hunting

sometimes i wish i had never met you. because then i could go to sleep at night not knowing there was someone like you out there.
Originally uploaded by {katie}

My evening’s are octagons.
wide angles enclosing each other,
suggesting ... but never delivering
an exit. in their semi-dark, i seek
totality -- perpetual upkeep
of my translucent surface,
my quieted brow un-furrowed,
left calm, just shy of focus.

A small, concise flame
without smoke-crease,
without thought -- not
thought less ... just quite
different: using my belly
and the mysterious presences
in my chest.

Semi-folded, demi-
clutter collects beyond
duality. feature without
Face without feature peopled with
un-morbid ghosts and comfortable haunting.
your scent before it took on
so much of my own.

Learning to recognize myself
as something more than the place
where you are now absent
or the place that you were before, or
a place in waiting for some other arrival.

I've been my own rival.
jealous of an ideal held
as my better self
seen and felt so clearly,
yet polarized and far.
ever still within, however distilled
and thinned by the fact of
my own silhouette.

Trance Fixed Daze

Ferris Wheel
Originally uploaded by Andrew Curtis

Slackened limbs, heightened senses. A little weak but there’s a strange strength in that … isn’t there? Feeling so much while somewhat defenseless. A bravery to simple consciousness. Sleep always so close; held just at bay. I want to - and yet

I put off reaching for it. Which frightens me more - my dreams or consciousness? Which am I resisting when I resist?

Arduous eye movement across the surface of almost. Almost. Sort of but not quite failure or success. I fall short and shy in defining either of those with my life. Almost. Not quite. Feeling everything a little bit more in a tired body a tired body - lengthening space between shoulder blades - my collar bone bows like a bent crown crooked across my heart. The odd numbered lobes of my lungs put wind behind my sail-less bones - bone a bit more pronounced. The whole form pronouncing - speaking - saying something - shaking a little in the communication. The words - out between nerves like the electrical-hot charged fluid carrying messages there. Most aware of heeding those directives when it’s hardest to. Obedience to the involuntary flow of my own body is not obedience. I do not choose or submit. I am helplessly alive. My breath chooses me.

It makes sense that certain people fall in love with ruins. After the music, I could sit here in silence all day. I can’t see out the window because I’ve hung a bamboo curtain there. Between each stick, light squeezes through like a cat gone boneless and sleek for a tight escape. From where to where and why in my direction does the light escape ? From what? I stare at it until it begins to flash with that strange wavering energy of weakness. Optical illusion. The flashing or me. My eyes play tricks. I am their toy.

I am wanting to absorb it - the wavelength's gnashing - I will have to if I am to get anywhere today.