has been severely compromised by some very skillful professionals. None of this is accidental. Marketing has gotten to be very sophisticated and subtle. Along with its more blunt firstborn, where you're just jackhammered by ads and promotions, there are deeper psychological undercurrents. Your social image and standing, your own sense of self-worth and your deepest fears are all preyed on expertly. Saying no to your deepest fears is quite a feat, it is difficult and scary, and chances are, no one will understand. How do you say no to life insurance when you have kids? Or no to diet pills so your spouse doesn't leave you for a slimmer model? Just saying No! won't cut it. You would have to know why you are saying no. You would have to think. So start small, as not to scare yourself into a food or alcohol binge, after which you will have to buy some diet pills. Start small by saying no to some aspect of consumeristic mania. Use your brain a little and strategize. Use a calculator. Buy fewer things of better quality. Vote with your money and send your message out. Say No to laziness. Read labels, food labels, garment labels, vaccine labels. Make your own choices. Choose to have time and energy to make educated choices. If in doubt, just say No. You can change the world, your world, starting within and spreading out. What you feed your kids, what you feed your pets and your plants in the garden, it all matters. So say No to pressure, any pressure, peer pressure, guilt pressure, or blood pressure. And say Yes to things that make you happy, truly happy, healthy and at peace. Say yes to love, and laughter, and down time, and sunshine and rainbows. Say yes to kisses and toes in the grass, gardening in the rain and swimming in the waterfalls. Say yes to kids and pets and loved ones. Say yes to simple and beautiful. Say yes to calm and steady. Say yes to feeling your roots and loving the Earth. Say yes to each new day, and know that you are its guardian, as well as your own. And just say No to anyone who would tell you otherwise!
I heard a horse died and was buried on my friends property. That's a mighty big hole to dig. I've dug big holes before. Once for my dog. Once for my brother. Once for my cat. One for my need. One for my fur coat. One for a boy. And one for me.
I stood up for the fat kid at school once. For a skinny man who was punched. For a blond girl ODing on a cocktail of high. For my son on his skateboard. For my husband at the movies. I've stood on corners not really sure where I was going. My feet hurting from walking away. My feet hurting worse when I returned.
I don't want to come back. If coming back is what we do. I want to stay dead. Hiding forever. I want to do drugs until I can't remember. Not caring. Not sharing. Never more revealing. Never more concealing. No more squeezing. No more believing.
I hate getting figs stuck between my toes. I hate words that don't taste good. I don't feel great about tunnels. I don't feel great about the dentist. Or blood work. Or people who get red in the face. Yell in your face. Spit in your face. Angry. I just don't. It scares me.
I love when people smile. I love bridges. Any bridge anywhere. I just love them. I've thought about jumping off a bridge but sitting on them seems less painful. I've photographed them. Swam under them. Walked across them. Even peed on a very special one.
I like witches. In Cuba they call the most powerful magic Santeria. The females are more interesting then the men. I have a Cuban witch on the left side of my front door to protect from evil spirits entering. It works.
I like tractors. I like signs. I like weeds that blow in the wind. I like watching clouds travel by. Changing shapes as they pass. I like birds in trees. I like birds on the grass. I like flying birds. And diving birds. And all kinds of birds. Except dead birds. Once a bird dropped dead right in front of me on my walk. There were no trees. Or buildings. Or anything. But an open pasture. And an open sky. The bird just dropped dead.
tiger lilies in a vase, words in a circle, our soul-paths criss and cross, weaving together starseeds fit for planting. my brain is a chemical soup, reacting and changing with this sweet smell, that story, it's words dragging corpses, relatives, pets and ideas from hall closets.
her lips quiver and i forgot what i was thinking, what i was going to say, what i know about life and love and good choices.
choices -that's all i've got, but i didn't choose my parents, my family, where i was born, what i look like - sorry - i don't mean to offend any karma huggers. and i don't choose who smells good, who is pleasing to the eye, who heats up the room, who i fall in love with either. i do choose where i take my socks off, and whose foot i rub up against, but not who takes the night ferry and visits once the candle has burned out. and even with choice i often feel possessed, drunk on some glandular cocktail whose tentacles infiltrate reason and maturity, overriding the system, flooding me with if it feels good do it, and let's get down tonight.
sometimes i just want to follow the spark, see where it lands and let the fire burn, let it burn down labels and compartments, players in their parts, burn away the book's binding, letting the pages fall into piles.
i fall in love in small doses, or all at once, on the dance floor, or at a movie, beside or between. am i the only one who can see the body-paint, iridescent turquoise on your neck just below your earlobe, a fortune without a cookie, "take me i'm yours"?
sometimes i choose not to choose. i turn from the spark (is that mine?), and saunter away as nonchalantly as eager and obsessed can saunter, biting down on my lower lip ever so slightly.
do i need a polyamorous pollyanna, or just the freedom to feel what i feel, to acknowledge the spark and the possibilities that it ignites? should i seek the waters at their source, or buy bottled water from italy? should i try to run my hands through her hair, or stay here with admire and inspire? do i have the courage to be a free spirit, to own my passions and speak true, to live with the choices i make for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until my last breath?
My mask is crooked from calling him dad
from getting away from the man at the candy store
from craving too many bad boys
from wanting sweet sweat smells
I'll never call him dad again
My mask is beautiful this way
though my dark runs like blood
spilling over the sides
down my neck
like being intimate with someone you don't know
waiting for the end
like flowers in kiln baked urn
He was never good, my father
tomorrows drip alongside
like old friends wanting to hold each other up
yet unable to stand the drag
I bleed inside my gated levee where it's light
Where the wind is strong moving the hairs on my arms
Where at night I lick frogs to get high
Where I beg into fur for more time
but no more tears
Vintage breaks turning junk into art
while prayers fly into the dark
I touched my father once.
The chair rocks for a blanket
to keep quiet and still
His body was big
His accent fit into my ears.
His smile a crooked mask
fooling me twice
Insects fly in through the open doors
in search for a silent resting place
My hands feel the inside of old
not caring who loved me
only now yearning for the ceiling
while tied to the floor
Drinking ignites my haze
I see irony surrounding me like panels on my walls
interlocking and fitting
yet ever changing in heat and cold
It's dangerous to drain
He was never good, my father
I'll turn these tumbling thoughts
making them smooth
correcting my mask
Orange and green like an October holiday
drifts my mind into sun and waves.
My only job is to know when the water will skip the stones to skin my seat.
My eight dollar black cap keeps my brain from melting while white cold wine
keeps reappearing like magic in my cup.
Rocks on rocks
rumble like hoodlums from my neighborhood.
I'm further than I've ever been.
The point shines light on parched dry earth.
The salt and heat and lack of rain
humbles places I'd like to step.
Seals on boards spy the spray as they turn their cones up.
White foam froths and pounces and pleads
as lava is caressed into distant sand.
I long for more color
amidst the black and brown and yellow.
I long for contrast and lack of fear regardless of the tide.
I long for legs and entanglement between him and I.
The days are long like weeks or years.
Slow methodical planned out days
starting with walks ending with drinks.
He came home.
At first it was weird like talking when there should be quiet. But not for long.
Before I could complain it shifted to where is he now? Where'd he go?
I didn't realize that fate was so small
starting in bar rooms and ending on beaches.
The most interesting things last a moment
like a joke between lovers.
It feels too good to say goodbye
but goodbyes always knock.
I'd like to stay and sip on beer from a big can.
I got it going on
eating guacamole, chips and stir fry in the sun
shade and wind.
We're going to the beach again today to eat Lilikoi's.
It's the only place that flattens my suspense.
But the cow with the white face haunts me.
She follows me with her eyes rocking her head
like a doll that sits on your dashboard
teasing me with her scared knowledge
that only sages and clowns understand.
Beguiling permutations are shimmering in the lilac seafoam while phosphorescence of life spirals outward then in again. The darkness and closeness unwind the lips of intimacy that breathe in the howling wind. The butterfly is flapping its wings and grandiose seas rise in the neighboring galaxy. We are innocent by default, a reflected sentilla of the spiritual reality of the transcendental object at the end of time. Everyone one of us a particularized piece of this reality into which we are being dissolved. I'm going back to my roots. To the green jungles and the damp earth. To the volcanic prairies that stretch into the melancholy forever and hide the exuberant secrets of dreams to come. We are sitting here at the edge of the world. ‘Dreaming awake at the end of time’. The fairy tales that have called us to here resonate within the parts of our cells that don't yet have names. The spaces between the atoms, the cracks between worlds. We are following the currents of destiny being pulled along by the mystical strands of concrescence. We are called to gather around the vestal fire under the dome of uncountable stars to listen to the voice that will shape our unfolding for the remaining days of our existence within the confines of the flesh. I will never be this in love again. In love with grass and eyes and colors and ideas. In love with the shallow water and endless possibilities. In love with this bud on the verge of blooming into exotic flower. These hands that will hold me forever. This voice that will keep calling me forth till I no longer subsist on breath. These eyes that will be my mirrors of eternal love and theses stars that will absorb my tears and smear them as streaks of light across the black sky. I don't know where I come from, I don't know where I'm going exactly but I know that everything is astonishing. The universe on its surface is alive with mystery. How do we get inside it? That is a question that will never let me rest and I bow at the feet of those who have provoked and seduced and spirited me forth towards the unknowable towards the unspeakable towards the abyss of my own annihilation. So I can at last stand naked and exulted and one with the Gaian spirit of this planet and of all existence and know the answer to every question with the parts of my cells that don’t yet have names.
Listen to the Rain! Let it transport you to the places of your soul that are closed off, locked behind bars, piled with dust and forgotten.
Listen to the rain, to its primordial trance dance, the rhythm so ancient we have it in our bones. Can you hear a beating heart? Beating wings? Truth knocking on the window glass?
Listen to the rain. Make it a conversation. Ask your questions, with your whole heart, pour it out so the answers can pour in and wash away the sadness and the tiredness, and nonsense flurries that fill up our days.
Listen, let it touch you. Let rain kiss your face, close your eyes and surrender into warm traces of raindrops on your skin. Rain is a friend, an intimate and gentle, all-understanding ally. It too knows what it feels like to pour the heart out, let loose the dreams and hopes, the broken ones, and fruiting ones, and future plans just being woven.
Listen to the rain. Drink in the waters to quench all kinds of thirsts. Sometimes in drought we forget we had a thirst sometime so long ago it's nothing but a dream we lost and dusted over.
Listen to the rain. Let it cleanse you and renew, make space for something new and sacred that's just behind the veil of mists descending, begging to come in and nourish the parched earth of the spirit's yearnings.
Trust the rain. It holds you gently in its embrace, reminding to be gentle with yourself, recharge, renourish, relax and be, quietly, with nothing much to do but listen to the rain.
And then the flowers come, and fragrances, and bird songs. Leave it to the rain to bring forth rainbows and myriads of sparkles that have no other purpose but to delight our hearts. And then there are the puddles! And wet dogs. And muddy kids.
And barefoot splashing, and celebrations of this magnificent rebirth of nature, and happiness for no apparent reason other than it rained. And gave us life! And water.
So let there be rain!