Woman and Earth

By saying that I struggle I do not
disregard those who handle life with ease
nor do I rank myself with those who may struggle more;
the ways of the mind are mysterious and deep,
the writing of the hands careful and reflective;
the lives of those I see each day belong to both
the person directly catering to that life and to me;
I invest in those I communicate with;
by saying that they struggle I perceive that I too struggle;
by admitting that I struggle I conclude that the construction
of my being is under continual progress
and that it will be on-going until I,
or a force larger than I decides that my life
is through needing to be made; then my life shall end
and I will become what the Earth becomes me.


A Haiku

The poet speaks a
tongue of lace; he is obsessed
with delicacy.


My Philosophy

See a speck of truth in thy words
And you will behold beauty,
Reveal a speck of truth in your thoughts
And you will own righteousness,
Come to the conclusion that truth
Is the same Entity as beauty, and
You will account for the Personality of
God as being existential.


The Squirrel’s Club

He is a collection of bones,
The man who sits with the squirrels.

He and I do not speak anything that can be spoken,
Nor think anything thought by other humans.

I am newly admitted to the squirrel’s club,
My lit cigarette and list of regrets being my admittance.

The air, time and nicotine move through us;
We are nourished by the lives we led before this.

Each cigarette is the resurrection of a former act, a thing done.
Take this, says the Man of Bones, and with it, be the person you wanted to be.

I watch him, my giver, and I become his pet. I feel safe now,
Inhaling and exhaling my simple remains, just like him and the squirrels.



Why I Write

They say the heart is a lonely hunter.
If it reveals exactly what your heart hunts for, then
The poem succeeds.


The Beach

I wear black because I do not wish to be noticed.
This is ironic because when a woman is clothed all in black
She stands out like a raven on sand.


The Liquidity of My Labours

I’ve dried up. I no longer have the plumpness or beauty of grape.
My ideas have all been borne before, my poems performed in other's
bedrooms, and my dances seen and stolen.

I look out the window and behold sky.
It wants to eat me up. I let it; I jump.
As I jump, the tired, withered
skin of my body falls
like a sheet from my soul.

I picture it falled, draped gracefully over a park bench
where the old man sits watching and waiting.
We are all waiting to die, as we all thirst to live.

If tomorrow, the validity of my life is not wet with
the juice of having created Art,
then jump I will.


Ballerina

I am empty, hungry, and obsessed with Self.
These conditions become part of my art.

I care for my art very much. When dancing, I
am beautiful; when not dancing, I am unbeautiful.

Stillness is my death as movement is my life. My brain
is made of air and my soul of the need for acclaimation.

I become my art. The art is my truth. The
truth is my hunger, and the hunger my beauty.

Grace and thinness are the dancer’s morbid tools. I will not
let go of my anorexia, nor of anything else which starves me.

I will gladly suffer, as this life is all I know and what I most
want. My existence is drawn from beauty and gracefulness.


The Existence of Things

the moment of truth will come
it must
there is no other way
for time to elapse
than for truth to come


See Me as Art

From the time I rise to the time I sleep
I want to be art
Every utterance
From the tips of my toes
To the hair on my head
I'll sacrifice everything for the sake of my art
I am obsessed with the idea of being artwork
Can you imagine?
Me, a walking piece of artwork.


Girls

Lesbian love is like
Four hands and one glove, or
A beach of snow;
It is a wanting with nowhere to go.


Tomorrow's Star

Golden as the day they say she be
Dreaming my dream, I hear they speak of me.


The Noble Hermit

If I am going to exit my kingdom I
May as well do everything at once,
The excretion, the cooking, the bathing,
The buying; why leave the house of poetry
For only one reason?
Yes, do all chores at one, in one sweep,
Then return, and be brilliant again,
In thy kingdom of writing, noble hermit.


To the Citizen of Male

Doll, toy, plaything for men
who can talk,
kiss, cook, sew, and care for house;
marry it though it has droopy breasts
love it though its face is a mess.

The plastic woman will keep you fed forever
for she seeks to worship only thee,
but the real woman
in all her quick beauties and inabilities,
in her foolishness and chastidy,
she will keep your manhood fed.


O Hands

Oh hands that I love
Oh life that I live
What is one without the other?
With all that I am, let me give.


The Conquerer

Let it be known that I’ve always known deep
Down that money does not buy happiness
And that the things mattered true are in fact not things
But somehow these tales of goodness are lost
As I calculate the beauties and subtract the cost
Of food and desire and gasoline for my car
Added up, life affects me, turns my heart black like tar
Living has changed me from angel to digger
And I scour the ground and raid the seas
I’ll not stop till I have it, the mountains, the trees
I’ll not stop till I purchase every home ever made
Each mailbox, all the churches, the streetlamps and everglade
The children will obey me, dogs’ tails ‘tween their legs,
Ladders will be mine, hammers, nails, screws, pegs,
Summer and autumn, spring, winter’s snow,
The policemen, the firefighters, the women who sew
I want you in your sleep to utter my name
And on my tombstone the words: the great Conquerer came.


The Wild Woman

My ways are too evocative
For these days I dwell.
I want to trade in my human skin
For a wolf's coat of the eternal winter
Of the white northern landscape
So that running through snow
And eating other animals
Would be all I’d know.


The First Winter

Love so seldom lingers here
The bitterness is so heavy it's cold
The air about me is tight and thick,
There's nothing else as bold--
The winter’s all I hear and know,
And serenely I obey its hold.


Depressed

It helps to be a little gone
To lose the mind a little, it helps
The flow of lyricism, I’ve found.
It helps to have the dying vibe inside
Your body, your soul.
It helps the writing’s sound.


The Untouchable Sleeps

On a pillow white
Her red lips sleep,
Bleeding—(as my
Heart does)
Through the night.


Poor Boy

I care for you because
It is for the same things
That we suffer.


Untitled 100

Food is the simplest of my
hungers. There are other things
far more necessary and far more
vast, for which I hunger.


Untitled 94

I need protection from the crowds,
the people, the spoken, the speaking, the words.
Cover my body from all the sounds:
I need protection to be found.


Untitled 98

She rests thin arms upon
smooth, white waist
and waits like a doe,
while I watch like a hawk.


Untitled 00

by moon, earth
night, day
I am astray


Doctrine

We are superior because we
have taught ourselves ignorance.
Wants, needs, love, friendship:
all people hunger for the same.


Untitled 92

Many people laughing and playing,
Then with a swift fall we all collapse in
Tears and giggles…t’is a joyful game, life.


Untitled 49

Am I a man or woman?
I fade into one gender, ignoring
two galaxies with my celibacy.


Untitled 50

I am not solid, but creamy and crude.
I stand alone, contemplating what to do.


Untitled 51

Because I am of this making,
I feed my body and starve my soul--
Or vice versa;
To be a woman is to feel un-whole.


Untitled 54

Hours of thinking rest heavily
upon my shoulders so that I can
no longer bear the burden…
my head floats safely enough,
but my shoulders are so pressed
down that the body drowns.


Untitled 77

clothes, peel away
body, take flight
mind, do not conform to the cries of others
hands, be instruments of magic
self, live and love
—quickly—
for time passes!


Untitled 78

World, I’ll devour you,
consuming all that exists.
When everything belongs to me,
then, the ego will quiet itself.


Poeticism

A strange haunting of body and mind—
it is the fire beneath my writings.


To Mother and Father

You created her hands; you raised them and loved them.
And now I thank you for allowing them to help me,
By dancing with me and creating art,
By befriending me and giving me heart.
You comforted me with shelter, transportation and food.
I am in New York to do what I most love to do.
Let this thank you be in the form of my dancing hands;
Let my poetry be a gift and my photography a blessed note.
Let me be clear and real and true;
Parents, I admire, respect and am appreciative of you.


Untitled 42

All one needs in order
to be a dancer
is a body and soul.


Weighing

With great depression comes great insight,
and a great potential for joy.


Infantile

The baby wakes, a cry is heard.
        All I want to know is you, the sky,
                 and the flight of birds.


Explanation

Poets do not seek to write truth. They merely
try to fabricate art from life’s terrible, truthful ways.


Disaster

A man fought nature for his life, and
I fight against me, for mine.


Ugliness

The best of Earth’s beauty is potentially mine, but
ugliness keeps me owner of nothing.


Queen of the Land

To all my people: let me see you,
let me see you rejoice in the dance of life.


One’s False Glory

In my petty presence,
Wealthy I may appear because
Of painted lips and dress,
But so very poor I feel.


Charity’s Truth

I'll help you if you need only poor help.
I am wealthy and lazy,
and do not understand the gutted.


My Pain

Here is all I’ve waited for:
the screaming comes again.


White Lace

Positively committed
to creating art and beauty,
my mind is a self-destructive and
worthless thing,(as if the stuff created were
honest; as if the time spent were thanked;
as if the beauty given were needed).
I am a complex and sensual being,
each quality cancelling out the other; I float.
Come read my words and see my pictures.
I desire your time and cocky appreciation;
Boy, I want to be loved by you.


Sheets on My Bed

White is the color of my sleeping soul,
as every sheet on my bed is white,
and every thought in my head.
And every set of socks and panties,
each shoe, shirt, trouser, corset, bonnet,
apron, handcuff, police cap, doctor’s shawl,
mitten, legwarmer, slipper, and ring.
My cravings and cries are white, white, white.
Heaven can hear me cry, for it is in the
pitch and tune of perfect whiteness.
Purity, does this poem symbolize?
(What is the reason for my love of white?)
Yes, whiteness is purity.

Picture Window

Clearly, I want you to see my body
as I change my dressings behind
the new glass of the window in my bed-
room. Clear as the day is my naughty intention;
it is called a picture window for one reason only:
that the eyes viewing its scenic shapes are
satisfied in the picture. The picture my
window reveals is that of a beautiful
woman; what person walking
the ghetto street below
would not want to view this picture?


Wooden Floor

(I believe everything on earth holds a meaning
beyond what is vividly or literally present.)

Let One's presence in the moment be as firm and
unwavering as the hardwood floor which keeps
my bed, dresser, desk and chair
precisely where it always keeps it.
The stability of a hardwood floor amazes me;
I wonder, can a person be like a hardwood floor?

I believe that while roaming this earth we search for
One person able to play the role of the wooden floor.
We search for a soul so secure and ‘wooden’ that he
or she can support us as we wish to be supported.

Bitter am I about the futility of this search;
there is no One. Brown, splintered,
literal floor of my second story
bedroom: hold me and keep me.


To the Angels

Encourage me to love God,
and to live for His Will alone.


We Are Fools

As I fall and falter, so too do the others.


Ghostly

Barely am I here.
Barely am I breathing.


Brightened by the Day

The sun shines bright and I ask it questions daily.
If it were to answer what would it say?
Surely anything spoken by the sun would be brilliant.
Are its rays not splendid and its light not the truest
of all universal occurrences? Sun, speak to me,
educate me, at least, acknowledge me.
I am a woman with curves of beauty,
but your curvature shines brightest.
In comparison, I am dull.


Wicked

My cravings are wicked, I decide, as you lick
my thighs and pummel my belly with your kisses.
My satisfactions are wicked, I conclude, as I touch
your nose and then trace along your cheek.
My desires are wicked, I know, as I drink in
your aura and bathe in your clouds.
My want is every possible wrong because
it can never be filled, no matter the person I lay with,
nor the spontaneity with which I ever act.


Out of Touch

My soul flies high above the earth,
leaving only the marble form of my body
upon the ground.


Dancer

The stage is my personality, as slanted as it is in Russia.


Three Truths

Grace be mine
Earth be cryin’
Women be lyin’


I Am Wild

They compare me to a child.
Nothing insults me more than being
thought of as such, for I am wild!
I am the most beautiful and ravenous of women.
My soul belongs to the oldest living person,
and my body to a statue formed long ago.
My parts are not a child’s.
Mine are used, antique, hand-carved,
chipped, fleshy and voluptuous.
Do not call me a child, for I am wild!
I am one thousand years old,
porcelain in my appearance but
ancient in my beliefs.


Existing

Art neither lives nor dies. It goes on forever,
like a legend. I create in terms of eternity.


To a Friend

If I ever speak the truth, tell me how it sounds.


Seeker

Listening with deep intensity
my earlobes soon throb;
just a little longer I tell them,
we haven't discovered truth yet.


Raindrop

Glistening anew I laugh;
all that pours from me is laughter.
I see now after all the tears, that
all I missed was laughter.


Passion

You are a volcano in my eye, and a lightning bolt in my brain.


Untitled 75

In my dreams, unknown
insights show themselves,
but I, asleep, can do nothing.


An Artistic Life

At the 25th hour I can rest.
The hours before I race through tasks,
needing both to be better:
my work ethic and my product.


.Committed

Not until the 25th hour reigns
may I rest on earth.


Quiet, Proud One

Does your inspiration push you forward to live large
and unafraid, or are you like a housed rat?

Do you hunger to make yourself seen, Quiet, Proud One,
or do you seek refuge in that hole, there?


Untitled 65a

I have lived many lives,
each one of them
grievous and gorgeous.


For Adam Christian’s Birthday

Watching you grow into a strong, able-bodied man is something
I’ve enjoyed and invested in; Your ability to affect my emotions
Has always been a stunning talent, and I wish that everyone
Could know the polite care, tenderness, and support you give to me.


Adam and Eve

We’ve journeyed and changed together, we’ve laughed and we’ve cried.
Adam, my precious twin of spirit, it is time now, to use your wings and fly.


Untitled 66

What belongs to a woman? Only her soul, mind, and body.
I inhabit all three as I inhibit all three; who then, is Melanie?


I Am Kept

My fear to love keeps me bound. Therefore,
farewell, man of light and of all that is
good. My fear is my keeper.


Bearing Gifts

I can bear life, now, before I could not.
Now that I have found thee, I am able to be.


Thy Sacred Listener

To whom are you always talking if not to me?
I am alone, and the one who receives your words, not justified.
Let me hear every word thy speaks; let me be Thy Sacred Listener.


Noble Boy

The beauty of your face is hidden beneath your cap,
but I can see your plump, conceited lips.


Shy Boy

You, there, beneath your black cap: notice me.


Sappho-Like

My good manners put me in
a Hell of waiting—Man, beware my sexual wants.


Sinner

To hurt another is sinful, so I’ve learned
to hurt myself instead.


Fate

All goodness is undeserved, and all badness is mine.


I am Here in the Hunger

Before the eating disorder I had art as my truth—now
there is nothing to keep me true but the hunger.


Finished

I am finished with this life—
every dance has been danced.


Mockery

Every turn is a foolish fake, and
every move a simpleton’s mistake.


Sorrow

I’ve become sedentary and senseless.


Control

Mom thought all I did was acceptable and good
because she struggled too, with
her own inner-love.


Brother

My starving techniques of self-punishment
he encouraged me to quit.


The Writer

I pace back and forth
in my beautiful home,
not knowing what to write.


Being Near to Others

Others' nearness is like the torture of dripping water upon
a lonely forehead. I will not surrender to their nearness,
nor to their love.


Self-Mutilation

On the skin of my naked body
are picked pores.


Bitterness

I have nothing but hatred for Hunger’s relentless swirlings within me.


Allow me to Surrender

I can no longer deal with the want of my woman’s stomach.


Emptiness

I have no attention span. I am incapable
of focusing on what is before me.
There is nothing but my own desperate
want for love and goodness.


Disordered Girl

How was girl to know that beautifying herself
earlier, would lead to ugliness later?


The Anoretic’s Aim

To be perfect and pretty like a non-living doll; to be death-filled.


My Daughter

To fix what never was broken
may lead to an
eternal brokenness.
Remain innocent, child.


Prey

Nobody told me to ignore the demons, and so
they have invaded my body; I am possessed
of thoughts and feelings not my own.


A Failure Questioned

Dancing does not bring what it once did.
Has my art failed me, or have I failed my art?


Today’s Struggle

With the health of my physical body went
the joy and peace of my mind. Formerly, life
was easy. Now, I struggle.


These Words Mean Nothing

May some young person use my words in the future—
for to me, they are old and broken. I have no use
for anything of my own creation.


Life in a Cooking Bowl

Frustrated with my own indecision, I am
weak like Jell-o. I do not have bones, strength,
or any thing but a glass bowl to hold me.


Missing The Dance

I do not wish to live like this. What
but the Dance may feed my soul?


Niceties

Why do others treat me nice when I can
only cower in their presence? I fear them,
and everything else made by the hands of God.


A Piece of the Puzzle

I am a hungry spot of blackened, bludgeoned life.
I am one human and many wrongs, torn apart from humanity.


Grant Me Compassion

Graceful ballerina of beauty and of secret sufferings—
come near to me and share with me thy dancing gift.


Season of Suffering

I imagine there are no worse things than those which
I have endured.


The Path to Suffering

The way to suffering is to suppress joy, and elevate fear.


I Am Hot

And still I burn, not knowing for what or for whom.


Threesome

My Femininity is my hurt, is my hunger, is my existence.


Sexuality

Whom do I prefer, and what style is my own?


Monster-Girl

I cannot go outside because
I am too hideous to be seen.
Why does God punish me with
repugnance and self-absorption?


The Gentle Man

I wonder what his love feels like, and I
wonder what his beauty looks like.
Let him be gentle with me.


Indifference

I do not question the ways, how’s or why’s of life;
it is because I do not care. I am indifferent.


Luck is a Mockery of Human Will

Am I lucky to be alive?
Within this question of luck
is where all happiness lies.
Let us give shallow thanks.


Our Goodbye

A shock of sadness is mine, and a calm joy, thine.


Efforts

Being a poet is arduous and wasteful employment.
I give everything, while you take nothing.


Boy and Girl on the Street

We do not have much to say to one another, but it doesn’t matter;
among our fear and cigarettes we fall in love.


There is Worthiness in Being Together

We are ugly and artistic people,
mates of a tortured soul;
let us be together.


Poets Must Hide

It is impossible to open myself, to share myself.
My privacy is a distorted and selfish attempt at ideallic beauty.


Lost, But on Paper

I know not what I say or do; I know not who I am.
Pardon me for appearing wayward.


An Artist’s Memory

I may forget my actions and feelings,
but the art is deep and knowing;
It remembers.


A Writer’s Skepticism

I am the substance of my words. Does the promise of
such substance convince you to read what I’ve written, Reader?


My End

I’d like to die like this: out
of food and running toward air,
water, and all good things.


My Heaven

Mountains reach toward the sun
Butterflies flit in and out of the clouds
I dancing in a waterfall... —


We, Dressed in Rags

We must not curse or condemn the rich,
for they do not know how we suffer beneath
our dictator called Poverty.


Baby Born Rich

Easy silver, given gold;
maybe happiness is purchasable.


Dear World,

I’ll cheat ‘til my death, scouring shamelessly to earn your pity.


A Simple Sound

Put your lips together and blow;
whistle the sound of the poet’s pity.


Idleness

If only idleness earned money—
then the poor would be rich, and I the richest.


Bitterness

Brown eyes are mine eyes 'cause
God gave me a no-good, filthy-ass life.


Kathryn

Your beauty is all That which burns in my thinking.


Gifts

What gifts are these, these gatherings of words?
What bits of beauty am I destined to give?


Damned

My artwork remains unseen,
my hands unappreciated,
and I, unnamed.


Cast Out

Liken my mannerisms to a mountain beast’s,
because society’s bests only condemn me.


Winter’s Twilight

I am closed, scared,
hated, and
frozen like the winter night.


Blanketed

What is real and what creates love?
I don't know.
I am covered with a blanket of heavy blackness.


Woman and Man

I admire a brave voice and a strong mind.
Thought, often weak I am. Listen to me, and I’ll to you—
Clarity may be ours.


Untitled 138

My mouth tastes the evil I have done,
If I had any money I would do more—
But now, here I sit, tasting and remembering
What I cannot afford.


Untitled 139

The California sun could warm me if I gave it a moment,
But hide away I must because I cannot find the energy to bathe in light;
Beautiful star that shines, I love you, but the moon with its
Grotesque craters darkens me both Day and Night.


Untitled 140

Keys on my desk and nowhere to go; or,
Whiteness and beauty all around me,
And no worthy work to dirty my fingers.


Melons in My Memory

Melons in my memory tell me that
Juice and goodness exist; if I can
Summon what I once felt, than the
Coolness of yesterday will pacify me again.


The Heat

I am hot.
My face, hands, and head are filled with hot ideas.
I am hot, seething with anger.


Knowledge of a Woman

The knowledge of a woman is:
Knowing that the seething one feels
Is self-induced, and that freedom from it
is also self-induced.


Inability to Concentrate

I cannot look at what is before me without thinking of something else.
I cannot concentrate on what is spoken to me without hearing something else.
Dreams are my history since sleep brings only imageless quiet and the comforting
Promise that tomorrow’s significance is very small, and mine even smaller.


Things I Understand

Love: a color I’ve yet to see
Peace: the sound I don’t pick up
Ignorance: what I eat and sleep


Frailty

Do not be afraid Little One, come out from
Your hiding and let me see your face.
Frailty is only the admittance to being human, and
Strength is only the ability to give of yourself.
You have both; I see both in you.


Of The World We Live In

I want to hurt nothing of it, and gain everything from it.
To be truly who you are requires mental and physical power.
Power grows out of the belief that life is good, and that people are good.
All life begins in the womb of woman; her frailty can be her strength.


Bad Fruit

Sell me bad fruit and pay the price.
I need to feel redeemed, because
Something’s hurt me,
Something’s got me, and Life just isn’t the same.


One Day In Ruins

She wants the world to hear her expressions
Of regret, torture, and sorrow.
She wants to apologize for all she borrowed
Without promising to pay tomorrow.
And now here she is with but one day
To fix and savage the ruins.


Dear Heaven

Let’s invest together in the sanity of me.
I dream of many things, in many colors,
And of many times.
But, Heaven, my dreams are insane.


Feminine Beauty

A woman’s beauty lies in her very need to be beautiful.
We are what we need; we need what we become.
If a human eats to live, to function, and to grow,
What does it mean when one refuses to eat,
When a female starves herself to be thin?


Staring and Shamefulness

When I feel shame I can create nothing
Because I am frozen in my self-obsessive shame.
My whole body aches with shame, and I
Stare off into nothingness.


My Death

My fatality is my attraction to you.


Woman Revealed

Unveiling a woman is like finding a lost painting,
The discovery is remarkable and ravishing.
When unveiled, a woman may be quite unlike
The person she seems veiled. Take notice.
It is she: vulnerable, exquisite, and unadorned.
She is I: scared, poetic, and revealed.


When the Pious Rain Stops

We belong to our likeness. How can I turn my back
On an old angel in the form of a beggar on the street?
Whether he uses my given coin for sincere nourishment
To the body, or whether he uses it to buy sustaining
Addiction feed, he is my brother. Am I not destined
By our genetic (human) likeness to help him out?
Do birds not sing to one another with the rising of the sun?

There is no other way to live, than in unity.
I learn from your mistakes; and mirrored.
We are made of the blood of Christ.
We are chained to each other by the fresh stains
Of His blood. I am not a preacher, I am simply
A woman of this earth. I am yours.


My Craft

What words have not been wrote before?
Like pebbles lining the water’s edge,
Or lying rampant in the human mind,
My poems do not attempt classicism or nostalgia;
They are plain strings of words, mere randomness,
Though innocently and beautifully crafted.


Jailed in This Body

I mightn’t allow for beauty to become me
But the nods I receive as I walk the street are my
Conviction that appearance given by dress and
Facial contortion is what you pay heed of.
Sadly I bow my head and submit to the form society has
Cast, because if this is my sentence, then this I shall be.

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