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I say to my woman, "Jeffers was
a great poet. think of a title
like Be Angry At The Sun. don't you
realize how great that is?

"you like that negative stuff." she
says

"positively," I agree, finishing my
drink and pouring another.
"in one of Jeffers' poems, not the sun poem,
this woman ***** a stallion because her
husband is such a gross spirit. and it's
believable. then the husband goes out
to **** the stallion and the stallion
kills him."

"I never heard of Jeffers," she
says.

"you never heard of Big Sur? Jeffers
made Big Sur famous just like D. H. Lawrence
made Taos famous. when a
great writer writes about where he
lives the mob comes in and takes
over."

"well you write about San Pedro," she
says.

"yeah," I say, "and have you read the
papers lately? they are going to construct
a marina here, one of the largest in the
world, millions and billions of dollars,
there is going to be a huge shopping
center, yachts and condominiums every-
where!"

"and to think," my woman says smiling, "that you've only
lived here for three years!"

"I still think," I say,
changing the subject,
"you ought to read Jeffers."
 May 2014 Melina Rodriguez
-
prom itself is just an overglorified dance
the after party is where the real fun begins
sitting at the kitchen table of my best friend's house
sipping strawberry margaritas her mom made
then progressing to shots of tequila
and playing shots uno, steadily getting more and more dizzy
until i'm trying to twerk on a wall
and calling my friends to tell them i love them
pretending to be a koala on an armrest
updating my snapchat story so people at other gatherings can be jealous
forgetting how to pull my pants back up in the bathroom
talking to my ex boyfriend for an hour on the phone, telling him
exactly why i didn't dance with him at prom
and that i fingered myself for a boy
and i wanted to tell him and everyone, for that matter, about her
but i didn't because rejection and rumors are my worst enemies
he stays quiet and the only sound left is
my frantic whispering that i hope i stay this happy in the morning
because sober me lays in the deep end of the spectrum of sadness
i felt Your beast stir
He called to the *****
the **** who lies within
and she answered Him
with whispered seductions
coaxing Him from His lair
filled with longing for Him
to emerge and sport with her
spreading herself wantonly
craving to be taken, devoured
eaten up and filled
made a plaything, consumed

the ***** inside me needs to see
the beast in You set free
her freedom to exist is in His gift alone
her purpose to rise to meet His lust
to take His stripes as her own
and bear them with pride
the beast in You will find release
inside the ***** who lives in me

Cynthia Pauline Jones 17/01/14
Written for someone who turned out to be wholly undeserving. But at least the illusion inspired something more lasting.
How is she?

how are we?*

What about me? Dead.
Her name is Autumn.
She can write, write so beautifully.
Her name is Autumn.
Her written word makes my soul dance quickly.
Her name is Autumn.
She ponders things I never think of
A dreamer of dreams,
A schemer of schemes,
And a wonderful lady at that.
A lady named Autumn.
Dedicated to a poet that I hold in high regard. Autumn Ann.
I am in love with one woman.
She was the most stunning system
Of meat, bone and spirit
I had ever witnessed
In my life.

Seeing Munch's Scream
For the first time was dull in
Comparison.
Collosseum was a pile of rocks,
Las Vegas an epileptic's nightmare.
All the places I have been and seen
Are no longer memories,
But places I have no peace with
Until I bring her there
To share

Them with her, and visa versa.
Look what the Romans built
Before Vikings roamed.
Romans, behold this beauty,
This blink of time, this mild drop of
Breath into oceans of atmosphere,
The art of arts in my humble
Gallery of Man.
This love that I love with the full
Weight of my person and will,
That loves to make me laugh,
Call me old; even dinosaur,
To make me angry, then mellow.

That plays me like a child plays
A whittled flute
With no single thought
Of Mozart or
Grieg.

I am in love with
One
Woman.
The Just in
*Just One.
 May 2014 Melina Rodriguez
r
Lovers whisper-laughing,
stumbling home in the rain.
O, to be so drunk again.

r ~ 5/3/14
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