Operating Instructions
Walk away waters troubled, uncertain
toward star the sky high has raised.
Flow surf flex of fluxing foundation
steady in praise of the way.
Promised land lingers in glint of tomorrow,
thrush of brush and bush of the same.
Happiness is but radical riddle
girdled in go of the soul.
The sun rises and rising rerises
until the hole is the whole.
– Smith, 3.31.2015
Away from the melee, away
from the undertow of the appalling,
the maelstrom of the loathsome,
surf the cosmic way rather
Take the bank of your life to
the here now of corporeality, an odyssey
with you and me, the hero’s journey of art,
cameras in our hands, beginners’ eyes
delighting in novelty, so many maiden voyages,
riddles like rooms of zoomorphic fish canoes
oared by crews from shadowy odeums,
neighbors and friends
The fish is not your mother
but embrace the story – maybe she is
your mother, echoes of time, tide lapping us,
sated travelers startling awake like from
the twirling skirt of our lake’s wet tongue
~ Lady
Manifest Density
The dulcet covers of culture
cradle unclean cravings
born of worry wind.
The less are jests
to the money whores,
our east to their never met west.
Pipes are getting dirty,
gaslights running low,
no good getting go.
Gotta skim the scum,
prune the plant,
trim the tree.
Sloppy seconds skewer clock,
ticks poison in the talk
of unscratched social itch.
Upperclass tumors
with their cancers of cops
have got to stop.
Or else we lop em off.
– Smith, 3.30.2015
I want to walk with the
assurance of the up down shoulders of a cat
paw by paw from tranquil recess of my soul’s
best urge intent as clear as the ticking of a tap box
an ytterbium clock a minuetto of clicking tongue
articulated in the thicket a golden needle
embroidering the tapestry of canopy
with honed letter, the dulcimer
of my love
~ Lady
Limbic Limbo
Large lean long hot-breathed cats
walk the night seeking sip of sum
Feline glide of purr and claw silent awe
past catnipped mouse the odds to even
Through reptile slide of black and white
hot and cold, eat and eaten
These stories grow the long ago
from tangled tongue and ear repeated
Such feed or flight of flux and feel
may strike your heel, Achilles
– Smith, 3.29.2015
I have my keep… there’s something about a goddess guarding a man that happens in this reality, your goddess wrangling snakes of dualism, emotions zapped to me like lightning I stand under moon and stars and cloud and big star and clouds again and whatnot, I demand banging fists against golden cliffs, I call hot dragon breath and float on mists, I make new myths and tell stories to entertain The Big Listener, yield dividends like taking my earring fishhook pull up islands for our house on rock, yes part of me I’m a lizard wahine with angry red eyes or a totem, a panther, a leaping leopard with curling thirsty tongue, and part of me I gave to you a year subtracted from my own and past lives for many more to yours–one of many barters of my myness for the world–here’s a cast for a greater span for the wise man with kindly growling voice, I do I do, like a huge hug of hand I hold and forage and push I do, I have my keep
~ Lady
Of Cats, War, Wealth, Love
Two cats pull Freyja’s chariot across the sky
as she checks on love, collects her half the dead,
her fingers dripping beauty, fertility, war, wealth,
washing divination, magic,
falcon feathered cloak flowing bird behind.
Free us Freyja, o lady of love, pubis of Venus
crying tears of gold over husband grave cold
walking deep in stardust redemption,
please grant us exemption.
But of all your gifts, your skills, your magic will,
best is how you get two cats,
maybe gray, sometimes black,
to pull your sleigh and go where you say
on your where and whim.
Just how dear Goddess do you do that?
– Smith, 3.28.2015
Vanadis landed on cat claws,
her thrusters screeching down on a column of cloud
glittering with glam, blockbuster under wildstyle
anime angels screaming heavy metal redemption
song wailing like pixels of stardust melting
like Imuhagh guerillas giving up Grads
for guitars
~ Lady
Handful & Gristle
I leave broken crumbs on the snow
to find my way back from the House of Love
with its flash of honey and taste of more.
But it does no good because birds become
love’s agents cleaning scene sublime
so I climb love’s stairs to see what’s there.
There’s flesh of course in nipple and breast
and time spanned with decades of breath
and hands held while walking.
Closets of kisses with laughter after
memories mounted in rows on the walls
showing small slices of all.
In the attic packed in acid and grime
unpleasant times and emotional crimes
boxed and mostly forgotten.
The most hidden treasures are out in plain sight,
the constant companion, the sitting in silence,
and most especial the hugs.
The rent costs your heart, the lease is quite long,
and the place needs constant repair,
but what a view.
And oh, the homemade stew.
– Smith, 3.27.2015
Ultimo coffee in the pan
pleasure in the gap between now and
fresh groceries, yielding use of every dreg
sounds of love scraping spoons and banging pots
cymbals kindling fire flash of revival from simple
sustenance of food’s hot stuff and soft warm hugs
under the kitchen’s yellow light, institution
of the domicile, attestation
even in crumbs
~ Lady