weather pattern #2

inspiration arrives 

with hurricane 

beleaguered by insecurity 

churning morning 

moods

#katyamills

dead air

I cannot stand
dead air

I like circulation

I like having my voice
and using it

cities

all the forms brought all
their shadows upon the parks
and fountains

the forms themselves rarely
crossed the line unless
toppled

sometimes
weather systems forced them
to huddle together and
blend

they did so
reluctantly

for the shadows of the forms
made new cities

so heavy
were they

the homeless
lived there
on a currency of wine
and blankets

in the forms shadows
made

pressured by fronts and driven to tears

we are not so unlike clouds in the sky, are we, puffy and bleached turning gray, you can see through us and other times opaque we hide our secrets inside us, coming for us and striking through they do, yet still we remain intrinsically unscarred or untouched, reflecting it all sea to sea and the earth, where we travel we leave the residue our prints passing silently along, forensics loves a cloud, made of water and vapor we are and capable of many forms, evocative of endless feelingstates, containing our own electromagnetic storms we are carried by winds and made by trial and fire, under certain conditions we scatter and the streets become empty and clear like the sky, monotonous, monochromatic we are pressured by fronts and driven to tears

no rest on sunday

No rest on sunday, this sunday... i found myself awoken by crying, though i went to bed listening to laughter dispersed through fan blades. Got up and had my cup, took a shower and took my meds,  decided today to venture out and see friends, a grand idea, really, to find fellowship at a turbulent time, internal... Afterward my friend and I, we went for coffee and talked. She asked me how's it going with your book? I found myself with a big answer whistling through my teeth off an inspiration, and you could not possibly shut me up if you tried! I had only taken a couple of sips of my coffee. I surprised myself. This is good news for the days ahead working on and out my material, on the urban fantasy and out into something fresh worth publishing... my friend seemed to enjoy what I had to say, and really I didn't monopolize the conversation... i know well enough to say what i need to say, and then get quiet and curious, discover another life and listen, carefully. I know how to be a friend by now, thank god... I have been delving into the pages and trying to make a first draft make second draft sense. I have been stopping when challenges - by the complexities of a novel - cause me over-exertion. I have sat down and allowed myself the time to be curious about solution; to daydream, and even dream myself into inspired revisions! There's nothing like the free-associating mind to work it out. But I cannot help the intrusions of life, the pain of things past my ability to comprehend or change - the complexities of a feeling - from arising and flooding my system and sometimes shutting me down for a while. But I will protect myself, because in so doing I also protect my work, and anyone who reads my work, from harm. My thoughts may at times fall tragically off the rails, pressuring the heart, but I am well-versed in survival and remain determined to keep faith and courage in this ever so critical process.

K reads... 'like thunder' (original non-fiction)

'like thunder'

posted on K IS SILENT

July, 2013

All my world had puffed up like a blowfish around me, then blew a massive hole in the ocean. Like those bastards, BP. I came out like Jonah from the belly of the whale. I had found those goddamn roadflares from my truck. The ones I never had when I needed them, stranded with my hazards on halfway down an exit ramp off the great highway. Well, I took advantage of my luck. The moment the clouds gave way to the sky. I struck a match off the heel of my boot, and lit those mothers. Without hesitation. That’s when the whole thing blew wide open. Pretty close to the time the world was supposed to end, again. The impact left ink trails falling all around you and me. Poisoning my ecosystem and yours, too, for a little while. Until the great ocean diluted and detoxified, and cleaned up my mess. So life could go on again, uninterrupted. I’m sorry. I can tell you I am sorry today and I mean it. I thought about it for a long while. Days upon days, actually. There was hardly nothing to do. I had taken my usefulness out of me. Fell asleep on the couch in the dead heat of the day. My kittens stretched out wishing their fur away. The television was on. The television was off. My hold on reality was tenuous. I lost a cat out there. Just like I lost one a decade earlier. I lost alot more, backsliding and sliding. Everything I tried to communicate seemed to come out all encrypted. The more I plugged in passwords and master passwords, the less safe I felt. Probably no one but my ex-boyfriend really truly wanted me dead. But I guarded what was left of me, with all that I could. The nightmares cascaded, if I fell asleep in the silence. Only the ceiling fan spinning far above us. The Tibetan bell I hung off the light fixture was ringing ever so softly beside me and my broken ankle bracelet hanging off of me. 

When I could breathe again. When I could read again. When I could look you in the eyes again. That’s when I noticed. When I no longer wanted light, but got lit anyway. I picked up the kittens and kissed them many times. Their bodies hung limp from the palms of my hands. They trusted me so well, they could drip off my arms and melt into the air. My heart melted inside me, over this. The trust, I mean. What a fucking gift. I carried them and myself down the hall to the bedroom. Many times, every day. My eyes half burned out from so many moons and full suns. I can feel my age. The surface temperature of my skin seems to have elevated, substantially. My head aches, and my belly grows. The infertility is juxtaposed. My imagination was seen as a dove by a merchant marine long out at sea. Coming home. My spirit is the delta. The heat of the day seems to linger all night there. My kittens cannot stand to drape over me for too long. They want to. But my body, their fur, well, it’s all much too warm. All my world had puffed up, you see, an inflammation of my soul. And this wasn’t gonna let up so easy this time. Not this time. I had done alot of damage, now. I had painted over the woodwork. Restoration was a bitch. All those relationships I chose, over the relationship I most needed. Let me tell you, it is good to live alone. I hope to stretch time out into solitude. With a steady stream of social media from which to drink. With a world outside my windows waiting for me, when I cannot think. I lost alot by losing myself all the time like that. This was okay, to be worn out and all. I could remember the past, I could tell you the truth some day. But the conscious bold type is screaming grade A psychotic. Still fresh. I think it only right to be humble and patient, not slough the old skin any faster than it wants to. Not so much, but maybe a little at a time. Maybe a little like now. I am not afraid, but rather listening to my truth all alone like I should. And it’s telling me things. Important things. Nuances. Sometimes painful like hell, sometimes touching me so deep. I am so sensitive. I hurt alot. I suffer, but not always in silence anymore. I cry alot, but without shedding tears. A lot less drama. The explosion was necessary. A spiritual emergency. The difference now is the break. Allowing things to shift a little. So I can safely think. So the ecosystem can take a little ink. So I can go out and buy my rice and pasta and fry up my corn tortillas in olive oil, while the green beans are roasting, Indonesian Sumatra. My life is a blessing. Any way that it goes. My choices fall in succession, in rows after rows . The holy temple of my spirit, was always with me and protected. This was my saving grace. She almost got ground out with my Newports, under my heels. I often tried to extinguish her. But I have so much to offer, like they say. I could open a fucking restaurant and offer all day. Anyway. The moon, she is waxing, and the darkness fills around her. I can see it, feel it, know it, be it. The substance, the system, the whole damn thing rides on spoke balanced wheels. I roll them twelve miles, as I get to know myself again. I roll those wheels and the flame delivers like magic, between my forefinger and thumb. My sweet kittens, four brown eyes, two on either side, watch in wonder. In wonder.My verse drops my spirit, like thunder. Like thunder.