#jemmajorellester

I only want to stand alone in this unruly wind Let the cool rage twist my hair Blow it in fits from my nape and Whip strands along my cheeks Carry my breath far and up and away   There was never such welcome weather Bitter taste on my tongue from    too sweet kisses Another night of fragrant decay I awoke to your wailing Made quick work of the window And crawled into your wild embrace   I learned long ago Not all hugs should be warm and soft There are moments where the    raw and raging Are superior lovers and friends   Today I stood in the divine and violent gusting Luxuriated in the sounds of fresh starts For all that stales    will be loosened from its home    thrown from its legs And carried up and far and away

when you tell me that you want me

start things by running at them slam beginnings I bang a morning mourning dead friends but fuck I'm not dead yet now the good notes unfold subtly timing & timbre & tenor love's wild potency is narcotic true emotions won't make you act insane I know that now (as I drag the knife) once the drama fades a dawn hedonist awakens eating the pain like a delicacy foie gras au bon pain these acquired tastes  cannot really be enjoyed by impulsive fools and lovers

i hope the nightmares end soon i hope i can get past me to you i hope you’ll forgive me for what i’m about to do life gives no warning i’m sitting here on a tuesday armed and charming don’t get tired of my games talk myself into playing and then fuck it, i’m not staying when i cry don’t pull me closer i’m not easily consoled and not in need of a shoulder we make obstacles to see who won't falter and who'll make it through temptation to attainment & alters such redemption in leaping at the brink finding treasures in hopes i can’t bring myself to sink

The ants crawl up my bathroom mirror in a last-ditch effort like last Mohicans their tribes decimated by yesterday’s phone call to pest control. On that very day, I sat in a pretty old church in the Mission pondering the preciousness of life. Would Buddha be so bothered? It’s easy to ponder in a pretty old church But when they are crawling up my damn legs as I make my breakfast of runny eggs the reverence is absolutely lost and for that matter, why does he seem such a fitting perfection under the starry black night with the fragrant fire but morning light and the silence report debacle? Time, if that’s even a sufficient term is always revealing the holes in my argument. What is it that drags us from night to morning to night again? We have such specific language for business or duty but ambiguity for this essential rolling experience of being human... And for that matter, why does everything worth loving seem so damn unutterable like saying it will kill it, or make it vanish into rejection, or the heartbreak of apathy that we learn as freshmen. I don’t have a word for how much I love you It’s immeasurable And fuck, it varies chronologically As soon as the articulation materializes, The very same life that delicately exhaled exquisiteness Takes on the form of a brute fiend I imagine you are both, just as I We are all all both enchanting and unsuitable

I have more to-do lists than poems but when it comes down to it, I just want to write and coordinate my acquisition of  a marble mantel that holds shoes instead of fires no hood, so it’s safer plus the supernatural importance of shoes just one of those urgent tangents to-do, today there are languages to learn so I can fall in love en français but still that lingers, forgotten or dims involuntarily in the presence of more tempting tasks also, I should call my grandfather more that last living relic of the ancestral chain who left me with all this referred pain and relational karma, as the tantric yogis say when i practice, the elders sit behind me, swaying well, except grandpa  who has his own shit to do I have more enemies than friends more lovers than likes just this morning i awoke wondering how this girl I know who lost her mother young turns the world into all these little secret gardens my mother is breathing at the other end of the phone but it feels more stone  than sapling  which reminds me  the mantel maybe this is the source of my angst I am an old soul and have not the proper place to store my shoes

Left to my own I say I love you too soon From a mere whiff of knowing I draw ghouls with spoons Left to my own I commute on a dolphin Cruise to the Pacific late on a Sunday Wear unreasonable shoes In the uneven, insatiable terrain Left to my own Gardens get planted with wildflowers in fall Recipes go rogue with figs from down the street The day is documentary Life, a fantasy The natural light a lover Left to my own The Bay fog is a silken luxury Especially at the birth & death of day (I don’t care what you say) I envy the clear conscience of cats My own devices Are more divisive Unzipped From the constant streaming My pure voices of intuition fade Drowning whispers in techno sound waves Left with my own decisions I’ve wept    When I should dance instead I’m bred to seduce possibilities My own devices slumber In a trunk of forgotten origin I am, myself, only just discovering How they work With yours

you tell me I’ve thrown a wrench in your plans that you’ll make a trip to see me I’ve got that sinking feeling like defeat in battle and the empty waving of white flags I was dreaming (it’s faded somewhat) that  you’d get a place not far where we’d have home base fucks and long conversations in cold water tubs and sunlit daydreams in quiet window nooks and we’d take weekend trips where,  Viola !! the answers to impossible questions would come  and I’d dance my womanhood  all around the weight  of your manhood and you’d raise me, and hold me, like a flagpole carrying a great and flowing appellation and at night we’d slowly lower together in the twinkling dusk spinning in perfect circles exhaling in perfect unison until I fold myself with profound respect just as you stand tall (because that is what we were made to do) into the deeply black sky