more than halfway out of control

 

when you breathe 

you do so effortlessly

whereas i have to run like i am hunted 

just to sharpen the axe

writing off this shallow sleep

blow by blow

what are we more than 

halfway out of

control

#katyamills

song 1 nov

the song of summer has ended
and we nest inside our city
apartments

these dawns thaw out long
after the sunrise. i cut most
my hair off and dive beneath
the complexities

i can smile waking up again. i
can find myself again
in the winter. i

can see my breath
singing

back 2 back

i had my same old prayers and back to back they matched the breath

sunrise and
sunset

same old prayers and all the bullshit in between we must attend for such

is life
is life
is life

envy of a ghost

Would the soul cry out if it were being hurt, or would it take its licks salty dead silent? I don't know but the operation went smooth (they say) and they removed the organ intact and placed it in the care of a preservation society. I don't feel any different, except that I have no soul. I have found myself out politicking and bloodsucking, which were never part of my M.O. in the past, but seem to fit my personality so perfectly now. I think I may write myself in for president next Tuesday. Such are the ways of a woman - sans soul.  Trying to compensate for the loss, I mean, though again I say I never felt better in my life, and shook hands with several doctors and a nurse. They even allowed me to put my palms up against the glass and peer in upon the many incubating souls in one dedicated room leased out by the chairman of some board, and I tried to locate mine and yes, I believe I found it! calling for me from one far sanitary corner. My breath steamed the glass and condensed. I stiffened up to suddenly realize a part of me was gone, and no small part indeed. But I comfort myself with my hand in my pocket wrapped around the thick fold of bills. I can properly say farewell and shout through the long empty echo chambers of my heart: "IT WAS WORTH IT!" Today I shall go and have myself fitted by my personal shopper, with all the fineries of a twenty-first century lady. By noon I can see myself peering into the floor to ceiling mirror, in the deep fault of re-cognition. An extravagant and spacious feeling, I am sure! But an envy of a ghost.

love story # 05.05.15

we met under a melting key lime sky

we sailed out on a manta ray, with a
handkerchief for a mainsail

we dripped coffee like poison from
a gold cup into ceramics, then drank
the poison with creme

we cried and laughed and laughed
and cried

we met over an ichabod
crane. on lois lane

you sapped my head of thoughts
i filled your mind with flowers

we placed the world under
revision. it took us many hours

then circumstance took you from me
i felt like sudden death

i got your tear-stained letters
and held them to my breath

NESS LESS REST

IF i was nude
without my clothes
wrapped in a blanket
feeling soft and thin
lying on your couch
in an industrial space
where the air is cool
but alive

if you were reading
poetry to me and i
was reading novel excerpts
between

if friends were welcomed
through the lovely living 

space without any of age old 

appropriate hesitations

then the rains would slap
the leaded glass
surreptitiously

then the warmth 

between my legs
under your arms embracing

then the electric wait
before touch is over 

and helpless is real and 

beloved this moment 

of all that there is

then the realized 

infinite tenderness 

so palpable!

the fifth force 

validation so soft! loving! gentle!
so needless of words

then way out there 

with us

in the ness ness 

ness less rest
ness less

be still
my memory revigorate
be kind my love
invigorate
pliable me
pliable you

light finds ways to 

the resting shade

it may be wondrous when it does so 

non-chalant. when shadows flicker around 

these high walls 

candle lit

taper not
sweet memory

carry on bold to the next

 precious life never fail! 

never falter! never leave! 

ever last

be still
be kind. let all past present future lives come 

together here. remarkably

anyone who still dreams
lets go 

of all you ever established
cherished institutionalized
yours

come read your little voice large

 into the clear seche vaulting expanse with us. 

up to the leaded glass high and 

ritual drumming of rain

take off your clothes
wrap yourself in new vetements

 for once you are seen 

you are known 

you are you! you are loved 

explored like these pages

 these words 

these letters inscribed now released

upon breath

to honor the air

this moment 

these words from our bodies our ours!

and forever. unsealed and 

exposed to the element

this is now magick

catch fire and cooled 

by the brick

erotiKa #88

erotiKa #88
 by KatYa

not many miles of land
stand between
us

covered before long
from hong kong
with autonomy

then all unravels
in a strand of dna
plucked up from
the sand

the discovery
brazen
without age
phenomenal

comes the imminent
satiated

whip of six eyes caught
in mad uncovered
surprise

cracking inhibition
falls with silks
off thighs

caught off guard of breath
where imagining
dies

casualty of the cut of muscle
toned reality

and before long..
a great and burgeoning towards
finality

the whites of eyes
the cries