ripples

 ripples

[  ] tossed stones at dawn

into the lake's dark water and

now the ripples won't stop.

JANEisnotplain 4.5.12

untitled

 

dear [     ]

this morning the world is that dusty light purple

that foreshadows a coming up or a going down.

the skyscrapers begin to mesh with the sky

and they are the same shade such that i can

not perceive which is which.

I am sorry.

i just couldn’t tell you [so many things i wanted to]

or do it fast enough to begin to [   ]  again

which [as much as i wanted us to open each other] is

like the opening of a new sky.

i am helpless in the complicated mess i have created.

JANEisnotplain  3.25.2012

do not touch

dear r:

i remember walking

to the park to pick roses

the sign clearly read

“Do not touch”, but you

would say otherwise

and i would carry the

rose home carefully

in my hands and love

her, thorns and all.

happy anniversary

love,

JANEisnotplain 3.8.3012

new year's resolution

 
new year's resolution

goodbye [   ]

hello new day

here's to an un-

                                              answered tomorrow 

                              
                                                                                                                JANEisnotplain 0330am 1.12.12

1.1.2012 REBELLION

rebellion. 

               its everywhere [i, you, we ] put [my, your, our ] lips.

JANEisnotplain 1.1.12

dear bukureshe: untitled 12.22.2011

 

dear bukureshe,

 never did i think i would be able to

 trust other hands with my broken heart

 and hurting soul but i found a warm and

 beautiful place beneath your coat where

 i lay my head on your chest to listen to

 your heartbeat shut out the world with

 its sweet fluttering and i began to love

 again.

Love,

JANEisnotplain 12.22.2011 @ 0400am

dear r: used 10.27.11

dear r: used 10.27.11

dear r,

You

used

to

Love

Me

well.

well,

You,

Me,

used

to

Love

to

Love

well,

You

used

Me

Love

You

well

Me

used

to

Me

used

to

Love

You

well.

love,

JANEisnotplain 10.27.2011

bukureshe

dear bukureshe,

it feels so good to

have your hands on

on my body drawing

pictures on my bare skin

with kisses they

wander lower and

your hands make a

mess of fresh sheets

your tongue between

my [  ]s and i’m close

to [   ].

love,

JANEisnotplain 8.31.2011

0330am project: panic 8.28.11

hotcoldwetwarm.

tossing blankets.

writhing madly

like a fish. gills

franticallysearch

forwatertobreathe.

donotpanicplease.

JANEisnotplain 8.28.11 0348am

d.p.

d.p.

he took the glass dropper into his mouth and

squeezed out its mitigating contents onto his

tongue. it tasted bitter like an orange peel and

he did not remember his purpose. so soon you

will forget, a voice tells him. forgive the way

some things were, he whispered. celebrate

things the way they [  ].

0346 am 8.5.11
in loving memory 

WANT AD #7

want ad #7

i am attracted to the curves, the

straight line. i am attracted to the

flawed soul, gentle touch. i like

unfolding, subtle beings, intention.

you are still searching, still wearing

useless attire, still willing to lay

everything out there, still seeking

whatever “it”  is  meaning

JANEisnotplain 6.5.11

for the want ad project

BREATHE, LIFE

photo by: P. Sinclair

it isn’t the breaths we count,

nor is it the moon or the stars

sinking into the sand, or the

sun rising again and again.

if you close your eyes and

let the cool air surround you,

the trees will whisper wind,

lovers will love, dogs will

bark, and energy will flow.

if you close your eyes and

just let yourself fall freely

of chains and of thought,

and just simply allow one’s

self to just be, you will live.

JANEisnotplain 2.5.11 

 

i want

0330am : i want

i want to be missed, without being known.// i want someone who will take my mind and/intertwine it with theirs;/ who will stare into my eyes/ until we reach infinite moments.//

i want [finger]painting at 4am/ and nostalgic butterflies coated in musk.// i want meaningful love making /in the midst of the crowd..// i want my breath to be devoured.//

i want to taste the trees/ the bark.// i want someone to listen and/ someone to show me/what is not visible.// i want to explore [  ]/ them.// us.// show me [  ]  am real/ and exist.//

i want to be released.//  i want my mind to be let free.// i want to feel everything.// fingers on [ ] spine.// i want bites on my neck.// i want warmth and care.// i want beautiful minds.

JANEisnotplain 2.5.11

for the want ad project

0330am thankful

thankful:

for hot baths and the / hot water heaters that / reach boiling points and/ soak into my skin in a /most painfully pleasant /way. // for pencils and erasers/ but more so for pens and / the fact that ink does not  /erase so it forces me to / accept what i write even /if it’s honest, raw or ugly.// for acceptance from and / for the people in my life/ who take me exactly as/ i am and swallow me /whole.//  for sleep and for the / [ ] that help[s] me sleep/the coffee that wakes me/up on nights i cannot sleep.// for changes in me and others in the world for/ new opportunities and the/ never ending row of doors waiting/ to be opened by me.//

JANEisnotplain 0330 am 1.28.11

gematria

gematria

some might think i am purposefully odd

because i sometimes assign num[b]er[s]ic 

concepts to letters. can i read your

digits? some nights i cant sleep. like

words are keeping me awake tonight.

all kinds of random words behaving

like cognizant quantum part[s]icles

and dancing outside of linear time.

they seem pointless yet interrelated.

death and depth are separated by one

phoneme. like tide and time. so close.

yet we pray for depth and whisper about

death. how would it feel? the texture of

words on my fingers. it seems too risky

to put one’s linguistic identity into an

arithmetic lexicon. its cliché. like

reincarnated rainbows transformed into

polygot integers that can only attempt

to describe chromatic iridescence. our

language is unstable. this is certain.

merging is now colliding. presence is now

absence. has a mathematical shift occurred

in linguistic process? could it be that this
gematria is a little bit correct?

some might think that i am irregular.

but it is not me that is falling apart.

i am actually connecting the dots one two

together. building [ ] mathematically.

JANEisnotplain 12.9.10

art is sex

art is sex

this is foreplay. arousal stimulated by

flirtation of ideas and an exchange of

vulnerabilities in the language of pre-

verbal space.

i don’t have to speak again. i don’t

need to entertain at this moment. i

am intoxicated with the pitch, tone,

and composition of your rhythm.

violets tremble at the edge of glass

unbuttoning tongues and uncorking

breaths. lips wrap in throbbing lyrics.

fire alarms may sound.

don’t run. this is not a cliff it is a

platform. it is a very intellectually

intimate fucking of [  ] senses. it is

the vernacular over easy.

[ ] art is sex. it has volume and velocity.

like a sweet and sugary cereal on sunday.

it is surprising just how little control we

have over something so elemental to us.

these vagabond rendezvous are like

secrets between silences. casualties

between catastrophes. i relish these

strange moments of [   ].

i am uncoiled between temptation and

trouble. i wonder, darling, if rain turns

to thunder or if, there was lightening in

the middle of the day could you stand it?

you kiss [  ] incrementally and unfold

soft affirmations as if still willing to

lay all mistakes at shaking feet and

outstretched charge.

to my left is a teacup. to my right is a

crucifix. ahead are tangled branches.

my fingers follow lines and form words

your jeans are nice. i like your [h]ips.

JANEisnotplain 12.10

sunrise

sunrise

safer than depth, an untouched morning

glances into quiet azure space actively

passively formed from pristine edges.

subject lines align with flower cusps

pregnant with the last night’s dew[y]

composure of young daylight.

a rinsed creed lifts projected daylight

onto a crowd of actors from a prior play;

an unnatural selection gathering fiction.

the tripod lasts beyond the photograph

but in the lens you can hear my memory

gaze, surrender and frame the sunrise.

JANEisnotplain 10.30.10
after Q Studios Halloween

FALL

fall lies within the final sentence of the year’s paragraph

like the smoldering ash of a semicolon, or the flick of a pen.

one leaf in the mounds of leaves burns by the roadside like

the many letters of a lost lover, set ablaze by a waning sun.

if winter is the season of solitude then fall must therefore be

the lonliness that precedes it as in a season of proper longing,

wind blown confessions, silent penance and spring’s regrets.

fall is but punctuation in a beautifully tragic form as its days

grow shorter and collars instinctively turn themselves up toward

the brilliance of an orange sky abandoned now by sun sweetened

kisses and warm embraces.

the charred remains of summer with its forgotten words and

guilty pleasures turn now like colors. now shifting,now drifting,

now depleting themselves of affection until reaching the crisp

translucency of winter.

JANEisnotplain 10.17.10

THEORY #2...inprogress

dear unexpected:

dear unexpected lover:

good morning beautiful. would you hold my hand?
spin me around on an emotional rollercoaster? drag
my face into the pavement, let my body swing into
anything and everything. break my bones and squeeze
me. twist and turn the way your emotions do. make
me scared. make me cry. you fucking bitch. then
leave me. nauseated. the ride is over. the ride is over.
oh thank god. this fucking ride is over.

do you wanna go again?

love,                                          JANEisnotplain 6.10