musings & scribbles

and you pour,
leaking your words
down pipes,
from high, and they
trickle/find a way
to stalk the ground,
as though your prey,
and in push-soft graze
of breeze, your fingers
slip to tip of these,
and throat grows wet, in need
of dry, of speak, of world,
of breath, of thy bleed’

i have nothing but words
and the breath about me
and the slow-caress of a wrap of wind from palms to brow, to nostrils,
reluctant to divert the path to me, when so much needs more
than i let slip by
but this, these, those
grow on and inspire me, as does the Sun, as do her Shadows, The Land,
both l’quid and moving,
so tectonics are inside and show the overlappings well deserved are
but shifts, so needed to allow the revolutions to persist

and the droppings, buckets poured, smell of ringings, washings, more, to these ears, unfollied in their search for you

plip
upon the screen,
the window, bare but dotted, sprayed,
lays, in hurried fashion, another
to be dried by sun,
though its mission, sentence,
rings true

thank you.

she smiled.
he felt her lips widen, stretch,
part as those nostrils flared
for her to breathe.

he sighed/he took her inside,
her breath, and held
to fall the chest
and release to her
his lungs.

she turned her head,
chin toward him, eyes
down to see him,
from her side, and
she showed her tongue/her throat,
open-to-welcome him, and
he smiled.

Porcelain royalty,
Iron-haired maiden,
Sloped to see those
in front/beside/by her tips’o’toes
and all in smile, widing grin

through which happy air follows in

beauty, you,
smile on softest neck
adorned in strands of gold
lay fair from crown, a princess, wears

Katie was always my anti-hero. My protagonist, as I was the antagonist. She would harass me, I her, and all around would know and feel this. She pinched, I choked. She slapped, I held. I love her. She is the reason for so much of my life to be happiness.

Mom was always the anchor. Katie and I sailors, the House a ship, school a land we ferried to and from, and Mom was our anchor. We would come home from school, go our separate ways (Katie off to wherever she wanted, usually a friend’s, while I stayed and talked with Tina, rather often, or went to the computer.), we would wait for Mom, and have dinner, watch TV, and go to sleep. Mom obtained for us a life we would not have seen had she not given to us what she did: Knowledge, foresight, responsibility, morals, all of these were left to stay, boiling on our minds, only to sink in later and to stick to the bottom of our awareness. She knew. Somehow, she knew we would be upstanding citizens. Yes, potheads, artists, designers, writers. She knew. She gave those to us, not through addition, but through augmentation. She saw us acquire as we did, and handed us an open hand with enough insight to allow us to roam, freely, upon the plain.. to fill the land with thought, with buildings, trees, plants, companions. She knew. Gone, now, is who I was: The stubborn child, being hauled away, shouting, “I WILL SUE YOU!” to the daycare personnel; the obnoxious beast, whose only means of fun was harping on others; the anxious, often excitable and, yet, reluctant child, whose temper flared as would a mercury thermometer on an open flame; the shy, the terribly shy. I am still those, yet I am traveled. I am carried, onward, as though a step away and a step toward those, and myself. Mom knows a discussion about her would eventually lead to goings-on in regards to myself. She allows me to be selfish, to be self-centered, self-aware, self-unconscious. She is as an addition now, an augmentation of thought, a conscience whose identity is fully known, recognized, yet understood as being completely free of any bonds of limits placed; she may be emotional, running her eyes as her thoughts, leaking over her hands, or she may be flared, raised, intolerant of those who do not understand as she does, yet she loves them so. She is Mary, Mother, Guidance of Self from Tormented/Anger/Unruly toward Seclusion/Personal/Disciplined in bulldog’s way.. not outright, but fully delved to what need be done/what we need to have done. She deserves more.
And will have so.

you wake as princess, crowned a queen, with softest smile of swan in lean, and though you know your color, clean, you glow as gold to brighten dreams,

even when she’s sad, or crying, she smiles,
and her smile gives to me all the words she wants/she needs to hear, and i reword/arrange them so she can smile away those tears.

and the funny part is, i cry more than she does, and she doesn’t even seem to mind at all, though i wouldn’t doubt she laughs from time to time, or thinks my actions silly, as she’s perfectly fine to.

and yes, i do worry.. that she may not want me in my fumbling, feminine state, but she’s been with me through this so many times, i doubt she doesn’t care, more than worries about my face

she allows me to fly around, keeping me tethered, so she, too, can enjoy, as she is the flyer of i, her kite
and so i won’t go off and be lost, again,
but she’s always there, waiting for me,
and she knows i’ll always return for her.