blade

a tile floor, your feet don't fall they press, heel tip, nothing in between.
calculated, the sneaking of hidden hushed desires
creep through the empty house
searching for the shoulder to tap and say,
i changed my mind

deliver the caliber within you
this steel, cold cutting, grey
dulled by the rouge bands of years
you have collected like scars

an ounce of effort in a box
held just an arms length too far
i decide despite your confusion
boots on, walking away intent on wishing you a sharper blade


cut through your quiet limitation
silent house in the still meadow by the glassy pond
find the quake

Kali, Tiger

I went to a zoo in Leon, Mexico. The zoos are less concerned with the safety of the visitors than US zoos. This means you can get Really Close to the animals.

I was standing in front of the tigers. The female was pacing. She could hear the men coming round to the cages, buckets full of chicken, pig and other meats.

I was taking pictures and videos of her, my hands down close, inches to her face as she passed the corner. She was breathing growls and spreading her mouth into a pant and snarl fest.

Her power, like heat put me into a trance of submission. Weak with her, she sucked at me with her noise, her calls to her prey.

She walked towards me, lunged. Her mouth, her stripes and fur hands reaching for my face. The cage shook, my mouth opened, she saw me, into me and deeper than just this me. I begged for her teeth around my neck, the break and tear.

She reached through, ripped my insides, killed me and ate my soul, becoming my goddess. Deep blood to paint a picture of my death upon the dirt of her cage. But we are in the jungle and I am her Sambar deer. Kali is free and I am as wild as she.

I was reborn in her hell and strength. Alive I stood again, saying my stupid, "Whoa..." and I will never forget how she ate and I relish my death to her hunger.

Kali loved me the moment she looked and I loved the cracking of my bones and my taste is still on her breath.

A link to a great story of an ending

Steel Peaks

Thrush

I love the word Thrush. It's an unpleasant 'thing' you can catch from going down on someone who has a wicked yeast infection. But the word is fun in my mouth, but not in an antibiotic needing way.

Thrush. Say it. She rushed through the thrush and the thrush rushed through her.

Thrushing through the throngs of thickening brush she crushed the little brush of thrush and finally it hushed, etc.

Thrush, thrush thrush.
say it, pussyface.


P.S. Thrush is also a bird but that's not as fun. Ignore.

Oh
Merry christmas

A continuation of:

My spine cannot withstand the pressure of sovereignty


Amada was shaken by the grip and words Pilar spoke and even though she denied any truth to them every time she relived the sound of Pilar's voice and breath in her face, she saw herself nodding some distant agreement.

Amada Tarrago Casas Castanos Domenech Barreiro Loaeza has her lineage spelled out behind her like a rainbow tail for everyone to pluck at. She is the daughter of Manuel Tarrago the Spanish diplomat to the Corzine kingdom north of the mountains of Sonay. He was known for his abilities to lay peace at the feet of the warring factions in Corzine, his words always soothed the hearts of warriors. In the twenty years of service, he never walked away from a potential battle without having quelled whatever rage was upon them. That is until the day he set foot in Spain, retired with family in tow, Amada only seven years of age.

Sansar of Corzine, a warrior of great proportions, dismayed by the almost constant peace his homeland had known since his youth decided to slay the cause, Manuel Tarrago. Knowing Manuel was embarking on his journey home, Sansar started out before him to Madrid. Sansar knew the kill would be more profound and powerful of a trophy in the homeland of the enemy.

He laid in wait at the curve in the path to the Tarrago estate. And with luck, as the family arrived, Manuel was in the rear. Sansar let the child and woman pass and as Manuel sang the last verse of the rhyme Amada always asked for, Sansar pressed his saber into the quick of Manuel's heart and felt the pulse through the saber's metal cease and the brightness in Manuel's eyes drifted out of his body and floated amidst his wife and child, disappearing into the heart of Amada.

But Sansar never looked back long enough to see the essence enter the child who wailed over her father's body. And this was a deep and stupid mistake, as all true warriors always wait and watch for the traveling essence's entrance into another and slay the budding, more powerful enemy.

Amada crumbled into the pool of blood of her beloved father and raged to the gods and saints who heard nothing because they didn't exist. She wished and begged to have one more day with him. She was already looking into the past and seeing her mistakes and missed oppurtunities to be with him. Within seconds she was teaching herself how to kill herself with blame.

Just that morning he had set her on his knee and cooed, "Look out into the mist, this is where the joys of your life exist. Bring forth your inner fire to collect all that you desire and think of me as you find the key to your soul's love, not captivity. Little precious, buzzing bee, oh do be free, and dance with prosperity, the kind that contains, happy, love and only a splash melancholy."

Amada was not one to listen to her father's deep and passionate words, she twisted and turned in his lap and pulled his mustache out of frustration. Pushing away, she ran into the field where her dog leapt high like a deer as he hunted the furry animals that scurried there.

Amada's actions, even though, made by a sweet, impatient child stayed with her forever. She believed if she had listened and held him close as he spoke to her, time would have changed, a different path would have been taken and her father would still be alive. This became a marker in which she pierced her soul, a scar she would covet and mourn all her life.

blocked and dusty

Celestial standings in waiting lines of star dust
gritty with irritation, a little heart-felt swinger flew
into the rings of a saturn like sky
hitting some invisible ozone
bursting like fireworks
he gave us something to oooh and ahh for

Jostle me from my writer's block
give me reason to not jump this planet
and find me some different air to breath
I am a wandering piece of energy
changing degrees and patterns
fluctuations bursting through seams

A word sits, bright on my desk
like a little star it shimmers
I reach for it and place it here with the rest
and it wiggles into another meaning
wiping my sentences confused

The little image making time in this cluster of words that chafe to scatter
is you and I covered in the dust of a star we rolled in
intent on a different kind of satisfaction
our fronts our fingers
our backs our hair
we rolled there sweaty and wet
we laughed because we didn't need air

Scuff my boots on the rocks of planets that light up like crackling logs
in a universe telescopes haven't yet created
I will always be here, there
grey dust boots and hands in pockets
searching for those wiggling words that jumped and hid.

Escape, chapter two

I slid out from my safe haven, reluctant to go back to my table. I was actually thinking of a way I could get to the exit, out on the street and in a cab to anywhere but here. But I walked the path through the other diners wondering why in times like this we project that everyone else is free, happy and having the best time of their lives.

I tried to make eye contact with Tonya, give a 'let's go' signal. She looked up while talking to Sam as I approached. I pumped my eye brows up and down and jutted my chin towards the door, "let's get the fuck out." I thought she was getting it but I realized her gaze towards me was vague and she was lost in her conversation.

The act of reentering a scene of a crime knowing you are about to commit the murder before it happens is excruciating. I pictured Sam and Dave with concern and dismay in their clucks and hugs as they open the door to a distraught Tonya tomorrow. She would be crying and looking smaller than normal, they would sit and wonder why I would break from her like I did, what could have occurred in my thinking since nothing seemed wrong. They would guess an affair, then come to the conclusion it's just some troubled writers need to be alone and brooding, that it's our nature in order to create. More consoling, choosing sides, (Tonya's), making the spare bed so she could stay close to friends who loved her, etc.

I didn't much care at the moment. What I needed more than anything was to get the hell out of here and away from the glances of the woman who just toppled my life. Without realizing I picked up my fork and made an aggressive jabbing motion at her that luckily no one caught but her. Her eyes widened and she looked as if she were staring at a rabid squirrel.

I'm loosing my shit and I need to get up from this table. Dry mouthed, I lurched towards my glass of water knocking it over. Simultaneously everyone scooted their chairs back and lifted their arms like they were on a roller-coaster ride, all exclaiming, "ooohh!" I flushed and stammered an apology, collecting all the available napkins, uselessly dabbing and rerouting the water away from laps. The server came with a towel and I grabbed up my coat, scarf and hat, "So sorry, listen I'm not well, I mean I don't feel well. I'm gonna end this, or rather say good night and go away, home and leave here...yeah, I'm just gonna head on home, away, to the apartment. Tonya I'll see you later. No no, stay. I had a great time." Quick pats and shoulder squeezes, quizzical looks and then I was free.