Dogs
standing in doorways,
men too,
you.
When you touched me
you went through me.
Secret breath kiss,
envelop me.
You.
Night bed times
so close we melt,
so close
we melt and the room gets hot,
I can’t think, and I get thirsty.
The timber of your voice
through my bones
lulls me, I am cradled in bliss,
I purr.
We sculpt the only thing,
what we are about to
become, the only thing.
Perfect.
I am superstitious, I am
rebellious, I am neurotic,
I am falling and I am true.
This is the best idea,
this whole thing about me
and you.
When I am beautiful
I am a reflection of you.
When you touch me
you flow through me.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
In my never ending search for the sweet place in between, I've been known to unabashedly appropriate everything that assists in my feeling alive. I can't hold on to these sensations, emotions and experiences have a life of their own. So I touch, I sing, I fly and I write so that it keeps moving through me and onto the next unsuspecting body.
None of these words are mine to keep. I will eventually turn to dust, after all.
* Townes Van Zandt
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I'm slowly uploading all the poems that will eventually make up the books: Grace, Pretty Girl, Electrical Disturbances, Phoenix and the current work-in-progress, The Loss of a Comet.
Some were written in the moment, others tie themselves to the one before and the one after and read like therapy. They probably were.
I have my favorites. Others make me smile, (Buster Napping, As Usual.) Some make me sad. Others take me away. All of them are proof that I'm still alive. If a single person connects with any set of words, well, then it's that much better to have shared.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The Places I've Been by Fabienne Jach is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
I get obsessed with words and certain phrases. They come at me and push their way own through me, (bullies), I don't know what else to do but put them down and let them have a life. I've been writing since I was twelve. Since "Flying Forever, Forever Free." Now you know.
Search This Blog
High, Low and In Between*
In my never ending search for the sweet place in between, I've been known to unabashedly appropriate everything that assists in my feeling alive. I can't hold on to these sensations, emotions and experiences have a life of their own. So I touch, I sing, I fly and I write so that it keeps moving through me and onto the next unsuspecting body.
None of these words are mine to keep. I will eventually turn to dust, after all.
* Townes Van Zandt
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
In Progress
I'm slowly uploading all the poems that will eventually make up the books: Grace, Pretty Girl, Electrical Disturbances, Phoenix and the current work-in-progress, The Loss of a Comet.
Some were written in the moment, others tie themselves to the one before and the one after and read like therapy. They probably were.
I have my favorites. Others make me smile, (Buster Napping, As Usual.) Some make me sad. Others take me away. All of them are proof that I'm still alive. If a single person connects with any set of words, well, then it's that much better to have shared.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Popular Posts
-
It was more than one year ago, practically two, When all the clocks stopped. Primal and disorganized, I levitated. Just a few inches, re...
-
Cold hands and leftovers, Discomfort, collateral damage. What of it? Don't bite your nails. Hide your face. A small imagined sweep o...
-
The intoxicating nectar of inspiration landed closely, fluttering. I remember looking up, I remember when everything changed. Anticipatio...
Very Little About Me
The Places I've Been by Fabienne Jach is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
No comments:
Post a Comment