This anarchy runs through my veins,

the fibers of my being  secrete rebellion and aspiration for justice.

These streets speak to me, evoking an emotion only known as

anarchy.

Anarchy for order is the way i see it.

This so carefully built up government,

a now corrupt establishment

controls the way the streets

perceive life.

But they don’t walk these streets,

we do.

I will not be a figure in your corporate presentation,

i will not be your future shopping scheme.

I walk these streets and they see what i see,

the more i walk these streets the more i hurt my feet.

I bandage my fresh, open wounds with Anarchy.

“Attached to an odor memory, a childhood smells good.” (140)

 

a reverie; a state of being much like daydream or musing.

  i was thinking of you.

i walked past that empty lot the other day,

there isn’t a house there anymore.

all evidence of you is negative space now. removed from the existence of time and all feasible reality recognized by my being. This separation creates negative space, once full it is now starving. 

The other day i rode the bus down by the place where we first met.

these walls hold secrets unseen by living beings.

In my house, shoved into the far corner of a drawer

is an article of your clothing, left behind.

Every time i open that drawer i can still smell

your cologne.

Clinging, lingering, screaming at my memories,

tugging at them to conj our the image of your face.

The depiction of you.

          This was one of your favorite shirts.

 

“The most virile man, too simply characterized by a strong animus, also has an anima– an anima which can have paradoxical manifestations. In the same way, the most feminine woman also has psychic determinations which prove the existence of an animus within her.” (62)

 

I Want What I’m Not

She lives inside my head.

for me, she is perfect.

I am the man and she is my woman.

I am the anima and she is my animus.

She is specifically processed, built carefully in my brain. 

Sewn together

like a doll, she is exactly

what i want,

formulated for me and me only.

She is my woman.

 

He lives inside my head.

For me, he is flawless. 

I am the woman and he is my man.

i am the animus and he is my anima.

He is meticulously designed, built carefully in my brain.

Snapped together

like legos, he is exactly

what i want, 

devised for me and me only.

he is my man.

 

She is the woman i met.

The woman i have, my animus.

She is the one to make me who i am,

for she carries inside what i desire,

my anima.

 

He is the man i met.

The man i have, my anima.

He is the one to make me who i am,

for he carries inside what i aspire to be,

my animus.

 

“The dreamer wants his projected anima to have a personal animus as well, one which is not the simple reflection of his own animus.” (88)

 

 

 “a word can be a dawn and a sure shelter.” (47)

Je Suis La Lune

Je suis la lune et j’taime.

throughout the night, the night i first caught the light in your eyes

across the opposite hemisphere of the earth

you rose and your rays splashed upon my rocky face

making it shine a silver shimmering surface,

gleaming to your touch.

but the more you rose and made the sky blue

the more i realized the surprise that came with everything that is you.

but not the good kind of surprise, like solstice, starting anew

a surprise like a meteor flung out of orbit into the side of your face

like the destruction of the whole human race.

i like the sombre

you like the lumière

when you’ve risen and are in full sight

you encompass everything in front of you,

beating your rays down upon all, looming above

craving, demanding

they feel your  heat.

you bleed jealousy of anything in the shadows

i don’t understand, and i probably never will.

all i know is i loved you once, but the once thriving life that was our love

is now overwhelmingly ill. i can’t stand it and won’t take it any longer,

dear soliel, je suis la lune et je t’aime plus