Hurt

She still looms large

The large-eyed one

Olive skin and Angela Jolie lips.

Perfect

In a word

And easy with it

I have no memory that would praise her enough

Or sounds that could explain

The pain that absence beings

there are days when you're so delicate

a sentence could break

into a thousand pieces

living

They're coming up

these flakes of gold

from the belly

up the throat

through the mouth

silently

they'll make it better for you

for us

to breathe

that is

once you arrive

right now

you've been slow

Cali lady

Let it go, this thing, at the core of you,

 this pain you've suppressed for a month or three, pretending that she

did not exist

she hurt you deeper than you'd like her to

put on a brave face and turned to go

eyelash flicker like a scrape to the soul

she's gone now

you can cry

it's fine

Rebalance

This is a blog

I've neglected for a time

I find myself writing to many of news and thought instead

I would throw the blinds open to a wider crew

after all you wish to know what's going on, no?

Please comment and use rating also.

If you blog too - let me tune in.

Love and freshnes,

Arjuna

Neck lines of slender, beautiful alternative women

Should be outlawed

At work

Even if

I went to youtube

To find them

Dreams

Going to your dead Grandmother's church, perhaps for a wedding. You hang around in the grave yard before taking your bus to the local pub. A man screams at your Mother for not having a ticket "'Ere she's got NO TICKET!" he yells, embarassing her in front of everyone.

In the pub surrounded by the fine local yokel folk. One of them, Titus or Scargill or something, has a large nose and lank blode hair. The plot didn;t quite make clear but you slam his head into the floor and when he protests do it again as your parents look on. They do and say nothing. The protests from Titus rise to a squeak.

You see him later in the beer garden, sparkling eyed and grateful. Waving you a cheery farewell.

~

You wake up in the church garden surrounded by autumn flowers. There are people there you know and they circle your bed like spectators and admirers. At the head of the bed sits your world's greatest love. She looks over and smiles, pats your head and sink back into sleep.