[x]

to be a floristcut me.
press your metal into my spine.
thread it gracefully
along my insides and out
the nape of my neck.
twirl it gently (don't
hurt yourself) around my skin.

boast proudly, how you shaped me,
how you spun me in your arms,
how you affixed my gaze upright...
how you made me look so perfect
while i slowly turned and died.

oh. hi.why don't you spin around, little tree-heart

smile at the stars & scamper to northern grounds

love yourself like lamp lights licking lonesome

blades of grass creating fiery fields

i can hear your voice i can hear your voice i can hear

you now, i can hear you now, they're all gone

Loving AustraliaYears like bilbies--
days like kangaroos.

Want lives in a pocket womb
(salt suckle; scrape
of your grey-brown curls.)

Heart-split
by hemispheres
(birdsong way
you shape your words.)

Sleep
dredged in red dust,
sprawled across half a world,
night-lit
by wrong stars.

you asked me to write your eulogybut darling, do not ask such things of a poet.
We live with death and feathers
in our bones, and you—

clouds have purpose, and one
is seldom alone in the sky. To
say, smart or handsome or
funny or caring, it is the lid
on the trash, never appreciated
till missing, and you—

undercover smell of well-water
and thick terra cotta clay,
a fallen angel left in smoke-screen
somewhere below the salt, the heart
still beats, and you—

a mythology come-to-life.
Hellion and savior, black-tipped
like raven wings, always more
in the right light
than

untitledseducing the writer
is pointless;
he'll seduce himself
if you're silent.

A Relationshipone.

i liked him
because he knocked the ash
off his cigarette
with his left index finger;
once,
he was drunk
and burned himself
when he forgot to pull away.

two.

that day,
i ate two apples
a banana
and three rice cakes. he asked

do you always do this to yourself?

three.

the first couch was red:
soft synthetic fiber that inhaled
sweat,

quivered beneath our touch,
knowing.

four.

i like dogs,
he told me,
but i wish i owned horses;

he had a pony, once,
a shetland that hated brushing,
and we laughed.

five.

i was the first to say
i loved him,

but not before he
touched my collar where it
dipped,

smiling because
i let him pay for dinner

Celestial MemoriesGod how I have prayed to never fall prey
to the nectarine gossamer caught on the
cornerstone of your mouth,
a celestial house

Lips radiating like redshift,
indomitable as quasars with
enough poignancy to pierce through my very pulse while
you create maps, circumnavigating through these
black holes that you bore into my being and very core as
my spirit surrendered to your summons long before

I am an ocean of stark emptiness and
you are seemingly endless seas of starburst

You leave and I break into
cold sweat, blueshift and pale skin

Memories of starry night, air on the g string and
cigarette stained fingers about coffee drained t

Of Lost Causethey say every lonely sigh gathered from children in that city
pours through her body and redolent skin, read through
the ink of vines on veins and restless, small leaves- torn with
tired hands and god's lost smile.

they say our days are numbered, like the
creases between your skin and the break of waves on starving oceans. maybe
the fallout of a country drawn by prophets with cracked chords and
an endless list of listlessness.

they say happiness is glorified by the example of science: the reaction given
and reduction taken in a stretch of paradoxical lies of paradoxical truths-
sounds of simplified silence and their tenuous strains

Narcolepsylurid enigma, and
a stroke of starry night

vulnerable, you are
achilles heel and weep

the loss of venus and mars
and all her pitying apathy

of bittersweet occultation; but
for only a moment of silence

lonesome quarry of internalized wars
and striking, clement gems

just unfold:
sleep

Rorschach's BlotRorschach's Blot

Spiders and bears and misshapen trees,
when the swollen fruit drops it bursts into wren wings,
salamander tails shivering, the color of bruised plums.
It tastes so sweet, the tip of a beak.
With a straight pin, I peck at my arms,
a Pollock of blood, swarms of carnelian bees.
Sweet sweet stings. The poison sings.
They say hallucinations, the saints said visions.
"Ollie ollie oxen free," they call running through orchards,
the evening air loosening, a grace note of despair.
There was once an apple and it was bitten,
poor thing, all hell broke loose.
"Tell me what you see," he asks.
"White," I say, hospital sheet

ClatteringI don't know why, but my mother gave us all Roman names.
Perhaps out of a sense of tragedy,

perhaps she felt betrayed
each time she gave birth.

During our childhood she had an ear for music, and would sit
at the piano hours between playing one song and the next.

I always thought she was letting the music continue
in her head, the way she swayed, occasionally letting out little animal sounds.

"My vineyards bloomed a long time ago," she liked to say.
It was reference to Solomon, whom I think she secretly loved.

She hung pictures of bridges all over the house
and perched empty frames over the doorways,

maybe to remind us to love her,

Journey 01002
Bamboo tea and the queer spice
of January chill.

004
Was it the fish
or the almost-kiss?

006
I play to live,
I eat and breathe to stay alive.

008
Pants too tight,
thoughts too wide.

009
We have worlds at our hands,
lights at our command.
We are the bees hiving
in the digital sphere.

011
Something stirs.
My organs rearrange themselves,
slowly, like continents.
But there is no mistaking
the eruptions and the faults.

god's tonguegod speaks in chandeliers. the little crystals, the ordinance of light fixtures.
god speaks in road signs, through telephones, and he tells the less-than-
lonely children that they are bigger than their problems & he tells the bigger
girls that they will find men too. he tells the men who love men, the women
who love women, those who love both, and those who don't love anyone at all
that his love for them is everlasting. things won't change, no sir things never
really change, but god's light shines and baby, nobody knows what you call
me when we're lying in the dark covered with sweaty bedsheets, nobody
knows about us & it feels li

apricity, to the man unraveling threadI send you:

a photo, no flash to illuminate the
eighteen wheeler "Atlas" diagonally in
front of our careening caravan; my feet
mittened safe and sound into the bohemian
black knitted flats she gave me, which
didn't fit her ball-to-heel; the sky

a wry, squinting blue. I write beneath:

"Outside of Houston.
These are my real feet.
No one chopped them off.
I love you."

(i wanted you to know it is you who i
love most throughout the symphonious spring
and calamitous winter, you who i thought of
while dryheaving hyperventilating gasping
in the bathroom with the light unsummoned; you,

the thought of, who filled me with shame
like water amassi

a streetcar to nowherei.

he must crack
when his hands are tulle:

paling dry,
rough and tearing,
bought by the yard
or cent-marked minute,

spin a skirt
that won't last a winter,

shed bohemia
and snort ballerinas,
hope he's flexible

like tulle:

thin and shimmering,
don't stay another minute,
clear the aisles and say,

halloween's over
and he must crack
when his hands are tulle:

quivering
wind-burnt dancers,
caught aflame
by a craving spark

like tulle:

crisp and seething,
acrid burning,
black waste and thin ash

ii.

"name,
like your real name or
just something i can call you,
something that won't make me

feel like i'm talking down
to you. not because
i r

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More from ~HippieHebe

fleeflee. like a thief;
heart beating, mind racing
and let go.
spread your fingers, and
jump. there's a promise of freedom.
feathers nascent on
pining flesh. disentangle
from earth, and fly
like butterflies reborn –
free from sleep.
abscond, as your past life
echoes behind you.

loverthe moon whispered
into my ear – his voice echoing
between stars.
a simple declaration
sighed into the wind, repeating
into the night, unto the stillness of
dawn. the sun kissed his pale face,
as light tapered in,
coaxing his wary heart.

space junkone moment I was talking
to the man on the moon, and
then I was falling
through stars;

down

down

down.

i was surrounded by
clouds, a wispy layer as
my body started to burn up from breaking
the atmosphere.

and then, cool solace
as the ocean devoured me,
and I

sank

sank

sank

blowing silvery bubbles
as I floated like
rogue space debris -
nomadic to time and space.

i begini begin, a social hermit,
ploughing seeds of graceful words
and giving flight to paper
cranes.

moments flow and i give wings
to dreams; exposed to the light of others sight.

speak to me boadicea, godiva, hippolyta.

my skin's tender
with the moon's touch; tingling and pale.

the sky has grown darker, clouds bulging, pregnant
with torrential rain;

and i let myself drown in the downpour
discovering a new world without leaving time and space.

unravelling, thread by thread,
i collect and knit myself with words new.

i dream of youi dream of you; drawing
constellations on my skin
and my touch leaves stars across your back.

the slow madness of time
obsolete, in this realm,

as we chase
dandelion seeds, and

tie our thoughts
to myrtle trees.

in dreams, i crave the skies
as hope takes root, unfurling
beneath our feet

and i breathe into you
new love and goodbye.

fallmaybe

i'll

fall

for you again

but

i guess it's possible that you'll
fall for me.

the months will roll on
like storm clouds on the plains,

and we'll tell the moon
to unstitch us from this world,

to bare bones
and naked skin.

our bodies nature;
we'll take root on the ground
still warm from summers wrath

and the leaves will fall,
as we did,

one

by

one.

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Find Me

by ~HippieHebe, Jan 6, 2013, 2:33:31 PM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

I want him to find me buried
beneath stacks paperbacks,
smell the summer night, on hill sides
and the musk of aging pages as he follows the trail
down to the acre of grass,
beneath that apple tree, where I lie;

sundress and barefoot,

long hair and flowers weaved into braids.

I want him to undress me,
himself, and lay on the grass, after hours;
the dark trees quiet behind our backs,
as the round moon whispers the sun to sleep.

Find Meby ~HippieHebe

Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

©2013 ~HippieHebe

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~oracle-of-nonsense Jan 23, 2013 Student Writer

Very sensual, and very simple. Nicely done.

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~HippieHebe Jan 24, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

thank you

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*0hgravity Jan 16, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

lovely sensory piece.

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~HippieHebe Jan 17, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

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!travelgirlxx Jan 12, 2013

mmmmmm. Yes.

Reply

~HippieHebe Jan 13, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

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Mood: Joy

~RestlessSands Jan 9, 2013

'elegant' is a good word for this

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~HippieHebe Jan 12, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

thank you

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`thetaoofchaos Jan 6, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Very gentle, elegant and fresh, despite its simplicity. Not to mention, a desirable situation.

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~HippieHebe Jan 12, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

thank you.. a desirable situation indeed

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