Her chorus line 12/17/14

Met a woman who presented herself with her bird-broken-wing behavior. The reveal of skin was hardly boundaried as if the incest had never really stopped. But she had gem quality light coming through from behind her eyes. It was as if she was a fragile lighthouse possessed with a dramatic summoning of light. She had the stillness presence of a untamed rabbit crouch-readied in stance to run from the present. The invitation to touch her had a body heat enticement. She seemed to be of solid purr readied for vocalization. Yet the origin of her presence appeared to be made of misleading fragments, though serenely gathered. Her nervous system seemed to be generating an unquenchable thirst. Her vocal range was of a soft inebriation. It was an intimate environment of torn parts brought together and streetwise composed. She was a song, as a melody, that started with the chorus and attempted to solicit realtime lyrics. It struck me then as if I had been posterized in my feel, as if I was her ‘next’, standing in this invisible line passing through time. I then realized myself as a matchbox strike plate. She seized upon me as a candle with wick, in waiting. Somehow I needed to divine the space and calm her wound. She was an early evening spider re-spinning her catch-as-catch-can web, and I, then, a clearing providing. It was obviously an all to familiar residence for her and her abandonment postcard was sent to me from afar. I read the postcard before the writing had dried. It was being writing to me from a vast of a foreign land that I was unsightly familiar with and had no interest in revisiting. I tried to get her to save her postage before she got volitile and angry while writing down my address. It all became for me, a reflex apparition as the appearance of a angelic Madonna on the cream surface of a coffee latte. Several sips of her, and the cup now half empty. What was served hot while first looking, now, swallows later, is tepid with dismay. What was cast in simmer, really never left her chorus line. I am praying now for a spirit rose to find her a nurturance of garden. Petals there to become wings to rise her up above, from deep within . . .