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Red Sex, Blue Sex

Oct. 28th, 2008 | 02:06 am

http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2008/11/03/081103fa_fact_talbot

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the lot I didn’t choose

Jun. 1st, 2008 | 05:12 am

Perhaps choice is only slight of hand and God plays dice after all.  Perhaps lamentation is the ultimate spinning of the wheel and grace has nothing to say to those who won't accept the offering. Time only slows in dreams like these, making deals with Devils who refuse to collect on all the bad checks I've been writing.  It makes me nervous when mercy feels like damnation and the damned walk free through the channels of chaos.

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Samurai Song by Robert Pinsky

May. 21st, 2008 | 05:11 am

When I had no roof I made
Audacity my roof. When I had
No supper my eyes dined.

When I had no eyes I listened.
When I had no ears I thought.
When I had no thought I waited.

When I had no father I made
Care my father. When I had
No mother I embraced order.

When I had no friend I made
Quiet my friend. When I had no
Enemy I opposed my body.

When I had no temple I made
My voice my temple. I have
No priest, my tongue is my choir.

When I have no means fortune
Is my means. When I have
Nothing, death will be my fortune.

Need is my tactic, detachment
Is my strategy. When I had
No lover I courted my sleep.

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(no subject)

Apr. 3rd, 2008 | 01:42 am

I feel like suburbia snuck into my commune and switched my free loving air with rich, canned, organic shit shipped here from Chile.  I feel the weight of all the spirit children I made with men I wouldn’t let inside me for fear of a burden I can’t escape.  Maybe it’s not the pitfalls that hold us down, but the insidious mastery of time itself turning our cells against us and demanding we slow to its pull.  

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April's Fool

Apr. 1st, 2008 | 11:27 am

I get caught half way out the door. I've never been good at knowing when to walk. I thought, somehow, I'd fall into place. When you're young, you don't realize how every step is mapped out for you by a million helpful hands waiting to pull you their way.  You think life is something that works itself out. Because it is...when you are young. But time is setting traps for you. Once you plant a seed, you begin to tend your garden. I was dancing sunflowers in June. But it only took one good winter starve to scare me straight.  I've got secrets yet to tell. But the same roots that keep me fed, pull me under.

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justice

May. 11th, 2007 | 07:29 pm

We all feed this keeping in the nature of what we assume. 
We all give judgment to the beasts who light our way. 
We are not the children of prophets here,
stumbling in the grove of fruits we can no longer digest,
obscuring the names of the leaves that fall
and holding on to the heat left under the blankets
of lovers who have already moved on, 
justifying the lives of spreading distraction
into the carpet-soaked knees of children before green screen alters. 
It makes no difference, in the end, who was right and who was wrong,
who fought the good fight and who took the sucker's punch. 
It makes no difference whose god fell before the laughing
that carried us through when no amount of prayer
could lift the burden of living it out one more day. 
Those who look for justice are deluded
and those who run from pain are not alone in their flight.

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Oceanic

May. 2nd, 2007 | 01:03 am

I can feel myself slowing

in the wake of warmth

dripping up from dreams cannibalized

for want of a solution to the gauntlets

my fathers abandoned so many times over. 

 

I hear the cries of women left

to burn in the fire of life giving

and lifting all but themselves

in the robes of cotton itching

at the well-worn flesh of motherhood. 

 

I thought I saw you as well,

but the deliberate hymn of age

hasn’t yet ripened your remorse

the way that time will one day fall short

of its own pounding into our loveless release. 

 

Would I dance this song again

if it played at just the moment

you brushed my forearm

with a glance of fresh redolence? 

Do you know the secret

to my perennial unrest? 

 

I pray for another way to lift

above the moon-enslaved tides

that wash me home in the morning. 

 

Make me a stranger

in some unfathomable land

beyond the edges of the earth. 

Give me more than I could have imagined

in the smothering folds

of the Eden I have left behind.

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(no subject)

Apr. 25th, 2007 | 10:17 pm

The splitting of my armistice wills away those pungent reminders of how many times it rusted into the sulfur soaked poetries of lies you wanted to hold into the morning.  I could’ve made the dark rekindling abandon hope of refute, but it was so out of sync with the dew falling down the drainpipes, like a song held out of key flowing backwards in time.  It busted the markers of pretty soap dish fishing rods, and hugged the candle flame left in the pencil sketch dormant away.

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(no subject)

Apr. 22nd, 2007 | 07:24 pm

Walking through the sunlight of a longing cried out as the breaths of turning inward and over moved between the sky and you.  You were a million different ways of loving and knowing.  You were the turning of the wheel of all that was to become our lips grazing. 

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surfacing

Mar. 25th, 2007 | 05:08 am

Walking through the sunlight
of a longing cried out
as the breaths of turning inward and over
moved between the sky and you.  
You were a million different ways
of loving and knowing. 
You were the turning of the wheel
of all that was to become our lips grazing.

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