jaw

The world is alive

and I should dig myself out

to feel that coursing in my veins even

though I am old,

clogged with success.

somnabmatic

the feel is 

vulnerable, tonight

after being opened this morning

little tremor between my eyebrows 

little pinch in my sternum

who knew I'd fall asleep 

and wake up walking 

beneath the ground 

an-Orchid

there are things inside of me I haven't ever seen
and things I have seen that will never leave inside of me

   sometimes they rise to my skin surface at night
as I further the place I came from each September

and some of the times I've felt most like myself
   are when I've not been here, away for days sometimes
sometimes, away for what feels like days

but I am also most anchored
    in the depths of my body
  when my arms are elongated
     and my wrists feel
small but functioning

or when I'm horizontal, so that all my fascia
    is kissing the earth
while I kiss some part of the sky:
imagined ordinary,
beautiful-ethereal-transient

though I guess when I'm in the depths of my body
I'm not here either, I'm somewhere else

in the labyrinth of me,
uncontact-
able

So electric and so tired.

There's this little ache living in me,

and it is A Fraid. 

The Fraid is burrowing into my insides,

sending its electro wave signals 

into my extra eye-whatsit,

pulsing it's little tentacles into my veins and

latching on to my pulse.

The Fraid is very cosy and warm, and it is

difficult to persuade him to live

elsewhere. 

The Fraid especially likes to live in my

ovaries during summer, and

grips on to my femaleness

so tightly with his many legs that

tears leak out of me while I am

waiting for the bus.

I feel some chronic kind of beautiful

but there is no-one there to witness it,

except myself and the Fraid -

but I have no mirror and he is

hiding in the dark.

swim

my citrine centre shining,

  bursting out of its body

 trying to get

   to the future

first -

it leapt into the country's

  Greatest Lake, before I'd had a chance

to reason:

  A human; being ...

mirroring last summer, and

this summer's prequel

  some sort of future -

Oh I love 

  myself, alone

 having felt 

 to feeling

others, and I. 

arrival

I walked into the room

and they had Tarot out

they changed clothes uninhibited

they knew their left sides

  of their bodies

  were feminine

they knew sex was a topic

  open for discussion

they put their legs around their heads

  just casually while talking

and most had crystals 'round their necks

and I knew I was home.

beginnings

I'm impatient to know you.

I want to drink all of your thought things
through my hearing holes, I want the
pores of my fingertips to
absorb the cells of you

... to decipher your skin's lines,
and know their unheard utterings

I'm so impatient to know you -
I forgot we're
short.

I want to say things to you
that I haven't even thought of yet
I want to hear answers
to questions I've not yet dreamt.

stroll

it's nice
to walk
slowly
with you

in the quiet dark
and have our forearms pressed together

and notice strange shadows from the trees
over the path

and notice our shadows' semi-symmetrical shape


and have your head on my sternum and then
my head on your sternum
and then your chin in my hand and
your cheek under my thumb
and your hair straggling everywhere, my hair
knotted in your fingers

it's nice to hover
between new habits and
old ones

it's nice to make friends with the moonlight again
whilst hearing whispers of the day's sun on my skin

"Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive."

- Harold Thurman.