if the fan were to stop we would all be still

that achy breath is hard to ignore. the calf suckles and thinks of a song that reminded her of winter.
it was sweet, and heavy, a distinct smokey sunrise to it. in the meadow she stretches her spindle legs, the arch of her back is hollow. she is weak from dead grass in her mothers breast. if the naked sun would touch upon those beady eyes, maybe she would see something grander. this is just a speculation, and in fact the only reason this tender heifer is still alive is her rabid sense of duty to the land. she touches her tongue to the leftover dung and tastes something that reminded her of winter.

c'mon

I am reminded that we are all mortal, and i, most of all am not god. well, you could have fooled me, because all of these years I have been running around with a chip on my shoulder like it actually mattered. and now, now the earth smells like it did when i was five and in a green velvet dress. thats a good thing, great even. for the first time in years (in year?) i am touching like a new born.

i spent two hours yesterday testing myself. i met someone. someone who i can't place. someone familiar to something lost. but someone so different and frightening. he watched me as i sat on the grass, and i let him see me. see, this is where the testing comes in. i let him see what was there, and he didn't leave. he stayed, and he smiled and made eye contact and even touched my arm like a lover would. perhaps this is when i realize that the gate that i have kept so locked, so well guarded has been breached. but more than that, i have let the doors swing open, and i have ushered in a flock of new ideas, new hope. im not ashamed to say that i know him better than i know that one year and change.

I have come!

IN full force. In leather shoes. With blisters and back aches, but baby, I'm here.
I came in rude mornings and long nights of laughter.
I came in the bed too big for me, sand in my toes and lips.
This is where we belong.

I came to this park, to the wind, for the wind, by the wind.
The wind is my mother, and I came in the swing of things.
The day before and after and inbetween, I came like the rockets were lifting me off the ground.
Only I didn't have to move a finger.

I have come, in.
Listlissly like the ocean, or the mud.
I have the back of the world in the palms of my hands and I am begging for the day to come
So that I can see the sky like an orange
O-R-A-N-G-E
EEEEEEEEEEE.
e
If I ever thought that this was nothing, I would have looked back
On the pier that I remember, for some reason, even though
I was only there twice
Or maybe three
But I came, and I fought, and that is why
With the beach touching my face, and the coral
Twisting in my hair. This is why.
The open place, of home. Of forgetting and forgiving and no more for you, missy.
I have the last chance to ever be free, and let me tell you sugar. I am taking it.
Like the cock and the hen. ANd their brood of babies, who will be fried nice and good in a pan by my brother.
In the woods from my father
And from the rain like my mother.
I have one of each and its time to bow out.


Not graceful, I aint no swan.
More like a rook, or a king, or a night.
I was a lesbian. I was a man. I was the tin cake that never got eaten.
Pretty to look at.
Pretty to mistrust.
Never mistrust.
Follow, cause I'm halfway there.

stand bye me

i have forgotten the norm.
i am a control freak.
and the shadow came to the ehnd when the wall shot us down.
it is time to stop trying. it is time to start the end.

love me pure. love me pure despite my idiotic behavior. i know i have it, in full display.

forgett came..

gia

continuously i feel slighted by my mother. in this fifteen minute span of waking she has already insulted me before the family.
the sad thing is, she wants it to matter more to me than it does. she just yells hurls temper tantrums like she is a five year old. i am so angry to day.

Sweetly, sweetly the slight end was up.

This is not the end, but rather the beginning. My written word knows nothing, and too much. Simultaneously.
In this story, the heroine finds her temper unbound, and through this, she knows what must be.
How to pack the bag, how to hold the head, to turn the key.
It is all relevant.
It is the finding, of adventure, the one that she doesn't really want, but needs..
It is this, that she must believe to be relevant, because..why should any of it matter
if it is happening to her.


In my experiences, it is the weak who find themselves, and the strong who always knew.
In my experience there is never a lie, but a spin of the truth, and this makes all the difference.
In my experience, when the wind blows just right, so that maybe you receive another lands sand, maybe this is the clue.
The cue. And you must begin.

tricks

its a tired day, and its only going to get faster.
I don't feel as though I have caught my breath yet.