coyote: (lion king stars)
I am a goldfish dancing in circles within a great sphere of light
and you are nothing but a cat trying to steal the sheen of my scales.
I spin in a storm of ups and downs and bubbles and stars and
wave upon wave
upon wave upon
hopes and dreams and everything between
the great sea bed and the great goddess Moon above.

If I were to breathe into your lungs I would suffocate you
and drown you
and keep you in my dark sea witch lair and you'd never see the sun again.

The cat thinks it has the plan
to catch a star
to catch a fish
to catch a drink and make a wish
and it thinks it has me all figured out.

A little golden sundrop in a translucent bowl of obvious opportunity.
I am not that easy.
They use fish as bait for a reason.
I shimmer and move and make
and dance with the earth as it quivers and quakes
and I can become a shark within seconds after you dip that sweet little paw in,
that dainty little paw.

You think your claws will scare me.
You think I couldn't pull you under all the way, deep into the dark abyss of stormy tides
and mile wide trenches and a gloomy underworld of manipulative merfolk
with glassy eyes and dead fish between their teeth.
I know things that you don't and I see things that you won't
and I have been closer to hell than you ever will in any of your nine lives.

I dance in the light and my scales gleam bright as the sun;
A golden treasure a king would be proud to have served upon a royal dish.
I dance and tease and tempt and wait and wish
for that delicate little paw to try and claw his way to my heart.

But I am a goldfish
and nothing more.
I can't fly, can't walk, can't run away from your mighty talk,
can't wiggle my way onto the floor,
can't make a hasty dash to the door.
You see me hide my eyes afraid to look,
an innocent creature with a virgin tail and nothing more.
I have a memory of three seconds
and eternity.
I'll ask for a kiss
and nothing more.

I am a goldfish swimming in circles within a glass bowl and nothing more
and you are a cat looking for his next easy meal.
We are trapped in a storm of ups and downs and bubbles and stars and
waves upon waves
upon endless waves of
hopes and dreams and everything inbetween
what's outside the water and what's in
and we are planning the demise
of our own reflections.

There is no fish and there is no cat
and all I can say about that is there is no glass bowl between the two
and there is only a universal urge to trap each other in our own whims.

I write poetry to keep the fish moving
and I write poetry to keep the cat fed and
it is an existential existence from beginning to end.


---

Someday I want to be a Slam poet. And someday I will record this so you can hear how it goes. But first I'd have to find some guts.

I'm supposed to be cleaning. I should be cleaning. I would rather work on my painting and write poetry, but I am full of shoulds all the time and that is where I'm headed.

Plus. I like when the ferrets are clean.

Edit: Most likely, no one will listen, BUT, this is a practice in doing things that make me uncomfortable.

Man, I hate that sound of my own voice.

Edit2: Ash just said I say "I" funny. I do. Every time I hear it I start laughing. Oh god. Sorry. XD
coyote: (coyote sleep)
I am practicing self-destruction and
wrapping myself in billowing storms of blue,
green and a wash of night.

I am singing to myself as I sink to
the bottom of the ocean,
weighed down by the rocks in my stomach and
five hundred gallons of light crude in my heart.
It beats with in a slow, murky time.

There is a tempest above and the terror and
beauty of it astounds me.

There have been warnings of my demise but there is
also denial.
Billions of birds are migrating, resting, feeding,
hunting for sanctuary just like me.
My energy is compromised and the toxins make me vulnerable.
God only knows the magnitude of this spiritual crisis.

To bear witness is not a passive act.

No gaze is direct and I alone shatter this house of mirrors.
I am a lion on this desolate black sand,
reading the lines of the storm and singing.

I have found a halo floating on the waves and
it is a life jacket made of light. I am losing my mind

and it is natural to be contaminated.
coyote: (coyote sleep)
I cannot sleep.
I cannot hold you in this heat;
I sweat and cry blood that
stains the sheets a crimson tide of tears.
Your body is made of dirt,
of dust and terracotta and
conglomerate stone that shines in the moonlight
streaming through the window.

I breathe you in and wish for humidity.
You are dry and dirty
and my sweat forms red puddles on your bare shoulder.
One by one, the drops of rain will form you to their whims.
One by one, I will erode you into slip and clay.
I break you down into particles and build you up into
sandcastles and witches' towers.
Each grain of your existence glints as stardust.

At night we mold together.
I cannot sleep with your heat bearing into me,
surrounding me. Suffocating me.
You are a dry heat and I need water to sooth your burns.
We mix the sweat and blood and your clay to create.
We are creating and fighting and moving in the dark.
The sheets are caked with mud and the rain falls around us.
We are conflicted in the damp morning air.
We are trapped within the silt by our own polar attraction.

You are a sun so desperate to sleep.
I am a moon, waiting to rise.
The earth is dry against your skin, stained crimson and carmine,
and I am obsessed with writing your name into the mud on the floor.

---

So much to do today.

yearnings.

Jun. 7th, 2010 04:57 pm
coyote: (coyote up)
Her face was created from mud found in the desert
after a deep, wild rain.
You are never alone,
Her cracked lips of Terracotta barely moved.

Ears of a great spirit,
beating heart and tail of a banished trickster
are what's left behind.
The rain drowned her soul and pieces of it
glinted like crystals in the fissures of the earth.
Treasure.

I hungered for a star and swallowed until the fire took over
and burned a hole in my stomach.
Wickedly, I yearned for more.
Wickedly, I died to have more.
The sun is gold in the west and I see nothing but long shadows
and a subtle song in the distance.

The mud has dried
and she stares, unseeing.
I have eaten her heart and replaced my own.
I swap ears and steal her tail.
Now my eyes and my words are carved in mud.
Now my hands and my legs are pieces forgotten in the mountain.
Now I am the Creator.
Now I am the Creation.

You are never alone,
whispers the amber moon.
You are never alone.

Her face crumbles into dust.

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coyote: (Default)
Coyote.

January 2013

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