self realization through symbolism [pt 2]

burning incense is not meditation
making love is not revolution
the body is not freedom
the island is not freedom
the classroom is not freedom

scribbling is not introspection
ignoring is not prosecution
drinking is not medication
a photograph is not a memory

isolation is not preservation

today I stood in the kitchen in my salty bikini and ate an entire baby pineapple over the sink.
I don’t care what it wasn’t. I know what it is.

self realization through perspective [pt1]

Elodie learned to swim when she was 4 years old. She said ‘I love the water, my dear. I love the falter and lull. I am Carolina crabcakes. Hot chocolate.’ She will not be afraid of knives falling on bare feet in kitchens. She will not be around for the aftermath. That is not her style.

Karmen danced until her toes bled. She said, ‘I bleed like linen. I am a notion.’ She signed her will at age 11, not without care. She knows who you dream about at night. Karmen is she, he I you and them. She is the green linoleum; the saran wrap to save the stuffing.

Brigitte has a sewing kit in brown paper. She is a present for the morning. ‘If only you knew’ she always whispers in his ear. Misanthrope. Megalomaniac. Melancholic. Cholic. Myself. Self. And so it is. To come is to go. For Brigette, time is of the gasoline.

Sylvie feels lonely on Wednesday afternoons. Her fortune cookies always tell her to be brave. ‘I’m not going to be swamp. I’m going to be infinite’ she says. Her Spanish lessons are going along like cake. She will be sorry to foxtrot into the ocean, but not for long. How Chopin in a Kate way. Embrace your pretensions.

cigarettes

there exist cigarettes
this world therein are cigarettes and black coffee beans
daughters have problems with cigarettes, black coffee beans, and vodka.
wait, start again.
there exist cigarettes
in cafes and corners on buses up mountains
that’s it! phallic. cigarettes. sex.

ok back up
cigarettes in bikinis, that’s not sexy.
cigarettes! not sexy.
cigarettes a baby. romanticized. in a diminutive.
hips swing in blankets of smoke.
cigarettes?

langue, not language. langue for cigarettes. long for cigarettes.
the longing, of course. the longing.
desire and tension, romantic.
cigarettes in September. cigarettes in December.
black coffee beans. vodka.
long sleeved sweater. pick your poison.

grapefruit mentos pepsi max and jumbly slop of me

its all so quick and fast so

lightening speed all clichés of time [it is flying you know]

soon the sugar cane will all be cut down and I haven’t had a picture

it will be gone; ready to grow again the year after when I will be dieu-knows-where

these nights he says ‘do you think you could love me lo?’ and I say ‘I don’t know’ because I was never good with the conditional tense anyway.

these days have been heavy and so dense that when you look off the balcony you can’t see the horizon, just the thick blue of the sky meeting the thick blue of the ocean

[there are no straight lines in nature, right?]

the clouds dip down low, low
they don’t have the energy to stay in the sky
they don’t want to mark the end of the earth.

all the signs are spray painted with big red wings and underneath it says

WAKE UP, when I look at them all I can think is

I’d rather not, thank you, I like the suspension.