Tag Archives: Poetry

Anais Nin

Invention was your solitude, your twin, wasn’t it, Miss Nin? The way you spread secret pages like silk violet capes, like fringed shawls, over an air of mystery, and err of desire. You enabled symmetry, to confess. Why couldn’t a … Continue reading

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Satyr

I found him, wanting, satyr’s swell of thorny play– fondling fresh, green grass.

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Claim

Some kind of tender, hard to find its truest name– words fail to claim touch.

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Henry Miller

Some men rattle their chains and wonder, some sing them. Then there are others who spraypaint their chains rainbow siege and dance a jig like a peacock on fire, and when someone asks Isn’t it hard to dance around with … Continue reading

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Sway

To sway, with corset no more to bind, hips parlaying grace, to rivet greening desire.

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N.

Sssshhh, gently now, gently, Love, the slippered guest, the tender trespasser, enters the house of wet leaves, softly, finger pressed to asking lips, no more questions, just this: the sound of rain, pealing, to bless storied thirst.  

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Daisies

To have, to have not, in the end, it’s all the same– thrill to wet daisies.

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Feathers

Song, caught in her hair, something about torn feathers, running, blue to form.

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Intent

Hold me, to dignity, to respiring intent, to nothing beyond this moment, arcing to bend.

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Third to First

Third person, first, first person, last, it’s time he and I met for real.

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