“Life and death, energy and peace. If I stop today it was still worth it. Even the terrible mistakes that I made and would have unmade if I could. The pains that have burned me and scarred my soul, it was worth it, for having been allowed to walk where I’ve walked, which was to hell on earth, heaven on earth, back again, into, under, far in between, through it, in it, and above…”
“…I’d swear that’s a line from my favorite best-selling paperback novel, “In Love with the Night Mysterious”, except I don’t think you’ve ever read it. Well, you ought to, instead of spending the rest of your life, trying to get through “Democracy in America.” It’s about this white woman whose daddy owns a plantation in the Deep South, in the years before the Civil War. And her name is Margaret, and she’s in love with her daddy’s number-one slave, and his name is Thaddeus. And she’s married, but her white slave-owner husband has AIDS: Antebellum Insufficiently-Developed Sex-organs. And so, there’s a lot of hot stuff going down, when Margaret and Thaddeus can catch a spare torrid ten under the cotton-picking moon. And then of course the Yankees come, and they set the slaves free. And the slaves string up old daddy and so on, historical fiction. Somewhere in there I recall, Margaret and Thaddeus find the time to discuss the nature of love. Her face is reflecting the flames of the burning plantation, you know the way white people do, and his black face is dark in the night and she says to him, “Thaddeus, real love isn’t ever ambivalent.”
How to speak Poetry
“Do not be afraid to be weak. Do not be ashamed to be tired. You look good when you’re tired. You look like you could go on forever. Now come into my arms. You are the image of my beauty.”
Tall walls, frightening windows and white veils, to get lost in it, like in all my childhood dreams.
I stare at the lights and their eyes and wonder if they have the life that they want, if they have made it themselves,
I wonder if their life is theirs to own, like I wonder in all my pages.
Stillness, his big arms around me, tightness, his hand on my neck, perfection, his skin is shining the night,
I turn around to look at his soul and tears are running down his beautiful lines…
The dark man of the hot blue waters is crying.
All is light and carelessness and we are an opened wound. We’re not scared, we’re grateful,
And we fill it up with stories and wet lips.
If only you could see yourself through my eyes…
When you came on the waves like the god that you are, moving skies and waters,
I could see you! I could see you!!!
And I knew about your loneliness too, because I have been wandering this hopeless earth also looking for you,
All those steps of my life were meant to bring me there, with you, in that moment when you turned around and looked at me, like I knew you would.
The space between the blue of the shores and the edge of the clouds got filled with words and time started going backwards.
Not in pain but in a celebration of memory, in a victory of thoughts, in a recognition of survival,
In joy over happiness,
In me having to have met you,
In you having to have found me to remind you of your soul.
The waters mingled with streets, thoughts, glass and steel sunsets up in the mountains close to the skies where we belong.
The hours were slow, the past couldn’t hurt us anymore,
And we lived like there were no ends or distances on Earth.
I have missed you my whole life.
We lived like we have found each other forever!
Now I will walk these winter streets knowing you exist, glowing in the sun, as you should,
And all the old will be new again.
This is the place where all the longings of times live,
“This is a safe place… this is a safe place!”