stolen from Heather
funny how things
rise to the surface over
time,
to be skimmed from the top
of my consciousness,
then saved in a glass bottle
to be examined later or
discarded
like so much
post-consumer waste or
organic matter.
decaying whether
in bottle
landfill or
worm-bin.
i suppose another option is to
see what is arising on the surface of my mind
and allow it
to float
or sink
as it will,
to be used or not as
S/He wills.
at the surface today:
...how my clothes prepare me to face the day
ready for battle
ready to dance
ready
for whatever i intuit.
sheer blouse/black bra
layers and lace
or
industrial fake leather
duct taped
boots
and militant fuck off
layers.
whimsy
or anarchy
soft or
hard as nails found in an alley & saved
for future hammering
pounding and
piercng
but really both
at the same
time...
...how intellectual
compatibility
is no indicator of
erotic
potential...
...how silly i was to think
i was through with
romance...
...how miles & geography have
nothing
to do with closeness...
...how numbers love telling
stories...
...how chivalry is not really
dead;
it is just being reborn
with breasts...
...how procrastination is perhaps the true
mother
of invention...
...how different and beautiful and crazy and sexy and fun and wounded
we are...
1 comment:
thank you...pirate mama!
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