Q: Hey, it's Jackie. I'm not sure if you check here , but I do now and then, just to delve into your soul. How do you survive in the real world? All those thoughts floating around that don't mesh with mortal robots.... Luckily for me I have become robotic, phew! Being bare is too hurtful!! I hope you can one day manage to be yourself but with some sort of earthly armour to shield yourself with. However! I digress!! I have noticed that with FB messenger my texts have not been seen. I am hoping I com

Hi Jackie– How are you? I just got this! And I’m not sure when you sent it. But it made me miss you. Thank you so much for seeing me. You always have. And I see you too. How are things lately? Are you guys at home mostly or on the road? Hoping this holiday season approaching means you get to spend all the time with the family. There’s always a little bit of sadness to this sesaon for me, you know? But that’s ok. And if you feel the same, just drop me a line!

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poem: mythikos & her mouth

girl with the labradorite eyes stands on cool kitchen tile

before the stove, she lets me taste her fasolada from the cooking

spoon and then lick the dampness from the nape of her neck.

she takes me, in a soft layered bed on the floor of our stone house– 

takes my breath from above, her hair veiling us from noonlight, 

takes my clothes outside to let the saltwater dry.

girl with the lyra hips places each dish as slow as the breeze joins us. 

there is one Cypress tree our table sits beneath. lemons hang dry in a 

mesh bag from a nail in its side.  always wear santal on your skin, 

it smells so nice. she takes my breath from above. she takes an over-

sized swearshirt over her head in a shadow of our room. we don’t 

recognize the smell of our own bodies anymore, or this island.

girl who can’t say no to me after two glasses of wine, when the stars 

develop above in a spattering that reveals the earth’s curvature 

and lets us know we are blessed by Demeter for a moment 

in her scrying ball, where she sees my death to a poor, pitiful 

heart one day in the market smelling lemons, thinking of her 

hands lightly at work. she has told me we are doomed 

to staggered deaths, as if there’s a thing I can do about it.

my girl who chooses to live alone with me in a little stone house 

on an island in the Cyclades and worship the Aegean sea– 

girl with the creases at each mouth corner, lets me kiss them, one 

at a time before I take her hair in my hands, lets me read her palm

in bed. she lets me tell her stories as she wraps her trust around 

this room, darker and darker still with our desire, I see.

girl who whispers heavenly behind my ear before she falls asleep, 

let me take you with me when I go, down the ancient staircase of

loss and regret, into exquisite sleep again. And again. I won’t say 

neither of us can leave, but I will wink and call you Persephone from

time to time, to which your sleepy smile lifts right from your lips

and you barely reply then take me.

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poem: draft

I am sweet but I 

deserve a struggle, in fact

I’m having trouble choosing

any other path. 

Is this how the body does it? –

makes you give up on yourself 

a bit before the final act?

This way, leaving seems sensible, almost like

a choice you made. I mean, I’m not willing

to surrender most of the time, 

but every moment, I feel no need

to stay.

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poem: portions for foxes

I have a light headache. I cannot summon you anymore, as you know. As you well know. As you know, I will die here, like I said the other night with my head over a bucket and your hand cold behind it. 

Every moment at the riverside, where we stared into the thrash of it? I am not far from there now. I might go back to the footbridge, just wanted you to know. I liked your consistent gait. Promising phase of moon that night.

I kept my body clean. I told you. I felt every pore open. I did not tell you, there was a candle lit here and there each evening before dinner. There was this side of my cheek stroked. But you won’t let me touch you,

no matter what oil I spill, resin I burn or goddess I implore. Bone, rock or herb I warm in my hands won’t supply: I am not allowed to touch you. Is this what you wanted? What does it feed itself on now as you pretend to sleep beside me?

I can hunt it down in sleep. I’ve been drowning my saints in an inch of water each night, just to be cruel. In the bathtub, I hear voices that do not sound like you, but I astral scurry, low like an animal, just to catch their names. And I do.

This one, she shook her coat because I submitted to the lonely snow, I think. She said: I knew your gut, raw and red and warm in wait for me. I knew your pluck, because a good Christian girl always believes she is precious. 

“I want a spirit that is calm!” Her eyes are much like mine. She says, “I locked you in this body. I meant it as a kind of trial.” My ears ring hard just then and she was gone, but maybe on account of the snow at hand. Maybe you woke.

                                              —————–

And now do you come back to bring your prisoner wine and bread? Am I still with you on the bridge over cold river? Are the mayflies still around your head? This is awful. I suck. 

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