Tag Archives: breath

wind howls a chilled air

wind howls a chilled air on a cloudless sky,
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i see my breath
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november beckons hibernation.
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______________©dld 11.14.12
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Coming of Age

“Psychics can see the color of time, it’s blue.”
that is what I wrote on the wall
while I sat in the kitchen sink,
waiting for the rain to stop.

I was four years old and still fit in that sink on South Street,
nevermind how I knew what a psychic was,
or that I knew how to write…
let’s just say that I knew things.

as childhood unfolded,
I knew other things with such certainty,
others learned to avoid me
as though I was a pandemic plague
and out to get them, put them under my spell,
or eat their brains!

I knew I was Coming of Age,
when I learned I can make things move,
make events happen,
and when I learned that it would benefit me…
I was punished
by Going Mute.

as I was Becoming a Woman,
I knew pink organized in bubbles
only to float away in one’s dreams,
but dreams can be lucid
and be moulded to your heart’s desires.
I Became a Woman.

I knew I was Entering Wisdom,
when I learned music dances to my breath
while the sound of the abandoned wailed angst
in my bones and I could free them
by teaching them Love.

the others,
they cast yellow shades of cowardess,
in the shadows that forever followed them.
they should have learned to Listen…
for, I’ve learned to speak with my pen.

11.16.10 dld
– – – – –
written for the muse is IN

Lucid Dreamscapes

inbetween splicing words and mincemeat images
of yesterday’s storefront mannequin
asphixiated in saran wrap prom dreams
we seem to have intense conversations
……….all the while
……….my leg rides your seated torso

a blink has passed us

dreamscapes are the landscapes we create
to bring the dream in to something familiar, or not
to give the picture, a frame in which to view it in proper
transgression
but it is so hard to stay focused on
……….the scenes change

by the time something is understood,
something else gets repressed

a blink has passed me

sounds reverberate
enhancing his palm brushes – long tender streams of uncontiousness

it was raining
the power had just dimmed the light to memory

the smell of earthworms and dirt
heaving the throat
as if afterbirth blankets regurgitate themselves

the daymare of a clear sky over a georgia o’keefe boulder range
greyed by salvadore’s suspended pocket-watch

like a pendulum

i pose this question: to whom should i praise
……………………………for the comfort found
……………………………in my mind’s thought of his lips?
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you sit cornerbound, curled & comfortably casual,
like a chair
is it a voice that speaks to you
so quietly
so discreetly
you lean down, in
to hear breath breathing?

…..while attentive, beneath your chin…..you repeat what you’re told

unpretentious
unharried
in your transcendental state
sink soothing into yourself
you draw out
……..as inquizative shrinks have a way of doing
you caress
……..inadvertant gestures placed just so
to sense those things that need to be purred
out loud
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this makes me a little uncomfortable

why don’t you look at me?

_____________________________________________© dld 10.03.07