I am tripping more than you are. Battling razzberries

[SadLuckDame]

You don't look forward nor after a woman?
I'm to question everything, confusion if all else fails me.

[SadLuckDame]

Bringing it in here to make a few extra suggestions.
Think to flow, or make song of snake hearts.

When I, when I, when you
and I, when you,
when it all gets to being
complicated

I go, to go
to when I,
when I
was to go,
than I
just forgot
all complications

when you
and you,
then you

and I
knew all could be
complicated

if we, if we, if you
and me
allowed it to be

or when we
knew, just knew
it could be

too easy
too easy

when I, when I, when you
went to free, to free
freely let go
to be
when we, when we, when we

[stilltrucking]

You don't look forward nor after a woman?

I look plenty
I look forward
and backward
but not as much
as I look homeward angel

Yes still I look but don't expect anymore

Mostly I want to ride
I want to be own my own again

[SadLuckDame]

only just float.

[SadLuckDame]

It's pretty nice having you around,
kind of like coffee with Henry.
What a trip
and I smile a lot.

[SadLuckDame]

Release the Hounds

Down where it's batter batter dog
in the snarky pluff, the langy way
darkened to the smits
and driven to the may.

I'm in my curled top,
a little slip of knot
and I only gots to endure
the blister taught,
lay it out in wait.
Grown up with
a pattle,

all my life I goes
to envisioning that hefty
snake ya gets devoured on,
it's eating holes
straight through
your soul.

I gets a little light,
you gets the pitchest dark.
It sifts, it folds, it flays ya up
nice.

I laugh, yes, I laugh
how will you survive.



............................................


Trailing black shadow
white fell
it's dark like an arm.

I stand on my head
it moves to my door
the arm goes under
the arm walks across the floor
across the wood
and past a window,
it stands silent
at the foot of my bed.

I sit quiet to read
with a little light on.

Tomorrow we'll do it again.

.......................

Paint a portrait of an indifferent woman,
you say to her when she's unaware,
"I like how you smile."

You shake her from her bed.
You shake her by her book stack.
You shake her by the old photograph,

by the picture of her on a camp chair
with her Grandmother smiling behind.

And she's sitting there shaking
thinking about her mother.

Her mother said, "I don't know why
she had all of her teeth pulled by twenty."

"Maybe they were rotting..."

"No, she had beautiful teeth,
a beautiful smile!"

"It's like the time I cut off all my hair,
he said it was beautiful laying across the pillow top."

The way he approached
she was shaking with fear
he was soft, slowly inched towards
slow to devour,
a carefulness.

It'd be better if she cut it all off.

Paint a picture of an indifferent woman.
She sits silent in her bed.
She sits looking at a book stack.
She sits quiet by an old photograph

Silent by a letter she writes her mother,
that she hasn't finished writing yet.

[stilltrucking]

She moved across the ocean
to escape her mother her mother herself


"My mind winds to you /
Old barnacled umbilicus, Atlantic cable...
Off, off, eely tentacle! /
There is nothing between us." — ARIEL


Sons get off so easy
A son is a son till he takes a wife
a daughter a daughter for life

My sisters' dark cave
of resentment, anger, and fear''

I won't be free
till she is

[SadLuckDame]

Free anytime after seven or on the weekends,
but I exclusively leave Sundays wide open for it,
for anything from cooking to old records.

[SadLuckDame]

They lived within caves, within valleys and forest, favoring rest. Little Layla Salt laid about the people, she was more the dreamer, more just visionary.

Often they'd consult her on the Moon's language, for there was some deeper meaning to the look on her face, when they said, "A man once journeyed to the moon, and once there had asked the moon twice to allow him, he struck her twice across each cheek bone. With a force he plowed his artist brush, taking what it was he asked for, then made the distance home.

When he found Little Layla Salt, he thrust the pale along her own cheek bones." And this is how we find her. She laid about the forest floor in an imagery, "What's it like when we make a trip with you?" E eerily quiet for some. Especially this day we've now arrived to, her silence spoke up, there was only this from her and the look she held out for view.

Yes, she'd had some vision and told no one what it could be like.

Be right back...
just getting started.

[SadLuckDame]

Little Layla Salt dreamt of the man who struck the moon, he was a very bad man and he placed the tears across her cheeks, kept many secrets, I don't know a good description except he talked a lot and knew no rest, a preacher man, politician or lawyer.

When the people cried into Layla's palms of his relentlessness, she barely moved forward, she only leaned back, only contemplated a woolly bear caterpillar, only told them it reminded her very much of a bear, looked much like one, but small scale. Talked about fierce mama bear with a black neck, with a brown torso. Talked of how mothers look North, look South, look East and West. Moved the Woolly into the forest floor leaves, talked of bird's hunger, talked of birds only to see leaves and we don't see the bear any longer.

Oh! yes, maybe Little Layla talks so much, too. I just noticed this and had to stop to laugh.

She saw in her vision a mother bear with two cubs wandering with a great hunger, they were all hungry. The mother traveled long through weather, she went far with the worry of her young, but knew they could eat soon, she sniffed the air, sniffed distance through the valley, through the forest, through the leaves and birds and smelled the fear of the bad man, smelled this with a wonderful pleasure. Mother told her cubs they could tear his limbs while she squeezed his heart between her teeth.

Bah! Great fear and all that, we return to the bad man's cave and his run was to Little Layla Salt, whom he once touched with such a gentleness and he stands before her, here she is with a pile of leaves at her feet and he's been in a terrible danger, for we see his flush. "Little Layla! What is it you see for me, for there is a great bear at my door, she's growling in my cave and I can not rest, for I've her tracks on the floor."

But Layla was only laughing, only smiling and goes to him, "You're the artist who paints my cheeks, do not ask me, but just tell me what is to become of you."

She told him she yesterday saw a rabbit open it's mouth wide, two large teeth and she became rabbit, too. She ate carrots all day and yawned in the hot sunlight. "Why else would you have made me, if not just to discuss the moon, the sun and innocent things? Though, do hurry for there is only now to be sure with."

On this ending, all I can think to add is that he had a beating heart, he felt it thumping within his chest, and that there were bears ready to eat, and Little Layla Salt laid around envisioning. That's about it.

Been reading so much American Indian prose and poetry. Really liking what I read, then comparing it to what I write after-wards, so always want to mention what it is I'm influenced by at the moment, just to compare if I re-read at a later date.

Save the woolly bears.

[SadLuckDame]

I had a gazillion detailed dreams last night, dreams about planting sunflower seeds in old, disgusting garages and rooms with giants holes filled with dirt, cobweb and spiders, tearing down walls and all sorts of fully full moon waltzing, but I don't think you want to waltz with me.

I'm as bummed as a little darlin' can get bummed.

Either that or my paranoia that my ego grew ten more sizes and I'll be blushing I admitted I thought this was all to do with me when perhaps nothing ever is, mayhaps no one cares a dit about anything bout me and I'm just delusional.

[SadLuckDame]

Jack, and all his men
went marching past her step.
It wasn't as if she'd let that happen.

Down, down and down
she 'pursed a little flight
in her bird costume.

"You worm!",
she went pink and fisted.

~cause you're not there, grr and grr.

[SadLuckDame]

I wanted to hop on last night and write a little section of a musical I have singing about in my head, it was from a dream I'd had. A whole scene I want to put down before all's lost, but I'm stuck sharing the puter and couldn't get the time in needed. Anyway, I'll get a little start on it...

She was going to visit her lover, they'd been long separated and she'd wanted to give him a surprise of showing up like that. Pulled up next to his small house. It looked like it was just a one room deal, a white box with a painted black number two for address. This is gonna be very hard times.

He was outside chasing around some of his kids in the yard, playing tag and there was a woman giggling on the side. She looked very much protestant.
I thought about how they'd all even fit together inside that tiny house.
.....

When chance happened, the woman friend left for whiles, I walked up his drive to re-introduce myself. I gave him a scowl and said, "Who's she playing around?" and he goes, "Baby, she's just temporary." So I goes, "Does that make me always to be temporary, too?" He tells me all sorts of ways I might spring back to his memory, temporarily, like if he's in the scene with some ugly gal, etc. and so on.
This breaks into song.

[SadLuckDame]

It's not that I'm making up with you,
it's just that I'm making out.

Thoughts on flirting.

[SadLuckDame]

Holiday

She journeys not.
She journeys.
She journeys not!
she's not left the place.
She leaves it,
though her feet do not.


You can not hold him?
I hold him not.
But, you do love him?
I love him so.
This I do not know,
nor many do.
Nor I when in fits.


They could not draw her away.
They could not draw her.
They say he drew her.
Yes, he drew petals.
There where the tither grow.
Only look up.
Oh! the mistletoe.
The Holly.