Earth.  Air.  Fire.  Water.
These are sequins

in the eternal disco.
Moon’s mirrored ball spins

jitterbug flakes
to bathe our Dance.

Before earth, water.
Before water, air.

Before air, fire.
Before fire, glittering stardust.

We, electric, slide
into the future.

We wear our arias
like diamonds.




make incense from the flowers
dance naked in the light
weave a blanket
fringed with stars
to cover you at night
breathe kisses to the morning
braid songs into your hair
blow wishes
on the feathered spores
that surf the curls of air
and if a storm should hurt you
pour honey on the pain
chase the clouds
and catch them
then laugh
and drink the rain



sit you down
on my laptop, baby
make love to my
fondle my mouse
with your slim fingers
make my internet cry
"oh, lord!"
plug me into your
USB hub
juice me up with
your anti-spy
come, applicate me
Facebook and make me
scream! when
the cybersparks fly
then link to me
with your hard drive,
baby, fill my inbox
with spurts of spam
IM me, befriend me
CD-rom, ram and
send me
with kicks
from your naughty
then download

Into my iPod, baby
lick and remix me
make my pixel
count climb
you know you
excite me
when you
megabyte me
so, Google me


The Color of Oxygen

“Singing is like a celebration of oxygen.”—Björk

Tree releases oxygen,
which becomes a raga.

Earth sings in the tabla of thunder,
the bansuri of wind.
Birds pluck the strings, multitonic
melody in ascent, descent.

Each time it rains, another
improvisation blooms.


She spent too many decades defined by edges-
now, she's taking a metaphorical bath, soaking,
melting away the corners, feeling all fuzzy
and edgeless.  She imagines losing the edges
in her life is a lot like going braless: 
there's that dizzying snap of freedom, gravity
tugging at the sudden softness, the tingle
of unexpected stimuli, the shift in physical

awareness.  There's the feeling of breaking
with what's expected of her, breaking habits,

the exhilaration of defying convention,
embracing  informality, thumbing her nose

at the status quo.  No more edges!  She's done
with angles, borders, bulwarks.

From now on, she'll be all curves and arches,
graceful loops, swooping curls, calligraphy.



get off the fence stop trying to warm up the car
and stop trying to catch up on the work just do
it tomorrow is only a day away and there's no
time to waste yesterday is over gone down the
tubes vanished in the wind and today well today
is here already and half over forget making more
coffee you've had enough forget the phone face
book and being tired wasted cold tagged snowed
in disgruntled befriended tomorrow is coming it's
only a day away stop looking behind you rejection
doesn't care one way or the other and it certainly
doesn't matter not in this day and age so hurry up
you know what you need to do just do it and don't
look back don't ask for trouble don't doubt yourself
don't think about it for one second more don't you
know tomorrow is only a day away almost on the
doorstep forget everything else just focus just do it


Developing a Refined Palate

Developing a refined palate isn’t as
Easy as it sounds.  Many of us are
Victims of our upbringing, forced to
Eat plain veggies-meat-and-potatoes all our childhood
Lives.  We grew up and never stepped out and
Over the cultural/socioeconomic lines; we constructed
Prisons for our taste buds.  I want to break out,
I want to introduce myself to some
New and exciting culinary delicacies,
Go where no palate has gone before!
Along these lines, I’ve instituted an expansion of my
Restaurant choices, knowing that
Education wins over inexperience.  I know what

Fromager and sommelier are now;
I have experienced
crème brulée and salade
içoise, steak au poivre et ses pommes frites,
Elixir avec jasmine sorbet, confit
De canard avec ses champignons sauvages au risotto,  

Parisian Mule and Maple Vieux cocktails.
All I need to continue my dedicated pursuit, my
Labor of love, my gastronomic quest into the pleasures
And piquancy of palate, is one little thing.  I need
The refined money to be able to continue to
Eat in the manner to which I’ve become accustomed.



Shell I tell you
how I feel?

I sea you
in my dreams,
and waves

of craving
crash over me.

I splash

in the sensations
of your smile,

I am tangled
in the net
of your eyes.

I'm shore
this love
will not ship out
with the tide.

You anchor
my heart with

shell I say,
you swim
in my blood.

Am I naughty-cal
for admitting...

make me




1 comment:

  1. your words always resonate beautifully dianne. perfect!