Fri, 18 Nov 2005 10:30:28 GMT

Fuck all this shit.

Mon, 07 Nov 2005 17:45:33 GMT

Sex Without Love 101:
I am a coldhearted bitchslut.

Wed, 12 Oct 2005 23:37:12 GMT

That time, you stood on my bed admiring the winter trees.

You said the sky's queer amber was the reflection of fallen snow.

What good is a sky, I might have asked, if it will not give us new blue distance, if it will only throw our loss back at us, shabby lens.

I folded the sheets, the thin mattress; across my apartment, you washed and dressed.

All winter, I grew pale and witchy, swatting erratic snowdrifts with my ancient, fraying broom.

I disproved your simplistic dualities, day by day.

A forgotten evening phone call, for example, will carve its resonant insult on mind and heart -- but is that all?

What body is that, hunched and shaking at the kitchen table, oh so late?

Foolish Cartesian, your formula deceives you.

I recall your intelligent pleasure, much too well.

My eyes are strange gold, but no one's burned me as a witch yet.
I would have flown my old broom right out of Syracuse, if it would have helped.

Dear sophist, dear sky, dear mirror. Did I love you for the madness you showed me? What could I see?

My broom wouldn't fly, I am no storybook witch;

nor Circe who turned men to swine, not that one either --

but faithful Calypso, that dispensable nymph,

whose name means, in the dead Greek language, I am hiding.

[karen volkman]

i had a small breakdown last night and almost wished i could've begged him to love me again. but this is fine. i'm finding my heart in poetry again.

pretty much yes

Fri, 30 Sep 2005 07:43:15 GMT

look up!

pretty much yes