lost in books

When I was a little kid and the youngest of my family, I remember there was a lot of safety in intimacy I mean touch, there was a lot of playful gripping and holding and caressing and embracing, playful fighting and running and pushing and pulling, between kids and kids and adults and kids and friends and cousins and kids and family, there was a lot of charging and edging and rolling and rough handling of me, picking me up and tossing me in the air, or letting me get on your back or sit up on top of your shoulders when I was young enough to be light enough to be carried that way to be held that way to be safe that way and those days were so wonderful they could not last long enough. There was even a sad time somewhere when I could not reach out to you - nor you me - and I knew not what to do with myself, only get lost in my books.

touch

These days
these nights

these scars
which map
the skin

these highways
these hairstyles
these thoughts
all lead to dead
ends

the tax dollars
we spend to connect and
reconnect us

overpasses
underpasses
mobile phones

your family
your clothes
your hair your age has
changed

these trees
rooted in the yard

the paint
once fresh
chips off
into the grass

the asphalt cracks
like laughter

the anger
like lightning
the tears

there is no wind
there is no rain
no thunder nor
darkness

can dilute
this lonely
feeling

but when
 i hold
your hand...

Journal #05.07.15

Touch became a rare and valuable find in a market consisting mostly of audio-visual sensation. A new trend took place, whereby bodies were lying on the ground. Many people left the city for an hour or a lifetime, in order to find a field to borrow or to buy, in order to be able to finish breakfast and coffee and online communications, and head out of the house, off the bottom step, past where the pavement ends, into the center of said field, and dropping oneself first on to one's knees, then back on to one's back or forward even on to one's belly, with or without clothing, to feel the touch of the earth and all the organic matter therein and thereunder. Sun bathing was another form of intimate reception, but no longer viable due to melanomas. Human touch was another form of intimacy, but quite unlikely due to unfavorable market conditions, legalities and general phobic disinclinations. This sorta experience was almost miraculous in the year 2059. Metrosexuals would stop and circle and glom in an insatiable crowd. Certainly not within reasonable expectations. Anyone who cried out about lacking this sorta intimacy, would be ridiculed for sure. Like walking down the street expecting someone to hand you cash money without asking. They would wonder aloud what planet are you from? To which you might respond, Earth, circa 1973? After which, disheartened and alone, you slagged on back to your field of glory, removed your polyurethane skin, and dove headlong into the irrigated mud, hoping to drown. Good news. The exfoliating powers could be exponential.

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