wordlore

2006-11-24T12:40:00.000-05:00

I feel like I should write about everything that happens and almost happens to me. Like when I went downstairs I flicked my rolled cigarette without even thinking that I should hold it and remove the flame of it. I just let it go through the wet wind of the night to the bottom stare and with a light kerplunk it was dead on the stare. I heard the noise of trucks coming up the hill and I stiffened in my jacket thinking what if it were police. Police coming to investigate in this quiet area why I was out and why I sucked on the end of my tightly rolled cigarette in such a manner to remember a joint. They would stop me and ask for my papers, my passport, to process me. London has this feel of processing. Honor code running their public transport. Honor that people will carry themselves appropriately. Everyone properly getting drunk at the appropriate hour before twelve oclock. Slosh pish poshed fumbling on the granite, in their dress shirts and plain coats and spotted tongues bing bong doors of the tube slide tight shut to carry them home. The women in tweed, plaid, polka dotes, suited, wrapped, painted, and draken. I always feel beyond sober even in my lack of sleep. The lights appear medically bright.

2006-10-30T12:36:00.000-05:00

over chicken
grease corona
and 2 pence
I felt Dr. Pepper
spark again
I felt ketchup again in my sniffles
I saw something
non linear
like the sequence gap in his unforrowed brow
I saw something
behind the blue
shul on the beach
In his slender mayonaise spotted
finger I saw something
with
the napkin
I wiped from his bartending
shadow on his face
in his faded green pant
I saw two macaroons
that fell like a shooting star
in the cigarette
he ashed
and stepped on it
with the foot that mingled with my toes in the sand
on that other beach not important to mention
in his little new blue phone
chewing the strawberry mess of a gum and the hebrew
in the gausy chairs
in the tables roundness
in the 2 euro coin I tipped
him for singing
in the upright
glass in our apologies
that dissappeared down the throat of the bubbly
corona top and the top that heard green day wincing
out of his memory
in my giggle of release
as he pissed around the corner
while I learned that Dixie chicken is from India
in the red bus that I missed
in the hashbon that we halfisies on
in the leaf painted that
hung on the wall of that cafe
in the belts that walked by us
shown like that one starplanet
that stood above my head
that missed all its friends
on that beach not important enough to mention
in the styrofoam clam of a chicken
again hot chicken
reassured me in that cab to that basketball game
that little backwards car tried to park
next to our walking
like the blackpearl
lifted from my heart
as that construction paper covered the window of Club 113
in the milk and honey
in the milk and honey
in the milk and honey
another pearl of meat
sprang chicken in my defeat with 2 pence
kissing me two times
2 peanuts like cracked
for
2 ashed cigarettes
and two grey hairs to talk
2 beers and two packets of ketchup
ketchup

2006-06-20T11:52:00.000-04:00

I wish i could take back that
yell that shoved out of my mouth like a screaming birth
i wish I could take
most of you
back
your sisters
they're growing
your grandmother talking me tired
our laughs racing each other up to the ceiling of that bedroom
the a/c making icicles and scooting me closer into your arms
your salty lips after the beach
the sun sinking us
you not knowing how good Im doing now

2006-02-17T17:10:00.000-05:00

Do you think if we were on this ice plate,
wincing from bitter snow whisking us apart
if we still would have fallen so hard?

And then again
Waiting 8 months
To fall into your hair
Makes sense
To ride the syncopated sighs one more time
It is worth
Not knowing much

But the Breakfast to cook
Bed to make
Shower to run
And the home in those hands

Revealing thunderbolts between our two chests
Lit me inside
First sight
Was first concussion
Blaring beauty luminous sea light
In black water
I felt more time
In the endlessness of our limbs
Floating under the sun moon
In the sea that was our bath

On a Sunday I left you on land
And felt nerves twinge
Distance framed by time and water
Suckered by a samba
An impasse

An email
Resuscitated
The bahian dream

Rio baby
Splayed me on a corner
In a house with a shy roof
And perpetual water spilling through its three floors
On lime clothe our limbs met
Greeting each other like an axis to swing our souls from
You even hired a band
Succulently careening together
To samba
I fell upon you
Done
In the sand
And wilted by a hammock’s sincerity

We are fluid over space
And it is our nest in the wind
That is my home.

2006-02-17T16:59:00.000-05:00

Ah jes
me and the southern wind will take flight on a little
grey animal
called greyhound
in my black pantolones and wood heeled shoes
im gonna cross the mason-dixon line with pride
y'all
north carolinaaaa
raise up take your shirt off twist it around
yo head like a helicopter...
ahem i dont know about all that but good lawd
i cant wait to bus it on out
and bring it back
and when my 12th and final hour passes
on this vessel
to return to my southern brethren
i will spout with great conviction
Free at last thank god almighty
Free at last..

2006-02-16T22:19:00.000-05:00

for Aaron...

I don’t know how two peppers mate.
Do they sit one on top of the other?
Like Sunkist fruits
Basking in each others orifices or is it
Linear
Where you can’t tell where one starts and the other one ends.
I think we met like two peppers or drank too much
But eyes on the wagon
Glad our lips met and hope they get to be great friends.

2006-02-16T22:12:00.000-05:00

She drifted on the train
As all women do
In their curves and sweet crevices
Her eyes lined like a doll.
Weight shifting like a carnival float
Heaving in stillness
She was silk in a gutter.

2005-12-19T21:35:00.000-05:00

never gonna believe this one...
arrive to my second place of work
muchacha had been there
asking for me
asking with face ruby from distraught thought
and I literally skipping in had been put levels at ease
cause i delved into my poetry book (jimmy santiago baca)
on the train
having no dea that i had caused such inhabitable spaces for
one girl
with one man
that i have
under a wing
solidly mush
as i abide on the ride
of sentiment and
nada is perfecto en el mundo
entonces
i move a head
what feels good
feels right
know ing ones worth took
a hastle and pain exploding from my chest
to appreciate
sincere gazes crush
the most militant vivacious mujer
and yet
estoy aqui
being questioned
to be looked at cross eyed
head
weighed from the disbelief
its nice but it aint that nice
i can remember when i was sick my
mother would give me this milky sour sip
to calm my stomach but i just turned my head
and the silver hardness being shoved into my mouth
slipping into my body without me even aware of its
thick existence did it to me marking my helplessness
and I pouted but took it not thinking i had any choice

beauty of adulthood
choices lay them selves across your lap like a melody
awaiting your move
delve in delve not
you arent bound to anything but yourself.
unfortunately
i have been swept by gaze, conversation, and cologne
into a choicefull situation
requiring my resolution
i just thought some bitch came to my work looking for me
what was she going to say
what words would have fallen like mercury at my feet
and how would she have responded to my generousity of tongue
i could have articulated the discrete details of scar adresses on the common corpus
but what would that prove
but her solitude is as prominent as a electric lemon pulp
her love is a prosthetic
and i fleshy enough so that
im rubbing off.

2005-12-19T12:27:00.000-05:00

wounded
brevity
seconds
knight
to
snail

2005-11-30T17:53:00.000-05:00

duel lap
where is she at?

gotta a show pony
gives me purple money
sobs in secret

miss that cretan

parish perusing

fishing for a smoochinnn
lose tailored boxers
carry jewels with indiscrete notions

that linger and dote on missed approaches

i decided i wanta big man that s large to absorb my height in his eyes

and enough that i kinda want to nap by his thighs

too bad disenchanted stares lurch
bothered about too heated sighs

miss that swoop whooping windedness that comes from flurried bed ridden
embezzlements

in my head i hear blankets tapping on each other
i see lanky pretentions
upon the lush and a middle dissension
of his mention..
ha ha im a two- bit jezebel
throwing hip into my saucy thoughts
my mom said she was retiring from pimpin

and that little flowery sheer thing was not something she was recomendin
i kept it movin
but i think its odd
that all of a sudden im dippin rapantly
into memories

bubbled into one single history

of elation, masturbation and awful break up occupation

its like washing dirty underwear so they look like new...
dosen't matter what you do...
cause inevitably shining em...

they still be funky in a few.

2005-11-30T00:06:00.000-05:00

Leaving JFK with the my neighborhood castle
cab service
who i called before hand to pick up me and my
sister
Be aware that while on the phone with mother
verifying your arrival and that you are in a
taxi
...wait...car service or something and
enroute to your aboad...
that the driver of the service
vehicle...
as soon as you hang up that phone
will correct you to say that you are not in a
car service
but a limousine service that is
old.

2005-11-22T11:06:00.000-05:00

little lore

2005-11-16T13:08:00.000-05:00

2005-11-15T17:01:00.000-05:00

So I was in front of my stoop

which is a very new brooklyn york thing to say by the way
in New Orleans its a porch no matter where it is located
Its a Porch
As so out in front of my stoop

Two young ones, Dre and Chris
met up with I walking woody with red glass of wine in tote
at 10 something on monday evening.
yessir.
And so I asked, "Do yall have school tomorrow? All the kids are always up late around here?"
They laughed.
Dre said that he goes to night school that starts at 4:15pm
which in response to my disbelief expression
He said, "It's an Alternative School."
And I replied, "No shit."
which affirmed the use of "alternative"
So, then the other gent, Chris said, "GED" which I replied, "Nice."

Considering my entire bourgeouisie perception of ED's altered since I dated a scholar of the same art for 10 months--
to which I discovered is no measurement of a boy's brilliance only his confidence and life circumstances.

So Dre asked, "What did you study?" I said, "Anthropology, the study of people and culture. Ima Nerd so I loved all the reading and writing."
Chris says,"Why didn't you do journalism?"
I quickly wanted to respond but my words sort of ran in to each other like a field trip line.
whatever I said it was an excuse
I muttered (muffled utterance) something about it not being creative enough.
He then said, "Why don't you write a book?"
And at that point I finished my cigarette and started another slyly smirking to myself as i agreed whole heartedly
AH YES, BOY MAN OF THE NIGHT STOOp. YOUR WISDOM ENTIRELY EXCEEDS YOU, BUT YOUR INNOCENCE & SIMPLICITY to THROW SUCH EAsY REALITY MY WAY MAKES ME WANT TO WANE WITH THE MOON TONIGHT.
just like that as if it was all my doodling with words
wordyling
was like masturbation
And he was saying go have sex you idiot.
To which I really had no response beyond, I should.
And then woody began to growl at nothing and I picked him up and went inside.

2005-11-09T15:43:00.000-05:00

minerva

2005-11-08T14:55:00.000-05:00

Persimmons
hard brown suga
mush pie peach
popping
Is it normal that excitement is pulping through me
for an encounter of the passive aggressive kind.
Got a hot date. got a hot date
okay well not so much a date as coffee, but the anticipation and planning
and the sexy innuendos that will be exchanged might as well categorize it
as an uber date thang. well it could turn into wine

very witful man and i will sit and retreat in what could have been and mostly what was.
Rewind to the evening of my PR job christmas party ...several jameson and ginger ales
later...us swapping speech on restraint
on the street
on the steps
on this place
tabas-costos
pink seducing
sobering on prince street
our combative romance narrow frustration
culminating off our black coats
and out of our exhausted flirtatious celestial crossing tongues
I was yelling, "What do you want me to do...(fill in name here), I mean wait for you? Tell me.
What can you promise me if anything. Me yelling Argh in frustration up into the air hoping it would pop into a blanket and settle down over us wrapping and warming all my doubt
I just couldn't hold on to it like it was real real
it felt so fuzzy all the time
fuzzy and pomegranate juice staining that I wanted to be hit with a shovel so I would know
in my haze of stars and crimson sweet on my buds
the angst was worth the pavlov dog dripping.
and so he signaled and sent across his lips that we shouldn't and wouldn't
and from a very afar distance it would be had in each other's minds still.
I slung that over my shoulder again much like, I had with the parting from the german love, the costa rican beauty, and leaving my mother for the second and third time to return to boarding school.
I sucked it up like pollen and pushed on.
and I was fine. I mean lusting over our shared poetry everylate once in a while but for the most part. I grew on.
So fast forward and pause to now...
We, I and (fill name here) are good. friendly. connected and jameson dew drop free, poetry lingering for some time, but I guess I see it differently then the gaze and words that passed so graciously between us. I get it and let it be as is. One of those loves that just appear and disappear leaving you gaping and from the total of the images that spooned you.
Ah.
a year lata
and i'm still spilling over persimmons discovery and costos that knelt near my hope and flushing smile tightening my back bone and fervently pasteurizing my honest gaze of what its supposed to feel like and how good it feels when you can release it to return
fleetingly maybe
but still so pie good again.

2005-11-07T13:50:00.000-05:00

I guess there's no more juice to squeeze out of this orange.
Dinner and conversation.
Sunday Night. South African Dinner.
Rain and Nana' s Milk Tart.

I knew earlier when i awoke nude next to my spotted shitzu that I needed the rest of the day to fall back into myself soundly and powerfully to restore all that was lost the night before on gin, and cheese, and the repeat murmuring of that two syllable name. Who by the way is in Italy for the next two somethings expanding his coordinates sadly enough not expanding his common sense.
So, I just should have stayed home and done me and not given him (not the temporary tourist-in italy) but the co-creole, the slight glimmer that I would remotely or text mobile-ly do him later.

Open the car door for me, etiquette.

I stood there in my southern fit of I am the shit stance and have you seen my brain, and ass smirk.
He said, "This is the Northeast dawlin?" and I'm thinkin you want to try to pounce me later and you cant weild strength to and sense to open the car door before you get in the car door. I guess he isn't that kind of guy which means, he isn't (period).

I just didn't get the whole evening conversation and his shifty eyes silences were doubly awkward, uncomfortably, and annoying. The entire night turned into what are you thinking what did you say, what do you mean by that sentences that slurred into each other much like my gin speech the night before.
forwarding to the juicy part...
We kiss and all of sudden it becomes this full on attack mode by him, where I feel like I'm not at the same event he's at. He was staring in to my eyes and swapping spit and his face look like Gandhi slurping water after years of dehydration. It just didn't match mine. I was like in an elevator listening to music twiddling thumbs or something.
So, not opening the car door, then, jumping me and then delivering sly glances that were backed by unknown messages made it even more peculiar in his lack of affection the entire evening until the quiet squat on my bed...I'm sorry staring longingly into someone's eyes is lovely and all but after sometime if you don't try to hold a bitch's hand or rub a back or something. Shit is awkward and it doesn't make sense behind doors to all of a sudden unleash a bull for demonstrative play.
Unbelievable.
Continuing, I push him off of me as clearly it seemed like he was climbing mount Everest in the sound of his voice and I was like still in the elevator. He asked if he had done anything wrong and I said no. Then he tries to move on me again. I hesitate and he says I'm just trying to kiss you, dawlin in that motha tongue of new orleans twang things to say to me. And then I say sure then why is your dick on my leg if you are just kissing me, puhlease, do I look twelve?, screw twelve, am I deaf? The neighbor can hear you, man. You are not trying to exchange sweet Dorothy kisses. You would like to pierce me if you could. Ugh. I just grossed my own self out.
So, that sort of startled his intense hot rhythm he was trying to convey and said, "I think I should go" and then I helped him get his shoes. But right before we had kissed and the fiasco unfolded I said, "I don't think we can squeeze any more juice out of this orange." I was clearly wrong.

2005-11-04T17:02:00.000-05:00

moi

2005-11-04T15:19:00.000-05:00

I feel like citrus
red bows
forehead kisses
falling down
on a bottle
serendipitous kisses
languid walks
bursts
hearts bust
sopping
then
swooning