...while Blue dyes over my Redness...
...while Blue dyes over my Redness...
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This ingenious, intriguing and experimental poetry is eruptions of myriad human emotions cycling between healing and hurting whose pivotal force is unyielding belief in love.

This ingenious collection of poetry is the record of the author's experience on love, ranging from irrevocable loss to erotic ecstasy. It is her unique, pure voice and original style that captivate the reader's heart in new, surprising ways.

The excerpts:

"Language is all I seek because I'm tongueless.
And because I'm tongueless, and because my tonguelessness is too great to bear upon my body, I'm a Tongueless Bird. Yet burning memories all a-kindled still thorn me & sting me on the tongue, so I sing.
      And I sing throatily.

And when I sing, since all this heaviness on the heart would not be sung out, my lips treble nocturnal murmurs in an attempt to burn the unutterable grief away, while all the earth yonder there under my winged roof is all swept at peaceful sleep—
      So am I a Bird Bird Blue Bird.

I wish I would be born a Blue Bird,
      the body dipped in sky water, the voice in cool wringing Blue,
with all the memories blown away—
Lull the Red, Blue Bird, Poor-memoried Bird,
      Blue-bucketed, imbued Blue, Fly high, Fly Forget, and Melt all memories so Blue—

so that when I, a Tongueless Bird migrate across the sky,
people may not understand a jot why the sky is so beautiful and so luridly beautiful—
      like all burning hell-like blood, like furious lime-like blood!

Bird Bird Blue Bird,
      Blow away, tare the Sky, open the bloodshot Heart,
Oh. Red-breasted migrating bird...
      Bird Bird Blue Bird, my Poor Tongueless Bird. "

(from "Bird Bird Blue Bird")

* * * * * * * * *

Reminiscing on the time we had together:

To Sidny

For Protection and Warmth
You Dressed My Bare Soul

against nine hundred darkness & ninety nine lone dreams,
you were the one
warm & firm—
from cold & flimsy reality,
and the feeling— that I felt real.

It was so blessed for the bare & hungry soul to keep your words
as warm and full
ever since.

Therefore, by the name of Love
take my vein, open it, and drink it
until you find hither one Beautiful Heaven
strong enough to bear a thousand Hells.

But still if it’s not enough,
beyond the songs in muteness,
beyond my soul’s crushes and oozes
beyond Time we exist,
even beyond infinitude,

let my silence speak for voice,
let my eyes fill where word misses,
let my body consume to fuller senses,

let every drop of mine pulse every stream of thine;
if my songs are not enough

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Oh then when I locked my lips
and wrap the verse with gold,
I was green and foolish,
and ENOUGH was not that I learn to measure.

So I bend my verse and write here again
to You profoundly silent mouth,
You so eloquent eyes.

With Love, and thereof Memory,
With Memory, and thereof Love,

Tongueless Bird,
in my songs in muteness,

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

To Sidny

with whom my Time emparadised after I died long ago
In Heaven Sidny, time is hugely elongated, all shuffled up, and one best human hour is tenderized and dissolved into one heavenly year, like a moment when a scrumptious Blue cotton cake is wafting over your lips— from the very virgin sink of the tooth to the sensational swallow of the sharp electric inchoate bite... And one best human day is malleably liquefied and sweetly fused into one hundred heavenly years, like a Château Margaux Bordeaux full-bodied and deepened with so much patience on your throat, lethargically swiveling her purple way until the slow swirl rinses down along the long-lunging languorous neck.

According to heaven’s calculus, one choicest earthen moment, once compressed, is interminably suspended in Heaven’s aeriality—to be transmuted into an eternality, the succinct sum of all that you’ve learned, known and that you’ve lived in human temporality...

So, in Heaven, only the best human moments exist; all you remember is happiness; no one ever loses the memory; and men and women are all ageless and indestructible, so they live again and again after many dies... just as a couple of salamanders rising above the ashes. That is how, where and when I found my Time with you emparadised after I died long ago. That is what we’ve been passing through where the sun doth chime at every golden hour gracefully over us all shadows and over us all and all.

My Body: On the Map of Italy, upon His Body

My head is a violin with long black tendrils
upon his shoulder in his hugging.

My torso is a barley,
a bent brown triste barley,
sodden in golden tresses hanging
in his gentle hind hugging.

Upon sea-scented cubics of his Blue-blown bed,
I am a tongueless bird;
I sing without a voice.

His face is a handsome sky;
with the gliding wings of a seagull free
curved upon his eyes and lips;

Many a winking moon jumps down to sleep
to his eyes and lips to dream.

Mysterious Winsome Archeries—

The shadows of moons gathered to the palette of my eyes
that he stains in his colors in his stare into my eyes.

His body smells warm red earth
His skin tastes green marine wind
His marble surface fused into a million moons’ glory
that I call Italy.

* * * * *

i = Anima Fragile [It. "Weak Soul"]

i =Anima Fragile
and my besfriend = Red Wine my Heaven;

Bite me & i love you.
Ask me & i hate you.

* * * * *

While Blue Dyes Over My Redness

In a dream upside down,
tears we bear
are stars we wear;
Easy we can fly to the sky
across the black sea,
the black sea and far beyond Dear...

tears run down are Blue,
stars we look up to are Blue
and your eyes that shine out are Blue—

And... You are Blue.
And I am Purple.

Because in embracing you that are so Blue,
I always embrace Redness too.

* * * * *

Goodbye Lestat

i think
i have waited
for the letter
all the time

i think
i think
and i think
and i forgot what i was waiting for.

so now it's unimportant.
i will not ask your name so put me to sleep
'cuz i am so sleepy Lestat...
I want to lie down
and be happy
so happy
'cuz all shall be in sleep
all sick feelings in sleep
pain in sleep
turbulent brain in sleep
all in sleep
i don’t know what God would say

oh, i am afraid...
but i have a say to God:

“Why did You hide in me so much pain and sorrow
and made them dug up all by my hand?”

so... see?

why am i writing to you?
'cuz in my opinion,
no writing is a little weird;

some scribble is always good—
like some red wine or some humor or tear,
or like a naked show to your voyeurism

oh just one single sleep...
in your arms,
faceless nameless wordless you,
but in your arms,

and then....
after i die,
find your name if you want,
in my dead brain and heart,
in so sickened and bruised—my

* * * * *

We Are

....we are strange & unreal & unearthly hue...
and dark & beautiful...
like Time.

* * * * *

J.e. m'.a.p.p.e.l.l.e. A.r.i.e.l.

Je m'appelle Ariel.
Je m'appelle Ariel.
Je m'appelle Ariel.
Je m'appelle Ariel.
Je m'appelle Ariel.
Je m'appelle Ariel.
Je m'appelle Ariel.
Not Iron.

* * * * *


Perhaps you don't like me to be Happy.
Perhaps you love me to be sick and dying.
Perhaps you wish me to die for you

If all these Perhaps is Yes,
I still love you the more,
because of all the reasons to be yes
Yes from you,
Yes from me,

the reason that
i am strange and unreal and unearthly hue when i am sick;
AND that we all are being strange and unreal and unearthly hue is Dark & Beautiful...

As like a dream that is Dark & Beautiful,
as like a sleep on us that is Dark & Beautiful,
as like a Dark Time between us that is Dark & Beautiful...

With unearthly & unreal hue of Ariel...

* * * * *

my Red on your White

Red Red wine on your frost-white blanch oblivion and all-
over us all, over us all,
over us all & all

Many a Red Wine in the cart mama,
o lord i'm mama's good daughter-- how terrible..
how much an orphan am i mama,
how much i wanna be free mama

(written in a supermarket)

* * * * *

Fool for a Forever Friend

I have a Friend, a Forever Friend,
a Friend more terrible than a Lover,
Wounded I got in healing. ‘Sorry’ said I in giving.
Vexatious is he on my mind.
I don’t know about those strange shuffles, ringing coarsened, “Lazy, Hiding, Short memory” ...
The more thinking, the more hurted. But I keep thinking—:::

Perhaps to whom like air was I,
‘twas the reason, perhaps
to him like air was I.
with whom there always was I...
Oh but weren’t we friends?....

he breathed me in
when to him I breathed out,
and that I breathed him in
when to me he breathed out,
But too much like air was I,
to be felt acute to him, alas, was I.
Yet to us, we were—
like a breath and like Life itself We were.
Like a food and like a red wine We were,
gold and old, deeply mellowed red red wine we were.
Yes, we were. We were.
Like a sweetest lilting lyrics We were.
With bright chanting, overflooded we’re
Heaven’s harpies wouldn’t touch us dear.
This was We, the friend and I,
That no evil jealous tongue can cross our love,
that was the very way we were,
the friend and I, the way we were.

And tonight I am sleepless to see he's in pain.
This friend of mine was much like mine.
He hurt me. And I hurt him
by saying he doesn't know me,
which he said was sinister and that had offended him.
Even if I said I hated him,
my hating is in the love of him.

So I didn’t mean to be sinister or to offend you my Friend,
to say you don't know me.
My words might have been crippled,
too curt or curtailed to be understood well.

At times it takes a huge fight for me to word
You know me Ada, a tongueless bird,
cruelly hurled to a colorless world,

Your voice ripped, hoarse and umbersome
ready to throttle yourself to bits
your eyes watery, I forbid ooze,
and your mind scathed with wounds.

For now let my song lift you,
strumming your husky throttling voice
Don't think, don't sing, or make no noise
Pull my torso on to your laps,
You rest a while in embrace,
and stay a minute this way
Don't answer the call,
or answer the world,

“You don't know me" I had said,
oh, which more than hurted you.

So, allow me a time to think my Friend.
My Ever Ever Forever Friend.

*note: Your heart may know what you know not, my Friend. What it means when I said "Your music doesn't know me" my Friend. Truth is always Simple. Fool knows it. Animal knows it. Eden knows it. Your heart knows it. In a nutshell: you haven't had me my Friend, and your music tells me you haven't had me my Friend. What I heard is ... like two unreachable Virgins Inviolable with a pitiably insatiable Desire unmet...in front of the Ever-virginal Bed unfed. No real body I hear in the music... like a smoky ghost dressed with no memory coming from the welding bodies.
But I loved and still love your music as you know well my Friend.
Therefore, nothing to be offended about. My admiration intact— just like the initial baptizement. This goes from prayer from me my Friend: "As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be."
So be my Lestat, be my Friend, and be my Forever Friend.

* * * * *

"Love is color-staining to me and some open incision on human soul is too deep to be closed. Perhaps crossing the border of life is such a matter of gravity: from which side of the border your Beloved pulls you to...Ah me. A dumb beast of me came here yet enchanted for Love & lock the eyes upon't rather than carve hurt & weep anew..

"Therefore, come whatever Blue. Come to me & Blue me on my Reddest heart."

To her, the most agonizing moment of all is the time to introduce herself; and she knows little except to a few questions:

* * * * *

Blue Effect of Red Wine

"Why do at times you see purple from the sky and sea?...

"Red wine makes your tongue so Blue
that all the words spilling from the Red mouth
turn so Blue....
Bluest of Blues.....
Because they are too true Blue,
they fly to the Sky and Sea.
That's why at times Purple you see
from the Sky and Sea.

* * * * *

Me My Nude on Mirror

(In Memorium: My Last day in Italy, a Day Before Going Home)

My nude on mirror stupendous to my eyes;
my physicality rarefied in loving,
and my volume arefied in disseminating,
on a day before departure—
Much like my time—
Like my voyage boat—

So lucent a figure on mirror,
that all ins seen through—
soft-stone-cut, a fragile wine glass
dusted-and-chiseled, a goddess of Tristesse —

Doors hung open, hinges creaky by elfin specters.
Their chorus of snickering—you hear like any day.
From Mountain peak to kitchen sink, they ring like any day.

Saturated with moons and brines, air was sultry, heavy and misty,
an unknowable pervading mystery—you fathom like any day.

Down from lake-bed, up to a bird’s chirp—they puzzle you like any day.

Her body, a coldly-cut,
bent double for an abandoned dress,
her golden barley swirl—sheathed to a filmy, a...perizoma
suctioned and fused in
to an 8 o’clock dark vermilion orange.

Mirror slightly dithering
in sharp slow capture of lusty arms
that cupped her slithering coil
to the Blue cushioned bed of barley—
those tresses of harvested, kissing-barley,
and caressed the golden-eared, sweet-summer barley,
and curled down the two lidded black-snows, adoringly.

Off light, for a good farewell sleep—

Fresh laundry smelt like hot and sweet musk
proudly everywhere
on red-bloodful wine earth—Italy
you drink like any day
that I dream like any day.

* * * * *

is her website for a few friends and fans.

* * * * *



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