I turn his words to
Poetry, he becomes lost
In a fantasy
3AM Thoughts // AKA “Haiku 34.“
MIND: Indulgence
Saints have no moderation,
nor do poets,
just exuberance.
The Saints Come Marching In // Anne Sexton
SOL: Stella
He gets high off the ways my
Body opens and creates space
Intergalactic highways through
Arteries making his heart race
Watching muscle stiffen and
Clench in unspoken haste
3AM Thoughts // AKA “Something Better to Send Into the Ether.”
MIND: Obliterate
A savage desire for strong emotions and sensations burns inside me: a rage against this soft-tinted, shallow, standardized and sterilized life, and a mad craving to smash something up, a department store, say, or a cathedral, or myself.
Steppenwolf // Hermann Hesse
MIND: Fluid
I have never been able to understand people with consistent lives – people who, for example, grow up in a liberal Catholic household and stay that way; or who in junior high school are already laying down a record on which to run for president one day. Imagine having no discarded personalities, no vestigial selves, no visible ruptures with yourself, no gulf of self-forgetfulness, nothing that requires explanation, no alien version of yourself that requires humor and accommodation. What kind of life is that?
Tongues Untied // Michael Warner
SOL: Inferno
Male gaze is a pyre
I would rather burn than keep
Feeding his desire
3AM Thoughts // AKA “Haiku 33.”
MIND: Unfolding
Growth is exciting; growth is dynamic and alarming. Growth of the soul, growth of the mind…
Twelve Days // Vita Sackville-West
MIND: Realist
Hope is definitely not the same thing as optimism. It is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.
// Václav Havel
SOL: Scarlet
Lit a match, burned the effigy
Devoured his ego from the
Inside out, innermost desires
Dripping down face, satiating pores
I want him in his rawest form
Ripped apart, put back together
Infused with my fingerprints
The last shaky breath from my
Lungs as I come dissolving
On his tongue
The first letter of my name
Wrapping in cursive around
His brain, driving him
Insane
3AM Thoughts // AKA “Steady As She Comes.”
MIND: Droll
It was August. She was laughing, she felt carefree, her arms were bare and soft, and she had white stockings under her short dress.
// D.H. Lawrence
