Relocating

This blog will be moving elsewhere and I won't be posting the link on this site.

If you'd like to keep reading as this unfolds or be a part of whatever new work lies ahead, please let me know (here) and I'll send you the link via e-mail. I would appreciate it if you kept the link to yourself.

kisses

Capegirl

backward

no new editions.

echo and narcissus

an equanimity of idiocy.

he, poison bloom. she, pollinator.

complacent cloak and dagger discomfort.

the truth or something like it

beware blue pills disguised as red.

umbrellas shook in anger, make wet spots underneath.

erotickle

beneath the covers i am snake. i heat up slowly.

i am still. i wait. i hunger.

i navigate flesh with flicking tongue. i slither down, over, under you, inside you. i move in slowly. rolling waters swirl, wash over me, bulging, whirling, moving hard. i move low. i slide slow. i sense storm. thunder roll, lightning crash, rain-heavy air. first rains on dry earth.

i pulse, breathe ions, i hiss. i slice through it. i lash myself to you, clasp your thighs with mine. you are sanctuary. we are heavy, we are clotted cream thick, birth warm, blood sticky, dream fluid. you are sea, you are totem. we are smudged. flames lick, spill over. we are crest, we are trough, we are nipple we are muscled thigh.

it may be time to use a little bit of fang.

soul teacher

the girl knew that he had moved her. that his hand had closed around her heart, like lilies over tiny ghost frogs.

he is here in the dilation of her pupils, in the photograph she places in the drawer, in the silences and the laughter. in the sweet sweat that collects along the beads of her spine and in the way they look at each other across smoke-filled rooms filled with people who watch them and know.

the way they look at each other. the way they look away.

illuminations

around and around my shower a jade dragonfly flies, and i, in my underwear trying to stop it from braining itself on the wall. "out here!" say I, using my arms to guide it towards the window. but, no, confused and alarmed it flies in circles, frantically hovering around the light. shivering now, i switch off the light. into the hallway it flies. "more light!", "more light!" it cries. and i, humbled, in my panties. agree.

waving hands

"goodbye!"

"goodbye!"

they said,

"goodbye!"

then turned around for a final farewell that led them once again to

"goodbye"

my fictional self and i

pistols at dawn.

what you want to hear

tonight, with a body that's seen too much sun, too much english toffee frozen yoghurt and entirely too much loving -. i pull the covers up to my nose and hoist my pajamas hoodie over my head. you'd think to keep things from getting in? if you're me, you'd know it's to stop things getting out. i leave just enough space for breathing.

even so

sometimes, someone, writes so slowly, so gently on your heart, that the little heart pieces begin to mold themselves into something resembling wholeness. sometimes by the time you've realised, the only thing you can do is gaze into the distance. and smile.

to answer your question

sometimes, a heart has broken many times.

in this case when the boot heel hits there is nothing left to break. each severed piece has formed into many separate entities. like a gecko growing a new tail. many hearts instead of one. many ways to love. many ways to grieve. it then becomes easy to walk away from big, black boots.

Happy New Year Everybody

thanks for reading here and sharing your own worlds on your blogs.

you're all brave, honest people, who i am proud to know.

i hope 2007 brings you all that you wish for. and then some.

love

Michelle

seabiscuit

that horse and i have a lot in common. for one thing, i won't let just anybody put a saddle on my back. for another i've plenty of heart. incidentally, i'll ride for you if you know how i like to be treated. we're cut from the same cloth, after all. and i'll always be on your side.

full

stop.

if you wan't more you'll have to come down from the sky.

please. for the love of all that is

take the red pill. i've some water. but i'm not sure you're ready to end your suspension in dreams.

karma

is a lady with whom i'm well aquainted. she surprised me one day when i was weeping in the dust, holding onto a photograph far too tightly.

i'd introduce you, but i'm not sure you'd like her stilettos.

melting ice sculptures

have a wonderful way of nourishing the grass beneath our feet.

the road to YOU

i'm not as jaded as you think i am, or as naive as you'd hoped. i've just stopped loving with my eyes closed.

i've insight into this that you can't grasp. not now. the thing you seek does not lie with me, or her. look, beautiful boy, look and see that the magic you seek is within you.

half-moon holding pattern

peter pan flew and flew and flew and flew. the girl sat on the bank and watched. she knew she'd eventually have to deal with singed wings. but he was, after all, so pretty to look at.

underthings

jack fell down and broke his crown and jill came tumbling after. fortunately, peeping out from under her pink lacies - knee pads. well used.

fuck

it.

just let me get that out there. so the pinkness can get in.

he was gone

before the next full moon. like destiny. oh yes.

we talked today

with humor about getting older.

and in my 35th year (about halfway perhaps), the voices of debate seem soothingly stilled.

i see them still, the men and women who talk passionately of black and white, of war and peace of hell or not. sometimes i almost start to speak. and then, quietly, my eye drifts off into the distance.

towards wiping away a tear, reading a bedtime story, holding somebody who needs it, listening when it's wanted, loving when it's asked for and especially when it's not. there is no perfect here, in this heart, in this mind, in this soul.

just today a small bubble of anger and then...it fades into pinkness and understanding. until there is nothing left there, but, warmth.

there is no all-knowing-anything here within. it's just the tongue which tires of speech and instead wants to act with love. in the quiet spaces that few see and even less talk about.

scrubs.

disappearing acts

leave a note.

unknown country

when navigating your way through dense junglescapes, overconfidence can be a:

fatal error.

chinese astrology

bad piggy. no biscuit.

minefields

i don't dare him to take hibiscus from between my thighs, anymore. and i'm less of a cynic.

he says.

except on bad days, when the soft breeze won't cool my skin and my angles feel hard and clumsy. on days when my pinkness won't twirl the way it wants to. he admires the way i don't care what anybody thinks about who i am. I know who this girl is, even when she thinks she doesn't.

"i won that hard baby, you'll not take it from me"

and the italics are mine.

they drift, the little splotches of ire and rise with the heat of the bubbles in my bath, till they burst into a smile that is a little about heat, a little more about roots and a little less about you.

the smile is mine, too.

in italics

and here the fingertip touches the lip, fixes itself below the chin and simply looks.

here the eye centers on the color of your shirt, the angle of your bicep, the line of your chin, the thrust of your hips. and here, even now, the brain surges up and over, between pink shaded layers, underneath candied tickling tones.

and the heart listens and hears and speaks and dances and straddles you and cossets you and sings to you. it grieves your grief and licks the notes off your lips. the hands cross over the knees into stillness and the eyes focus diagonally. not seeing you, and seeing you.and having looked for the first time.

to see the tinsel reflected in your eye, to taste the salt-spatter on your cheek, to count a woman's tears, that still lie on your pillow like slug trails that you follow into the night.

flash forward

365 days later, i sneak up behind you and cover your eyes with my hands.

you barely feel my lips brush the space between earlobe and jawline. reaching up, you remove my fingertips, and not with your fist.

lovely boy.

a piece of my heart will always shimmer with the angles of your name.

four-leaf clover

he is beyond beautiful.

in spaces where men strive, he simply is.

as complete as breath, as raw as earth, as gentle as morning.

we are already home.