Poetica Spontenaium Posts

There is a longing to drown.

To be soaked and submerged
To lose breath and gasp
In a kiss so grand
And a love so much greater
Than warm summer storms
Thick with light captured in flight
from planets, moons and stars
As it falls down upon my face.

In this love
that will overflow teacups
And shatter through walls
Power bright cities
and roar in such ways
that black sand beaches
are forever marked by it

Mountains become sand
and become concrete
and become castles
and become home
and become dust
and become gardens again.
You always did love walking on wet grass
And that smell was forever on your neck.

To be loved, such as this
To know power and freedom
Release, and relenting
Revolution and change
To know God
In one’s lungs
So that every breath chokes
And every word is wet
With a whisper of wonder
and wild

To be loved such as this
To yearn quietly for that little death
That is more than just sex
But in bones and in flesh
In sinew and in soul
In lashes against lips
And in poetry spoken into the palm of your hand.

And with that breath, I would live
Be renewed every moment
Become steam and rise
To rain down on you gain.
To water that garden
That you and I have become.

And it’s ok
I tell myself this
when it’s dark and I can see myself
And it’s just a moon
Half empty for wishing
it was somewhere else
maybe closer to you.
And when it’s just the wind racing through the trees
I hear instead of your breathing next to me

I tell myself, just a little longer
and I’ll be my whole self again

I tell myself, it’s just a little longer
I’ll be shining bright on my own and then

Will you see me rise
up over the horizon when you’re home alone
And you think about all the things I meant
to say but didn’t have the courage then
but you know,
yes you know and maybe
yeah you know
that we could have maybe
yes you know
and you think too, yourself

I can wait just a little longer
I’ll be whole self soon again

If I had tried just a little harder
I’d be my whole self with you again

Maybe, some time is all that it really took
Maybe, it was something else written in the book of
someone else’s story that i scrawled my name
where it wasn’t meant to be
but you always knew better than I do

I just can’t wait any longer
To be my whole self, yes again

I need you hear baby mroe than ever
With you my heart’s all full and then

with every moon rise I’ll see
Your love shining sweet for me to see
Your sweet smile, right there right side me…

I feel alive
Scintillating with good wine and talk of sex
A brand new dress and plumeria on my skin

Like all things new and and pulsing
Are within my fingertips
In my breath
and under my skin

This is the beginning, I know.
Of a long lost and unmarked road
My laces are new and tight.
Fresh sneakers, shiny, white.
And that unconscious bite on your lip
once you’ve heard that gun pop go

And it’s like all new things
first kisses and soft cadences
of new songs with purple rhythms
plump and full like concord grapes
that surprise you with a soft pop
as you lick them down your throat

Like that morning Sunday after the first,
when Marvin Gaye sets the first tone
of your day with awwwww right and gooooooood loving
singing to your spine and skin with love for
honey warm on peaches while wearing egyptian cotton

And you got pillows on your mind
and your mind sinking quick into pillows
followed by bessos on your dimples
and firm hands upon your thighs
and your breath catches with a sigh
the kiss leftover from the night before,
still tangled in your hair

Oh, caught there, like your dreams
that you had before this together
of things you feared to want
but scrawled haphazardly on your belly at night
with fingers sleep drunk wth future memories

it was always this, you knew, this now
this new, this how
and it is
as you always wanted
and i am.

Oh perfect morning
When the sun pays gentle homage
to the slope and sweetness
of eyelids soft and tight
still captured in liquid dream
I’ll watch you breathe
In the subtle clover honey of my sighs
I’ll float in oceans of crumpled sheets
And sink into the curve
made for me by your body
And there I rest and find home
In the heartbeat beneath my ear
Knowing by your sleep kissed grin
In your dreams, I am there.

I didn’t know what I was looking for
I wasn’t surprised being lost again.

Looking up at a near starless night
Seeking true north and maybe something else

That must have been it then,
that must have been why

I tripped, tumbled, fell on knees
determined to make me pray

With gravel ground into my skin
And palms forced from being fists to fight the fall

Even when I can’t find myself
All roads would still lead me to you.

Sifting through old memories
is like embracing a dirty bomb
as you cling tight and are torn
by velocity and violence
made from scraps in the basement
the damp spaces of your skull
where mushrooms grow
and other things that feed on the dead

I think to myself how it’s come to be
this time and space
this other ness
this beyond strangers
chill between us

I delight that it’s like this and not other.
Because I’ve been in that other place,
and that other place SUCKED.
That other place was confused and wished lies could be truth
That potential could be future
That past could be a bad dream
that grey could be pink
and that you just might think
that what fucked up things were between us
might actually have been your fault more than mine
So that I could sleep well again at night.
Like I used to before we met.

Oh but, that’s all past shit, let me tell you.
Let me tell you what’s up now, sugah.

Let me tell you what’s real.
You?
You ain’t it.

Oh my eyes,
spit
on
by ‘
Jesus,
could not be clearer on this.

So I ask for something more.
Redemption is it?
No.
Forgiveness is it?
No.
Grace and peace?
No.
Well maybe, a little bit of it if I knew that you
were really a human after all
and not something to torture me and tear me up
Like I was a shaft of wheat blowing in the breeze
waiting to be torn up and plowed by you.

It’s come to that point, you know.
Where truth is like sifting for diamonds
In a dirty alley full of broken glass
And regardless if the shiney
is precious or shit
It still makes you bleed from sunday to sunday.
The following monday
I say stop.

And fuck if…
Well, it does.
Easy as all that, who’d think that was right.
To flip a switch of your opnion like someone else’s corrupt alliance
on some fucked nbc reality bullshit.

And was it worth anything?
Oh no.
Not at all. Just…
Just.
yeah.
Just.
yeah.

…

Just.

Like that.

Poof.

Delight.

A swoony flutter in the belly.

A taste of someone new on my lips.

An openness to new delights.

Pardon me as I skip off onto something … very… very… cool.

This was scratched
along the border of wrinkled envelopes
Torn open and discarded,
addressed to other people.

At one point this was important
This shell, pristine and white
That carried sentiments over distance and time
like underground mixtapes of sulky crooners
passed from hand to hand

Clumsy words and sentiments
tripping and leaving a trail of hopes
inside the seal and lip of paper.
And now, it’s torn open and crumpled wide
like an overbloomed dahlia
Near forgotten, weary and defeated,
from years of fighting one’s own shadow

Lying quietly, in defeat
A torn edge shaped like a key
that tumbles barrels solemn in the lock
Finally clicking free, signalling that you’re home.
But with no one to greet you.

Smudged against the inside
I see these words

“If you thought I was paralized, you did not know how my belly trembled at a frequency that would otherwise shatter us both.”

And I think I see lipstick
As if the person who sent the letter
had clumsily packed a kiss inside
with both regret and intent.

It was overdue, she decided.
So without word to anyone, she packed up an apple, two bags of potato chips, and a bottle of water and tossed it into her cargo bag. Her heart quickened. She closed her eyes to breathe and focus for a moment. To delay was not an option, as she’d been too kindred with enertia, and now there was no margin for hesitancy.

Racing down the stairs of her apartment, her keys jingled gently in her hand and against her thigh. She walked out the door, closed the gate behind her, and whirled off towards her car.

Her eyes dartied between traffic and the car clock as she quickly calculated the time it would take. 20 minutes to the airport. 45 minutes to boarding. 6 hours until she could deplane. And then another two before the storm.

Yes, a quick calculation told her that she’d be there in time. And she had enough rage and sorrow between the NIN and Tracy Chapman on her Ipod to take her through.

She was ready.

Since the last time, she had changed. She didn’t notice it at first, though now her knuckles and shoulders cracked without warning and her hair had started flirting with silver. Looking at herself this morning, stunned at the mirror, she wondered when it had happened. This listlessness. Mediocrity. Dispirited languor and stupor.

As she drove towards the airport and checked in, visual sequences and splendor and conversation memories from her past looped over and over again, gradually distilling themselves from a diaphenous haze into startling crystaline clarity.

Yes, it was then.
That small moment when she…

And then it was gone. And that was good. Very good.

Her heart quickened again, and then became calm.

Time raced for her.

Her calculations were impecable and she was home precisely two hours before the clouds converged in a somber congress.

As the atmosphere grew heavy and thick, taut with power like fingers in a hand closing down to a fist, she stepped outside from the porch she had known in childhood.

Eyes closed and head held with chin to chest, her breath came to a slow, deliberate exhale as thunder rumbled out in readiness.

Electricity sparked blue from her finger tips.