you have a downward symmetry about you, your mouth rests a bit too deep in your
chin, so to speak, you
speak in skinlight   my eyes slow to
capture all of you at once, b eaut  iful

honey, you
could speak in deep tones, rich and creamy
hard to swallow but   just
another
bite

and yet your words bubbleout like brave
little warriors - they emerge in such
formation and
present themselves
, not to
question

oh god
just keeps in wavves, covering
my face so I have to
                                    breathe it
                                       in

so sweet, sometimes I have to come up for
air just so I am not drenched in honeydewed drama I store inside my
head.

woo inebriation

keep it
go  ing , lapit up like little
dogs, keepit  
go ing

mouths pushagainst
what you've crowded them with, it has become
daily religion to keep a lid
on, keep your self
under
the sur
face

keep your words to a
minimum, hold
on with all you
have

or else
or else?

Add film making to my list of goals. 

I'll be a white-haired film maker. 

I'll make poetry films and all I'll talk about is how much 

other artists have affected me.  

Can this be my life's goal?

I'm going to move to Arizona and dye my hair White.

push all the air out - roll me up

so that I can cradle all of my solidity(as if it exists at all) and

stay in one place, perhaps grow roots there, as well

and begin to notice the slowly things, the tid bits, the every aspect in

the every eye about this    one    place. Watch it change and mourn it’s

yesterday as if it were a dear friend.

the blue&purplelike
is brush and stroked lightly so, my sister's
painting is brand new, ev'n though her
fingers have since threaded her through continents and
many a limb once thought dead, and then there was
atinglin'

no matter where my compass points,   the north is always new, and
my sister's blue never ages; only gradually does it grow dark in some
places, only over time does it     deepen and
                                                      settlein, cozy


nice n' clean, smooth on the surface but it goes
                deeper than you
            could imagine

this description is perfect.

"..all wrapped in guises and relatively decent."

- from "Guises" by CE Green
Hello Poetry, May 8th 2013

oh how easily your lips become by Patrick Wakefield

o how easily your lips become me,
the burning crimp
of urging kiss,

to depart myself
and wander amongst
the body holy and vile ridiculous winsome trivial spectacular,

(arm and thigh)
whose sweep and gait is love
made ready for tongue
to impart slowly tenacious,

whose comely hair is course tender difficulty splendrous,

whose moments are singeing exactly innumerably few
(and never enough)


who i have longed for in deepest valleys of untouching cruelty
(to cup thy whole mouth
in my mouth,
to carry it forward
thy kiss a burning standard

into inkset darkest darkness of night



that i might walk without stumbling;





that i might see           )

em

should be you. bury

yourself, swallow earth and 

choke .

should be her breath on my 

neck, at the backopen so she could swallow my dreams,

hold them in her stomach 

because

I am hers. and 

she was a   dream

wondering if maybe or     not it's noticed how
naturally i amjust            there
how empty just empty
words are just wordslike not
at all, just                       there

a touch                                sending
                                        wa vves

opened a dream
at the back of the neck

my arenot's

i'd have you, build around you

i still think      you
like coffee stains let sit, orange with age,
they still smell the same

i wish i could breathe    you
and have you sit in my lungs, i could
make room, at least
i could try

build a lean-to, i'd have you

what could I be doing? writing this. now?
what could I be doing with
all this space and       this BIGbig time
thing that is so
damn
consum-
ing like a
vacuum just

disappear into something that you never
get to
re-visit just try to
replace but that gets
used up, too

not a very sustainable
feeling, not a very
worth-while
practice, is
it?

no. rather jump on
a train than sit here and watch it happen to
everyone I care about, rather
sink inside and re-emerge every day feeling
brand-new than constantly
wasted, taken apart

little bit by
piece by
inch
by

day by
day

I want to bake some

fallin’ in love pie. swallow each bite,

feel it warm in my mouth, warm in my chest

then warm in my stomach, no space

left

just

a warm pink glow about my skin

a nice and slow spread-

ing of it, nice and

slow

it’s a good feeling to have, a good

feeling to have in your lungs –

heaving, even

just as long as they’re

breathing

even

won’t have to pull my sleeves anymore

won’t have to hold my need, won’t

have to scratch my skin anymore

won’t

have a

need

wantingly be, all of the time








what can I do?

i am no simple, nor am i 

plain, just a little shine and some

dull areas but that's okay

i have enough lace to wrap myself in and 

feel perfectly fancy for the rest of my life

how easily the un-ease slips, scary how well I know it now, an old etcetera met with an almost-warmth because it is so much a part of my own body, a familiarity, that is, familiar in my own skin, just a swimming in my gestures. just a shift every so often, for I have not settled. just a bird perched in the center of my chest and I cannot open it --

I have been 

interrupted and re-visited with no 

                  memory of how I 

                  began. 

sc

today i fell in love with every face that didn't look away when we made eye contact, godjust lean down and (stoopinglike stone arches) lay heavy kisses that ground me so, just so i can stretch my toes and my neck through and pulling every nerve to it's end just
kiss you, too

so uh

I like to categorize myself and yet I avoid categorization at all costs.
I wish I understood myself like I think I do sometimes.

if I could, I would draw the back of every

time she turned away from me - her hair and how it met the base of the skull and repelled

downward or climbed back up, she'd cut it short and then 

watch it grow,            

if I could, I would re-trace her ears and marvel at how the skin joined in perfect harmony behind them.

if I could, I would have had her a million times more in between my fingers, running them through her -

every "every" I have and had and will have. 

i am comforted in my own - just like ice melts, only not so
warm, just warm enough. lay like a leaf in the sun, holding up lace, so that
when i lower it the pattern will be burned across my face, intricate enough
so that people will have to lean inclose
to see

i am forever changing, like no mona lisa because
"bullets pass through me and I keep moooooooving"
only the bullets never reach me - i know i'm dreaming when i'm
dreaming.

today, someone told me I don't smile very much. 

and I think I'm okay with that. 

it's almost like

you know how to notice things, but
you don't know how to use that information to your advantage.






I wish you did, sometimes.

maybe it's gone
and maybe it's been replaced by
other things. maybe I'll find it
curled under the desk, after quite a time
without it

and maybe it's gone