tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87105373770649123612023-06-20T05:57:41.995-07:00Only Gaze A Little While“The stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own.” -M. OliverK. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-48579929364537343302012-12-20T22:43:00.000-08:002012-12-20T22:43:02.227-08:00SpindlesWhen you sleep<br />
<div>
I curl into your hand</div>
<div>
wrap myself into your palm </div>
<div>
and rest.</div>
<div>
Holding my breath</div>
<div>
I twist against your ribs</div>
<div>
find the rhythm of your breath</div>
<div>
fight away my deamons</div>
<div>
and imitate</div>
<div>
your peace.</div>
K. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-58326577797146251172011-05-30T00:55:00.000-07:002012-12-20T22:43:23.272-08:00RedTurpentine<br />
I ran it over filthy palms<br />
and let it gather rivers<br />
over red and black stained fingertips<br />
down the bathroom sink.<br />
It separated in marbled forms<br />
spirals, globes of pearled gloss<br />
a film of ruby blood<br />
floating on my reflection.<br />
And there it mingled still<br />
amidst the chemical bath, of salt<br />
and fury, and the image of my face<br />
very much like yours<br />
but framed with curled copper.<br />
<br />
And so started the canon:<br />
Longing for the man<br />
The anguish of that August <br />
And the mania began-<br />
Oil, blood and crimson<br />
turpentine dissolves<br />
memories of madness<br />
ritual resolves<br />
purposeful starvation<br />
resurrects the dead<br />
the artist of the flesh<br />
wears a crown of redK. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-1661865169931997132010-02-26T23:13:00.000-08:002010-02-27T21:30:24.792-08:00Then and NowMy eyes,<br />they were clear once<br />and saw- without much knowing,<br />the world<br />as it was to me then<br />a glistening thoughtless place-<br />in sharp and bright actuality.<br /><br />And now, <br />crippled as they are<br />ravaged by disease and agony<br />they see,<br />a world<br />in dim and darkened filth<br />a pure and simple<br />reality.K. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-34130872267401750952010-02-20T04:42:00.000-08:002010-02-27T22:04:46.253-08:00Acid washedIn its infancy it sat and shuddered,<br />burnt, vitriolic and expanding<br />riding the crimson blood-splashed rapids,<br />It curved and wound, spreading agony without discretion,<br />cruising on a tidal wave of endorphins and plasma till I found myself embraced<br />in the torment of my own aesculapian understand of my eventual demise. <br />Now let me be our guide:<br /><br />There will be a piano there, a blanket with holes and a stamp, illegible, faded and clutched many, many times. You will ignore it other than to observe the hole with contempt. It is imperfect. You will have a bed, with a curtain that pulls down easily on a little round-about-track. A set of drawers with a code: epinephrine, haldol, diazepam, lidocaine, within. They will not let you walk, so you will write furiously, fingers sliding across thoughts and paper manic yet restrained, little finger smudged with black as it slides across the cool slips, rationing ink and pages because soon you'll run out, time will be up. You'll feel the needle in your arm shudder as you breathe and the skin on your ribs crawl back, pull away. Away is exactly where you want to be. And knowledge goes from being power to being simply horrifying. You'll see more here than you wanted to. You'll wonder when they started counting you as a number rather than a girl. You'll miss drawing and oils, photos and acrylic. Canvas stretched tall and looming, industrial against brick walls in a dimly lit studio, dancing to a beat, laughing with a friend at midnight and painting while being, and just being while doing, and just feeling as one should, downing coffee, singing late into the night, not feeling your skull shatter when you laugh. And late, late at night you'll sneak out from your bed and walk the hall up and down. You hallucinate paisley patterns on plain disinfected tile and you delight in the creations your brain is painting. Feeling that acid wash though your veins when you smile and feel it turn like a diamond edged record through your cerebellum. Prayers will turn wicked- Glass in the bloodstream, a violent artful death.K. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-22325760596288043892009-08-09T22:10:00.000-07:002009-08-09T22:32:41.068-07:00Eight, TwelveI know that sickly pull<br />a retched twisting clutch<br />rendering strong and controlled form<br />a pool of chesnut agony<br />Cold and jagged fragments<br />icy, bloody bites<br />slicing flesh to ribbons<br />memories and nightmares<br />moonlit cubes sliding<br />in still and terrorfying calm<br />across and up the walls. <br />Loss and fear and agony<br />a hollow, hungry place<br />filled with pearly tablets<br />the burn of canned heat-<br />medication for calamity.<br />I know that cavernous space<br />below the bony arched cage<br />where beats a worn and withered heart<br />that simply seeks resolve.<br />Death is our keeper<br />and we are his progeny.K. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-47779718604941151422009-08-09T21:46:00.000-07:002009-08-09T22:02:48.327-07:00Some sort of dyingI tried dying once<br />But was woken from my sleep<br />The quiet and the stillness<br />closer to oblivion<br /><br />My bones emerged from hiding<br />my eyes lost will for sight<br />and scars criss-crossed my skin<br />a road map of bad memories<br /><br />I felt my self fading<br />to some solitary place<br />where the shimmer in the dusty air<br />conveyed no scent of you<br /><br />And even there I fumbled<br />some creature, out of place<br />a mess of complications<br />a worried, manic mind<br /><br />You were neather there no here<br />no heaven and no hell<br />just some lasting thread of memory<br />that I feel fraying with the yearsK. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-6329025590013603242009-08-09T21:31:00.000-07:002009-08-09T21:45:36.888-07:00The GardenerA laugh<br />and he brushed my hand<br /><br />A warm guide to a spiraling swan<br />dizzy and joyful pas de deux<br />barefoot on freshly cut grass, <br />staning a red ballerina green.<br /><br />Steady, a hand and a laugh<br />hearty and heartfelt roll<br />an artist and a gardener<br />smelling the lemon verbena<br />as it burst forth from the earth<br /><br />A lesson in botany<br />the power of soil, sun and love<br />how little things could grow tall<br />with a little bit of skill<br /><br />Cupping the power of life in my hand<br />I watched as it curled and frayed<br />a sickness of wasting and wanting<br />staining a green man red.K. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-47300036161159243902009-07-31T21:35:00.000-07:002009-07-31T21:36:25.655-07:00Scales are for FishBlue ribbons<br />How you shape me<br />Bees in my skull<br />Bees in my skull<br />Seven stone makes me lovely<br />Seven stone makes me loved<br /><br />Bones are waves<br />And I am an ocean<br />Blue, blue ribbons<br />Make me a puddle<br />A glint in a raindrop<br />A tap on the asphalt<br />Unnoticed and icy<br />Impossable weight<br /><br />Scales are for fish<br />Pale, boney fish<br />And I am an ocean<br />A deep, bitter ocean<br />Seven stone makes me lovely <br />Seven stone makes me loved<br />Bees in my skull<br />Ribbons and raindrops<br />The sea is full of fish<br />Humming bees in my skullK. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-78353160063839925432009-07-15T21:24:00.001-07:002009-07-15T21:27:04.180-07:00BitsEight summers,<br />Just enough<br />for the shimmering wave of memories<br />to crystallize into solidity.<br /><br />Patch work quilt<br />a shield and tear stained marker<br />-some sort of solid weight<br />protection from the night<br />an anchor to my home.<br /><br />And a television glow<br />flickering and humming from beneath.<br />A comforting ripple of laughter<br />a little past the piano<br />where she taught me to play.<br /><br />A strange summer rain<br />where I sang a song to Jesus<br />and tried to make her smile,<br />but watched oceans fill her eyes<br />before she left with gentle steps.<br /><br />Summer brings back fragments,<br />razor sharp and honey sweet<br />of what I'll never have again.K. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-90901780677233594912009-05-03T19:49:00.000-07:002009-05-03T23:22:30.354-07:00ExitHigh on the steel grate<br />Cello song from far below<br />We all predicted<br />the visions in your head<br />would get you in trouble someday<br /><br />In your world<br />disinfected taunts and tile<br />A series of white exits<br />Gowns and glances<br />unmoving, frozen life<br />'When you're home by yourself,<br />you're behind enemy lines.'<br /><br />You said we were alike<br />And foolish as I am<br />I took your words for good<br />even knowing<br />the visions in your head<br />would get you in trouble somedayK. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-53557662517413954302009-03-26T22:29:00.000-07:002009-04-29T00:26:59.039-07:00BrianI did not mind the blush of copper wickedness<br />swirled in your eyes,<br />or the wild wind that caught your hair<br />and made it dance and dance.<br />I did not mind the calloused tips<br />fingers around the neck,<br />giving strings their humming voice<br />Causing pale skin to blush,<br />and a lasting chill to run,<br />vertebrae to vertebrae<br />along an instrument in song.<br />I never failed to walk with you, <br />the movement in your voice<br />giving color to the earth around<br />and painting a portrait of light.K. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-34189297835784731242009-02-03T22:05:00.000-08:002009-02-03T22:30:20.073-08:00TriggerIn silence<br />I screamed for a time<br />and brushed fingertips, blue<br />over my new, re-sculpted form.<br />They danced for a moment there,<br />unfeeling yet sensing<br />that something<br />was not right.<br />Another one down<br />twenty to go<br />a exclaiming burn in the ribs,<br />A hallow place<br />full of obsession<br />a black ink polluting the blood,<br />And under it all,<br />bones begging to rise<br />to broadcast a shriek<br />to protest suffocation.<br />Today I was reminded <br />that sometimes counting counts.K. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-5219226906346125782009-01-10T23:52:00.000-08:002009-01-25T13:00:02.544-08:00SilverfishThe trapdoor at the bottom<br />asks questions round and round<br />and in a creaking tenor, calls<br />to a tatterd collage, made from bits of cloth<br />that sits below the varnished wood<br />worn from dancing days.<br />And there, the shattered form of me<br />bent and fallen from glowing sunlight<br />summoned to those fading photographs<br />Pulls about a rich black agony<br />heavy, sweet and cold.<br />When I find some light to hold<br />and memories melt to dust,<br />your fading face persuades me<br />to slip between the floorboards<br />and find a blacker placeK. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-27177398451303029972009-01-07T23:12:00.000-08:002009-01-07T23:25:34.089-08:00Tangerine SunriseSnapdragons, marigolds<br />a tangerine sky<br />dripping with low hanging mist<br />Checkerbloom, starflower<br />from these I fly<br />catching the steps that I missed<br />Violet, tidy-tips<br />Fleeing the sun<br />Creeping up into the blue<br />Larkspur, meadow grass<br />each new day I die<br />and reborn, start running anewK. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-13845975429220388702009-01-02T13:13:00.000-08:002012-12-20T22:35:27.100-08:00DownI found a gold-green feather tucked within my sleeve<br />
as a deafening tempest raged from above,<br />
I saw another fall from the sky<br />
and the taste metallic carmine slipped across my tongue.<br />
Down down down it came.<br />
A bird rendered flightless<br />
A uncurable mess,<br />
I felt a new wind coming.K. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-59837822000162796032009-01-02T12:34:00.000-08:002009-01-02T12:58:30.821-08:00Your VisitLast night in restless weaving<br />from fragile light to darkend lids<br />You entered my room in silence<br />And led me to the rooftops.<br />We sat under the velvet tapestry<br />Admidst a foggy urban glow<br />and dipped our hands into memories<br />that swirled about our fingertips<br />cold and somehow distant.<br />Earl Gray was a friend to us then,<br />bergamot and oranges,<br />the day we took the bridge to Manhattan<br />to photograph the downfall<br />in shades of black and gray.<br />How early morning, our breath rose<br />small clouds that made us laugh<br />as they found the darting rays of light<br />and played there, in the sun.<br />And you, with your dark smile would,<br />make magic come from six old strings<br />a melody from nowhere<br />that made dancers of us all.<br />The way we painted, feverent nights,<br />The maddening rush of it all,<br />The way we'd wrap our icy fingers<br />around paper cups, our coffee black<br />Like the center of that concreat gray<br />from which you viewed the world.<br />And as we sat, old friends again<br />the moon smiled a wicked crescent<br />and a coldness from within me sang,<br />that this was just a dream.K. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-47226440081331754702008-12-20T00:02:00.000-08:002009-01-01T00:36:31.055-08:00EideticThursday I walked, <br />Hood high, pace quick<br />kicking waves within the gutters<br />Sending tree fallen sailboats<br />rushing from my feet.<br />I have a novel in my pocket<br />and another one to write, <br />on things a girl can learn<br />when she stands outside the pale.<br />My film, it keeps on running<br />Through chemicals and fog<br />the substances that pulse<br />through the channels in my mind.<br />Observations of mortality,<br />desolation, sin and grace<br />sit wrappen within the gray,<br />the filter of my view.<br />Photographs and memory<br />words and written things,<br />create archives of insanity<br />I cannot forgetK. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-19259747458751507002008-12-19T23:50:00.000-08:002008-12-20T00:01:28.868-08:00CarvedA well polished blade<br />razored ribs<br />lurking below the pale<br />Inhale, collapse and hold.<br />Beauty's in the details<br />fine lines and parallels,<br />that run, tangled ribbons<br />in a shadowcast design.<br />Ana was yesterday<br />and is still perhaps, tomorrow.<br />Every moment sculpting<br />scraping away the excess<br />of shame and guilt<br />Between my ribs she gave me,<br />a hallow sort of place.<br />Ana's blade was carving,<br />And from her bones she built<br />a puppet out of meK. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-13683295549716722042008-11-11T22:03:00.000-08:002008-11-11T22:27:20.024-08:00That is allMy friend, she walked the city<br />music in her mind<br />and dancing in her step.<br />A dark haired whirlwind<br />fearless of the metal grates<br />and streetlight streaking rain.<br /><br />I caught her in the silence<br />a silken state of mind<br />muffled with the memories<br />of hollowness<br />and sound.K. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-91519276623638342902008-11-01T13:38:00.000-07:002008-11-01T14:46:13.682-07:00CloudburstA choir of spirits, altos all<br />Singing a sweet serenade<br />Glassy and silver, humming, they fall<br />Darting, they quickly cascade<br /><br />Crisp amber leaves, glossy gold<br />under billows of low cast sky<br />blowing in waves, muddy and cold<br />casting off drops as they fly<br /><br />A melody risen of unknown birth<br />Musicians from mist gathered gray<br />Heaven sent fingers, playing the earth<br />Washing my troubles awayK. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-2387127564264190412008-10-05T00:07:00.000-07:002008-10-05T00:34:01.270-07:00A changing state of graceVisions of rubies, light caught in the sun,<br />the corner of seeing, the damage's been done<br />In spreading at sunset, in darkened expanse<br />a moment of blindness, a paralyzed dance<br />From minor to major, a musical riddle<br />steady and low, a bow on a fiddle<br />A sightless musician, a dancer gone mad<br />playing a song to a dream she once had<br />In puddles of moonlight, and flashes from storm<br />in candlelit puddles, where images form<br />moving in shadows, and fleeing the light<br />the blindness of music, dawns in the nightK. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-53658911304285784322008-08-19T20:02:00.000-07:002012-12-20T22:39:07.995-08:00SakuraWe plucked cherries in the garden<br />
overstepping rows of earth<br />
where mama planted snap-peas<br />
and blackened soil gave birth<br />
Us muddy girls, we tiptoed<br />
past the grapes, the appletrees<br />
the strawberries we planted <br />
admist a humming cloud of bees<br />
Sweet pale girl, Sakura<br />
I her twin, the cherry red<br />
dancing under August lightening<br />
tiny arms widespread<br />
Caching rain upon our shoulders<br />
Ivory fingers well entwined<br />
My sister, you have left me<br />
with Sakura on my mindK. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-26593234398094630262008-08-13T00:27:00.001-07:002008-08-13T00:52:15.768-07:00Orion MissedNow is when I think of you<br />When summer clapped its broad wings high above the horizon<br />and painted pale blue sky a heavenly shade-<br />as night fell, Orion rose, hunting amidst the stars.<br />I crushed grass, crisp and cool beneath my feet<br />and ran in moonlit spirals<br />We embraced the summer nights- they were old friends to us.<br />Orion drew an arrow, a placed it in his bow<br />And from the northern sky he faltered.<br />A solitary gleaming arch, a glowing point, a collision<br />between the constellation in your mind<br />and the archer high above.<br />Once the moon has cast its blanket<br />Hatsya is at my throat<br />so summers heat I wrap around me<br />its all that I can doK. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-69752478880028778272008-07-31T18:53:00.000-07:002008-07-31T19:41:01.233-07:00Theia's HandsInto the hazy glow of static<br />Fraying steel cables, electrical conductors<br />faulty in design or function<br />spark lethal jolts of light<br /><br />I watch them with passive interest<br />a light show of disintegration<br />fire-flys dancing behind the curtain<br />of a former world view<br /><br />And this too is momentary<br />Theia in her radiance<br />winds her hands into the fibers<br />of pale and dying nerves<br /><br />And helpless, I am learning<br />-as vision slips away-<br />To dive into the waves of serenity<br />and drift in the cool of apathyK. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8710537377064912361.post-26649758039414511142008-07-06T15:38:00.000-07:002008-07-08T10:18:25.446-07:00Left EyeI found God in the trenches<br />when blinded by some crime<br />I know not what I committed<br />for I sin all the time<br />The fear of losing vision<br />has brought me to my knees<br />with hands clasp, head low<br />bowing, singing to the breeze:<br />If I could find redemption<br />If I could live to See<br />My prayers and my salvation<br />Would bring God back to me <br />So I'm a gypsy trader<br />Bargaining with fate<br />singing in morning<br />till the day grows late<br />Casting stones into the river<br />Casting nets into the air<br />Begging god to bring me vision<br />lest I parish with despair<br />And my traps, they bring me courage<br />I catch stars within their nets<br />and place them where I see them<br />and reflect upon regrets<br />I've found God in the trenches<br />when blinded by some crime<br />I know not what I committed<br />for I sin all the time.K. Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14958538187067542337noreply@blogger.com0