Landing Awake on the Island of You

Woke this morning

wrapped up in you.

Can't remember ever feeling so much of me

as I did in that moment

when all of me

was still tangled up

in all of you.

I can smile with each step,

if I know my dreams will find you again tonight.

I can smile with each step,

if each step I take is in your direction.

I can smile with each step,

if I feel us both decreasing the amount of space between us.

If those things are true,

then I am smiling.

If those are not,

I'm smiling still.

We made a magnet out of purple sky

& you said hold on if I should cry.

But sky is high

& I'm so small,

I wailed to you in fear.

Hush sweet child & close your eyes.

This purple magnet's strong.

Swallow a bit & so will I & for always we will be charged.

No space is between us that will make me not feel you.

This magnet is oh so strong.

My eyes did not seek you - not one time today - my feet did not follow your sound.

I woke up just now - feeling like me - tangled up, twisted up, filled up with you.

Thank you for dreaming for me.

Insomniyacker

Everything is mine. I am queen. There is no other queen than me. Just spin me that tale, or, you can try this:

Pen and paper, make love for me. Fuck in my face, so I can keep my ass still.

I'm still awake and my boredom's a voyeur. Be my friend and rock me to sleep.

I need nothing except to be fed.

Ah, come here,

sweet, sticky, baby.

Come eat this sugar plum pie.

Ah, thank you, my friend,

mi tejas,

amie,

mi amiga,

my land and my home.

Thank you for feeding me all that I need.

I'm a slave to this oral fixation.

Ah, that's a sweet friend,

come get what you need.

Just once with me's all you need.

You killed the cat, but, friend,

this jungle makes me king.

Tom Petty was right -

it's gooder than good to be king.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Make me stay still.

Just hum and buzz with me through marmelade clouds.

I'm already purring.

I won't let you leave, love.

I'll hold you down.

Come here, sweet, friend,

I know your favorite game.

Go ahead.

Grin that sex face back into this chair.

Grab your best friend and

be's yo'self still!

Your king knows your mind's dance.

Nine lives for each cat.

Their frenzied stupor of grandeur's illusion -

just the thought of CAT,

and you want to sneeze!

It's not what you're in, dove,

it's only what your OF.

Just be's yo'self still, girl,

and feed some of your OF

to this man.

God.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Seep into my always too hot blood.

Please chill my veins and soften my zeal.

Please, friend, I need to be home.

Let's play my best fantasy out in the sky.

Please, friend, dance with your friend and let your love soak in my face.

They think they are one.

Muggles, she called them.

To me, they're nothing but human.

They -

those human-muggle-drone-herd-copy-of-a-bootleg-copy ...

Ah!

I've got it!

Let's call them earthlings.

Yes, earthlings ... 'cause ... 'cause ...

well, because, damn it, I'm human too!

We're all human - only dialects vary, but one division I abhore is the division of OF.

Earthlings: HUMAN - of ... ? - OF earth.

They don't remember. Parts of them recall parts of them feeling parts of earth. They don't remember.

Because they are not one.

There are humans who did not understand when the universe vibrated for them. There are humans who do not remember thoughts before words or colors before alphabets.

No one knows better than a friend how lonely that makes me. You are my friend. No one knows better than you ... how hot I get. How fucking itchy and goddamn fucking bored, bored, bored.

Daddy. Baby. Ivy. Blue Sky. Friend.

Sunlight, buttercup, tejas, bluebonnet, yellow

rose from the dead on the third day, but to celebrate birth -

the breath and the blood and the sexual magic of birth -

is a foreign concept

... to these ... earthbound maggots ...

Shhhh...

Hush, sweetness, hush...

See, friend?

See, the anger you're soothing in me?

Don't go away, friend.

I'll be your best drug. Let me addict you to me.

I need you to be as greedy as me - as needy as a mouth unfull of its wantings. My brain is so itchy. Please scratch it for me. Please sweetdreamfuck me to sleep.

Lie in this hammock, dove,

sip lemonade.

Lie back, love,

I'll sing you to sleep.

You don't have to sing, friend.

Just sit back and breathe.

Make your eyes soft and round so lover knows you only see ...

Tree, may all the weight of your ancient root press my face in the field - choke me with soil, grind grit in my teeth, rape my throat with your fist if I e'er suck one breath of stagnant, earthbound air.

Oxygen's sweet, but it's not what I need. I need to breathe the moons breath while I sleep. I need to feel breeze - I can only breathe what is still going, I can't become one with what's dead.

I remember a time when the songs between stars throbbed with the dark gurgle of untouched orgasm.

I remember home and having it all. I feel most hours of most days that I'm so bored with Earth I may just chew off my own feet rather than allow the stagnant, dank rot of earthling sleepwalk to seep into my skin and rape me into submission to take root ...

Zzzz...

Make me Stay

Pen, my friend, mi tejas, amie, amiga, mi casa, my temple, my home.

Paper, from tree, from land, from prairie, you came before me and have seen many leagues and legions and tribes and flowers and bees, and you let them all be.

Make love one time to my pen so I can learn to be.

Sit here with me, fragment of glory, and teach me to be still like you. We're both prairie league - you're earth and I'm sky - you're fire and I'm smoke - you're flower and I'm wild.

Sit here with me and teach me to be. Play with me. Talk to me. Listen and answer. Help me keep all of my still.

My mind needs to go back home for a while, so the rest of me can stay where it lives.

My boredom's a voyeur, so spin a sweet sight for these world-weary eyes. Pour me a lemonade chill. Beckon the breeze to blow on my back, just like she did through your leaves.

Bring me your om, your zen, and your peace. Don't make me be human alone.

Make love to my friend, this pen in my hand, and prove to me what is.

What is, what is. I am that I am. What will be will be if I let it; what will be will be if I don't.

Dear paper, dear old, diluted, forgotten life, your life has been scattered. Not shattered, but spread very thin. I hate this ugly skin and this cage called time. I don't need to leave anymore, though, to go back home.

Teacher's too educated. Father's too old. Mother's 'fraid to use it, lest her truth spills out different than what she's told.

Beauty's too little to keep my eyes happy. Time is too simple to keep. Where I'm from I am queen, and experiences don't drip out of rusty, forgotten faucets, but spring out of green mountains like the coolest, wettest waterfall, and kings and queens spend all day in the spray.

Time is an infection; we pity its prey, but, where I'm from, time's never invited. No one builds hospitals and no one sells hope. Enemies are born and then promptly forgotten.

Where I'm from, there's no space between.

Everything is one.

It is. It is if I want it to be. It is if I don't.

An illusion is not what you thought. No matter what you thought, it is not.

When I am home, I never come here. When I am here, I see those frantic for an exit. Not me. I'm not impatient. I'm home.

But, today, I'm a bit weary. Air stinks of scattered, shattered oneness wasted on humans too dull to be complete.

So, pen...So, paper...please make love for me and let me watch what you make. Let it throb and squirm through my head.

Bathe me in enough hot buttered soul to drown the stench of human drone. Be my friend tonight, 'cause, friend, it's been too long.

I don't wanna run, but I need to be home.

Lie here with me, friend, in this honeysucklemoonbeamride. Let's lie here and talk so I'll stay. Lie here, feed dreams to me; I will roll over; my hair needs a braid.

Pen, dance on tree's paper, and show me the way. The truth is the light! Friend, grab me. Make me slow down. I don't wanna leave; God, I need home, but deep down, I know I'd rather be here than be me.

Dear ... Dear ...

Dear Pen, Dear Paper,

Dear Friend & Friend's Lover,

Please be my friend all this day.

This day, I'm weary. I'm in a long space in between waking and sleep. Please spin for me now, a logical fancy to quiet my whimsy and boredom.

No one entertains me today, and I don't want to start looking for an exit.

I've learned to be still, and I'm learning to crave it, but there are days when all of the promised land I remember is just the faint smell of milk and honey.

This day, I'm weary, and I refuse to wander.

So, Pen, So, Paper,

Seduce my whimsy - my boredom's a voyeur, so draw up a beautiful lie.

My dreamers are resting right here in this room. We're all ready to play. Let's build a bonfire and draw lines between stars in the dust to explain why we're wickedly free.

We're all lying back and ready to watch you dance.

Pen Pal

Pen, will you be my friend? Paper, will you be pen's lover and let me watch? You be actors and I'll set the stage. I'll start the spin. You keep it spinning.

See, pen, see, paper, I live in a place I don't belong, and I've been looking for a friend to remind me of home. Home is sweet. Home is far. No one here can imagine colors they've never seen. I miss knowing those who do.

I looked for windows. I waited for doors. But, why? I don't want to search for my exit anymore. I stopped. I'm no longer perpetually leaving. My dreams are proof.

I don't run through forests with black, scratching branches clawing my skin and raping my hair. Not anymore. I don't have to spend my sleep hovering and watching and guarding the weak. Not anymore.

My dreams are dessert, now, every night that I sleep. Now, when I sleep, my dreamers go home. I don't seek an exit anymore; now, I just look for those who remember it too. Meet me here. Meet me there. We'll do this thing or that.

Whatever it takes to melt into that place where we both see colors before names. Whatever it takes to stay in that place where the light is before the sun. (He told you there's nothing new under it!)

La Mac

I can't help but notice, Sir, ... and please allow me to channel for you the attention span of a voyeur at dusk before curtains and lights out so that your mind may content itself to gnaw on this question with me.

I can't help but notice, Sir, whenever you sit down for a while, a hungry buzzing swarm of minds shows up to leech your light.

Sir, who gathers the information that directs the swarm?

What swarmling is advanced enough to befriend an earthling, and how long is the chain of earthlings from the one at the bottom who reported your existence to the top of the swarmlings to the tip, tippy-top of the earthling chain all the way up to you?

Madam Fey

My muse eats truth and can't breathe until she is eating.

She seduces masterpieces through me so she can live. She seduces masterpieces through me so I can live.

Living addicted to she who is addicted to me is the most constant and clean energy I have ever seen.

My muse demands I sweetlullabbyedreamfuck her eyelashes to land on her cheeks. She demands I butterflywhisperwindrape her dreams to force feed her brain the hot, throbbing surge of truth before speech.

I love my muse, and my muse loves me. Our circle is full of that day one light - that light He brought before sun. We draw what we want. We map songs between stars in the sand. It's those songs that we eat. We eat.

Only in Context

My mind's a shaking, gnawing fiend
for the vibration of your soul in my shadow.

The air between our cheekbones coagulates into
begging, desperate space to be filled.

Crash that sweating, steaming face against the windshield of your stage.

You stay right there.
Queen needs a King on his throne.

You stay right there.
A lion is a cat. Jungle makes him king.

You sing what I need, and
I'll help you sing.

An old man's void,
a shaman's trance,
her gold is shaking wet.

You stay right there.
Plant my roots.
I'll feed you all we need.

The Last Straw

I am content

to be

nothing

more than a

golden strand of straw,

and when all the straws get in line,

please allow me the pleasure of letting you go first.

With sincerity,

I request you let me be last.

I don't have to be the best,

just let me be last.

Appleishousness

apples are good
with peanut butter
the creamy kind
apples are good
with colby & jack
the marbled kind
my mind is good
with apples and
you
you make my mind
apple-ish
deliciousness is delectably apply good
today i taste
apple-ish-ous-ness
and it is good
the creamy kind
the thick, hard-to-swallow-without-milk kind
the stick-in-your-throat-and-thicken-your-tongue kind
the shut-up kind of snackety, yackety-yack-stopping
mind stilling good
appleishousness
douglas firs
tea for two
and v for t
and tv too
but not for me
i like my
bit o'honey bee
money tree
gold dust rush
kinda life
that spillin over into yours kinda life that i lead
wanna go
wanna go
wanna go
with me
bees wings can't carry bees
i can't be in your mind
but they do
and i am
so are you
appleishousness
apples are good
you are too