on a train leaving Las Vegas
i thought to my (future) self
with all the deception in the world
who needs magic?
Tag Archives: magic
magic
life becomes tolerable
moment by moment
it won’t ever be acceptable
in analysis
life won’t ever add up
to any magic number
it won’t hold in retrospect
it won’t measure up
to any ideal
life falls apart
then regroups
life is never the same
always changes and
cannot be predicted
by forecast or made
meaningful
no
life is unkempt
windblown
bedraggled
life will not love you only
you may love life
for the moment
you are lucky
to exist
the living dream phase
About the magic that happens when we meet…
http://www.katyamills.com/2015/08/the-living-dream-phase.html
ness less rest
IF i was nude
without my clothes
wrapped in a blanket
feeling soft and thin
lying on your couch
in an industrial space
where the air is cool
but alive
if you were reading
poetry to me and i
was reading novel excerpts
between
if friends were welcomed
through the lovely living space
without any of age old appropriate hesitations
then the rains would slap
the leaded glass
surreptitiously
then the warmth between my legs
under your arms embracing
then the electric wait
before touch is over and helpless is real and beloved this moment of all that there is
then the realized infinite tenderness so palpable!
the fifth force validation so soft! loving! gentle!
so needless of words
then way out there with us in the ness ness ness less rest
ness less
be still
my memory revigorate
be kind my love
invigorate
pliable me
pliable you
light finds ways to the resting shade. it may be wondrous when it does so. non-chalant. when shadows flicker around these high walls candle lit
taper not
sweet memory
carry on bold to the next. precious life never fail! never falter! never leave! ever last
be still
be kind. let all past present future lives come together here. remarkably
anyone who still dreams
lets go of all you ever established
cherished institutionalized
yours
come read your little voice large into the clear seche vaulting expanse with us. up to the leaded glass high and ritual drumming of rain patter pitter
take off your clothes
wrap yourself in new vetements for once you are seen you are known you are you! you are loved explored like these pages these words these letters inscribed now released upon breath to honor the air
this moment these words from our bodies our ours! and forever. unsealed and exposed to the element
this is now magick. catch fire and cooled by the brick
‘The Virgin Suicides’ – Book Review by K
Rhythm, music, feeling. The sound of words, unfettered by the demands of formal punctuation. Gone are the so-called ‘elements of style’, the stilted choppy grammatical prisons of words. Eugenides has liberated a world of words to speak a careful thoughtful truth which reflects a looking glass culture as clear as it is fragile, as rigid as it is agile, and characters trapped within it who are expansive before every contraction, larger than life and yet just a fraction. Fractured in the moving picture. I loved Sofia Coppola’s film adaptation of this novel, equally. Both the book and the film are magical, different, unusual. And unusual, in a creative and conscious kind of effort – unusual with a heartbeat – is the sort of rarity which keeps me interested in reading and watching, and engaged in the affairs of humankind. Nice to find a novel which does not leave one stuck in a pigeon pose, fervently scraping gum with a stick out from the rubber mould of a culture always left aside looking for some traction for a soul. 
K IS SILENT 