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An argument between friends (#313)

My hands are traitors to my feet
My feet want to be moving
–here to there–
–purpose to objective–
My hands want to grasp things
–to hold on–
–to slow me down–
My days are an argument between the two

My feet try to move out of the way
Avoid puddles
Don’t trip
Keep me standing
They know their job

My hands try to catch things
Raindrops and frisbees
More to have
More to give
My hands like the air
My feet are annoyed

But on some days
At some hours
My feet do dance
Circles and taps
Not moving to get somewhere
Just loving the ground
Sharing the joys with my hips
And my shoulders
And even happily with my hands

And on some days
At some hours
My hands do let go
Release
Empty themselves
They understand mortality
And loneliness
And find solace in prayer

My feet allow them
Their sadness and peace

 
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Posted by on January 23, 2017 in new poetry, Uncategorized

 

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#174

The bias of my body

My hands sing of sunsets
Waving my eyes into pinks and oranges.
My mouth kisses the freedom of words
Caressing sounds between my teeth.
Even my hair
Tickles the ends of the wind.

But not all my body
Dances with life.
My fingers ignore my thumbs,
Turning away from their needs.
My nose hangs isolated
Surrounded by the joy of my face.
And at the base of my life
My feet scream,
Trapped forever
In the claustrophobia of shoes.

 
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Posted by on October 24, 2013 in old discoveries

 

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#160

Sevenling (The geography of her body)               (new)

The geography of her body has valleys that shy away from me:
the inner curve of her neck, the tremulous arch of her foot,
the small of her back.

My geography is a landscape
seemingly filled with mountainous crags and peaks:
prominent nose, sharp elbow, hard shell of a kneecap.

We are both looking for the ocean.

 
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Posted by on October 10, 2013 in new poetry, sevenling

 

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