Which flavor determines you?
Which color-coated combination?

Honey chestnut; chocolate-tainted cinnamon!
Blackened blueberries; desert-tinted cafe!
Date-coated flaky coconut flooding cream!

Bright white chili water drains streaming from gray eyes
and oh! if there's no such thing as taste...
Breathe deeper, and take note:
tomato-scarlet brandished
multi-grain cous-cous,
separates and joins to fall like sand falls
always made or unmade, really the very same.
Think into your blessed cherry-blossom messes
glide-float-fallen, cradled with bedded-down brown grasses.

(No dear, I want you to untangle your hand from my hair,
please, unwrap your draping arm from my tense shoulders
and go. Soft joy-faux pleadings, take them from my ear
and tuck them back there in your wallet of unholy white.)


fluttering chatter lingers by the swing-set
grandparents step separate, back from boy
playing in the sandbox, silently judging the sunlight.
talk of past years, but few still, through
the voice of an eight-year-old speaker--
where history is mysterious pretense
stepped-in for living desires.

where thought-stream dives beneath
written word, the back and forth,
exchanges of energies divide/derive.
shoed feet on man-placed sand, out of sync
with expectation, the grains barely can
(re)cover their ground. lain almost
by accident about our uncovered
fingers, between our invisible sounds.

Hotline duty persists, and thickly through the night.

Put the secret back into the day. Shape the clay frantic, drive the doubt back into the ground. And remember: "Feeling sorry for himself, isn't suffering."

It means that I'll be okay, with or without my lover--being my lover. But it also gives cause and allowance for his being so. It means that I am a many faceted creature, full of Spirit & Earth & Emotion & Mind. All, and even in balance. And though this remains true of me, this balance is of course encouraged and brought to gracious fruition through my relationships.

I like reading cards frantically until their stories can be seen through relation and pattern, as though repeating their words through their truths. I like that I might be a Queen as easily as a King; a Page as much as a Knight. I like seeing the same cards, and being awed by the strength of my particular 'universal' meanings--all the better for just that moment's possibility!

[So here's the deal: we got into Law School on the other side of the country. If I'm picking up and leaving everything, indeed, I need to know it in six days time. This isn't merely a matter of 'where the cards fall'; the touch of my hand shall be blindingly apparent.]

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (4/16/09) <--!!!

6 minutes to go and counting...

Where'd that feeling go? Where's that irremediable joyous glow that shined a warmth from your belly outside? Just recently we feel half off, don't we? Sometimes we can be reconstituted by the borrowed beauty of music passing us by, but where went its source out of our frame of vision?

The old tricks still apply. Several times a day, like a habit-trodden path is wrought, I find myself visiting spots that up-heave the soul like a sand bar launches its waves several feet into the air. I exist now and then, like this, and in between feel barely necessary. It's not a sorrowful space to inhabit--more like the push of darkness, against you and on all sides. In some ways soporific. And in an offhanded vague sort of way, sometimes worrisome. I'm calling it a phase, if you're asking.

In the mean time, revel in the words already spoken even before your lips shape the sounds. Take a measure of solace in the euphoria you still inspire in the dog that waits for you by the raised platform of your front door. And stick it out, one step at a time, to avoid whatever potential damage might potentially be avoided.

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (4/5/09)

Glimpse into history.

[Come on, love! You must shape these things into something...]

Stare at a fabric folder (perchance purchased in Persia?) and consider this, your predicament. Paint her deep orange--bruise her bright yellow--and our masquerade fades off.

These words...these words...all you know in the dimness of day, and surrounded by darkly-writ sunshine. Where else could there have really been to go, then? And how can we think to express this? Oh abstraction! Fucking cowardly distraction! When commitment threatens a worthy conclusion we run at blurring speeds somewhere far away. Such eventualities bite into your shield of pride, good darling. We love & we don't! We love & we don't! What then?! What of it?

No. I don't want my time in between that bliss of loving you--to anymore resemble waiting. I exist even without you, love, strange as this is to express. The green of the trees look not so heavy here, almost floating their tips to the lightness of beige. And then suddenly we're working--oh yes, again. How we don't make sense with such dedication! (To be taken every which way.)

You'd think to express any feeling that runs so deep--you'd think it would have to be easy. (Ah, well.)

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (12/12/07)