awed by a new baby, blissful, but  tired

what are my priorities?

what did you do ?
why did you curl up to me
carved in and in and cuddled to my wounds
like wild grapevine climbed through my fingers
grasping each one – only to be near.

you will leave, I will stay,
warming with wool socks occasional hurts
I only ask of you, departing be silent
be silent about the significant

this happened long time ago and not to us:
one time leaving, you leave the door a crack open
not a word, nod or look
only the smell of your incense is still unrelenting

my dreams never come true, luckily, do you hear me?-
the clock is ticking nightmare-ishly. backwards…
if dreams don’t come true,- apparently happiness happens
as it does if we still breathe together in unison

listen, there is still hope, but every night, like a throbbing wound:
on the corner of January we are to meet each other again and again…
only in this poisonous dream you are waiting for somebody else.
and I end up dying painfully early.

my dreams don’t come true

… if only you wait for me ..

somewhere…somehow ..and even with someone, - just linger… I pray…
I lose you a thousand times over with every new sunrise
only here let me survive and in our next life
we will wake up together…

in the broken glass of my night sky
dreams flow and a star rises
a ray of light, a lonely road
I fold my wings and take my heart out
so soft in the palm of my hand
I offer my heart to the Goddess
in this darkness I understand the light
the promise lives within me now
I am on my way home

a step into emptiness..
my morning became thinner
and the dawn is tattered like a ghost
realization.. : .. no this is not bliss,
only maybe.. decaying pain of your touch

you, having smoothed with your palm
the white sketch of my soul,
.. jab a black flag into my heart
and yell.. “ breathe, hopeless bitch,
deeper, breathe.. since you – it is me..

walking out of august in your spider web dress ..
so useless.. to smile with your eyes
you - are a cruel boulder,
but you remember the circling of the
sheets.. polished with whispers
of broken lines of the two bodies..

..[we are silent in different languages we]
nervous-summer
pages of unwritten prose
out of my ripped out heart..
letters of night illusions.. mirage of a dream
like etymologist I hiccup ..
after syllable.. I lo..
long, lower, Lorraine..
..my morning became thinner and the dawn
under my skin so coldly snowing..

rudolf steiner - the kingdom of childhood

about waldorf education. it's awesome

***
night whispers into the shell of ear
[.. do you dance ? ]
so slowly – tender dance of snails
[ two bodies – bullets – fingertips..]
mouths on slimy pavement,
- grey invisible feet .. “ with melancholy ”..
the outstretch of stranger’s body lines and
velvet valleys in which to dance
with still shell housings.. motionless – ly
Snail-turtle-body shell full of wildness
of plants and animals. Dance with me.
we – they dance, mirror image
in puddles..[ this shell perfumed-
decorated-shredded-left open
..unneeded ]

dust – pollen.
..in the middle of photo erased face.
marks leftover from fingertips.
from under lowered eyelashes cannot see the face
facial expression… you were saying?
so empty now..forget it , don’t howl
don’t scream. spit it out, throw away
mix with rain and rub it
into the dust – your face
real-unreal, was it? .. what even was it?
sucks. but really.. does not matter now.. emptytalking..
Here it’s chilly autumn, there – late august
and everlasting summer. The rules of epitaph writing
are trash if reading a life like a play, suddenly
pages fall down .. ungatherable – rules are useless
past autumn has a past summer. Don’t you see I am loosing
leaves with trees. Harvest them, put them in a plant study.
You and your fox behaviors.
There is not enough open space for words in this text.
used discarded. words and beading and us
spill into caviar, fingers, eyelashes, tears.
we run away to pieces. Magician was…and
the trick was He talked about the meaning of dreams,
of breaking of now, of verse, of breaking of words, promises, bre-aking
favorite teapot. Ah, and the cowboy was – now no more,
titanic settling to the bottom.for life. It’s A life sentence..
I am letting the words go. Heresy-ology
scientifically moves emotions through blood,
I am letting you go.. parallel worlds-traintracks –
our nerve endings.. tied into the knot .stationary.
like the knotted writing of Indians . Ashes.
Pour some water for me, will you?
do you remember photos? yes? who cares, 
y o u    d i e d