dead-eyed—

you don’t, no,

all

—ways know

more

than me

heart beating of the Past

Zion recalled the happenings of a week before. He had been out with Emily after work – they had dinner together, and ended up sitting in Zion’s car for a couple of hours, talking. Having decided that their discussion was not over, Zion said they should pick up beer and head over to Emily’s, so they did. Emily would never pass up an opportunity to be in Zion’s company, and was glad he had brought up coming over, so she wouldn’t have to ask. Zion knew, and played along. They had a couple of beers in Emily’s room, then Zion headed downstairs to grab some more, while Emily sat – heart and mind racing – on her bed. She heard a door open and someone call her name. She thought it was Zion, she smiled, and as the shadow walked through the door she was about to speak but instead saw Nicholas’ head pop in. He had been in Esperanza’s room, and wanted to see Emily before he left their place. They exchanged hellos and Nicholas asked her if she’d be at the party, and she responded by asking if he would be at the party. Zion walked up the stairs and heard Nicholas’ voice, something unexpected, and the circumstances he found himself in, with both Emily and Nicholas, he met the situation with laughter. Nicholas heard the laugh, his stomach sank, realizing Zion had been with Emily, and that he would probably be spending the night in Emily’s room. With the sick feeling in his stomach he looked down the hallway, didn’t see anyone, then looked back at Emily, whose forced awkward smile told him she knew exactly what was going through his mind. It was a desperate need to escape – leave, disappear without being seen. Without saying bye Nicholas walked down the hallway, and saw Zion’s smirk glow in the light that flooded through the window. Zion said hello to Nicholas, but Nicholas dropped his head – eyes hitting the carpet, and walked by without acknowledging Zion’s greeting. Zion kept smiling, walked into Emily’s room, and Nicholas heard the door being shut as the beige carpet grew black – the light from upstairs fading.

Drilling my heart: striking eyes & batting lashes

your hair a like lines of this poem

               where I run

                                                            my mind

               fingers

strands, my heart

growing fond

thoughts

                              plait me

this heart(')s beat; this boy's in love

Zion looked at Nicholas, took a swig of his beer and said, "I don't think you understand what love is.  The beautiful part of love is being able to love someone without trying to make their body your own."

            At this point in the night both were drunk.  And both had been hit by one of the by products of drinking too much – the gentle spirited feeling of always being right, even when wrong.  With every beer came a new level of spiritual transcendence, and a new reason to keep talking.  Nicholas had been sitting across from Zion, but had now shifted over to the seat on Zion’s right.

            "But that's not it at all - that's not what I am trying to do," said Nicholas.

            "Then?"

            "See, I don't think it is an attempt at making their body your own, but just an attempt at letting them know how you feel.   Letting them know how you feel emotionally about them is important.  But letting them know how your body feels, letting them touch you and you touching them in return, you know, well, it's just an entirely different level of understanding.  I think that is the beautiful part of love."

            "Maybe, but why are you trying to hold my hand?"

Seismic beat: Sine(s, ) Waves

a notion of us

can deter-

mine waves

over and

you're under-

currents

sand a-

way steps

once taken

Architecture

Sometimes, I feel like I just need to get out of here.

I know what you mean.  I need to break

Don't know how, though.  How to leave.

I'm going to build us a story.

Dead beat Heart beat

In my head I am constantly updating this blog - in practice I rarely update.  However, I do occasionally check the blog as if someone else will update.

Maybe posting old writing will get the gears going.

new time

step by

step  over

land

marks places &

a time

  when

making our way

through

a man

made

path

  cracked concrete

        steps

left

  right

     until we reach

a grove nestled next

to a ship

of know-

     ledge over

a fallen tree

trunk where dirt

has collected

     days

weeks have matured

to months, hand in hand-

some lengths of time

     january leaps over

     only to march

     through showers

     and may flowers bloom

but are forgotten

  underfoot

     petals are

     crushed thinking

     they love me  and erring

     they love me not

& only leaves

crackle under flip

flops an occasional high

heel

and the dirt

is unforgiving with holes

branches stretched to

far places

     and a hand

     or a bird

     or rain

     or time

has broken little

wooden arms

standing in

piece by piece

  a silence

  conducts a song

  less beauty

that seems to tune

out the thoughts of others under

  standing seems long

  gone

day to

day today

often feels

like the age

of the rebel

with

out a cause without

a rebellion

        that now lets

        us walk

back &  forth