My People We Burn So Slowly

My people we burn so slowly

In the morning
I huddle myself in blankets
hot mug of tea
fresh from the shower
trying to rid oneself
of the slight headache
already pressing the temples

Instead,
listen to the tinkling song of the birds
admire the dragon peppers
sunbathing in their cozy pots
reflect upon the things that I love the most
as the sun caresses my world weary head:

a man with a 3 day beard,
and the way the beard will lick its way down his neck

how beautiful the delicately stringed vocabulary of a 3 year is
like painted macaroni on brightly colored yarn

art in simplicity

the glare of light through stained glass
blood red wine in a glass

lying in bed with a warm somebody
no thoughts except-
How nice it is to feel somebody else's warmth on your cold toes
and how lucky you are to not be

Alone.

Thinking these things all
absorbing the loving touch of the sun
wrapped up in cozy blankets
fighting off a headache
with a steaming mug of tea
fresh from the shower.

My people we burn so slowly.

In Another Life

In another life
we may have held hands
and fought in a bar
because your brand of sarcasm
is bitter on my tongue
or maybe you just bought me a drink
to wash it down
and everything was pleasant again

but I remembered the aftertaste
and I must confess
it excited me

maybe we danced
maybe it rained as i left
and you offered me your jacket
and we ended up at my place

it really doesn't matter how it happened

the thing is
I've always kind of wondered
in another life
we would've
wouldn't we?

Tango Nuevo

My dear I must say,
you look so becoming in your
fluttery red-
flamenco tart-
tight-
satin
dress-
though you seem a bit awkward in the shoes.

Try to keep my lead.

You will dance
head held high
neck rigid-
that's right darling,
you be strong
and dance for me.

I've been working hard
all day
My legs are stiff,
I may be a bit sweaty,
but baby,
I can take you by the waist
and show you what I've got.

We take the floor.
tell the story in 4/4 time.

Stomp stomp say my feet.
Jingle jangle say my spurs.
Click click, say your heeled toes.
Swish swish say your skirts.

I work you hard-
thigh to thigh.
Sweeping, elegant steps,
complicated footwork.

I push you
I pull you.
You follow my lead.
Dance puppet dance.

I admire your strength,
but I have to admit,
I can't wait to rip that dress off of your
nubile limbs,
and degrade you.

Why?

For the same reason I break a beautiful horse.
I dominate.
I wear the spurs
because I like knowing they are there.


Dip you down low,
admire the fine arch of your back,
gaze down your decolletage.

Be strong.
Dance for me.

The Rambling Proclimations of a Most Liekly Depressed Woman

Bettie Page and Eartha Kitt can now be added to the list of those I admire who are too good for this planet. I'm going to guess it has something to do with the way people love to hate one another- myself included I suppose. Given a choice, I would leave too - maybe. I have my vices. I like to call them the 7 Dead-lies. Sadly enough, Sin, in her tight black vinyl body suit (hey Lady - do they have that in my size) keeps me here. Oh , Eve, you certainly knew how sweet the fruit was, didn't you? Or was it not the fruit, but the knowledge?

Or does it really matter? Was it boredom? Was it an, I'm here, might as well quench that empty just, nothing, feeling?

I'm off track- again. I do that. I have a rare talent for the bird walk. I was saying that given the chance to flee, I would think long and hard about it. I mean, I do have a lust for sin, which in and of itself is a deadly, so you can see how hard this decision would be for me, but let me make my case.

People these days still hate others for nothing but the color of their skill, the language they speak, and a few degrees difference in latitude and longitude. Hey man, I understand hatred- but have a real reason. Have a bold reason. Have a reason. Stereotypes exist beyond the realm of comedy. I'm not okay with that. People still don't read, reality television has killed the screenwriter, let alone the video star, and art is not forever anymore. Children work unholy hours in foreign countries so that teenagers here can be stylin'. Fuck that.

I could keep going on, but in all honesty, if I go any deeper than that, I will get very depressed. In high school I was extremely depressed about the entire world, as a whole. I made myself very sick. I really wanted to die; I couldn't handle how cruel everyone was to each other. I'd stay up late watching CNN, then go to school, when I didn't really have that many close friends, and I'd write and breeze through classes, and do what I could. I was all drugged up too, because I was pretty sick the whole second half of high school. Oh man, was that head a maze of mashed potatoes. I don't think anyone really knew how fucked up I was. I was bulimic, and a borderline alcoholic, and a cutter, but pulling mostly As. I was a walking suicide threat. I think 1 kid caught on, at a peer counseling convention (I was a student counselor too- adorable, yes?) ; he wrote the words "Suicide Hotline", and his phone number on my hand. I was shocked. I was a M&M dammit. No one breaks the shell. I built a stronger one. But I remembered him, and was thankful I knew there was someone there, though I never called to tell him about the mosh pit in my head or the cuts that I moved from my arms to my hips, where there would be less likely noticed.

I went back and read the last bit of this and realized how crazy I must sound. That's good. I am. But now it's the good crazy. I ran away to college, met some awesome people, and honed a craft. But I never let go of that pain. I just found a place to put it. When I hear of these people who pass away, that have done these huge things with their lives- first I am jealous, because they have done such things I have not. Secondly-what a relief to put the pain and fight of this rambunctious and zealous life somewhere else for awhile.


I'm not done yet.