mep excerpts

winter now has rocked us to sleep.
comfortable in boots,
beers on the balcony are neither behind us nor coming.
once a harsh trap, a cave;
winter now embraces me.

unable to frighten me now, i'll pay those bills
my lover's eyes see what i cannot
in the winter, we have time for more
yet we slouch, we couch,
and the the coffee but warms our souls.

seeing permitted only by fate- some we love, some we hate.

touching expected only by some- once we have, then there's none.

believing in something only when real- care for the truth, and what we can feel.

i have become conservative:
I have become netarati.

i don't like to hear about endings.
i won't say goodbye, not now.
take me there, where you are going
his beautiful words music, his strength sublime.
my spirit will live on, my love will shine.
wrapped up in my sausage casing,
i am wallowing.
inspired by inspiration, determined in my determination,
i want to wrap both of you in this pinkness,
cocooned in lovely layers of silk
always to be there

so i grab the pot, kick the little stool, and wonder which cream is less sour. there's a butt on the eggplant cookbook. pour the dark java over the spoon and the sugar in the mug i now associate with this place, and we're all set. some rubbish comes from the radio-the cutting board precariously balanced on the back of a ceramic dish, what a weird dream i had. hiking and biking. biking in the rain and hiking with a family i used to know. then, golf clubs- hundreds of them, to put away into their rack. one by one, out of one rack and into another for the next people to use. but i don't golf. i think i was traumatized from watching Eaton's commercials with the mute button firmly pressed. especially the part where he can't pick up the bag, it's stuck to the table. i wonder if they preview commercials with no sound, they must. why didn't they advertise before?

photos three
accompany me;
a dog a mess a crumpled dress
a tepid breeze and bruised behind,
i heave i sigh
a lonely mind.

nothing good and nothing bad
a bunch of happy, bit of sad.
words that bind yet leave no trail
and dust
that's scattered
in my veil.

gas in my gut and air in my brain
i struggle to cope with something in vain
the words seldom near
a yawn not a tear
and an uncomfortable chair; I’m in pain.
midst i stare at the floor
midst the rubble i see
eight objects, are footwear
belonging to me…
i shake and i squirm
I burst at the seams;
the remnants of living;
the leftover genes
they ask who i am
they knock at life’s door
they play with my essence
and scratch at the floor…

my essence

settles the dust which i carry around in my brain
like webs in the shadows and sand at the drain
clouds up in a storm when days are to fear;
and settles, like crystal, when vision is clear.
i look vaguely there
for the cobwebs to clear
i search for a word,
for a smile, or a tear;
the music still rocks
from the bubblegumbox
and i still can’t compete
with the shoes at my feet.

at my feet.


i must believe in God... i pray.

lay me over your eyes with a vision of who you think i am
press closer to something you cannot define;
compare and construct whatever you like
but remember as i do, nothing’s divine.

The basket of essence they seem to become
going in this one
fearing none;
having properties attached
which no one can see
and always just fleeting
as you are to me.

once the washing is done and the remnants are dry
the pity is taken and guilt is divided
the lives are corralled for the masses to meet
and the lonely of lonely, lay, at your feet.

"Hold me
that i shall not fly
Brace me
that i shall not wander
Capture me
that i am yours."

very copyright LMP


blue threads

i begin with love and attach it to everything;
she has constructed her love using everything.