Algorithms

Algorithms

I recall telling you the worst thing about me
feeling shriven when you never flinched
outwardly.

Such a difference between being shaken
and shook. You were the former, knowing
I would never do the latter.

Not to you.
Certain things we hear. Others, we hearken.
Love reaching a sum, via

algorithms.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Vacancy @ Kitten Breasts Hotel

Vacancy @ Kitten Breasts Hotel

Do not lie to me.
You stared at the sign as long as I did.
We both turned the wheel into the parking lot.
Stranded otherwise, right? No others in sight?
VACANCY sign alight in red, and that was all that mattered.

Honestly, I was shocked to find a cat when I rang the office bell.
Jumped right onto the counter it did, and asked my name.
Even wanted our licence plate number.
And I retrieved the key to our room from a claw.
Do you recall our equal consternation when we got in there?

When we read the notice on the inside of the door?
Our young maids do not desire a tip. If you would tickle them a bit
about the mid-section as they roll around in the morning --
This will be enough. This will be plenty.
This will be more than adequate.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Magazine

Magazine
 
In the world of homonyms I challenge you to find one grander than magazine.
Put that one down, and listen to me.
This guy has shot a bunch of people tonight and is out of bullets.
What does he do now? Reloads his magazine.

I have never felt softer feet than yours, just now tonight, on this couch.
There is something about the way you lay back and know it is going to happen.
You think it's relaxing. I think it's hot.
We click on CNN. Jesus Christ -- this guy should have been massaging someone.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Linked

Linked

I wonder if the word fused is linked to the word confused.
There was never a snowfall like that one, that December.
So we wore the shoes, the snowshoes.
We wanted to have a Canadian experience.

Leaving the warmth of a fully functioning vehicle. Warm.
Launching out into the who-knows-what.
Strapping on those tennis rackets, I looked at your 
unflinching face. Nothing but adventure there.

Miles silently above the drifts, we trod, flakes falling.
Were I to ask the question, I know what you would answer.
Did you ever see anything as wonderful as that lynx?
Neither have I. I have not.

But we do not speak to each other anymore.
And I cannot help but wonder on this empty empty night
if the word link is linked to the word lynx. Does
saving such a memory ruin all that might yet be -- savory?

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Island of Reason

Island of Reason

There is this line between profligatry, sheer abandon,
wantonness, stupidity, clumsiness -- and reason.
There are as many excuses for skirts as there are men
wanting them shorter. One shouts out, Give me a woman
and I will take another.

That night I watched you dance it all to hell and beyond
with the pilgrim soul in you, intact. You had an anchor.
Every freckle of you calling me to that Island of Reason.
The place where foolishness hits a reef -- crosses the line.
Planting its flag.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Serendipity

Serendipity

When I first came across the word serendipity
in a novel, I started looking for it. Non sequitur.
One of those things you can't find, by looking.
But, last day of Farmer's Market, stiff with cold
I wandered the stalls, reaching for a basket.
Dusty blueberries.
What potent of Fate made you reach
as I did, for that very collection?

There is no answer to that question.
But others, other questions, do have answers.
What would a blueberry, bitten 'mid your lips
taste like, saliva-mingled?
I know the answer to that. I know now that the Earth
from a distance is still as blue, no matter the clouds.
You broke through everything in my atmosphere
that night, when we added the whipped cream.

 Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Stranded

Stranded

All this talk about cart-before-the-horse.
Everyone knows the phrase, and uses it.
All but the animal itself.
No one asks if he ever had better ideas.
Done properly or not, he ends up in front of it
every time.

It's true, I got to know your body long before
I knew much about your soul.
But welcome to modern times. In this world
we forget about oil changes. Driving.
Texting while we do it. No thought to the engine
-- until stranded at the roadside.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Designated Day

Designated Day

The furthest thing from my mind a year ago, [no, last month] -- was any thought associated with the idea that we would have to coordinate a time for my presence when you were absent. But such is the business of cohabitation, and its demise.
Resorting to others to manipulate that very window of untogetherness, I arrived to retrieve my stuff. Our [your?] cat greeted me, rubbing against my leg. 
Force of habit, I locked the door behind me, and knelt. Usually, his treats were in order -- so I went to the cupboard, where I found your note:
"Just get your things. And go."
In italics. No x's or o's behind it.
Slipping the key under the door when I was done, my eyes were closed.
And everything -- the hallway, my clothes, the suitcase you left open for me to put them in, the inside of my car, the clouds in the sky -- smelling like you.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

The Surfacing Book Club

The Surfacing Book Club

We read a lot. Past tense and present.
First person and third. Fiction and non.
-- Sounds crazy but it esn't.
We do seasonal things, for instance on

Hallowe'en, a scary book. Christmas,
some children's lit. Over 500 in the tank.
You may ask, Can I join it? Is this
an option? No. [Two members to thank]

Some things are better left to a minimum.
We have more than enough discussion
between us. Kindred spirits. -- Umm…
No agenda. Quite a repertoire. No rushin'.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Halloween

Halloween

My memories of Halloween are of small-town nights.
Fear was entirely invented. It was only about candy.
The only chaperone was a distant dog barking --
 -- and you knew whose dog it was.

Time, inexorable as it is, sometimes changes things.
In this case, I think it sad to picture a parent curbside.
Foot-tapping while "Trick or Treat" is cried.
Have we evolved to this?

My God, we used to run from house to house, unfettered.
More abandon than any actual ghost could have mustered.
Midnight we'd gobble our treasures, frothy-mouthed. 
Laughing quietly, to not wake the sleeping down below.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Whales Were Talking

Whales Were Talking

Who knows where dreams come from?
During last night's feature film, offstage me
was clutching a pillow -- probably sweating.
Eyes darting under the lids. Even in sleep,
trying to understand something.

Onstage, two gargantuan beasts floated.
The grace, like two candle flames in a world
where fire cannot live, swam.
I heard every strange oscillation, last night.
Only later, waking, did I interpret the message:

We expend our entire lives in an attempt
to stay as far away as possible -- [pause]
from anything that is in need of -- [twirl…]
a geographically determined alphabet --
-- [dive] to communicate, one with another.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Lonely, and Loneliness

Lonely, and Loneliness

Here is the distinction I make:
No - but first, some preamble:

There was this guy who did not have a lot of friends,
and no physical lover. Family is close, but far away.
He reads a lot, feeds a cat. Sometimes [and usually
it's a Sunday] - he wonders how far he is from talking
aloud, on the street. Not yet swallowing after-shave,
but thinking about the money he could save if he did.

There's another guy who travels a lot. Time away from
his wife and kid bothers him. Next year he will merit
an extra week of vacation, and will not need to apply
his own sun-tan lotion to his back. He misses her, but
his flight is at three. And he's bought a gift for his son.
Damn these extended conferences. Thank "G" 4 Skype!

Lonely.
And loneliness.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Surfacing

Surfacing

What was surfacing was as salt-laden as our horizon.
Briny vomit, announcing itself, just as she
[a greater find than Columbus ever managed]
was doing the same.

If I lean a bit, if I tilt with the ship's next wave-fall, 
I can do this. She turned toward me, as everything
but my actual pancreas hit the waves below --
-- frothy-mouthed.

There was something brazen about her acceptance
of such a spectacle. She merely looked into my eyes.
I felt the same about the scallops this evening. Not right at all.
My entrails, sea-washed against the hull -- agreed.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

The Centurion

The Centurion

I had never seen a sky darken so suddenly.
None of us had. Bits of lightning, but no thunder.
In the daytime, no less. Darkness.
It was the sound of the nails that drove us there.

We circled a sight I cannot describe without shuddering
even now, years later. Amid that tumult and horror
I heard things that were, in my lifetime, unrecorded.
Behind the crosses at the time, I cannot tell which of the three spoke.

But I heard the words clearly.
Someone said, Remember me, when you come into your kingdom.
I felt shame at such blasphemy.
Until a voice in between, re-assured him, that he would.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Cheating

Cheating

Some girls have that prescience, combined with mercy.
This one looked over at Geoffrey's horror as he flipped the sheet
-- slumped in despair. Half an hour passed. He ate half a pencil.

Maybe if I kick my desk leg three times he will look over.
Lifting her own paper enough for him to see her own words
-- his complicit smile made her feel she was in a hot-air balloon.

There was joy in watching him furiously write before the bell rang.
Her sheet in the basket, on top of his. No words spoken.
Three days later, as lockers clanged shut, she approached him --

-- How did you do on the final?
He reddened, looking down at his sneakers. I got a B+.
Walking her home, he added, Would've been an A, if you were ugly.

Tonight, as he watched her with their own daughter's homework
he saw the same glint of concern in her eyes. Without the cheating.
And he kicked the table leg three times, as her smile melted him.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

This Is The Answer

This Is The Answer

I dreamed minutes ago, the edge of a cliff.
A river below was a thread. Mountains in the distance.
Blue, and a few cows. Specks. Why would cows be there?
No pasture anywhere. Yet, cows -- as they graze.

I dreamed minutes ago, the edge of a cliff.
Shoreline, a girl was walking. Looked up to where i was.
Surf, and a few seagulls. Why did she look up just then?
No reason to do so. Yet, she turned her gaze.

I dreamed, minutes ago, the edge of a cliff.
Same night, all of this. Same promontory.
Pterodactyls cackled now. What were they in search of?
I could not answer that question. They floated away.

I dreamed, minutes ago, it seems. The edge of a cliff.
Rocks shimmied under my feet. I am falling at this point
and half way down I pass by God who is blurting as if mad
Fool! The true dream is the second one. Wake to it, today!

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Salt

Salt
 
I survive without sugar, but cannot live without --

My dolphin...
when you are less than sweet with me
I imagine an ocean of Coca-Cola.
Uninhabitable.

It is proven. Iron will rust in it.
Blue, or even dark green, is always better than brown.
Carbon dioxide pushing everything to the surface?
Strangers popping the tab?

I am able to hear everything you are saying.
Imagine what everyone else has to drink.
At your meanest. Your saddest. I envy no one.
Because I alone, kiss those eyelids, teeming with

-- salt.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

The Semantics of Art

The Semantics of Art

When it comes to opposites, I think concrete is neat-o.
The antonym is abstract.
At a certain level we understand it.
Concrete is solid. Both in the abstract sense and the literal.
Wood, paint, steel, or cement.
Conversely, [and rightly so] abstract is basically what not, is.
Yet, you could make an abstract structure, using concrete.
Could you make a concrete structure, using abstract?
Not really.
You will be too busy looking for a solid medium.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

No Inscription

No Inscription

Off the coast of Normandy I descended with other divers
to examine the HMS Swift, sixty-nine years sunken.
Mission was dog tags and a settling of a family's concern.
We found what was needed after three days of work.
-- A task the wealthy have the means to pay for.

On that day we finally breached the kitchen area.
Youthful men once gobbled grub and pondered death
in the adjoined mess. There I reached for a ring.
Once on the finger of a soldier, now in my satchel.
An inscription later revealed the grateful recipient.

Last night as I searched for a pair of fresh socks I
mistakenly opened your drawer. Under panties I found
a wedding ring I know I never gave you. No inscription.
I sank it back in, choosing in that submerged moment
to not question a mystery I would rather not know about.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Crooked Cross

Crooked Cross

Remember how we used to criticize the cross of St. Bridgit's?
Blame Christianity in general for its shoddiness? Its slant?
We sat in the park and laughed.

There was a squirrel scrambling up a tree.
Entranced, we watched it circle the trunk, and jump to a wire.
Tippetty tippetty, all across a power line.

Missing a beat, it fell to the ground with a bit of a splat.
I love that you did not laugh. Nor did I.
Neither of us breathed, until it regained itself… and bounded on.

I note that neither you or I have ever laughed at that crooked cross
since that time. Nor have we talked about it. You sip your tea
and I sip my coffee, in the park.  We seem to silently agree --

Not everything is perfect. Not anywhere.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Anarchy

Anarchy

Lawlessness. Nihilism. Revolution. Insurrection.
Disorder, Chaos / Mayhem. It's one thing to apply oneself
to political upheaval.
But what about life itself?

A tattoo on your tit that says, I will not bend.
What happens when what is, twists it for you?
There's a thing about being on the outside that doesn't translate.
It will only hurt until you let go --

-- and realize you are alone.
There is no one that really cares. Except you, about you.
Bailouts may apply to financial institutions.
But text everyone you "know" right now.

No one cares about your troubles.
No one will commit to your anarchy.
Shut it on down.
You are going to get through this on your own.

Or not at all.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Leaves

Leaves

The eyes of trees.
Interesting how they have veins.
Instead of blood, they carry water / light.
Spring and summer, they drink of each.

But conditions require change.
Conditions require change.
A season comes when cold moves in.
Roots shiver.

Trust evolution, if nothing else.
Don't let external circumstances tell you
when it is time to fall to the ground.
There is a reason we have invented shelter.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Fighting With You

Fighting With You

Everyone loves a storm.
No forecast can predict what it will do.
We are enticed in that moment.
Oh, the damage. We run outside to take it in.

Something about fury we cannot control
intrigues us. Especially as it inflicts others.
We re-assess our own insurance coverage
but other than that -- God help them!
 
When I know I have displeased you
there is not even time to gather lawn chairs.
Those eyes squint. There is no turning the channel.
In light of the above, forgive my fascination --

Because even then, I only love you.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

We Are

We Are

It was the craziest pact ever. So romantic.
In grade school, an English teacher taught the true meaning of the word.
At least in the literary sense.
The way things ought to be, not the way they are.

Meet me here one year from today, I said.
There was laughter in tears. A nod from you.
Kisses on your eyelids, salt on my tongue.
Fog wrapping you up as you walked away.

But I have never truly wandered far from this tree.
And tonight, three hundred and sixty-five sunsets later
Here…

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Unencumbered

Unencumbered

When you first told me that you preferred gold
unencumbered -- jewellery stores drew me in.
Imagined a trip in lieu of three months wages.
Wrapping a leaf around your finger, kissing it.

When you first told me that high heels messed
you up -- Footlocker became my store of choice.
Matching Vans. Imagined no shoe manufacturer
anywhere, knowing your perfect calves like I do.

When you first slow-danced with me, I gave up
all frantic dancing, forever. And quit shopping.
I imagined that no one had ever moved like this.
Nor breathed the very air I was breathing, then.

When you first even used the word unencumbered
you spoke of what most binds a person, to another.
I need not imagine a thing. There it is on your hand.
Diamonds do not become us -- we became them.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Goldfish and Cat

Goldfish and Cat

A while back I needed advice and was told
Don't worry about what you cannot control.
Hmmm…
Tell that to a goldfish at the mercy of the cat.

The astronaut severed from the mother ship.
Whisper into his helmet:
You will have new experiences, new things
will come into view -- for thirty minutes or so.

What of the mountain climber, falling.
The thrill of weightlessness is short-lived.
Who envies him? Who says I wish it was me!
Control, in the end, is what keeps us alive.

And so my dear, break my heart if you must.
Even until my tears flow over this bowl I am in.
But please, I beg of you -- do not eat me?
Let me swim. And breathe water. Let me swim.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Blood Pumping From A Man's Heart

Blood Pumping From A Man's Heart

Forward when the light went red and why was too late.
I thought the word, but could not say it in time.
But everyone stopped.
And we ran from our safe cars to a scene of tragedy.

Can a minute, a second, mean so much?
It will.
None knew what to do. Me, first in line -- knew least.
Pried open the mangled door, with another human.

She pressed three beeps into her phone. I fell down.
Placed my hands firmly on a chest I should not touch.
I did this, thinking only that blood is better in than out.
Beyond this, I did not know my name. 

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Eyelashes

Eyelashes

I am a weakened man

Looking at a faded picture
Of an age-old picnic shared.
Vines beyond your shoulder
Entangled.

Young blossoms to my lips.
Oh, how I kissed them
Underneath closed eyelashes.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Silverside Castle

Silverside Castle

We both knew that it was only a legend. A myth. Yet we bought the map at a place called Armagh's Revenge and thought what-the-hell, there are verifiable monoliths along the way, at any rate.
We both strapped on our hiking boots. Miles through forest. And several places where falling would not be the thing to do. Hand-holding. Branch-slapping. 
Kicking rocks to see how far we could watch them tumble. And the odd waterfall.
But it was when we rounded that one corner, trees to one side and nothing on the other. If your grip on my arm would have allowed me to pinch you with the hand at the end of it, I would have done so.
But you pre-empted me. "Jesus," you said. "It's real."

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Worth A Sonnet

Worth A Sonnet

There is no east without west, and a sun setting.
The gleam on distant windows can shut our eyes.
Beautiful in a way, like remembering forgetting
revives what was brighter, once. And no lies
without truth in their wake. No give without getting. 
But a child recites the alphabet knowing it ends.
This we call knowledge when it is everything but.
A boundary on possibilities. What transcends
all speech and language is love - knowing what
it takes to receive the reciprocal of what one sends.
We failed at this, dear, and to both, our dismay.
Let me use a few letters. Imagine you hearing me say
now that evening has come, and no window is bright -
You deserve fourteen lines that I never could write.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Two Drops

Two Drops

This is not a time for passion. We fought. Or is it?
Afterward you showered. Washing me from you?
The mystery, though, is lying again now, in a towel.
Two drops glistening above your breast.

On a usual afternoon in the Sahara, or hell -- Nevada
these would evaporate for God's reasons in minutes.
But here we are in Princeton, cloudy, drapes closed.
What would even Jesus do? --- Not being Him

I lean in for an answer. Unfold you. And lick you dry.
Eyes closed, you do not see the wallpaper unravel.
Your smile is all I need to know that I said it right
when I said the words before everyone we know. 'I do'.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Quake & Context

Quake & Context

Unwrapping a chicken sandwich the floor shook.
Panic is a thing, the unexpectedness of which, unites
everyone -- running like cattle to a burning barn.
Outside we watched pavement crackle open.
Still swallowing my lunch.

Only much later did I realize that there is no such thing
as an earthquake. Other places are quite -- stable.
But where I am is where I am.
And what happens there is quite -- local.
We huddled beside the radio when all was as before.

Laughing as I swept fragments of a broken coffee cup.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

The Fourth Thought

The Fourth Thought

Looking across to where she sat he thought several things.
Firstly, that surely the intention was a world without options.
A walk-in closet of many garments, and she chose this to stun my planet.

Secondly, his tie knot was off. He went for the windsor, ended in an ascot.
He wanted to cover the wattle. But now he looked frumpy, sure of it.
He was sure.

Then he imagined her lover, wondering how such a man could deserve her.
Had he also seen her sleeveless arms like this? From this angle?
[What single thing from my current vantage point could possibly be unique?]

Yet he gazed, when he could do so. She swizzled her drink.
Lecherous. How he would hate for anyone to think him so.
She holds someone within those sleeveless arms, his fifth thought.

She set some money down, gathered her things, and left.
He returned then to his fourth official thought, which was this:
I am very lonely. I am quite a very lonely man.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Battle Cry

Battle Cry

Recruitment denial of reality submission basic training.
Boot camp maneuvers doctrine faux scenario simulations.
Sheets razor straight ship shape look alive. Say sir.
Salute. Buzz cut. Keep that transmitter charged, Eugene.
'Copters dropping in a jungle where we swat mosquitoes.

There was a sliver of moon when you leapt from the trees.
Throw the grenade. Your face was alight and I saw words
gunfire silenced. What can anything mean today my friend.
Or a toast to you recall. Or peace-time full moons flesh out.
When all I will ever hear is that last thing unheard -- Cried. 

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Dreams

Dreams

Funny thing about them --
When you are falling asleep they are not there.
Yet without wakefulness they would never arrive.

What does midnight mean when half a world
is eating breakfast and tanning on a beach?
Were we too close to ourselves to hold on to it?

Agree with me, girl. We were the poem rhyming.
The song that sang to an open window.
Two splayed cats in the grass, spent from play.

Dreams do not exist until we're sleeping?
As if the sun does not quite shine today
when all the while it is just moisture in the way?

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Superimposed

Superimposed

When I was a child there was a book that showed a human skeleton and I turned the transparent pages as organs were added to the framework until a perfect human body without the skin appeared and I think that this is when I began to envision that life itself would perhaps be a similar process in the sense that perhaps I would merely continue to experience things that were foreordained and pre-printed and ready to be flipped over by either my hand or another hand and all I had to do was the simple work of opening a cover to let it all happen but shortly thereafter I met another person that already had skin on them. 

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Barcelona / History

Barcelona / History

Why we chose this I will never know. Nor forget.
Niagara Falls was so much closer.
History, you said, at the travel office.
History of what, I countered. But there we went.

Some say the word means "ninth boat"
but ultimately it is a mystery. Much like us.
As all honeymoons do end, ours did, as well.
I guess I might have been shocked at how sudden

ly it did. All those cathedrals, and monuments
betokening permanence. As one wipes themself
dry of a cataract unseen -- we thought those
separate unspoken thoughts on the return flight.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Jesus Saves

Jesus Saves

Holding the life-size cross aloft Sister Eloise fell.
Another swabbed her broken heels as two words
continued to clash with the ritual drumbeats.
Would these have been her last, she would die.

Sweat soaked her habit. An interpreter leaned
toward a concerned chieftan's ear. He nodded.
And running forward, he lifted her, saying words
she could not at all understand --

Why are you killing yourself to tell us this thing?

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Passion Makes Perfect

Passion Makes Perfect

Personally, I am not sure about this.
And I wonder if qualifiers are in need.
Surely this is a field with boundaries?
Some restrictions amid the freedom?
I believe the phrase must presuppose
One recipient. One giver. A clause:
No other shall trespass at will. None.

Maybe I am old-fashioned about it all.
All I feel is, trust should never involve
Knocking on wood. Hoping for the best.
Every thought can then be directed to a
Sense of forever being too short a time.

People often convince themselves that
Every new possibility is a valid option.
Re-arrange what can be moved unknown.
F * * * with the one that didn't bring you.
Every true love that was ever developed
Came to be what it is on better principles.
The kind of passion that is beyond passion.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

A Pigeon Strutting

A Pigeon Strutting

It cannot be anything about pride.
The forward thrust with every step.
More about balance. I do it, too.
But it's not seen in my stride. Mind
over matter, as they say. But I walk.

Through this world I put best foot
forward.  And I'll shake your hand -
Ever mindful of falling off a ledge.
Often I will put clothes on, prior to
differing from the pigeon only in the

pecking at the pavement below us.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

By Any Other Name

By Any Other Name

Far be it from me to argue this point.
Yet -- here go I --

To me exclusivity is key.
Faithfulness more than a virtue.

Trust irreversible.
Honesty a necessity.

Love never in a queue.
Glances not misunderstood.

One lover in one mind.
One name on two lips.

Any rose? Would smell as sweet?
I disagree, Bill.

You need to read further you fool.
Juliet was completely on the same page!

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

The Author @ Night

The Author @ Night

Surely at some point in the future I will be replete.
Batting at a moth struggling for the same light, he
scratched away the word replete. -- Superfluous.
Adding, In ages hence there will be no such need.

Thoughts will be transmitted in other ways. Faster.
Dipping the quill, his window revealed a lone girl
tossing back her hair, and a soldier approaching.
A discussion ensued. She ran off crying in the rain.

He dipped again and brought forth a new sheet.
Genevieve from that night forward left her harlot life.
And we have every page since to thank that nothing
from the first verse has ever come to pass.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

What Is Beautiful?

What is Beautiful?

The topic was human relationships. Not sunsets.
Or rabbits. Or cuteness. Or the full moon at night.
One said That surety of each other. Trust. Faith.
The campfire gave a little burst -- as if agreeing.

One looked away. The ability to laugh together.
Far off an owl hooted -- several heads nodding.
Quiet. A ubiquitous goofball mumbled Good sex.
I bent forward to kill flames from a marshmallow.

And I felt it in the exhalation. The perfect answer.
In the distance a clattering train let loose a moan.
Still holding hands when you are old and grey?
Pretty good I must admit. But then I said the word.
Forgiveness.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Vacancy

Vacancy

There is a thing that happens when you get out of a cab
blocks before your address so you can walk in the rain
dreaming that the wetness will irrigate your brain toward
clearer thoughts -- a higher level that hopes to displace
what you know to be even truer with every step you take.

Namely that the novelists and the moviemakers wrong
wrong wrong in their assumption that love is the greatest
emotion maybe have not yet experienced the emptiness
of loss -- or never fumbled in a soaked pocket for a key
that cannot possibly unlock the very place you want to be.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Lamps

Lamps

Everything is in the pointing I mean this way
and that without one damn for you one damn
Concern for where you were Point over there
so they can see something else A wrench in
the neck Re-direction You do it because you
must And it hurts and you burn and give light
Kick with your tail to get out of that socket
Cause diversions to unscrew yourself Anything
to tell someone you never ever were the lamp
I am the bulb I always have been I am the b--

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Atlanta Nights

Atlanta Nights

The days were nice, too. But the nights.
There is a thing about an Atlanta night.
The moon itself [there in the branches]
keeps you talking until morning's birds
chirp you to sleep.
Trust me. There's always an unfinished
topic to be sewn up, on an Atlanta night.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Fragrant Shampoo

Fragrant Shampoo

It was not one of our nights together.
I kissed her goodbye, breathing perfume.
My thoughts, squintier than my eyes, never
said a word, but the mind did assume --
 
things that are wrong. Deader than bone.
Like broken glass in a certain slant of sun
will ignite what has no heat of its own
suspicion gave vent to the one

question I should have never asked her.
You're seeing someone else? Tell me who.
Wrong sentences altogether. And we were
never the same since. It was shampoo.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Gravitas: A Narrative Pseudo-Poem

Gravitas: A Narrative Pseudo-Poem

In 1990 Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi wrote a book called Flow.
[Subtitled] The Psychology of Optimal Experience.
By "flow" he referred to a state of intense concentration.
Complete absorption with an activity.
The flow state is an ultimate moment of intrinsic motivation.

The ancient Romans spoke of gravitas, meaning weight.
Seriousness and dignity, connoting a depth of personality.
The image is that of a sculptor, engaged in creating.
The clamour of hooves does not cause a chisel to skip.
No marble nostril falls to the ground. No blemish results.

When I think of a modern-day equivalent to these terms
I envision John Mayer performing his song Gravity, live.
He is doing something that never existed pre-moment.
And in such a fashion, it was not imagined, even by him.
A stream that cannot but fall downhill, due to angle.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

The Talking Salmon

The Talking Salmon

What if there was a salmon that could suddenly speak?
Express rather clearly what it was experiencing.
And not salmon plural -- but just one salmon.
The first thing he would realize is that water, the medium itself, is not conducive to the verbalization of anything.
Secondly, he experiences loneliness. Try as he might, every other salmon only notices an uncommon amount of bubbles.
Thirdly, he finds that certain words are not pronounceable. His salmon-lips cannot form them, yet he longs to say them. For instance, he wants to tell other salmon 'This is water' -- and the last word cannot be formed. His brain has evolved beyond his lips. They do not bend, yet.
He swims. He wanders a bit, from the group. The sheer anxiety of knowing something foreign to others bewilders him in that moment. The current is calmer under a large rock, and there he finds himself -- swaying -- struck by an unfathomable thought. 
And yet the words are so clear:
Animals on land.
Never before has such a thing occurred to him. The words have created it. Surely this must be.  Else why would I be thinki…?
The salmon digs his snout into the riverbed, grains of it in his mouth. He scratches onto the stone - images of what he is imagining. And the others swim past, some casting a brief glance, but none really heeding the message. At least for the time being. At least for now. But a few, they do seem to linger a bit longer, before moving upstream.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

I Don't Want To Live Without You

I Don't Want To Live Without You

One thing I do love, is your disdain for clichés.
The trite, simpler words, and repeated phrase
fail terribly when it comes to specifics. Agreed.
I feel the same - so much like borrowing need.

I committed the crime minutes ago, on a street.
You surely saw my eyes well up? It was sweet
to not question me. Those seven words I said? 
They mean to me that without you I'd rather be..

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

The Camel's Back

The Camel's Back

Eyes that could never drink enough sink
to the floor and walls wandering in thirst.
Longing for second thoughts -- each first
one is swallowed in far too much to think.

When it comes to forgiveness - it is there.
That is not even the issue. The sunkissed
months will never be so easily dismissed,
nor problems alter the way they still care.
 
But widening occurs when unparallel rails
begin to consider the spreading distance
favorable. So has it been in this instance.
Two hearts beating upon mutual betrayals.

Oh, two minds silently screeching until raw,
the sparks flying through black in the night.
Indeed, seldom was seen so quiet a fight
and lost chances, last looks -- Last straw.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

When Stars Answer

When Stars Answer

Do you remember the first time I said it?
Calling the heavens to reply for you, we
looked up as a white streak burst across
the night. Falling, laughing, lips, tongues.

And you whispered, Does it hurt, I can't
say the words yet? My mouth was on your
lovely ear -- No. And by the way, that was
not a star but a jagged chunk of flying rock.
 
And then you said it.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --

Atonement

Atonement

No reins on forgiveness / reeling in or pushing
-- futile. Both. We found ourselves at Argonne
walking and waiting for it to happen, in a field.

How far from the road we were, and alone.
Rounding a copse of trees a factory loomed.
-- smoke. Silence. Nibbling herd of fallow deer.

Gripping my hand then / a finger to your lips
-- crouching. Both. Our lack of words that day
becoming a roar, an antlered head turned.
 
And as one over a fence they bounded, a fawn
stopping. Looked directly at me / kicked a post.
There, you said -- squeezing my hand. That's it.
 
Walk back to the car different. At one moment.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2013 --