fairies and chocolate

wings catching the light
reflections on water
gold ribbon, white ribbon

do they come in adult sizes?
so I can don wings
big white wings with sparkles

dark chocolate
melting enveloping
red raspberries sinking in chocolate
join the warm darkness
which yields a little
but later the fruit sinks
unbearably heavy

refusing to release
lifting 

The sky is so gray,
The plane flies overhead
dissapearing,
a buzzing solitary sound
which soon fades to nothingness
The lamp in this room
is soft
Accentuating the red of the curtains
lulling me into a soothed state
The lightening flashes punctuate
My sentences
And the soft sound of rain embraced by
 wind
rather like crinkling: whispering
Giggling reaches me
as breeze and rain gently tickle
the cherry tree
Stirring the branches, lifting the leaves
Wet gray twilight greet each other in the tree.

I like things blurry and undefined
Gray smokey edges
Caches of treasure
Buried things recently interred
Waiting between pleasure and pain
Choosing neither, choosing both

Late night tapping

Just as I disentangle myself from wires and keyboards,
Unbidden ideas beckon rather than bedsheets
And like an umbilical cord my computer and I
seem symbiotic all at once
The empty screen suddenly filling
As my fingers dance upon the keyboard
Tapping a rhythm my brain cannot
Begin to decipher

This is when some other
More adept version of me
Spews verity after an inspirational swig
Drinking from hidden springs
That emerges from a place I never
Find sanctuary

if I stop for a moment
I hold my breath fearful that the tapping
will abate
And dreading as well that once I stop to
meet the words I have brought with ease,
A salivating ghoul will meet me on the pages
Gracelessly supplanting annoying Magus

If I could channel the colour blue
I would discover something new
Nothing pretty
But something vaguely true
A safe space, in a sinecure
To be thoroughly sequestered
Producing nothing.

Just like dried apricots

I wake up in the middle of the night with restlessness
that seems to meander wordless
or alternately etches upon my fevered brain an eloquence
surrendering neither to pen nor keyboard

 what do I do?

Sentences yielding as I hurriedly transcribe--nothing
Words are such pliable complacent forms of expression
Awaiting as empty vessels to be shaped upon a wheel
But clumsy strokes with a sledgehammer breaks epistles
That I would craft as spirals of intellect

Thoughts that appear perfectly formed vanish into empty pages.
Daring me to imprison them in words.
I grasp and cannot
I really dislike quicksilver conceptions
Thoughts that vanish when you reach for them.
The sort that just glide away impossibly slowly
Yet never really disappearing,
stranding me on the brink of some profound gaping hole.

After all I just like to ask questions.
Collette said the pleasure--it is in the asking.
Answers are much too pedestrian, just like dried apricots
Does that make me petulant?
Here I am filled again with angst or restlessness.

Recklessness whispers her secrets to me
 Mindful temptation
Accepting fire, do I doom the gift giver
A lioness astride a cheese grater no more?
Is my intellectual acumen reduced to the size
of the venus aperture at last?