Copyright © Athse Publishing 2006
Published by Athse Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers and/or authors.
While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of information contained herein.
All the imagery is fictional and derived from the author's imagination.
Dreams on Me
ISBN 0-9736131-9-X
Athse Publishing www.athsepublishing.com
For women everywhere,
who dare to dream
this year
this year she’ll be a band-aid and antiseptic she’ll be calm after the storm she’ll be open arms and soft lips and warmth she’ll be a shelter where you can hide this year she’ll be a rock of sorts or a childhood toy to rock time backwards to ecstasy this year she’ll be yours
a blue shawl
if I
put on a blue shawl
do you think I'd get new fingerprints ?
would they be blue?
have a different touch?
would they be the same on another
as on you?
would they feel identical
if I dipped them in red
instead of blue?
skin of steel
if I could have skin of steel I think I'd like that I'd be cool and collected frozen protected maybe you'd get stuck
truth
give it to me the cold hard truth like smoking steel in my mouth give it to me like frozen metal ripping tongue give it to me like flesh being torn apart give it to me I can handle it
the watch
she felt like that watch for she knew that sometimes she ticked and sometimes she was well-rounded and sometimes she was shallow depending on how you looked and sometimes she needed to be wound and sometimes she was in pieces jingling in someone's pocket
rome
rome wasn't built by one but I thought to try anyway
and I have no regrets just a few lost bets and starry eyes and a single laugh echoing amongst ruins that I can sit on and feel the cold underneath me
and all around the day after a holocaust the ruined soil the last burnt tree its lonesome leaf still smoking but hanging on hoping for another day when rome can be built again
on the dangers of reading too much
I think I've read a hundred books this week trying to fill myself with missing things I turned the world, I flipped the pages met some dragons, read of sages met a sasquatch, almost winced passed him by and found a witch she looked so very sad, I thought and I asked her what was wrong youIvefgotfmagic, I insisted youIvefgotfcharm, I then persisted but her tear kept rolling down as she looked upon the ground and I saw her bloody hands from the turning of the rocks what a mess there was around some lost courage then I found and to heal her I so wanted my red kerchief wet, I handed and I wrapped her hand in mine
heIsftoof arfawayfthisftime
and she looked up at my eyes put her bloody hand in mine and I broke down and I cried
hisflovefwasfjustfanotherflie
and a gazillion tears rolled down on grey skin
my dolls
when I was ten I washed my barbie's hair and put her head in the radiator overnight so that she could dry but by the morning she had melted looked like a sadly deformed blob now I have dolls of porcelain and I don't know why but their hair always looks clean so I spare them the wash just touch and play with them gently I don't want them to break they're so cool and crisp and pretty and refreshing
let's have a picnic
let's have a picnic but we'll wait for the perfect day
there must be no rain for I don't want to get wet there must be no pollen in the air for it may fall into the food there must be no birds chirping around for they may interfere with our conversation there must be not too much sun for I am pale and will burn there must be no dogs around for they may bite me there must be no children playing nearby for they are rambunctious and may topple on us there must be a great feeling between us for we wouldn't enjoy it if either was cross it must all be perfect before we venture into the beauty of god's nature to have a picnic
moods
I'm in the mood for an honest man I'm in the mood for a giving man I'm in the mood for a kind man I'm in the mood for a big enough man to handle my moods
like you
I see like you now the water's clear not blue or green or purple with sparkles in the deep I see like you now the sky has clouds made of moisture not magic waiting to enchant I see like you now mountains are rocks large and ominous not a human crouching in search of a hug I see like you now eyes have pupils not stars or windows to my soul or yours I see like you now everything is touchable logical
tear
trickle trickle tear of mine roll on gently down and slide and on my cheek the softness find slip some more through slopes and valleys settle not in tricky alleys seek out deeper wetter grooves tickle there and mesh your mood add your twist the secret spice to make all else too bland a taste
a story tonight
I could really use a story tonight a story told with style, just right
yell one at me loud and clear or mumble nothings in my ear
pretend or not, a well told lie is always nice told smooth and sweet and cool like ice
that might be what it takes a story for a day make sure it's one that lasts please baby, not too fast
tell me one so good it stays one my faulty memory won't erase
as slick or seedy as you like your choice my dear I need a story tonight
cold
cold, baby, cold a mugged-for-clothing eskimo cold, baby, cold a half-eaten freeze-burnt popsicle cold, baby, cold a rocking soulless cradle cold, baby, cold a lover-friend turned nice cold, baby, cold don't touch you'll turn to ice
in a corner
in a corner of the garden love can be found open like an unsealed letter vying for life in your eyes each breath moves it along for
you to find and keep only it will wait until the day we meet
an unfinished life
I can live a hundred years I can love and be adored make a tour worldwide with unrequitedness afore always on my mind