Lost the entry
that spoke of lime green walls
and photos stolen when I am thinking of you
self portraits
in a City that mocks love
and two little girls
bodies little
by the account of other hands
that have measured us
both of us
short by their calculations
we have loved the same
span of lives
watched the spied cryptex
line up like riddles that hint at cosmic connections
joined
inverted and black and white circle and square
too many journal entries
guessing
who I am in love with
today I am in love with the me taken with your neck
your heart
your tumble from sleep groping
for your glasses
cute
these letters encased in parables and windowless
houses
the cat is too fat now
to fit easy between the metal bars
pussies need so much
space to grow
so I have decided
to adopt the cat
split Solomon
in half and the mother who most loves him
will protest
let me go and I will love you
unconditional
I left you at Five a.m.
or somewhere there
and I rued the morning crisp
dragging me from you soft and Jamaican
New York is the one single day
between Kingston and New Zealand
Auckland
is the city there
not pretty there like the wide open skies
I am not meant to see green there
I am told
perhaps the next life will traverse me
landscape and water
wind surfing the sands of impossible sunsets
morning and mountains
and I have yet to see
your favorite
spot
on the ride from Mount Rosser to Montego Bay
we travel well
together
remember the Greyhound?
Cleveland
Chicago
and two little girls
in love and in trouble with everybody
who cared about us
love is a many handled thing
hold it careful, children
slow she says
slow
I remind my heart of the rapid
crashes
from shore to recovery
is a long ass time
seas be rocky
when things move too quick
so
slow down the writing
the show
showtime
is still a long way away
and me recording
pictures thinking
of you
and me
and history
repeating itself
in my mother
my sister
my blue veins oozing
purple ribbons
you bleeding
today
I am beating vociferous
truth on wet grass
you always belonged
to wild orchids
dragging the remains of the bland red
of Roses
I already know you do not prefer
from a small
cafe smothered in the heat
of you remembered
all of me
here
freezing in Brooklyn
walk good people,
Staceyann