thought so.

February 17, 2003 at 8:55 am (LJ import, poems) (, )

I am free verse,
and know the rules,
and use them -
when they suit me,
which admittedly
tends not to be the case.
Authority,
tradition, laws;
very much not
my sort
of thing,
I fear.
Perhaps, on occasion,
I go too far in the opposite direction,
and shun the accepted merely because it’s accepted,
accepting its opposite merely because it isn’t;
but since it’s clearly
better that than
being normal;
well,
why
not?

What Poetry Form Are You?

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Night-witnessed.

February 17, 2003 at 8:33 am (LJ import, her handwriting, poems) (, )

Your face – smooth, rough, glad; stars
in your hair – short, spiked, sweet-
smelling as your hands – long, swift, graceful
warm, your embrace, your circumstances
your contradictions, my reasons, my truths
my buttons, your switches, your collections
of stars, mine of moonlight, here in this
darkness, this room, your bed, soft, wrapped
surrounded – by all that we have lost to each other.
Lost. Given. Taken. Received.
Presented. Offered. Shared. Cherished.
We could be wound and salve, sky and sea,
lines in poetry. Two of anything in
romantic proximity. Yes, we are, that’s it -
you and me. Us. Now.

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A heart disease called love.

February 12, 2003 at 2:44 pm (LJ import, her handwriting, memoirs) (, )

I woke up late this morning and found myself listening to Field Mice. Willow. Holland Street. The End of the Affair. Field Mice is synonymous to sadness. I’m a little worried. I’m a little scared. I might be in you-know-what which means I might once again be fast-forwarding myself to ruin.

I think he has a weak heart. He can’t cope up with my smokes, my pulse, my pace.

My heart easily quickens. It could beat wildly for hours. Yet, it is an old heart. It has been around. It has been there and back.

His is smashingly new. A virgin heart, I must say, which admittedly fell only now. It is reckless. It is used to not caring but, strangely, it does now. Don’t get me wrong. His heart quickens, too.

But it has a tendency to suddenly stop.

I already told you he has a weak heart. And I’m afraid it isn’t strong enough to stay next to mine.

I’m even more afraid that if it dies on me, I might not be able to revive it.

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