Burrowing

The liquid begins to bubble and fills her oversized eyes. Waves take over the overwhelming openings as she shakes her head. Tension takes over. The muscles quiver under her thin pink cotton sleeves. Her hands open. As the hands take hold of the prize, her actions become calculated. A lie roosts at the bottom of the object in hand. A sound as shrill and steady as a boiling tea kettle escapes her throat. Clumsily and with an unnatural quickness, she drops it. The means of absolute , completed, absorbtion shatter. They are miniscule pieces on the floor.

Angel, Angel,
They do not understand the urgency of life.


For various reasons, the source of her fire wasn't discovered. After the sifting through the evidence, the motive wasn't clear.


Goodbye house, forever.
For what it's worth, whatever happens, I love you.



A faction.

And I'm nauceous now, and we all follow the rules, and we all secretly follow our own hearts and we all secretly hurt. Dragging our dusty feet across shiny cleaned up floor, the colors around the room turn dull. We have something to show, but it would be shameful, so we never do. I desire to emulate the parted roots at the bottom of a precious tree. The tedious movements of time encroach upon the crowd without warning. Circumstances deviate and become at odds with the customary.

We answer with stagnation, and we're wrong. The glistening pathways on her cheeks thicken. I dare to open my mouth "Your icicles are like mirrors. They have blended with the fibers of your hair. I can tell by the elevated skin on your arms that you must be a little cold."


The answer is a kind of hibernation underground.
And I miss it there.




Routine.
new people, repeated pains, I vowed to never be in those circumstances again. I did so because I had no idea I would have to confront them again. But, it stares me in the face, and it doesn't occur to anyone that it would be distatseful to me. And the focus remains. And that oval face causes a tear in my frame of mind. And it could be prevented, but then I would be out four chambers of a thing that I really do need.
"You seem to know a lot about me, it's funny, but I don't recall giving you my name. I don't remember divulging any of the information about me which your foreign mouth has just spilled out. I didn't sell it, even through the bad patches, those things about me never came out."

A Wild Collection Of Particles

Compartments of purity begin dripping through the cracks. The droplets slide down the flecked fossil, a remnant of what once walked about freely. Beads skim the connected lampshade surrounding the bright internal entity once perfectly detached.




The clover gown is soft and inviting. The circular fold brushes against the temples on the leprechaun prince. Sensing an inward fragility, the growing gown accordingly stretches all around him, entangling every limb. The powdery scent wafts upward filling my head with a delicate perfume. Archaic words fill my ears. Gratefully, I gaze back at the leprechaun. "Thank you for your inabilty to provide me with charming verse. There are only so many silver tongues a girl can handle. Ineloquence has become a precious commodity."
My winged allies gather and part.



La Vie En Rose (I'm looking at the world through rose colored glasses)

Des yeux qui font baiser les miens,
Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche,
Voila le portrait sans retouche
De l'homme auquel j'appartiens

Quand il me prend dans ses bras
Il me parle tout bas,
Je vois la vie en rose.

Il me dit des mots d'amour,
Des mots de tous les jours,
Et ca me fait quelque chose.

Il est entre dans mon coeur
Une part de bonheur
Dont je connais la cause.

C'est lui pour moi. Moi pour lui
Dans la vie,
Il me l'a dit, l'a jure pour la vie.

Et des que je l'apercois
Alors je sens en moi
Mon coeur qui bat

Des nuits d'amour a ne plus en finir
Un grand bonheur qui prend sa place
Des enuis des chagrins, des phases
Heureux, heureux a en mourir.

Quand il me prend dans ses bras
Il me parle tout bas,
Je vois la vie en rose.

Il me dit des mots d'amour,
Des mots de tous les jours,
Et ca me fait quelque chose.

Il est entre dans mon coeur
Une part de bonheur
Dont je connais la cause.

C'est toi pour moi. Moi pour toi
Dans la vie,
Il me l'a dit, l'a jure pour la vie.

Et des que je l'apercois
Alors je sens en moi
Mon coeur qui bat

Kerrie the Firefly

Happenings.

Palaeoptera.
Butterfly- inside
Damselfly- outside
Firefly- outside

I am humming the only words I know.
Mumbling a chorus line and hoping that listeners only hear the tune.
The words evade me.
Sparks hover above the ground, they float to the vegetation, occasionally they rest there for a time.

Epitome.

It is just a passing.
Little flickers resembling a human smile.
They bounce from petal to stem.
"I wish I were a snail. I could slowly burrow under the surface and study the roots."
says the Firefly.

There are not many insects which bother me with their presence.

The firefly turns the light on and off. It appears to sparkle.

Good evening, welcome to my puppet show.

Cries all the time, cause she's not having fun.

You always go the parties.....

All alone.

I would not beg you please.

We always go to the parties, to wipe the feathers on all the birds.

I'd gladly be there, like a puppet on a string.

In or out, was there ever a doubt about who was pulling the strings?

Lapse

Leonard Cohen-
Roshi-

I never really understood
what he said
but every now and then
I find myself barking with the dog
or bending with the irises
or helping out
in other little ways

There was once a little girl.
She danced on air, she played with characters pulled from depths in her imagination.
They were sweet little fairies and talking animals, the characters would jump from heights down into her sparkling playtime. Playtime and fancy never had an end. When she would wash rugs outside, she was an Egyptian handmaid to a queen. When she would lie in the covers at night she was hiding from an enemy army in a swamp, she writhed in the blankets because there were snakes at the bottom, (it was a stuffed octopus.) At dinnertime she would eat at a feast in a stone castle, instead of on a marker covered table in a small suburban house.
Draping herself in a wine colored blanket, she told her family that it was on her because she was cold, but it was July. The truth is she didn't want anyone knowing that it was all a game, she wasn't cold, she was always pretending that life was different than it actually was. The blanket was a cloak, a royal cloak, it was currently being worn by Her Imperial Highness, Kera Keralli the I, an Archduchess of Russia.

Forward, forward, at fourteen she was still playing games, running around in back of the house swinging on trees. She wasn't in the back of the house, she was swinging on a tree in an Amazonian jungle, guiding a lost party of adventurers to a hidden treasure located in a cavern.
She had a puppy. But, it wasn't a puppy, it was a lion, in an African Desert, and they walked down not a residential street, but a ditch, and there they captured poachers, and made friends with squirrels (which were actually giraffes.)

Forward, Forward, at seventeen she was playing trickier games, buying clothes from expensive shops, acting as if she could do this any day. Eating at exquisite restaurants, and playing the heiress. She wore cubic zirconium necklace, but it wasn't cubic zirconium, it was an antique diamond necklace, given to her by her great great grandmother, who was the wife of an Eastern European autocrat (He owned half of the black forest and was best friends with Albert the I, Prince of Thurn Und Taxis, and it was decreed that her great great grand daughter would marry his great great grandson, Albert the II, and thus become a princess).

She danced in clouds, clouds in her head. It was always a bit overcast there.

The pretending continued and it didn't hurt anyone, but herself. She had no real life. Yes, there were goals, but there was always plenty of time. And even if there was work to be done, it was always better when it was something else, something imagined in her head.
Then something terrible happened.

...Forward...ever so slightly...
She conjured a falseness which was close to reality... it was reality interwoven with dream tightly, so that they were forced to coexist. One could not continue without the other.

In the imaginary world, the house of daydream, there were heartaches and depression, but she had even made her scarring adolescent depression a glamourous thing. She was full of herself, she believed that everything in this world existed to fulfill a purpose in her imaginary world. Anything that was encountered in her life was merely something to be transformed, improved, and beautified, so that it could hold a special place in the house of daydream. After the conjuring...the house of daydream began to creak and it quickly crumbled into dust.

Without warning reality came running after her, tracking her down, and giving her no more escapes. The true nature of things stood over her staring in her face, shouting for her to examine her actions and their consequences.

All of the fanciful musings had changed her perceptions from what they should have been, they crushed down on her. The worst part is that reality had touched her dream world a little bit ago... and now there were several others involved, and that didn't help matters. She was mashed into a helpless little pancake. She wasn't sure how to fluff herself up again without fancy.

And so she lies on the cloud and allows it to carry her wherever it wishes...forsaking her will.

I feel very sorry for her, this is the problem with dreamers, when someone isn't one (meaning that they are a sane individual,) they are far less likely to feel the pains in their own realities, with the same poignant intensity, and regret. These people can overcome struggles without a dramatic
collapse.

Somethings last a long time.
There is a solution....and I will let you in on it a little later, when I figure it all out. Now is not the time for unveiling.

Don't question me

Lights, Camera, Mediocrity
In the fashion of any great magician, I can make things disappear.
This includes, but is not limited to the following :

Sunny days
Empty Bags
Times when the need for self reflection is made apparent.

Life's too rough and I'm too delicate!