...early morning
that has been the nature
these nocturnal grumblings
no sleep
no sleep
and still I promise less
do more
walk under the shadow of myself
creak
window and door alike
fenetre
port
ouvrir
jump fool
or I'm a gonna push you
push me one more time
and see what happens
I will come
if you promise me
that you won't promise me
revelation sunshine
after dark
is mad you mad?
child with blue fingers
by the time you wake up
I will be up up and away
in a place called Santa Cruz
California
and I are close friends
it seems
we walk hand over toe
into these mornings
happening twice
from coast to coast
New York first
now another coast calls
familiar
promise me
that you wont
promise me
revelation ain't no sunshine
ain't no sunshine when she leaves
promises presented in a futile basket
laced with
nothing said
really
hints
allegations of things insinuated
nuanced to seem sophisticate
yellow tail
I do not like the harsh swig
of that kangaroo
full of hidden promises
inside a pouch I cannot see
I like to see the future
clear like the lenses
of a new camera
looking at you
through the optics of these semantics
why do we pay so
dearly for such small pleasures
seemed like they were
mammoth once
promise me revelation
sunshine
the day will always begin
anew
whitewash a past tatted with floral
wreaths
bury me
insane under the dark covers
of peace
drowning
would be beautiful
Virginia and how she longed for a room
with some sort of view
an opening
to see her other half through
night and why I cannot fall alseep
easy
too many things
so few hours
between me
and how I wish I could love my body
bleeding
humbled hanging
from a ledge I refused to jump through
tonight
there are other things to attempt
tomorrow
it comes even
unbidden it comes
the glow of things not yet
spoken
it comes in drunken waves of wanting nothing
but how you laugh at how I say
words like timbre
and I laugh
at hruskian
and no one says
hruskian
who would say something like that
of a wine the island sophisticates
drink class
tumbling from their
uptight toes
noses
not quite straight
but they will do
I suppose
me thick lipped
accidentally exposed myself as me
and now people
wish me roses
on my birthday
and who would have thought
I would have friends
I have not met
yet
sisters in places that look like
caves
prairies
wooded bits of women who care
more than they would ever admit
in such exhibitionistic
luxury
in the quiet
after the light seeps pink over Santa Barbara Mountains
they write
smile inside
whisper things I dare not repeat
seat themselves
permanent in my heart
they become the better part of my best intents
I am me
but only because you are here
woman/sister/heart-beat
drum woman
roar lucid with me
inside me
hold me
curled up inside me
mid-spine
napes
next time
no
we still got time here
now in this lifetime
lucid
revelation
here comes the sun
clouded by that brilliant gray
silver is nothing but gray
polished clean
lucid
sunshine revelation
promise me
you won't
promise me
till the next madness,
Staceyann
... and I am snowed into the folds
of friendship
warm hearts
and good food
my favorite smoked
salmon
everything bagel and cream cheese
no pesto today
just a salad
red building and laughter
loud
and allegations of what could have been
had my judgement been
sharper then
wish you were here
all of you
to see the pillows
of white falling steady
beautiful
and no one knows for sure who sang
momma used to say
don't you rush to get old
momma used to say
all sorts of advice
ignored in the heated passion
of things hoped for
dreamed of
and afternoons carved out for soft conversations
and friends missed
longed for
but I lift my glass
to your request
whatever you ask
I will grant
if it cradles the curves of me
in respect
truth
truth is a boy who took pictures of me
in Sweden
and made me pretty
under the setting sun
I hope you are wearing the scent of me
sent to you in waves
of letters
mailed
checked on
and I wait for you to recieve me
wait hard
in vain, perhaps?
who knows what the postal system
will do in such brutally splendid weather
New York was colder than Denver
in January
what a laugh the gods must be
cackling
lappin they frock tail
with the tales of us shivering
and aching
for each other
for you I am unsure
of what consititutes boundary
all of you hints
accessible
not really open
but not pad-locked away
a mist of horrors
and my fingers caress these keys
for lack of your flesh
lack of breath
against the nape of my neck
the back of my neck
is on end
for you
voice silly and scared
simultaneous
slivers of sensible and slipping
caution under the soft blanket of chance
you changed me
more than I knew
I wear you now
stains of alleged horrors
survived
me and a web-crazy Latino boy
sitting to my left
he be looking at my pictures
and making appropriate noises
showing me
his grandfather with Mexico in his eyes
I love this place
Carmen
and Mark
and Sundays
and Wednesdays
and any day I be feeling
wet in my mouth
they make space for my making tears
I be singing these tears
as poems
most days
I be wanting to be a poet
poetry
is most of the method behind what maddens me
most
most days I just be floating on a moment
designed to lift me angel and dust
from what makes me
slip sturdy under the jugular
of gravity
gone wild,
till the storm done blow,
Staceyann
warmer than I could have hoped
my chest tightens
breath labored with the effort
of life
the rush of air
squeezed
uncomfortably from old spaces
familiar
but new fangled in the buttons
I will learn to press
on my new camera
two of them
two separate mediums
digit-al/man-ual middle grounds
flesh recorded as history
as moment
I love taking the allure of faces
and all that represents of us
as human
petite part of a planet careening
into tomorrow
yesterday still marks us as vulnerable
ask the small
pieces still fragmenting
finding water
ice
blood is thicker than what we mean to each other
answer me that woman
what we intend is
absolute
what occurs is conditional
hello Dominique
Angela
Andrea
and how I love my Ashakins
Still
Hello Ashara
and Eric who slipped his shoulder out of place
white boy who was witness
to another time
another place
we might have lasted
just once
here we are again
children of caprice
and other people's
intent
vision me
as myself
choices
mine decision solely
attributed to my errors
I carve the line as my own
give me my breath
as my own
weekends reconsidered
lifetimes re-arranged
for honor
and what we hold sacred in our chests
tightening
wait for me
love
wait and I will come
in waves of certainty
wait I say
wait for the light
to say red
then we can
run wild into all the parts we have forsaken
night and Denver
and moonlight
and patience
shots taken of a bed
rumpled with my indecision
sleep eludes me
rest is impossible
I wish me insomniac
so you could worry about my body
not being still enough to go on
to new cities
we will always have Chicago
and New York has always made space
for a crazy wretch walking the plank
of insanity
it is good to see you again
Denver
I imagine you sipping wine
perhaps something less
sophisticate
smiling
into the flowers I knew you would not love
perhaps I should have been there
just left of his right ear
deep inside his head
I would have told him
orchids
are more gentle on lips like yours
soft sometimes
giving almost chaste when requested
a kiss if you may
costs more when asked for
you move me
more than these clumsy words can say
other women
need words
you
breath
and sorrow unspoken
feel the more human parts of me
failing
flailing
in the collage of you thinking-no
you said
dreaming
of the more transient parts of me,
till the next bloodletting,
Staceyann
... warm California sun easing me gently
out of my Jamaica
sun kissed memories
of tangles
and familiar
bursts of light and splendid decay
spiraling
down Ani and the new poems
and the New Show to Open in April
wait for me New York
I be coming back with these stories
and I will need someone
to tell them to
LA was yesterday
and the day before that
and the missed flight before that one
hours in the Terminal
and I thought I was going to die
from the faces
trying not to look directly
into anyone's eyes
committment is a bitch
friendship
and how love is never a straight line
to anywhere
roads twisting new truths
out of old wives
tales to tell
my loves in these places
with snow
Denver
and I don't quite know what that
will smell like
after the weeks in Cologne
and Montego Bay
Kingston is where
my heart beats with most precision
women named June
and April
and my mother
who is Mae
in the middle
the name between what her mother
intended to call her
and what they say our fathers
should stake claim
to
parts of me
not belonging to anyone
one wild summer of love
memory and actuality
have collided
smash
crackle
pop goes the weasel called Old Lady Time
Time is a motherfucker
lovers become mothers
become the breasts on which we suckle our way back to
believing in our bodies
being beautiful
again
you make me feel
beautiful
with the lights on
Jamaica
and all the shadows flanking
our yin
yank me back to exploring
why I love the salt slick
of excitement
and things perpetually new
even after so long
I wax shiny
under the gaze of Jamaica
friendship
and building a new trust
what I have said
is true
to the most honorable interpretation
of my understanding
you may believe me
as much as you can rely on my frail judgment
human and erring
I intend my best as presented
to myself
when I am most accounting
responsibility
washes all hands with the guilt
of association
I am glad you were there
with me
with all the frantic parts
rusted inflexible
with time
forgive me
both of you
forgive me
while I press steady towards
some absolution
of self
till I earn the right to sin again,
Staceyann