headline poetry

time ticks slow-mo tempo
lips licking luscious tango
minds meld into messy mix
souls’ sutured in syrupy twine
hearts hold hard the heavy task
of linking our love for all of time

I’m in you and you’re in me
alone we’ll never ever be
holding hands and telling stuff
togetherness could get real rough

We’re banging heads as we do the dance
stepping into the same damn pants
close quarters in bed and at sink
growing resentment at each other’s stink
farts were funny when counted in tens
after thousands of gasses we’re getting the bends

I’m in you and you’re in me
alone we’ll never ever be
holding hands and telling stuff
togetherness could get real rough

you finish my sentence, I finish your plate
you’re too wordy to follow, I’m too fat to date
we argue ‘bout money and plans and tv
and sex and decisions and even who to be
but we need each other badly can’t you see
we’re living out and loving this fusion fantasy

I’m in you and you’re in me
alone we’ll never ever be
holding hands and telling stuff
togetherness could get real rough

you wake me up with gentle thrusts
from sleep I answer your siren charm
my eyes closed tight against
the soft morning skin of your arm
while you hold my head, I remain in bed
but then we must part ways for two whole days

and one long night

I love waking up with you real slow
I love to taste your morning lips
the sun enchants you a golden glow
to touch you is to enter bliss
won’t you stay in me
will you stay with me

Our nights are long
and mornings, too
lingering between the sheets
whispers, coos, caresses, too
the day can wait until we’re through

our little world here in our bed
with candles, lube and sheets of red
the walls are thick and so we scream
we are the sexiest tumbling tag team

play time comes in many forms
evolving from the day you’re born

skipping hearts join silly grins
full of happiness always wins

you can’t chase it down you just have to be
it jumps in your pants and give you great glee

you lay in the grass and swing in the trees
traffic looks lovely and parking’s a breeze

you find yourself grinning ear to ear
when you look and see smiles on everyone near

under the smooth skin
is soft stuff
not mushy
but tender like a bruise

feel around
softly, carefully
what would you find
if you poke through?

hide and seek
a needle in the haystack
giggle with glee
there it is

peeping out
from soft cocoon
wise pupae
sees but is not eaten

globes
in my head
spin
on angled axes
dry surfaces
tear tenderly
in passing

pretty
proud
serious
not mask
but sign
mutable in a flash
or stoic on principle

a face that takes much time to be seen

soft and beautiful
waiting stoney-like

melting wounds
solid will

eternal grace rising
deep knowledge

she shines
then disappears in a wink

silence
space
not waiting, really, more like sitting with

do

contemplate actions that are not reactions

not do


a membrane
a sac
some goo
have no edges

you occupy me
a welcome specter
sometimes in my
head, behind my cheekbones
sometimes in my
belly, or between my legs
there you are

soft and quiet
a stillness tendering
underneath
the smart racket

never to be grasped
yet thoroughly ours
once we simply
notice it

you open it
and things fall out

and things fall out
on your head

on your head
where visions dance

where visions dance
your life is fresh

your life is fresh
and it’s in the bag

and it’s in the bag
you open it

you open it
and things fall out

the smoothest round globe
inside there things grow and rot
my belly softness

tasks at hand
bills to pay
the vacuum’s broke
the dog ran away

when did I land here
who have I been
why do i live in this
ripe and aged skin

promises forgotten
visions dimmed low
each morning I wonder
“now, where do I go?”

banker, lawyer
or indian chief
the days demand due
we can't buy relief

human or plow horse
or sweet kitty cat
empty is the pleasure
of just getting fat

so I wake to a buzzer
and drink a strong cup
and sing through the day
dancing a little whup whup

boxes covered with city grime
dried spider carcasses
years of conglomerated decay
are filled with pictures of dead people
souvenirs of dead times with the living
evidences of all the dead versions of me

to make a life continuous
dreams and fantasies
evolved and grown
or cherished and remained
are a far shore from
the goals and expectations
and the treasured stinky grime
of the passing of all my days

to what do i cling
this raft of a life
made of what i call love
in the wavy sea of my days
among the scattered wreckage
of thousands of days of doing
i search in vain for this love
missing it’s enduring place
ungraspable always yet
permanent in my silent stillness

anyway, why had i packed my life away,
what was i saving it for?
some voice claimed it good and true
and told me i would find one day
myself
fresh and juicy
in the bottom of a moldy cardboard box

From a letter to a friend, in which I explained my abstinence from news consumption:

August 11, 2006

Pretty much all the news I receive is from my direct conversations with people. I hear of news events from my friends/colleagues/acquaintances when they deem them important enough to talk about. Thus, gel bombs get the same kind of personal prioritizing as tomorrow's job interview or the baby spitting up. My news is filtered by the personal lenses of people I directly interact with. So, I don't learn so much about news events as much as I do about what's important to people; what's important to my people.

In the headline poetry, I am mangling the headlines so much, that my relationship with their actual content is fairly perverted. Though I do "struggle" with curiosity for certain stories.

I have a similar thing happening with fiction, in all forms from TV to movies to the "fictive narratives" of "literature". As I reduce my exposure to distant, cultural, or anonymous stories, I feel like I become less distracted from the stories that my people and I create everyday.

What was the last line in "Grapes of Wrath", uttered by Ma? Something like "we [common people] have always been here and will always be here" ... That's more than I can say for the celebrity of those deemed worthy of our headlines. I guess that instead of being an activist, I think I'm being a livavist. Hehe.

Rather than feeling "in limbo" (which I have totally felt before when traveling, it can be erie, can't it?), I feel "in eternity" -- maybe different words and spin for the same experience. But I like it.

A criticism can easily be leveled towards my self-centeredness. But since I believe, in a studied Zen kind of way, that that my self awareness and awakeness make me a better human, I'd answer that self centeredness isn't the sin the Religious and Political would have us believe.

Cheers,
Kahty

I’ve come to pick the daisies
in your faivku meadows

you rill and you jig
a skip for a song
a wend in the wind
fingers fly

surfaces scatter
brilliant your shards
your reach to touch measured in leagues

you smear my stained
smile briskly in the soft crayon
melt of your heart drops

our glue swarm
binding bees and fleas alike
a shroud for the real syrup ride

my limbs flame flailing
in a vain cabaret
the heat cans scorch to touch

fanning for your attention
our loving swoon spoon
i want you to want me
ceaselessly seamlessly seriously

behold me standing obstinately
before your shadow’s tender gate

when my childish radge
smothers your need bleeding
scrap the sack for later

the daisies feed the binds of days

Gentle beast man
with the sunshine heart
eyes of summer wheat
ruby lips swollen
in cherubic wooze

the space between hearts
ebbs and flows
celebrated in sensations
when it’s good and bright and pretty
but then articulated with real words
to cover gaps, misses, disconnects

juicy yum yum love
is a throbbing baby between us
she gurgles and giggles
then wails and vomits
then takes a nap
leaving us stunned
and wondering what to do

juicy yum yum grows
into a real boy
a real flesh boy
and we grow with him
or turn and go home

Our uneasy summer air is offending their nostrils,
they are on their knees in cold, dark, small boxes,
leaving us alone with our private pleasures.

The lost and little were taken but not loved,
awaken but not moved;
yet i stayed inside to
probe homey faces
exploding the crisis in question.

After the forgotten green hilltop,
hand in hand, smiles lost and little fading,
find us prancing gaily in our echoing chamber
the world’s camera eye
bound to our delicate bodices.

In his guttural breakdown,
he seeks solace in hokey pastimes and piggish pleasures;
the taste sensations divine and aligned are not mine, while
the stalks of the stocks embedded in peace and delirium
have no wet resolution.

look to the parched land where you are standing
there is no one there, no one else is left
we’ve all gone to the bottom of the sea

the peaceless rest of a watery grave
forever drifting
soothing drifting
softening
everything we are comes apart together

stand down the nobler, can you taste the bitterer
Business as usual,
thoroughly masticated
churned
now we work earnestly under the swells

bids to be the supremer, all turn out the samer
deserted
on the tank
shackles rotting
in our briny deep, we all share a pulse

flowing
throbbing

pulsing


together



drifting




soothing

lips of Pip
soft in filtered light
near to my eye
blurry
range of focus
plays
with glistening
moist
redness outlines dim
never ending lips

lips of Pip
undulate against my brow
the bridge of my nose
the curve of my cheek
working the surface of my skin
teasing fine hairs
electrifying the whole
outside and
in

lips of Pip
purse softly
giving their ripe flesh
to my lips
parting to receive
and give
wet
breath
touch

he smiles
like a sweet girl
a tender soft swirl

like a hungry beast
ready for a wicked feast

like a content man
focused, knowing he can

like a hungry lover
breathily under the cover

like a shy geek
with a twitch when I peek

like a bright boy
obsessed with a new toy

like a good dad
never getting too mad

like a gurgling baby
exuding pure glee

like a dear friend
simple and clear without end

my face
flat in the dust
i look up to see
not your boot
but your eyes
smiling
close to mine
and your hand
reaching
out for mine

I gave you my last sword and found you out
our accidents ready to sneak among
I gave you my word in some foreign tongue
secretly on the take, in my last bout

‘neath the banner of our sheltering sky
reclines our obscure and abundant wood
our realm secured with a sweet simple sigh
no cliffs nor moat as mens' fortresses should

under the verdant roof of our domain
unbounded joy grows the miraculous
in dancing the love, we learn to sustain
enchanting, gullible and guileless

under our sweet, soft, supple canopy
our souls’ oasis, peacefully cloistered
oaths of love and hearth make the recipe
for the essence of a life ever stirred

we sing the love, tell the truth of the live
reverently flowing to water the give