on the bridge

May 26, 2012

ascending the wooden ramp
my wheels spin round and round.
clickety-clack, clack, clack
reverberates
and
purrs
through the metal
frame and into
my bony structure.
the midnight breeze
catches my breath
and
tosses my hair.
on the span, water
silently slips
by, carrying the
shimmering cathedral
lights on its supple back.
i stop to stop time.
scooping up the chilly,
whispering seine,
gathering the spinning,
glimmering tip of the eiffel,
ladling the hovering, fading
expanse of the ile.
encapsulating it
in a snowglobe,
a frozen scene
to be savored,
returned to,
time and time again.
the only way i know
to cross large bodies
of deterrent water.
holding my creation close,
i shake vigorously
and looking westward
roll the ball.

descending as
wheels begin to
turn round and round
and the clickety, clack, clack, clack
returns and reverberates once
again into my bony structure.

Tiny Earthquakes

May 7, 2012

earthquake
comes.
quivers
and rattles.
tiny cracks
appear.
the leakage
begins.
plaster applied
to cracks.
leakage subsides.
life carries on.
earthquake comes
again.
shakes
and thrusts.
tiny cracks re-appear
and multiply.
the leakage resumes.
plaster re-applied
and
life carries on.
earthquake comes
yet again.
tears
and yanks.
tiny cracks re-emerge
multiply and
magnify.
the leakage resumes
dam crumbles
torrents gush.
plaster dumped
in bucketfuls
and
life carries on
yet again
and
again
and
again.

i pray:
this time,
send me an earthquake
that destroys everything
but the foundation and
robs me of every last
bit of plaster.  

please.
destroy.
me.

Once

April 29, 2012

i am taking the final bites
of chicken and licking my fingers when
he walks in. it is his next to last
night on the continent. a chance is
taken and a promise is made
for drinks at the end of my shift.

when midnight arrives, i take a bashful
seat and we sip bottomless glasses
of languedoc and roussillon, washing down
any last traces of shyness that linger.
we slip between french and english and
he teaches me how to express pleasure
in having eaten something beyond delicious:
Je m’en leche les bebines.

later,
we gulp demi upon demi of blonde beer,
sliding further into intoxication-laced conversation,
throwing around the word masturbation and debating
the relative satisfaction of female toys versus
male toys.
There’s really nothing good for boys, he contends.
I’m happy with mine, i declare.
I want to watch you with your toy, he confesses.

we then slip onto the street and smoke
sneaky cigarettes, stealing the stubs
from each other’s lips, sealing our
determination in the wisps of smoke
cradling our humming bodies.

later still, we move along, down
the silent streets lined with chilly 3am air.
walking side by side. stride matching stride.
i shiver and he wraps his jacket around my shoulders.
Would you like to have sex with me tonight, I ask.
he smiles, I don’t know.
It’s just a thought, i offer.
Yes, he looks away and then back at me again.

at our final destination, a chambre de bonne,
he lifts me through the skylight, exploding
our drunken revelry onto the rooftops of Paris.
balancing on a narrow ledge that connects
the apartment to the aluminum sloped roof beyond,
he grabs my hand tightly – i marvel, magical how
the superglue-like connection of two palms
with the sole purpose of preservation can transform
a moment from ordinary to sublime.

with wine glass clutched in my right hand,
picpoul sloshing over the edges,
i follow him to the next level, hand
over hand, clenching tightly the steel rebar
bent handles fashioned as a ladder, up the pure
vertical ascent, leading only the brave, the foolish,
or the drunk at heart to the tip tops of the city, to the miniscule
ledges offering multilayered panoramas of chimneys
and roof lines and the far reaching brilliant glow
of lights well beyond their edges.

adrenaline rushing,
we descend one level below and sit facing
the fabled tower of montparnasse, mostly obscured
by the urban forest; hoarding the glowing butter brilliance
of the waxing crescent moon, magnified by 1000s
in her early morning plunge to the horizon.
falling into an hypnotic trance,
our bodies wane into one another,
breath following breath, like attracting like –
magnetizing legs, then ribs, then shoulders, then arms,
then necks, then foreheads, and finally, a pause.

a breath.

Attends.

and then,
lips, hips, thighs, pelvis, and finally knees pressing into
the slippery slope of the tin tapped roof, fighting
gravity’s pull and moving deeper into pleasure.
a stolen moment, robbed from the lustful dreams
of the sleeping bodies populating the buildings
surrounding our spontaneous dance of inhibition.

and the next morning-
knees with aluminum kissed bruises.

Stuck

April 24, 2012

Saturday night I awoke with the feeling that I could not breathe. Anxiety filled my body like frantic champagne bubbles overflowing their coupe. My breath coming in sections. First, smashed in my belly, then squashed in my chest, squeezed in my throat and finally releasing in small gasps through my gaping mouth. The room closed in around me; the darkness filled with eager beaks pecking at the cracks in my sanity. I closed my eyes, feeling the consolation of the bed beneath me, holding me steady. As reality swarmed, I reached out to grab on but found only vapor slipping between my fingers. The next night I did not wake but dreamt instead I was a small child old enough to walk but young enough to still cradle my mother’s hip. She held me there with her left arm wrapped around my tiny waist as her pelvis tilted diagonally to manage my weight. As things shift in dreams, the roles reversed and I became the mother and my toddler self, my child. Suddenly alone, screams that revealed mortal fear drew me through a door and into a barren room where my child lay with deep blue-black veins bulging from her neck. A disembodied voice calmly observed, “I think she’s choking”. “I know this,” I thought. I know she’s choking; unable to breathe-breath denied her-empty inside-struggling-straining-something stuck-in her throat. I screamed for someone to call 9-1-1. The phone was handed to me and words of explanation torrented forward, uprooting the culprit from my child’s throat. Freed, she breathed once again.

unexpected

April 18, 2012

like the soft, murmuring wind
that suddenly explodes in declaration,
howls in anguish and slams open
the wooden paned-kitchen window,
your gentle, infectious nature threw a sucker
punch; karate chopped my steeled heart:
bloodletting joy and dripping dotted trails
of me behind your trans-atlantic exit tracks.

if only you did…

April 12, 2012

a pair of rubber soles meet
the melting summer asphalt
in a display of unrestrainable energy.
an oppressive heat floats upward, wrapping
itself around tiny legs that refuse
to be held in place; its leaden weight
unable to squelch the joy propelling
the young girl onwards,
towards the sound of her name
carried through trees and over rocks.

she knows. she knows. she knows.

dear friend, grab her hand.
stare into her wild eyes
and refuse to look away.
if you are brave enough,
you will see the walls
you imagine
are not walls at all and
the sound of her name
calling her forth is the
one that sits unspoken
on your lips.

denial

April 7, 2012

On the sheets the refracted winter light is beautiful. Soft, caressing the folds and valleys of the tossed wool blanket. But working, always thinking, worrying, working, the moment is lost on me. My favorite time of day when busy-ness fades into the languid pace of the darkness sucking the light from the sky. When the clip-clop of shoes hurrying at the frantic pace of my mind slows to match the gentle shushing of the evening wind slipping around corners and through the naked branches of the trees. I hate this, I think. I hate what i have to say and hate the company of others who feel quite the opposite. When will my mind and body glide like the soothing night wind? Not as long as there is resistance. Birthing is a painful process that I haven’t quite accepted.

Dream Come True

April 6, 2012

Male
Mid 50’s
Seeks
Female
Mid 30’s:
insecure,
fragile,
vacant.
Must have:
pre-pubescent daughter
with electric smile,
ice blue eyes,
golden locks of hair.
In exchange, will provide
(all you ever wanted)
shelter,
financial security,
illusion of family.

Salvation

April 4, 2012

Trusting
in the
sustentation
of things
(still)
unseen
and not
(yet)
fully felt
is the medicine
I feed myself as
my limbs regenerate
my cells restructure
and my pores begin
the process of breathing
in the radiance of
Truth.

junkie

March 30, 2012

you are like a drug
that i mainlined
into my system;
body
ravaged by
the effects of withdrawal:
teeth clenching 
muscles gripping 
skin trembling 
fingernails digging into
anything that duplicates
the feel of you
pulsing
through me.

famished,
desperate for
another drop of your serum
assaulting my lips
licking my veins
slipping into my body
hijacking my senses.

without my fix
i am forever doomed
to be a junkie, clawing
through the shadows,
grasping deliriously
on hands and knees
through piles of
decaying possibilities
for the vile to numb
the incessant torture
of the ghost of you
haunting my blood.

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