.

woman(ly) things

my heart the typewriter

my mind the ink pen

has come alive again!

(in the feminine sense)

he is taking his time

i wonder if he can ever hear me?

typing out:

my god,how perfect you are

when he speaks:

flowers fall from the sky,they fall perfectly..

forming:

a floral crown,a romantic anointing.

gold on gold

pale on soul.

no matter the weight of our

dialogue

your speech

your mouth

your spirit

your heavy gaze

your full moon eyes

become a discovery

night by night

he

the hidden manuscript

hidden away,heavy,sweet.

we

ghost to ghost

the

rambling ways

of a typewriter brain.

riff raff

will you stop erasing all these dark circles!!
from
beneath my eyelids
will you stop brushin out my hair
and coloring my cheeks with all this rouge
and all this pink
maybe she liked swiiming alone
in that murky water
with mystical creatures dancing with the tips of her feet
and heels
and toes
and bones

and face!




mix it mix it mix it up up upppppp

i kept putting in the pot
all the things
like shoes and ladders and screams and phones
i mixed it up so sweet
all this for you
all these potions for free.



my circles were getting bigger and bigger
maybe they wanted to explode?

i just would sit there in that park
or in that ocean
and listen to the same thing
the same thing
the same thing
the same thing

this never got old.


i could listen to the heart beat
of all those hollow evenings and
symmetrical bow ties and bow trees

indian style
or jumping jacks
as long as there was a movement involved
we could at least
e-volve

into the evlotuion we were set out to take part in


whole.

its not like i have a choice in being born

i hate how people always ask me to have all these answers

last time i checked i dont know everything



last time i checked i reached inside my pockets and just found some coins from my last treck to the czech
and then maybe a necklace that was golden
worth millions of precious things



it dosent even matter
i was so annoyed with your pretention
of parties and french poetry

gross.



if i see those pants one more time
on any man
or any woman

i sweare i will sneeeebeieie


my roots grew out
my eyes grew black
my heart grew big


yep. thats where it is.
there is no more
there is no less
thats where it is.
thats where its at.