Merry Solstice!

Thomas Merton: “there is in all things … a hidden wholeness.”

Lots of things finishing. 

Going into a New Year with a heart that is swollen. 

I bought my Dad a Fender tee-shirt.  He's been wearing it all of the time.  So sweet.



Happy Holidays.
Love,
 
Mel.

JMW Turner in the Bath:

I have this affection for the mould in the bath,
crawling up the faucet from the porcelain.

It's life and death:
organisms feasting on rot.

I trace their curves with my fingers
and wonder about their lives.

From the neglected base of Mars
black,

blooming into icy ceruleans,
molested by burnt siennas.

It's the same as the sky in November
above the accident on 208,

where we all, human,
having to slow to turn our heads.

Turner, hear me here:
from your sea-faring living and dying,

come back,
just for this, for me:

It is only your tides and your clouds
that are blissfully, still becoming.

aspect

Venus conjunct Pluto:

You look upon sex as an almost religious opportunity for self-dissolution and union with the universal whole. For you sex contains the seeds of enlightenment through immolation of the ego in the fires of physical passion.  (source:  Linda Goodman)

truly happening

slipping in and out

of sleep:

the image
of your hands
pulling at my belt buckle
in such haste;

that brief film, over
and over,

truly happening.

your hands
are so romantic, loving,
possessing of
so much violence

black and white indie,

racing, barely floundering,
over and over,

truly happening.

the foreground and background blur,
and your face is his face
laced in the raindrops
on the window.

the glass:
and there is no one
left behind, just
a hiccough of memory.

the hands that hold the camera shake,
it is truly happening,

and there is no
telling apart.

On a diet of marijuana and apple juice

I am fairly certain that you are leaving me...
your silhouette is blacker somehow.

another fucking poem about the moon.

Someone told me
a halo around the moon is
a bad omen.

Tonight,
and every night,
if there is a moon,
there is a halo.
It's pollution.

And the sighs
of pleasure or pain
or even ecstasy
are laughed into
the smog --
even if there is
no laughing...
or no moon nor omen at all.

on my mind