It is infinitely easy to identify with someone
(but not any-body?).
So you hate cool, swift breezes on hot days?
I don’t.
I leaf notes to future me.
Encryption ain’t the new
Steganographia.
They remind me to
Remember right.
Write.
This is a thread to me.
Leaves about a spine.
Fluttering
For no-one but page
turners.
I slept until three p.m.
Because I could-no usual m.o.
In the pac NW 7 a.m., 3 p.m., and nine p.m. all
Look the same
Waking from dreams to remember
This is the one from which you do not know how to wake.
I imagine the world can
See and know what my mind holds
In that state.
Like there is nothing to doubt
Nothing to fear.
The cat slept on my feet.
They were not cold.
The gray summer sky
Resembles the colors of your silent eyes.
I slept by scraps I scrawled for you.
I slept by a bit of wrapping paper from a gift
Half a year old.
Oh howl, you make me sentimental.
To ask for what you hope
And to wait.
As hard as crying non-sad tears must appear to observers.
The sea is soft today.
But, í can always find a reason to smile.
I.e. “cheesecloth”
Sobriquet que ridiculoso.
You are smooth
Like young skin.
It is this present, separating the two.
Coarse still.
Contained infinitely
Keeps
You always new.
Presently
So í present me as í will and wilt be.
Your grains grew.
Became rough?
Hard to go against.
A backwards shove.
A cat pet the wrong way.
Your backwards glance, surreptitiously noticed.
I told you
I pay attention to your punctution.
Paints dried as fast as grass grew.
But, never as fast as the weather changed.
Everything happened so quickly
In slowness.
Living with punctuated equilibrium ages me in bursts.
The course grain leaves red rubs on skin like indian burns from childhood.
Asked for and still bemoaned.
Like saying: I miss you.
The issue is psychic unity of intent?
Can you not see your ally, lily, and enemy
In everybody?
Your lover and your birth
And your death?
Fractitiously cohesive
Paradigmaticly nightmarish.
Delight.
The day ran past without a backwards wave.
I found myself, coffee in hand, at four p.m.
Dreams of the red whale re-meander through my mind.
Recall people asking what we do?
You would say: meander, me and her.
I would smile. I would try not to, and I would fail.
I smile right, exactly, now.
The whale was larger than a breadbox
But, smaller than a tidal wave.
Blood red. No variation in shades, as though block colored by a child.
You did not even consider dinner,
the whale said.
I do not want to eat.
Why not?
I don’t know.
Just say you are not hungry.
i/i
Sweet man, they have been telling our story all along. I’ll tell it to you as I heard it so just sit down and:
“Hear the sad rhyme of how love turned to lust, and lust invigorated love, and love shone brighter for the stain it rose above.” 21
Sugrbeat, it is day one and already are you floating in your peaceful, wet c/sea with “all foolish loves of men” and suddenly you said, “Thither I Fled.”
While later you said “Come hither” to me. And, hither I came.
You later told me, “I followed like a dog…tied by some soft bond of twinning.”
I saw your eye sparkle while you spoke it. I hear you in those moments of desire unexpressed, dear. It made me think the “perfect sage could make the perfect lover.” Singular purposed in their craft as I try to be for mine.
( “Fool! Later on. Not to tell her. Triple fool to fly away.” )
We met because “she read-and saw him but a beardless boy…quite powerless to destroy her life’s long peace; the ten year-walled city,
And then I said, “I think the poem is pretty.”
Howl we endeared “under the dim glory in the shrine of Artemis.” She is ally to me as Aura was to my sister. Do you remember that night we stayed over in a b&b? I told you a filthy version just to try to get rise from your denim, button fly.
“The heart’s pulse quickning; the fear; the increasing ecstasy of this. The foolishness of love”. And, yet, we “give love one chance before its wave retire,” and “Maytime shone in us; with words of art.”
“Unless my Alice be the sea,” you kept repeating.
“As you yield you
To love that is stronger than shame, no music but kisses, that pealed you their paean, proclaim: the sound of the sea is made still
The climax shall come unupbraided, obedient alone to our will.”
” it was impossible that she should come,” you said,
“Over the summer-coloured sea, alone, with love and laughter and tears for me.”
Therefore, not fearing anything, I came; lit my love’s candle at my body’s flame and fought with the fevers now that swell.
From Alice: An Adultery
Hello to this simoon. I slept eons and have been half-awake even longer. Stalks from plant scatterings litter the ground below scales and scaffoldings.
My eyes narrow. Harden.
What did you whisper? What don’t you remember?
Did you intend to forget? It simply sounds like something you’d do, darling.
Out of joint and harmonizing on some strange frequencies.
I remember the steps to the dance, though.
Rather easily.
And a clear recollection of
Anticipating that beat
You always drop.
Knowing
The recapitulation of skipping one step.
Sun-chapped, vermillion gravel lines the Arizona interstate. The smell of civil anticipation of draught conditions.
De-ride derision. Re-sent. De-ridden. Hostile.
Reproachful.
Regurgitate…come here, baby bird.
Under my wing where the sun does not scream.
Absolution awaits.
Abscond
like wild things run fast.
I run so quickly it looks as though I am lazy.
Because, I smiled all the time, my narrowed eyes confuse.
Rode hard but not to be
Put up wet.
I asked him not to say things that seem to be true.
Show.
A certain gaze becomes requisite.
A dis-focus agile like a cacti forest.
Look for the invisible shrub-brush. The one that may or may not actually be there.
When you see that you do not see it, you will know you’ve got off on
The good foot.
So scratch, scratch pen to paper. Then take tips to keyboard.
Pleas. If you cannot silence your mouth, write it instead. For yourself.
Spit yourself upon the page.
See what floats.
Mercury corresponds here, where air is the element?
Striations of stratifications.
I am not what you expect, because I am not as you’ve known me to be.
Newly transmuted. I let my stomach gnaw on it’s own emptiness.
Acclimation. Deceleration of mass.
A bob becoming weightless, still tethered to a Flagstaff.
Asphalt lanes crisscross terrain like varicose veins.
Little, red blood cell cars traverse. Scrub-brush grows on either side.
Entering Sedona. The elevation changes. Ears pop.
The energy comes on before you fully make it to the valley.
Invigoration as my heart beat hastens, my skin quickens.
I feel my circulation pulsing.
We are told to Be Prepared to Stop.
We prepare.
We are stopped.
My father acclimatizes to the energy but not the dry air.
My sister fidgets with her fingers in her mouth.
My mom crossed and uncrosses her hands. Fingers tapping on top of knuckles.
The four of us seem far too old to be in a car on a road trip. We do not mind.
Joe Cocker. Feeling Alright plays on FM.
Sharp. The energy is sharp. It will hone you.
Make you diabolical, I giggle.
I feel you giggle against my ear. Echoed back to me despite your absence.
Despite your presence on another curve on another side of the world
I magnetize you to my mind’s eye.
There is a church situated in an open expanse. Nothing surrounding on its acre.
There even an atheist might easily see some god.
The orange and red rest easy in my eyes.
Like short pants slung low on hip bones.
I found a word on a notecard.
Assoil.
Present it between gritted teeth,
heavy lidded. Pleas
see before my snarl creeps back.
To acquit, absolve.
Solve Loose.
I call this word how we untangle each other.
You are Unmade and in need of collection.
Soft, sweet, slow.
Until inertia overcomes.
A harsh lunar body with love that annihilates
Your self-doubt ,
Ashames with kindness.
Pains with inelegant honesty.
You
Have
My attention and pulse,
sorrell.
Kept with you and resent but a moment ago.
And, I wonder where
we find ourselves
On this reading of what I just write to wrote?
To discern the coefficient of friction.
Re-scribed an umpteenth time.
For your inexorable sea, no doubt,
remains a’wave.
Unyielding. Relentless. Assiduous.
Paramour. Swoon over and give us some room.
Aragon and lavender, salty mists of sea tides
Aroma wafting through the scene.
A contention that new tangential elaboratorations
exert mild pressure.
“You are uncomfortably comfortable,” whispered with gravity.
So came I, cloaked.
Amateur ingenue
Feminine made anew.
I sow.
Sew you a pillow case all the colo(u)rs of Joseph’s coat.
You will dream of Argonauts. You will watch legion run
head first off the cliff.
They seek demise, but you have desire and
A dexterous handle with an au gauche moniker.
There is power in having a title, because to have is
To hold(,) dear.
To become the multitudes contained
within my circles.
The circles I contain.
The circles containing me.
A ruddy red demonstration of diameter.
Obstinte and obdurate at heart
I am a junkyard bitch who sometimes likes to bark.
Your home is no show place, but you are so fine
that lyrics write idylls for you
and scheme to catch just a sight of you
blushing. I’d sooner have you stern
Looking.
The lost cause of
how you used to be?
The wilted cæmellia
tucked behind the hero/ine’s ear?
Wilt
wither and thither.
Return to stasis,
never static, sugarfoot.
But, what you chew up and
cannot swallow
will feed your
root structure.
Poison returns if you
leave it elsewhere.
Sum it up and send it
Back to the earth
Quake for rebirth.
You saw a wryneck
Hum
In shallow waters of a
Good place to be
Candide.
The best of whose
Possible worlds?
It is how you
See the question.
Just glad to hear
The presumption of my
Body is no assumption.
Getting ready
To be fretted
For being willing
To be the bay-at-sea/c.
A cistern formed by basins of shale
Far beneath and beyond
The pale where
Sun is always shadowed
But for somme.
I have stamps for the postage.
The ferry leaves the same time over here.
I checked the mail and I don’t think City of Revelation is here yet.
Sometimes, I silently swear I can sensate an-other/s, holding my head,
three fingers of pressure and support to my forehead.
My hair sweeps down and closes around my face like a curtain drawn across a stage.
Breath is
Rest
I learned to sleep whether my eyes were on
the open or the closed.
A nap in blink. A relative delusion.
The pull of fo/u/rces up-on me.
I am force moving through and enlivening the body I wear.
Or
Maybe that is you.
Maybe I am your optimal conditions.
The intersection of wave patterns with which your waves may coalesce.
Converged
Attenuation
Reattuning
A’toning.
A ton/n/e.
A ton.
The current ether capable of manifesting your revivification.
I entreat catalyzing. I desire catalyzation.
Cathartic enzyme.
I see from the Vacuum and
It-is lonely even though you are not alone,
A lone,
Or, a loaned.
I want to draw your energy
To magnetize your electricity.
Resonate and then shall I feed you some of
Yours with mine.
We will digest and rebirth ourselves in juices charged.
Rings of /re/comings
/un/becoming.
I may want to circle you a while yet,
Even a long time.
Finding out while up-on the vortex again.
Teach me to live well yet simply.
I will teach you gladness.
My adoration of discovering you through you
Raises a moon-day sun.
A car sounds like
a breeze.
A sneeze of leaves
through the noses of
trees.
A quickly pealing pair of
tiring tyres.
Screeching steeple
belles.
Hark or hail.
Who goes there?
Conceal to reveal
weal
Twenty spokes
of the wheel may not
be a’woke;
But, daydreaming
Night-mares
whom you may ride
Up-on.
Tripping your shores of
not-here
nor their’s
Ewer’s.
The center can still hold
or ready, steady, go.
Despite the
quicken-
ingpen hares.
Ewe
turn on cloven toes,
split like the tongues of
Snarling snakes.
Smooth as slick.
Bare, like
plucked
Gnus.
Aria for the ballerino.
[Dreams of the alpaca hotel by the bay].
[Fables of worm farming, chain letter writers].
Until three days ago, Parçigal had not slept well, no more than three hours in a sitting. Her mind ran busy moving invisible, imaginary things.
She was not tired. Her eyes unfocused but wide ovals.
Had she dreamt it all?
Maybe she had it confused: was she awake for those three hours, and, in fact, actually sleeping right, exactly now?
No-mind either way. Sleeping and waking became less distinguishable to her a decade ago. There was just lucid and sleepwalking.
She plods herself with aloof-nonchalance that conceals a passionate heart (smart or not). She can look until something appears.
Then the sleep will always follow.
Trivia: she says “thank you” aloud every time she yawns. To remind herself.
What a strange breath is a yawn. Inhalation and exhalation are required to breathe and live. Sneezing cleanses. Yawns seem like alarm clocks to wake you up from real life and let you know it is time to lucid dream. Yawns are the only type of breath that appear to be contagious.
What Parçigal found three days ago:
Mr. Price Preface from History of English Poetry from the Twelfth to the Close of the Sixteenth Century. By Thomas Warton, B.D. With a preface by Richard Price, and Notes Variorum. Edited by W. Carew Hazlitt. Volume 1.* London: Reeves and Turner, 196, STRAND. 1871.
“The immediate source of Eschenbach’s poem [sic. Parzival] was a Provençal romance written by one Kyot or Guiot. Of this writer nothing further appears to be known.”
Capricious as she had not been seeking it. But, sometimes she can see things when she believes them.
Curiouser and curio-user.
*Incidentally, “Of this Edition 500 copies are printed on small paper,
and 50 on large.
What are we to make of this?
Clicking another bullhorn
Tapping.
Not getting cold.
I don’t forget to remember
Nor do I remember when I forget.
I collapsed once, a/broad,
Trying to fit a key
In a lock.
Only to come to
In the room which
I tried
To unlock
She’s clumsy. A rushy bumbler who tries too hard and cares too much. Still, she managed/s to be ineffective. She had just been here so long.
She forgot other people could not tell right away.
And so, she had raced in and embarrassed herself with a bit too much gusto, in front of her new acquaintance/s.
Or, so she assumed.
She wanted him to take her dancing, places where real players made analog and live digital music they converted to other mediums afterward.
In a room where people were still allowed to smoke.
Even when they choose not to.
It would be loud, crowded, and their lungs would hurt the next day.
Desire is the alchemy of magic.
A free hunter in the court of knights.
Golden arrows.
Circling long time.
Desire is from < L. desidero de, from + sidus (sider-) star
“Do you know how to get out?”
“I did not know there was an ‘out.’
Did you know they sell
Forever stamps?
The post office and cockroaches will remain.
I adore discovery and savor savoury.
I let you show yourself.
I reveal.
While I build momentum to cross into an unknown more
Fearsome freedom to be new.
Dealing with the defamilirized world.
I saw the truck before and after the Air Stream.
That dog barks outside again.
I feel alone and surrounded by people hoped to be alone with.
Goodly strange.
One moment full
One moment empty. Pendulous. Diabolical diabolos diabolus.
We are full of shit.
Do, dear. Relentless. Malleable. Interminable.
Hard C, soft c, Mid-c.
Do you require feedback?
Someone to laugh uproariously?
Should I hold you back in order to urge you forward?
Am I all bark with no bite?
Callæbus eqqus is an Open (printed) Book.
Be content with the content? Slide your saucerful full of secrets over here?
Disappointed roundtable debators believed that
She had been animal
And mineral
And element,
And Creature,
And Cretin.
And a camællia.
The wandering star gent is part sugar-foot.
A real Achilles heel for him when it melts in the rain.
Sugary sweet
But, highly soluable.
Death and the Lover.
But, she knows him under different handles.
They rotate who leads the dance to each saraband song.
Often swapping pieces of clothes
Endless variations.
Her suspension of choice made him slay her.
What choice?
Can anybody make anybody do anything?
The difference between clumsy, specious interference and kind, capable manipulation?
Fuzzy adjustments.
She lays the pen aside in such a heat of words.
He called her to come to him from an ocean away. In her stomach and heart, she already then felt bits of twine string loosely drape. Cordons that began slithering into knots pulling tighter and tighter.
She felt it and she said so.
“I promise I feel those sweet fingers clasping at my heartstrings. That is all I promise in the right-now. But, darling, I fear I love you.” she said
How much emotional energy, she wondered? She ought not be fearful of loving, but this one was something else in her mind. This man was impeccable.
In love vs. I love.
One (N) to the right of (I)
is all it takes.
The difference between loved and beloved.
Fitted and bespoke.
She knew quick that she loved deep. And, still could not abstain from diving head first. No one had ever spoke of weal to her before. She wanted to court him and please him and displease him. But, then her imagination spun some daydreams she presented to him. A bombardment of her ideas presented in delicious, but inexperienced confusion. In retrospect, she shuddered at how giddy the effort must have seen. She felt sad like maybe she blew the idea and made herself look ridiculous. Then she grinned and found a laugh, because at least she tried.
She closed her eyes, imagined he could hear her speak and she said aloud,
I’ve not known eyes like yours, or words used like yours. You are special and rare. The way you move through time. The way time moves through you.
You wear it, those lines, on your face. You will only grow more captivating. I am too old to be this young. You’re so well aged. It could sweet. And even naughty.
The cost of a swoony swoon. The dreams of a romantic mystic. The desires of a feral bitch rising from within. Howling and sniffing.
Then she heeded the call and he was the Genuine article.
Arriving on pins and needles; visiting on tenterhooks; finally
She left slain.
Embarrassingly taken aback by how he puts his hands in his denim pants pockets. Adored. Astir in wonderful calmness, he made mere moments eons with just a bit of string or a yarn to spin. Captivating her wonder. A dream of an artful life
She could recall none other that spoke to her as he did.
In fact, he spoke to her about those things most amazing.
He spoke of passions because he knew them too. His laugh endeared. And his smile was usually close-lipped.
She returned home. Visitors at her home. A small party. A confusing dissonance. Time fell strange.
Three days after returning home, she knew with certainty that she wanted to return to him. She wanted to be by him. Partners in art and crime.
She wanted to
Suggest it might…
Concede it must….
Surrender her nerves with a hard swallow
Submit to hot tears.
She wants a new life with him. Silly girl. She knows though, she can do it on her own and feel proud but she could be in love and do it.
Silly. She feels unhip. But, she knows exactly how she feels. And, she knows it may be just a pretty lie she tells herself.
Yet, her intuition just smiles and whispers: it could be sweet. There are so many possible movements to take on this chessboard, that it becomes a real treat when you have a moment where you know exactly what you want and you can accept that it may not happen.
The difference between I don’t think so and I hope so.
Again, alone in her room, she closed her eyes, imagined he could hear her speak and she said aloud,
“I think I see you the way you wish the world would see you, dearheart. You look fine in these eyes. Fingers such as yours come carrying currents. Diligence meets nuanced, indicating well-honed. Your voice, its quiet, clear enunciation draws my ears. I feel you pull slowly on my vibrations. Shifting energetic threads like braiding hair. Bringing to balance the diabolus.
Worth all risk.
She came from a place of dinosaurs.
She moved to a shiny silicon land where lives occur in hands and eyes look down at screens. People speak in hashtags now. A girl 5 years younger laughed as she told her she listens to CD’s in her car. The last physical format to kill off, I am a CD in a digital town.
You, enter please. Come to me, catchling.
I hear you in the forest, leaves ruffling from your sneaky skulking.
I smell you just as before.
A long knight’s sleep jolts minds into new dimensions.
I turn
To look at you.
And, i feel what i want
with ecstatic desire. Enrapt.
Kindled flame fells me to prostrate before all and everything
And the capricious sense of love reawakened.
Violent like a wary animal who wants to eat from
your hand
And i might nip your fingers when i let you.
Like a salt-lick.
I shall know you when i see you again. I see you everywhere.
I stalk that visage. I look in the eyes of all
Briefly.
Just
In-case.
Surrender to you and the mastery of your pleasure,
Of your discomfort.
Your naughty silence.
Those sweet, heavy shoulders.
My reserved disposition conceals me as i see past a veil
Into the swirl of thoughts of
Desires to devour.
Devour you in shameful kind need.
The mastery of submission may make a Master submit?
I want to shake you from your discomfort. then comfort you
While you shake.
WrittenCasey 