(Out) Laws of Physics

If I could slice open
the fabric of time
and slip out into the nothing
I would meet you there
and
(finally)
(like a sigh)
hold your face in my hands.
I would breathe you in
and pull you close.
I would press my face into your neck
and let my lips brush against your skin.
I can imagine
this place,
this void
filled with the glowing warmth
of our bodies.
I feel the length of you
pressed solidly down the length of me -
your hands in my hair
my mouth
finding yours.
I don't know if there would be sound
in this pocket of limbo
we would stumble into,
but I imagine small moans of pleasure
being drawn from me
as I explore the outside of you
the same way I've carefully mapped the inside.
Maybe we wouldn't need to breathe
out there in the nothing;
maybe we would exist in our most natural state -
maybe
I would see in your eyes the key to satisfying
the growling lust shining darkly from mine.
Maybe I would pull you into me
with a sigh
and maybe you would let go of everything you've ever held back
everything you've carefully denied yourself.
And maybe I would pull from within you
every strand of desire
you've ever left unmet.
Maybe
in this pocket of nowhere,
our bodies would blend together,
absorbing each other
like spectrums of light
or osmosis.
Maybe I would fade into you
as you plunged into me,
and I
would dissolve into a mist of atoms,
reforming again in the real world.
I would blink
and steady my breathing...
still aching from the receding waves of pleasure,
wondering why my arms felt so empty.

(I've started to envision my poemy things with illustrations - this one calls for a black piece of paper/canvas with pastels sketching the outline of two bodies, intertwined)

(non) Conformity

Wedging my entire kaleidescopic Self into
the narrow slot of acceptable-in-the-corporate-world,
requires that I reign in my impulses
my imagination
my desires.
I cannot make all the dirty jokes that flicker through my mind,
nor can I use all the flowery language at my disposal
when detailing the procedure for filing a particular form.
I am full to bursting, much of the time,
with ideas and poems and raunchy puns.
It is a good exercise in self-control, I suppose,
but it wears on me.
I want to dance naked in the rain
and lie in a hammock with a book in my hands
(one I will devour at some later time,
but may never open
as I watch the leaves dance overhead,
or watch my eyelids disappear in the distance
as I wander deep inside the paths of my own mind...)
I daydream too much
and write too little.
Time to find some balance.

Does Elvis Live?

I saw Elvis last night,
could have been him,
if I squinted,
and if he was still in hiding,
and if he had gotten into really good shape
for a man in his...80s?
Yeah, no.
Not even close.
This man and the band put on a good show
for all the sweet old ladies
and some of their daughters, too
(like my friend);
but I was there as a spectator of the spectators.
I was not there because of a deep love of the first American heartthrob musician.
I was there because a friend offered me free tickets.
I was there to feel the music thrumming from the stage -
(that bass player was cute)
and to drift along in my own thoughts,
imagining what it must have been like
to have been a teenager when Elvis hit the scene,
and wondering how it must have felt
to carry a torch for him for 50, 60, 70 years.
I have not really been much for celebrity crushes;
I prefer dreaming of a real person -
the real-er the better.
I prefer imagining...lips on earlobs, hands sliding under shirts...
the real world is so much closer to the buffet of sensory possibilities -
touching, tasting.
Ahem, I digress...
Watching this man on stage,
wooing the sweet ladies who'd loved Elvis in the goddamned NINETEEN FIFTIES,
I wondered how they could possibly feel anything
in this moment
besides sadness and regret.
Such a pale immitation this man was,
and I was about a yard away from him,
but even from the back of the house,
you could see that he was smiling like the Las Vegas strip.
He was giving them the show they craved,
but I couldn't buy what he was selling.
I think I would have liked it better if he'd just looked like himself,
and skipped the, "Thankya vera  much" schtick.
It felt so hollow, so unsatisfying.
In 30 years, will I go see a Nirvana tribute band
and swoon over the man in the blonde wig and plaid flannel shirt?
I don't think so.
But maybe my generation's answer to that will be to have a hologram of Kurt on stage,
or better yet,
a Virtual Reality game in which I can make out with him.
I may not have been much for celebrity crushes,
but I could watch footage of that man all day
and it wouldn't fill the cavern of grief I feel for all his lost poetry.

But, I had a lovely time,
and it reminded me that I should get back to writing that book,
and the other one.
First, I should finish reading those Elvis biographies.
And maybe go find a hammock to lie in.

Polarity

First draft of a children's book starring a polar bear.

Original artwork and outline provided by a friend.

Here's my take - 

Felix looked around.

The world was white.

The snow

the sky

his fur.

Felix couldn’t see where he ended and the snow began.

The caribou were white

the foxes were white

the hares were white

even the weasels were white.

Felix sighed.

In the springtime, they would move south again,

and there would be green.

Maybe…

Maybe if he started now,

he could reach the green sooner!

And maybe,

if green was possible,

maybe other colors were possible, too!

What else could Felix find?

He began to walk faster,

and walking turned to loping,

and soon he was speeding across the tundra.

After a while,

he came to a forest.

The trees were covered in snow,

but he could see the needles and bark

beneath the layers of white.

He filled his belly and rested for a long time.

When morning came, he heard birds chirping

and felt the sun’s warmth on his back.

He stretched and smiled 

and continued on.

He marveled at the forest as he went.

The snow was melting,

and more and more colors were showing through.

Tender green ferns were sprouting all around,
and the fallen tree he'd slept against last night
was covered in lichen and ridges of pale mushrooms.

Felix walked on,

and soon there was no more snow.

The trees stretched high above him,

their leaves rustling against each other in the breeze:
everywhere there were shades of brown and green,

and sometimes a glimpse of bright flowers of pink or yellow.

Felix thought he might have found what he was searching for,

but he wasn’t sure,

so he kept walking.

Each day, he noticed that there were fewer and fewer trees,

and instead,

there were vast fields spreading out around him.

The sky was wide and blue,

and the grasses shooshed in the wind,

rustling and sighing,

like the leaves of those trees,

but all in one great chorus.

It was warm here,

and he lay in a patch of shade

at the edge of a corn field

and napped the afternoon away.

Felix liked the rolling hills and the red barns;

he liked the fat brown geese that seemed to be following him south.

But he was pretty sure this wasn’t the place he’d been dreaming of,

so after a good meal, and one more nap,

he faced south again and looked some more.

After many days,

Felix had walked over mountains and down into valleys.

As he walked, the air got drier,

and the days got longer.

The nights were blissfully cool,

and he could see almost as many stars

as he could on a summer’s night back home.

Instead of trees,

there were great, green lumps with spikes poking out all over.

There was no snow and no grass.

The soft ground was orangey-red,

and instead of being cold and wet,

it was hot and dry –

the pads of his feet burned

with every step he took

under the glaring eye of the sun.

All was still,

like on the tundra.

But this did not feel like a place he belonged.

He crouched in the scant shade of a giant green beast,

and dreamt of howling winds

and icebergs.

This was not what he was searching for,

so he kept going.

After many more mountains

and many more deserts,

Felix came to the thickest,

greenest forest yet.

Vines wrapped around tree trunks,

and everywhere there were

wide, green leaves

and narrow, sharp leaves –

leaves underfoot, leaves overhead.

The sky was green, too,

or at least it seemed that way.

It rained all the time,

and even his fur started to turn green around the edges;

he smelled like moss,

and the air tasted like a rain cloud.

The snakes were almost as big as he was,

and he didn’t like the way they looked at him.

Felix hopped on a raft,

and floated as far down the giant river as he could go.

He dreamed at night that he was on a chunk of ice,

floating with the seals and the walruses.

He woke up feeling itchy and hot;

everywhere he looked was green,

and the brightly colored birds flying over him

sounded like they were laughing at him.

He missed the way the icy water felt on a morning swim

and he missed the way the snow felt on his tired, moldy paws.

Felix sat on his raft, floating through green, warm water,

and ached for his home.

When the river reached the ocean,

Felix dove into the waves

and swam as far as he could go.

He found a strong current and floated along for a while,

rushing south in the cool water.

He started to feel chilly,

in the very best way,

and he saw familiar faces

(image of orcas and seals),

and wondered if he’d walked so far

that he’d come all the way back home.

After many days of swimming,

he saw colossal white masses on the horizon,

and was sure that his eyes were tricking him.

He swam hard, and tried not to get his hopes up,

but soon he smelled snow,

and felt the wind whipping along the surface of the water.

He heaved himself up onto a shelf of ice,

and sprawled out,

panting with fatigue,

and filled with relief.

Everything around him was covered in snow.

Everything was cold.

The sky was gray,

and the wind dug into his fur like shards of ice.

Polar bears don’t often howl,

but Felix let out a bellow that filled the air with the sound of his joy.

He had found the place for him.

He had found a new home.

Thinking Thoughts While Seated

I used to love meditation.
Back then,
I called it "prayer."
I would float so deep in my mind,
expressing gratitude and hopes.
I need to make time for it again;
it would solve so many
of my frazzled, frenzied moments,
certainly.
I should sit
on my sit bones
(a yoga instructor once told us to sit on our sit bones -
I didn't even know I wasn't, until I did, and wow)
and close my eyes,
and I should breathe slowly, deeply.
I should remind myself that all is well.

Love

I am
a delicate arch
My sons
are the wind
and the rain
Relentlessly
wearing me away
I stand firm,
but am changed
They are stronger than I

Vibrance

I realize
that I probably shouldn't
dissolve into the wind
and wrap myself around
someone else's soul...
but it's hard to stay anchored
to my own
when the light pours out of another.

Fireflies

Sitting across from you
in this noisy restaurant
at the end of a busy, productive day
we are too hungry and
it is too loud
to push our voices
through the multitude of crashing soundwaves
and say the soft things
that rumble quietly around on our tongues.
Instead,
I study your sweet face.
I see in your eyes the fragile human light that shines in all of us,
so easy to take for granted
so easy to assume it is unextinguishable, permanent,
like your love for me,
or mine for you.
In that quiet bubble of time
(the duration of a single breath)
in the crush of voices
echoing off the hard surfaces of the low room  -
in that moment,
I felt the quavering ground beneath me,
of time that will pass,
time that is passing,
passing,
and soon will evaporate around us like steam.
One more breath, just a blink away from the abyss,
and then I was savoring you--
recalling all the love that you've shown me, today alone.
I know that you can sense my restlessness lately,
my pacing, growling impatience with the world around me -
my need for space,
my need for adrenaline rushes and
new experiences and sleeping late and smoking and drinking and boys.
One would think I'd had enough of boys,
because I've raised so many of them and married two,
but I have found that no matter how many I have,
I only ever want more.