Leather Pouch

leather pouch

when I saw him finally
not the lines in his face
but the specks of God in his eyes
the weakness the runs from his tongue
the effort of his muscles to cover the faultering of his heart
it happened


I knew nothing but what I needed
human ripples in ponds of discontent
toned in reverence
lost in his voice
that filled these cavities of the feral souled beast
I was


freedom slides down my skin as I register
and take him in like the first time
A vision of miles away ignorance
it doesn't wound these days
that he takes in air and doesn't know me
that his steps reek of no sadness


I have a small kit that contains leather, needle, thread
to sew up what is left of my madness into a neat leather pouch
a pouch that I will shove into an empty bottle where
bitter sour remains of what I drain onto the sand will stain the leather dark


off to sea I will cast it/him
tied to tide his hold ceasing
as gentle waves salt my calves
as sunlight warms my bare back


gulls will sing their casting song
as I hum along
waving to those who await me high on the beach
ready to run to meet their arms and eyes



nicoleena
january 17, 2011


what "I" deserve....

North of Santa Fe

sprouting through clay was of its being
beaten but glorious as it emerged
the creatures eyed the slender stemmed
virginal flower
absence of voice they turned to the light
death & life is woven through such flourishing forests
as leaves flutter in aspen chimes
a melancholy opera north of Santa Fe

she might have heard their song if not for dancing hope
she carefully bent down in her thin hippy dress
swollen with life's purpose
to the small delicate flower
purple souled
she was charmed
how lovely
how small
what an exquisite little bud you are!

brushing her lips
he placed the bud softly behind her ear
enchanted hearts wrapped in southwestern mystery
you will still be beautiful at thirty-five
whispering hair to heart
& she pictured them
with the child
in a forest tree
away forever
in
love

the leaves sang
louder
longer
insistent
but they were dipping their hands in shallow water
ringed
linked
she never heard their mountain warning
royal flower in her hair

you always see the small things
he told her
but today she saw only vast blessings

& tonight
child grown
she can recall
white bark stretched to golden heart leaves
how they screamed
but
she would change not a thing
not a moment of that day of New Mexico dreams


nsj
February 11, 2011

no pulse

deer are free from what it is that locks me into this space of ridiculous torment

I want to be a deer in the forest if only to affirm that an orange vest and a shotgun might be better than this

pills and talks and long mountain walks have yet to bring digestion

that it did not matter where it came from as long as the sender had tormented eyes and a lusty heart

I.  Will.  Not.  Be.  One.  Of.  Them.   (on the fateful day)

because I will have died years before, decades

(iceycold)  I spent my days and nights buried in piles of words, wooded trails and the embraces of my offspring

covering the dead parts with too much mortician makeup

forgetting that my replacements are just a string of hearts &  pussies with no pulse 

Jack the pleasant  Ripper incarnate will not get one tear upon his death from this dead girl.

Feb. 2011

nsj

disgraced at the dump

disgraced at the dump

She held me up a mirror with a fierce juttin’ hand

"Lookie see?" grime beneath her nails and grinnin’, "see?"

pink plastic frame, cracked glass, smeared gloom

we stood atop a pile of discarded life

"you ain't nothing but a toothless goose," she cackled

"just like me you is!"

nappy headed and stinkin I seen she was right

Feb 2011

nsj

Yonder

yonder 

He drew his breath from stones as they threw them

“Hey Faggot, them books heavy?”

the way the light shone snatched his gaze

voices in the distance always faded away into a bird’s flight

a synapse orgy

a breeze scented of death

Pa didn’t let him own pages

tasked with crop and barn

the horses

their foul aftermath and the Bible

his body worked fields

his mind worked plows chained to cloud shapes

fluffs of octagons

dimensions and time machines

the discourse of family madness

his nightly sobs and grasping of sanity

an intricately patterned harvest

blankets and coverlings of crying mouths and empty flattened teats

the horror eyes of creatures the second before slaughter

the ants marching along little trails of crumbled crackers

Pa hollars

    as the woods and songs called from

yonder

he planned to leave Pa and this land where earth gently graced sky

where feces gift life and dark is for resting spent bones

he would live smooth handed and walk scholarly halls

with hushed whispers, spectacles and sleep deprived eyes

His body would soften

Eventually

he would send a book he wrote to his Pa

Who would burn it in his evening fire

Who would never read the dedication

Who would feel no pride

devoid of what he had seen when he flipped the pages

denying the life and mind he bred

concentrating fiercely on the Lord's verses

reciting them especially loud that night

nsj

march 2011

Waking Suddenly

Night particles seemed to cast broader spells as vast defenses to the needs of offspring and pages of righteousness she devoured. Waking suddenly this night with the thoughts of a genderless child somewhere mucking through swamps of parental baggage, she touches the sweat between her breasts thinking of laughing artists toting brushes; their armour armor raised in quietly shielded sarcasms of brushstroke.

Twisting in coverlets she reads a child's book. It is the tale of manic creative masks, life selections and objections that slide beneath consciousness’s sight. Choosing course chants to recite steady in the safety of her sanctioned bed, she avoids cool tiles that point to loneliness, icy windows that open to a place that functions it seems out there, in her, for her. Sirens repel her in a world desolate of masculine lines and deep rumbling. She cast them to numbness and turns her head.

The worn clichés of this night's dreams haunt her like young wallflowers in yellow dresses plastered against torn wallpaper, virgins big-eyed waiting for rings, marked bodies and babies to hold; a human melding proving worth and roping swine by their throats.

Never painted canvases float above her; she carries them through the halls of her duties, the lines of her consumption, the dreams of her never if only ironies. Colors never focused, only lines and forms and the conception of egg passions verses sperm wanderings.

Secluded words and lyrics sloughing off layers of her unused skin until blood spotted punctuation marks decorate her knees, her elbows, the in-between places nobody noticed. She prefers it this way as her alone equated asylum in her internal algebra. This safe place stroked her in places no one could reach, not her stacks of books , not the him hymns that wandered through her forehead, pulsing under her right eye, not the imaginary long dead cat purring near her feet sucking his own tail in soft nurturing repetition.

Grasping her notebook she writes unpolished far beneath shining metaphor or brilliance. She writes free of a critic or a distinguished eye. Awareness that the one that matters left this place long ago as

time

crumbles

down

her

spine

The bowl at her bedside reminds her of cherries before season. She spits make-believe pits to the floor and watches as they travel through miles of carpeted forest finding their way to polished wood floors hoping to be kicked into waiting fertile soil elsewhere, anywhere.

Her closet remained empty tonight. She can see the space, the emptiness that confirms that she never was one to leave a mark

may, 2011

Mama Never Said… that what ya don’t know tastes like honey (voice somewhere)

so ya a bored pretty girl with shallow swimmin’ eyes

mama never taught ya ‘bout ta-morrow

mama was cursin’ ‘long with the blues guitar

so ya a naked little thing are ya?

mama never taught ya that bare skin always hides

mama never cared to show ya that ya heart can’t cry

not proper

like

not like that

ya see-

it be in the intention

time blaze burns out those subtle bedroom lies

little girl thighs

ya gonna age precious one

ya gonna wither

mama never taught ya that all things pass

ya can't hold on to a perfect thing

not a clean shaved patch

not a tight snatch

not a skinned knee

not a sparkly gem

not a favorite poem

not a dirty whisper

we die

that body does

she didn’t tell ya did she?

ya can't make makin’ love fix what mama never gave ya

‘cuz mama gazed away high

turn ya head weary bombshell

ya ain’t a superstar

ya an aging flasher

high in ya own reflection

let your bird wings out

let your feather hair blow

mama never taught ya

mama never taught ya

what you need to know

star light is yours

beyond the flash of a hunter’s knife

don’t cut ya-self -up-

-just look up

& GAZZZZZZE in

mama never taught ya `bout the sky

mama never taught ya that ya pretty little body is gonna die

mama never taught ya

what ya needed to know