14 CONVERSATIONS
sara ficca + john timmons
july 11, 1995
1
i have possessed the material
and scorned patron's empty-handed searching.
vainly, i caress the memory and
listen with hollow after thoughts:
reminisce of a time where we were three,
searching vainly with fruitful results.
2
try? i have tried,
without blunt blasphemers, prophetic promises,
sarcastic ramblings intertwined with soft
and soggy triangulation following, and being led by,
blindness, but i still see your entrapments;
leaving them by the waters of meaning: discontented.
3
crimson kissing
beckons quietly to my sleeping ego then
releases: sporadic functions mushrooming
tightly. yet, with a tenderness not realized
since longingly yestermorrow times, watching
canvas musings, pastel yearnings, a search for
ever steadily sinking, rounding, encompassing
tornado mindset, without alibis nor excuses.
4
breathe closely, be one with
my slumber; shaking me awake, interrupted
dreams of stars, of rivers, of floating
upon pillowed landscapes blowing against
brick distractions: to be as the frightened deer.
5
can you taste the sugar? moist almost
melted down inside me reaching and pulling
out but still enclosed. that sweetness still
lingers. nagging, sleepless escapes
into bliss, truly, but there is a price:
no more pulsing pausing moments
evaporating like dew in october:
leaving retrospect, entering promise.
6
awake, i float upon this bed
staring. longing left with stairs in a darkly lit
hallway with images of roman ruins. hearing the
low down, the unfortunates, they bemoan
wistfully. though my passions have been aroused
(considering the situation), the sad result is
expected: without denial, within that oblique glow.
7
bait, hook, line, sinker: you took it all.
passing bereft of contact, exploring
further entrapments, your prison is your pleasure and
joy: bringing that smile, followed by a gentle
kiss. this cancerous servitude binding, yet
unrestrictive, like the cigarette i toss from my car.
8
the cocoon that is you, surrounds me.
encircling capsules of acid jazz, rumbling noises
burning like a syphilitic stone passing slowly
into flesh. electric pulses contrive movements
freely, like we once were - like two kittens,
enjoying sweetly sensual, smoking light.
9
shining raptured sunrises rescue the night's
darkness, where the fireflies dance and come to
speak revealing, letting the puzzled web
unravel my sensibilities and echo soundlessly.
10
while perusing your nostalgia, i became a
witness to gangrenous deceptions, monster
motives that i will never understand. so, no
more tempting, smiling, contrived mazes
misdirecting my sincerity to points that might
break bonds, once elastic and flexing,
crumble, taking those memories down, down,
creating awareness not to be wool fooled
again against my will. my beliefs at once
stretch to the limit, then absorbed into vapor.
11
lucky charms candy colored mornings loudly
crunching, like mouse bones in the jaws of a cat
quietly milking. waking cold aromatic teacup
mouthfuls that, unable to be contained, slowly
drip down, green sour apple puddles of a sweet
lollipop whose stick is bent into a question mark.
12
it's late, but i kneel, and your raise a
leg up like an insect trapped backside up
flailing, but you allow yourself to be gripped
tightly: wound in transparent sinewy silken
strands, which pass across our eyes like clouds before
moonlight. cigarette butts, pepper, and dirt fill me to the
eyeballs, which roll back, as i do the same.
13
glassy decorative marbles, shells, and soaps
adorning the waist of an idea that,
presented in neat box cubed shelving, is arranged and
inspected, not unlike some carry-on luggage
carried away - but blue curacao and juice never mix.
14
sitting between the two of you, i've come
to realize any number of tender freckled, fleshy
moments, stolen by some paranoid whose
trauma has never been proven to traumatize the
giver, not taken, but silently wished upon
numerous complaints circling the finish line.
