ensconce me

(re)cognition(s)

i thought all over you, i am sorry, i mean no harm, all my memories playin across your body and face like runny egg-white shadows and you don’t know what to do, so politely ensconced listenin to me go on and on about stuff we forgot purposefully long ago — OH — the damage i might do on accident, for me you would do anything, for you i would do anything, making something of you you are not, here with our cutoff gloves playing fingertipsies, blind to the sign language we are groping — THE — cognition is not fully lubricated, does not cover the entire street and buildings and sky and short bursts of nature in the medians, i guess in this ragtag mind i got, driftin here, pausing over there — BY — the cracks in the roads whereby loiters and got no business to be, trance music, clubs, dancing, you and me, why can i not hold up on our benevolency — PLEASE — i mean no recognitions, move along little thoughts, fly away, move along, there are interior spaces up in northern provinces, Canada and the like, which need fulfilling — SPACES — we will bundle ourselves up and head out into icy quiet not-threatening ones,  warmth of coffee and small talk, overtures of what we may be if we simply let ourselves trudge forward and go
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BOOK REVIEW

Book Review

Indestructible & Other PoemsIndestructible & Other Poems by Kristy Rulebreaker
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Indestructible is Kristy’s sophomore effort as an indie author and poet. She is beloved for her contributions to social media circles, particularly the poets of ‘G+’ If you follow closely, you can see her evolution. She is experimenting with form and verse in interesting ways. I feel as though I am walking through life with her, and it is not sugar-coated. I appreciate her honesty. “The sun is posing but I don’t have enough tears to cry for a sunny day that does not warm the heart” she says. In other verses, she gives us a fresh take on the gap between rich and poor. You almost feel as though justice has already been served: “I couldn’t buy calm nights with my soul bright as lighter, I couldn’t buy clean days with my heart as cotton tender.” There is exciting talk about nature, and dreaming about nature overrunning the unnatural world and reclaiming it. In her poem “The wind has lost his mind” she personifies nature well to describe her grief. Her expressions are often spare and crystal clear. She opens windows into relationships and little loves of her life. I really love her work. She beckons me to the living of an authentic sorta life. The one and only way to live.

View all my reviews

being someone (twenty someone)

to be honest
i get excited
start believing
life can be
a certain special way

but not
how it
really is

being nobody
and really being
nobody

feels better

than gettin’
all excited like
trip-hoppin’
clubs

the end up
two am to
six

any night
any morning
except maybe
mondays

dancing
lights
dawn

buddha garden
drug dealers
licking lips
circling
hips

being nobody
getting shot
over billiards
on cue

really

being nobody
feels a whole lot
being nobody
feels whole

being nobody
used for sex
on a side street
san francisco

not far away
in some dude’s
rv

who you met
under lights
synched with
sound

fucked around
fucked with
for fun

for no particular reason
giving yourself
to anyone

or someone
who cares
who loves you
cherishes you
for a weekend

being someone
belonging
is real

sweet fucking disaster (a club scene)

The MC gave the nod, the DJ let up on the brakes. The models coupled off in cliques, two by two, traveling in an arc around the club. Thievery Corporation stole the show. Stilletos shot into the air, all the pole strippers were there.  Clocked in and synchronized. Carrying our eyes. Up in the VIP room, a Lindsay Lohan lookalike and some worthless piece of shit were playing truth or dare. He dared her to go down on him. She went all up in his face, with a backhand and then some! The night had hardly begun.

The socially-challenged took their little pills, and waited for the shit to kick in. Hustlers played nine ball, washing the scene down with tonic, and gin. Versace’s ghost was in the corner scanning fashion mags. Pink was sadly watching the dancefloor and the lights. She excused herself the many times she was asked to dance: no thanks, i’m on the rag. No worries, all was good. The bartenders were on their toes, and that’s just the way things stood.

Bottom line was this club was poppin’. All five stories wrapped around a stage. The BDSM crowd surfed right into their cage.  Everyone  anticipated the night’s billing, Sweet Fucking Disaster. The band was still back stage, feeling cherry.  All the underage girls in their arms, in lieu of instruments. No one asked for ID. Pretty scary. The socially-challenged, started feeling the chills. Thanking false gods for their pills. Dispersing out easily, now that they were lubricated. Like the thighs around the poles. Everyone wanted something, they would most likely get. Touching. Anticipating that Sweet Fucking Disaster that hadn’t quite fallen off — not just yet.

by Katya Mills

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