Butterflies

She sat up in bed upon the thought, "I never told him I loved him," and wondered when she began believing in love at all. Whether she believed in it or not, here it was... in the middle of the night. The fuckin butterflies meant she was alive. God damned butterflies. A slideshow of movie clips played in her head... Clips of suicide how tos. Writers were always so inventive when it came to carefully thinking out a suicide scene. She never could have been all as inventive as that on her own.

Later, in the chill of bloodletting in the mid-night warm bath, she decided she never did have to tell him because he had to already know. We all already knew, didn't we? About love and the certainty of death. We just all didn't live with the weight of it, the futility of fighting it - the disbelief in it; we all didn't breathe knowing the one couldn't exist without the contrary, disbelief without belief, every second of every day... Like she did. Did. She never told him, didn't have to tell him, because it always existed. She closed her eyes. The butterflies were finally gone.

Feeding Poetry

[This began with an excerpt from one poem and fed into other ideas. Printed with the permission of the other poets btw. Enjoy!]

****************
Sam Sax (excerpt)
****************

Your body is no temple for a temple
is nothing when not filled with song
you are always filled with song
a block party
circle of poets
bottle of spirits
and a mouthful of sage
you are a body, little more than anybody

****************
Rajshree Chauhan
"We disappear"
****************

But your body couldn't be my temple
empty until filled with dance
I am always filled with dance
moving light
circle of drums
trance of mind
I become nobody, faceless, soulful...
we disappear *

*****************
Russell Goodman http://lorele.livejournal.com/494206.html
your body is a body not your own but in your possession temporarily, perhaps
*****************

Your body is a body is a body is yours,
for love and life
Dionysian spirits and sage
filled with song
full of dance
drums of the heart
ocean of the blood
stream in your ears
the ring as you fall to sleep,
your own Aphrodisian love.

The Pendulum

The prisons of the mind can be deceptive in safety
more comforting than the unnavigable currents of life

Solace can be found there
do not linger too long lest you forget how to adventure

Both will always, will always
will AL-wayS
be ready for your return

Beware... The swing.
This pendulum is not smooth
prepare yourself and respect
accept where you are.