glass mirage

Oasis.. mirage of complacency.
Lipstick stains on glass skin memory.
Meandering reluctantly down a sturdy path
- practical -
it makes sense.

It screams in contradiction to every glistening breath of me.
Limping, strong. Deep breaths trying to calm the questions.
I feel the silk bandages snaking up my body, cocooning me.
Wrapped tight and blistering.
Safe?
Smart. Healing. Hurting.
Fresh air seems so much gentler, so much sweeter..
if only the blood of my love wouldn’t spill so generously.
My eyes are everywhere at once. Liquid globes of questing need.
Downcast.
thoughtful.
Hurt.
Cocooning me.. loyal.
What am I seeing?
Oasis
… mirage…
glass skin memory.
This glass skin memory.

retinal flare

Something profound whispers at the edge of my vision. Like a retinal flare it teases and jumps away, elusive distress. Pardon my
incoherency as I haven't slept. And artistic need now blares it's trumpet tenure. Astringent debt pulls my bohemian soul to it's climax. I obediently march to it's call. Artistic? Lunatic? Blessed with impressed words to share in my rapture. I know you must think me crazy. It's okay, I am. My goofy smile plays out the script I don't know who wrote for me. And still I scheme to catch a look, a glimpse even, of the answer flickesring at the edge of my sight. Look deeper, I say.
But
we all know full well: I have no idea what I'm doing. Still it's one step ahead of me. Ethereal epiphany. Sand through begging fingers. So I giggle, and smile, and wait for the next act. The story is written by a sleepless hand.

04.23.2010, 6am

dance

Testing the waters of my reflection: dreams pass unbidden through my stormy resolve, as I patiently, impatiently, wretchedly, crave absolution. I’m living bright and burning strong. Lit wild in the might of this intensity and my heart still glimmers musically, desiring more thoughts, more dreams, more realities. I’m not sure exactly what I’m looking for. Life. I know that. I know I want to love. Unabashedly, gloriously and relentless. The percussionist sets a beat, and I am dancing - licking my lips and twirling, breathing, and the pulse is in deep; my bones. My marrow aches for the art in this. I’m gripping and grasping at the animal knowledge of a real future. Ghostly memories and novel desires are my dance partners. And I am laughing. Brilliantly. Drugged. Obsessed. Living. This is life at it’s purest. I am Luamerava. Iniquitous passion is igniting, brightening, fueling this desire to dip deeper into the horizon - limitless, circular, infinatous – possibility.

09.21.10

photo by Kristina Shelden

natural born addict

What can an addict do when her addiction lies prone before her, begging to be swallowed. Tell me how to quell the lust for my obsession. Tell me the secret to the simplest, sweetest word: No. Admission is what governs my desires and 6 feet below couldn't hold down my phallic greed. I am titanic and yet weaker than even the simplest desire. It's unearthly beauty in my mind and I am spellbound by its traction in reality. I place the cuffs on myself and with a glint in my eye I show you the key over there on the history books. Funny - and with a hit of desire I am happy - You ignored it too. I suddenly forgive myself the hangover. I am a natural born addict. Yes. A natural fool. Yes. Lips parted. Yes.

08.10

late night poetry sesh

can't sleep tonight

hold me with your breath
guide me with your
.heart.
taste freedom in the eves of this

resolution
revolution
substitution.

the cherry blossoms always fall in may
they are beautiful,
in your watered

reflection.

the beginning of her thoughts

I've decided to start up a blog. It's incredible how long it's taken me to do so considering my unrestrained need to emote, to write my emotions and share them blindly. I think I like the exhibition of it. The nakedness of allowing others to see deep, and think, about me.

So this is the beginning of my thoughts... and the stretch of time beneath my soul.