secrets

Secrets

A Tiger Stripped Shed,

Recently I have developed a fascination for secrets. 

 Secrets, which I keep under my tongue- under my smile- under my day to day. It all started when I witnessed a black beetle fall from a large green leaf. The beetle landed in the soft dirt on his back. This ordinary black beetle 

turned out to be not so ordinary. On his back the beetle was helpless- he could not do anything but wiggle his multiple legs in a soft

mechanical wave. I immediately thought:  'how do these beetles ordinarily get right side up again? Do ordinary black beetles go their whole life in fear of falling onto their backs? Do their beetle friends come and save them? Do they wait for a strong gust of wind to blow them over? Or is this the Darwin plan? Do ordinary black beetles that fall over on their backs become a snack for all the yellow-bellied birds around these parts? Is this beetle a weak beetle?'

I took a closer look at my friend. What I saw was that his underside- or as what I like to refer to as his belly, was a magnificent mirage of metallic rainbow shine! Yes, his little well oiled mechanical legs danced in and out of purple yellows reds and blues. Shinny refractions of light bouncing.

The humor in it all- the beetles beautiful metallic rainbow belly is only seen when he is helpless on his back. That beautiful underbelly which surely serve a purpose for mating or organizing social beetle hierarchy, it is the same rainbow shine which catches the eyes of his predators (the suspect fat yellow bellied birds I).

             But I am not his predator. And I know what it is like to be on your back sometimes. With none of his beetle friends in sight; I extended my pinky finger and delicately propped him back onto his well oiled mechanical legs. This is my first secret: Ordinary black beetles in the South Of France near the city of Laroque des Alberes, are not so Ordinary--in fact they have shinny metallic rainbow bellies that shine, for us, only when they are most vulnerable and out of luck. This is god's humor- not science. My beetle friend has luck. My secret is safe with me. I have told no one.

Secret # 2: At our farm- we eat dinner on the patio three times a day, a traditional family. Outside green paint on the wood of the shed is peeling off. I studied it. I tore some chipping paint off so I could see the wood. And to my surprise- I observed that the wood behind the paint is naturally stripped, like a tiger! The wood is Tiger Stripped! So at dinner occasionally when everyone is chatting and eating and my brain borderline apathetic, my thoughts travel to the green shed. I laugh inside- because while my host and fellow wwoofers are chatting, I know something they do not. I know that just next to the patio there is a tiger stripped wooden shed. I imagine a day when the paint is worn off- and the shed will be naked. It will be a naked Tiger Stripped Shed. How endearingly humorous and beautiful.  

Secret #3: Children are not defined by their anatomical length, strength and mind capacity. Rather they are defined as children because children have the ability to run past you on the beach laughing and playing while simultaneously unaware of your existence, and unaware that they are kicking clouds of sand onto you and your towel. Children are Sand Kicking Clowns. 

Secret #4: I am hypnotized. Because I see the clocks that pierce your heart- while the same ones pierce mine. I feel the same gushes, fingers, time, fogs of different cities, red velvet carpets, seconds that leak violently, fresh water,  the 'us.'  Perhaps more poignant is that I understand so much of what is not me- so clear and honest, and I wonder why I cannot understand more of me.  The fact that I know this love is more than me. This us. That so many buildings in France have made tribute to Us - Liberté, égalité, fraternité. 

My secret is that I have told my secrets to the one person whom it does not feel as if I am revealing anything to but my own original thoughts. You are the receptacle to my secrets; you are my true love - one secret I need not keep. 

I found a thought of you- that I am nervous to share. Like pink in the face- powder blue shoes- a teal green patio for tea.

How intensely pleasurable these thoughts- fragile and innately Rococo in their essence:

        

 I want to ask your mother if he was like you.

If their love was like ours. I want to ask her where she found the energy to have such a big, beautiful family.

The saddest part of the Princess Diana story, is that it is a terribly boring story.

Do You Have Life?

Do you have Life?

And if so

What does the interior look like?

Is there a photo of your mother

Holding on to you?

Her ageless boy.

Is there a window

Lit by purple street light?

Do you dip your mind in its

Holy sorrow?

Do you whistle your prayers

While snaking late at night?

While in bed

Does your cell phone beep

Surreptitiously in a soft blue corner

Harboring the smell of babies

and tired shoes?

Is your lover afraid of getting cold?

Does he wear thick pajamas and sweaters to bed?

In the morning does he smell like bread?

at the MET- Masqueraders

Rome

On the street

I passed a carpenter

Who sells honey.

Lime

Peach

And

Lemon

Doors

Down the street

Where the virgin hangs

On little angel fingers.

Five hail Marys

And two cokes later

I wondered what I

Originally sought.

Milk Breath

Be spacious with your thoughts,

You’re getting old.

Ask yourself:

Did he have Apple Pie breathe?

If he did- brush his teeth in the ally-

How many sweets did he hide?

Write about it.

Write like you want to pee it out.

I loved a Milk Breathed American.

He had a red scruff beard.

Drank beer with orange slices.

Made chit chat about gods hitting gods

On the T.V.

This man had 2 T.V.’s

A seventeen year old son

And a strong relationships with his neighbors.

 The Flat Side of the Knife

Black clouds in my coffee

And I like to think I am a new car smell-

I am your father’s mistress

Your mother’s envy

Your brother’s dead dog.

　

You?

You are a Greek clown

Riding a Vespa in Sicily

Your body is Mozzarella-

People cut you…

Gzzing!

I am the flat side of the knife,

I am-

Shinny and reflective-

look at your face- it is on me.

And upon your child’s first birthday party

I am the colorful icing

Smeared on your infants mouth.

Violent- colorful,

a darling snap shot.

I am not a tacky tattoo.

I am the sound of a new text.

My smell

You can find in your lover’s armpit- before or after sex.

My mind,

An exposed sex tape streamed live for your fame.

 I am not enough evidence and you still prevail.

I am-

A dark mole you never had-

The failed relationship you still get horny for-

A credit card commercial that inspires you-

I am the dare you failed to do in your youth,

The awkward moment you have framed and hung in your mind.

I am the old toothbrush you can not throw out.

I am unforeseen love-

I am the protector of your mozzarella body.

Yet, in the fashion of skanky American reality shows,

I hear people say…

“I am not here to make friends”

“I am here to win”