You are the match light I see from 50 miles
across the plains of Texas.
Take me, my uninterrupted view.
My line of sight,
Take me back to Texas.
You are the smell of coffee in the heat,
decadent and dizzy and altogether too much.
Take me, my excess.
My very and so,
Take me back to Texas.
You are the way words drip there,
amber and sweet and patient.
Take me, my honey drawl.
My southern comfort,
Take me back to Texas.
You are crisp sheets grown damp in the midnight,
and the last cool place on my pillow.
Take me, my restless summer sleep.
My heat-stroked dream,
Take me back to Texas.
You are lost in Texas,
in her rough and rusty voice
and simple songs,
so take me.
You are my every memory of home,
And home.
CJ
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
What Comes Before
Your voice has hands and elegant fingers.
Moving along my body, it whispers against my neck.
Murmurs down my rib cage.
Sighs across my belly.
I arch the back of my mind as your voice sings at my hip bone, a lingering song.
You touch me.
Before you touch me.
Your voice has curves and beautiful lines.
I follow its swells.
And discover its hollows.
You close your eyes as I hear you so sweetly, with such attention.
I touch you.
Before I touch you.
CJ
Moving along my body, it whispers against my neck.
Murmurs down my rib cage.
Sighs across my belly.
I arch the back of my mind as your voice sings at my hip bone, a lingering song.
You touch me.
Before you touch me.
Your voice has curves and beautiful lines.
I follow its swells.
And discover its hollows.
You close your eyes as I hear you so sweetly, with such attention.
I touch you.
Before I touch you.
CJ
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
CJ's List
1. I am an accidental comedian.
2. There is no under the bed where I live.
3. There are eyes under my eyes, such that you don't know who you are looking at.
4. I have a piece of the blinking tree on my desk. It blinks messages to me.
5. I can hear the golden gate bridge. It's voice is a seduction. Deliberate.
6. I am made from cellar dust and damp.
7. I am not an illusion or a metaphor. And I am using this list to tell you about me.
8. I don't know who you are.
9. But you hurt my feelings when you don't comment.
10. The feelings that you hurt are the only feelings I can identify as truly mine.
11. I write.
12. I care more about the line than the truth.
13. Each line is the only one that matters.
14. Jesus, can I call you "J?" Have a beer with me? Please?
15. We must continue to fight the golden gate bridge.
16. I often want to go home.
17. I drink vanilla lattes and Certain Magician slides down my throat. Boo is comforted by the pool of magician in the belly.
18. This heart is uncertain about all of the coffee, but the heart has been overridden.
19. I am very very serious. I point this out because I am not stupid and know someone may be laughing. See 1.
20. Some relationships are about the music. They should not progress beyond that.
21. Please. Just shut the hell up and let them sing us.
22. I named myself.
23. The word "lesbian" offends me. I think of bitter root vegetables and diseases that eat away flesh.
24. I would like to write more lists.
25. "Goodnight my Comfort and Joy..."
CJ
2. There is no under the bed where I live.
3. There are eyes under my eyes, such that you don't know who you are looking at.
4. I have a piece of the blinking tree on my desk. It blinks messages to me.
5. I can hear the golden gate bridge. It's voice is a seduction. Deliberate.
6. I am made from cellar dust and damp.
7. I am not an illusion or a metaphor. And I am using this list to tell you about me.
8. I don't know who you are.
9. But you hurt my feelings when you don't comment.
10. The feelings that you hurt are the only feelings I can identify as truly mine.
11. I write.
12. I care more about the line than the truth.
13. Each line is the only one that matters.
14. Jesus, can I call you "J?" Have a beer with me? Please?
15. We must continue to fight the golden gate bridge.
16. I often want to go home.
17. I drink vanilla lattes and Certain Magician slides down my throat. Boo is comforted by the pool of magician in the belly.
18. This heart is uncertain about all of the coffee, but the heart has been overridden.
19. I am very very serious. I point this out because I am not stupid and know someone may be laughing. See 1.
20. Some relationships are about the music. They should not progress beyond that.
21. Please. Just shut the hell up and let them sing us.
22. I named myself.
23. The word "lesbian" offends me. I think of bitter root vegetables and diseases that eat away flesh.
24. I would like to write more lists.
25. "Goodnight my Comfort and Joy..."
CJ
Monday, February 9, 2009
Memory: Part IV: The Bed
Birds. Birds fly. Birds fly through my veins.
Hungry. I am hungry. A hungry mouth against your neck.
Wings. Wings beat. Wings beat in my cunt.
Rushing. I am rushing. My hips rise and rush you.
You will not rush.
"I know, baby. I know. Shh, baby. Let me."
Enter me. You enter me. Deliberately you enter me.
Magic. You make magic. You make magic in me.
Your certain magic is a certain rhythm, and my body sings in its minor key.
"That's it, baby. My baby girl. You and me and nobody else."
You and me and nobody else.
Space. Every space. You take up every space in me.
"You and me and nobody else."
Reach. Your words reach. Your words reach a moan in the center of me.
I moan that moan in its minor key.
Turn me. You turn me. Your strong arms turn me.
Pull me. You pull me. You pull me to my knees.
Tender. Soft leather. A collar around my neck.
Loving. Sweet winding. A lead around your hand.
Sharp. So sharp, this breath I breathe in. Gentle. So gentle, you enter me again.
"I'm right here, baby," the lead pulls sweetly.
Tethered. I am tethered. Back and back to you.
My spine. My shivering spine. Your hand runs the length of my shivering spine.
My hips. My eager hips. Your hands on my eager hips grind.
I grind into you.
You fuck me to love me to hollow out the place you'll always be.
You aren't anymore.
You'll always be.
CJ
Hungry. I am hungry. A hungry mouth against your neck.
Wings. Wings beat. Wings beat in my cunt.
Rushing. I am rushing. My hips rise and rush you.
You will not rush.
"I know, baby. I know. Shh, baby. Let me."
Enter me. You enter me. Deliberately you enter me.
Magic. You make magic. You make magic in me.
Your certain magic is a certain rhythm, and my body sings in its minor key.
"That's it, baby. My baby girl. You and me and nobody else."
You and me and nobody else.
Space. Every space. You take up every space in me.
"You and me and nobody else."
Reach. Your words reach. Your words reach a moan in the center of me.
I moan that moan in its minor key.
Turn me. You turn me. Your strong arms turn me.
Pull me. You pull me. You pull me to my knees.
Tender. Soft leather. A collar around my neck.
Loving. Sweet winding. A lead around your hand.
Sharp. So sharp, this breath I breathe in. Gentle. So gentle, you enter me again.
"I'm right here, baby," the lead pulls sweetly.
Tethered. I am tethered. Back and back to you.
My spine. My shivering spine. Your hand runs the length of my shivering spine.
My hips. My eager hips. Your hands on my eager hips grind.
I grind into you.
You fuck me to love me to hollow out the place you'll always be.
You aren't anymore.
You'll always be.
CJ
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Memory: Part III: Kitchen
I feel safer close to the ground.
I sit on the floor and watch you move around the kitchen, making your certain magic.
You arrange the food on the plate, to nourish me and to speak, in a language of color, texture and flavor, your love in this safe place.
After dinner, I stand at the window of your house high on a hill. You are behind me, your arms around my waist, your mouth at my ear.
"Cardinal," you whisper. "Golden Finch, Robin Redbreast, Whip-poor-will."
You speak the poetry of birds.
I close my eyes and lean back against you.
"Baby, you're missing the hummingbirds."
No. No I'm not. They are feeding, here, in the center of my chest.
To be continued...
CJ
I sit on the floor and watch you move around the kitchen, making your certain magic.
You arrange the food on the plate, to nourish me and to speak, in a language of color, texture and flavor, your love in this safe place.
After dinner, I stand at the window of your house high on a hill. You are behind me, your arms around my waist, your mouth at my ear.
"Cardinal," you whisper. "Golden Finch, Robin Redbreast, Whip-poor-will."
You speak the poetry of birds.
I close my eyes and lean back against you.
"Baby, you're missing the hummingbirds."
No. No I'm not. They are feeding, here, in the center of my chest.
To be continued...
CJ
Friday, February 6, 2009
Memory: Part II: Driving
I am vibrating, overflowing with the energy of many minds.
You reach over to touch my hand and I flinch.
I am instantly sorry. Your fingers forgive me and lace through mine.
I squeeze your hand, "I love you."
I lift your fingers to my temple, "I'm trying."
You know I can't hear you, so you don't speak. Instead you rest your hand against my cheek and cast sweet spells to welcome me.
Your eyes' blue, my red flush, the sun's breaking yellow, June's green rush.
Your certain magic paints the sky.
"Almost home, baby," arcs your rainbow.
I understand this language.
To be continued...
CJ
You reach over to touch my hand and I flinch.
I am instantly sorry. Your fingers forgive me and lace through mine.
I squeeze your hand, "I love you."
I lift your fingers to my temple, "I'm trying."
You know I can't hear you, so you don't speak. Instead you rest your hand against my cheek and cast sweet spells to welcome me.
Your eyes' blue, my red flush, the sun's breaking yellow, June's green rush.
Your certain magic paints the sky.
"Almost home, baby," arcs your rainbow.
I understand this language.
To be continued...
CJ
Memory: Part 1: Arrival
It is a risk to travel to see you again.
"No planes. Shatter the tattered heart. Squeeze your chest, no rest. Pain for planes. you'll bleed," warn the voices. Silly rhymes. I would laugh, if I didn't believe them.
But I will take any risk to see you again.
You worry, making me text you when I get on the plane and at each stop.
But you will risk me to see me again.
I like this about you.
Storms travel with me across the country. I am 7 hours late.
My voices were whispers this morning, but now they are screams.
I will myself to get off the plane and walk down the jet way.
There are curtains drawing at the edges of my vision.
I lean against a wall and count, "1 2 3 4 5," gently covering each voice with a number.
But I can't think beyond 5, and the room is starting to fade.
"Chair. Suitcase. Shirt. Window. Airplane. Sky." These are the things I can see.
This is the world around me and I am here in it.
With the names of solid heavy things stacked neatly in my mind, I start to walk.
In the days before the trip, you tried to build landmarks in my mind.
Every night before sleep you said, "out the gate, towards baggage claim, down a hall, out the door." You spoke slowly, calmly, infusing the words with rhythm. A mantra to ring in my ears when I am past thinking.
My mind is hurting my head.
A chorus of voices sings different directions in my ears. I can hear the thoughts of other travelers. They are laughing at me and planning things.
Your instructions hum in the back of my mind. I know they are there but I can't make them out.
But you are a promise keeping me.
I lower my eyes to reduce stimulation and walk again, following the feet of the person in front of me. Magically, the feet lead me out of the double doors. I am blessed and grateful.
I see you drive up and pull your truck over to the curb. But I am frozen, stranded in this cacophony. I cannot move to meet you.
You step out of the truck and walk toward me with measured steps. You never hurry.
Deliberately, you put your arms around me.
"I know," your arms say.
"I'm glad you're here." They tighten.
"I've missed you." They hold me hard.
"I'll take it from here." They crush me against you and there is no space between us.
To be continued...
CJ
"No planes. Shatter the tattered heart. Squeeze your chest, no rest. Pain for planes. you'll bleed," warn the voices. Silly rhymes. I would laugh, if I didn't believe them.
But I will take any risk to see you again.
You worry, making me text you when I get on the plane and at each stop.
But you will risk me to see me again.
I like this about you.
Storms travel with me across the country. I am 7 hours late.
My voices were whispers this morning, but now they are screams.
I will myself to get off the plane and walk down the jet way.
There are curtains drawing at the edges of my vision.
I lean against a wall and count, "1 2 3 4 5," gently covering each voice with a number.
But I can't think beyond 5, and the room is starting to fade.
"Chair. Suitcase. Shirt. Window. Airplane. Sky." These are the things I can see.
This is the world around me and I am here in it.
With the names of solid heavy things stacked neatly in my mind, I start to walk.
In the days before the trip, you tried to build landmarks in my mind.
Every night before sleep you said, "out the gate, towards baggage claim, down a hall, out the door." You spoke slowly, calmly, infusing the words with rhythm. A mantra to ring in my ears when I am past thinking.
My mind is hurting my head.
A chorus of voices sings different directions in my ears. I can hear the thoughts of other travelers. They are laughing at me and planning things.
Your instructions hum in the back of my mind. I know they are there but I can't make them out.
But you are a promise keeping me.
I lower my eyes to reduce stimulation and walk again, following the feet of the person in front of me. Magically, the feet lead me out of the double doors. I am blessed and grateful.
I see you drive up and pull your truck over to the curb. But I am frozen, stranded in this cacophony. I cannot move to meet you.
You step out of the truck and walk toward me with measured steps. You never hurry.
Deliberately, you put your arms around me.
"I know," your arms say.
"I'm glad you're here." They tighten.
"I've missed you." They hold me hard.
"I'll take it from here." They crush me against you and there is no space between us.
To be continued...
CJ
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