I woke up in the morning - after changing images on my website till 2 am of sculptures now in storage from my former studio, on the purple couch in The House of The Vampire Teeth. 
After months in Europe, 17 locations, countless missed and caught trains, busses, and planes, bumped up to first class, changed seats to accommodate mothers and families- carrying luggage for an older couple in Cannes- it could be time to go home. 
I woke up at 9 am and ate a naval orange, biting its zest and quartered juices and white skin. The sun hurt my eyes. I would have to leave at 10:30 to get to Charles de Gaulle. In The House of The Vampire Teeth- the bathroom had a pink light, and I had taken a bath in the Villeroy and Boch bathtub the night before. 
You log onto the internet in THOTVT [The House of The Vampire Teeth] with a long series of letters and numbers- some upper, some lower case. 
We lit two pink candles for my love the first night- which filled my heart- before drinking three bottles of wine and weeping uncontrollably and then screaming at the top of my lungs because I almost jumped out of my 6th story bedroom window. 
When I arrived in Paris- to the neighborhood behind Santa Croce, I entered a Parisian place- with an elevator at that. An elevator. Me and my luggage and canvas travel sac rode up all the way to the elegant door and entered. A luxury Vampire Princess Suite. 
My brain felt like nude descending a staircase- the Kandinsky painting simulating movement and architecture as frozen music. Trapped. I wanted to stay in Paris. To fo to the Saturday shows. But with no more wine. I couldn’t wake up spinning again, I promised. 
I syphoned coffee and grounds into a mug, and called 1800 Delta to change my flight. Done. The bag is packed but I will stay. Several chords still attached to the wall. I had bled a little on the sheets. I had dropped blood on the bathroom floor. I walked back from the bedroom to the princess room with the chandeliers and wood floors, classic windows and the purple vampire couch. "Ok- does this outfit work for yoga?" A tight white teeshirt and 70’s red gym shorts. I can work and email and yoga and walk. As she asked me- “You must feel better now, you have a plan”- But no, I responded, “I feel worse. My family, what will they say?” Oh my god, I have to get on that plane. I called back. Locked my room, while she washed off her face mask. I ran out. Uber gold and two minutes- black jeans, white shirt, and back out the door, sucked through the elevator. 
We had left a watermelon on the street the day before. Sometimes not deciding is deciding. Sometimes deciding is not deciding. Sometimes I’m the the decider, sometimes, i'm not. 
Two years ago when I left for India, I felt like I was leaving my former life behind- being born again. In Spain, the teacher said she believed people could be reincarnated in groups. Sometimes that may happen with each flight. You fly, hallucinate, and come back down to earth. 

Farm boy. 
They worked on the farm with jackrabbit and moss and all the other animals. 
Feed the pigs today. Bail the hay. Eat the wheat and barley and whatever else you do- you animals. 
They got there. We all were tired. At 7 pm on a Sunday.
Labia went to bail the hay. It was dusk and it was hot. The hay was straw like- and yellow- stiff and hard to hold. Throw it up and push it down into bundles- they were told. 
Jackrabbit, stodgy, watching. 
The pigs took any energy you gave to them and mushed it up into a pig sandwich. Alive and kosher. The pigs knew things. 
Please don’t. Please don’t bit the metal. Please don’t hurt yourself- she begged him on the phone from Andalusia. It's not worth it to hurt yourself. To kill yourself. I love you.
They were told to spread the seed- to clean the animal stalls, to clear the remains and keep going. This is animal life. How we keep going. 
That Saturday- she got a call from Spain and answered. I surrender to your emotions. And I hang up. 
Farm boy, why are you on the phone? Farm boy, what are you doing? 
I am calling my counselor, I need a new physiologist. 
The last one killed themselves. That farm- full of bloody torture- full of a death- Where people go to be protected and find themselves- to take care of the animals - when they can’t tell if they are living themselves.  

The woman is sweaty
The boy is alive
The girls stand together
And the tiny foots pass by on the other side through the corridor

The woman fans her upper lip
The boy is alone in his ear
The girls reflect each other
And the tiny feet stand behind the wall we cannot see, they sit waiting

The woman's lipstick is dripping
The boy zooms into his phone
The girls whisper and raise there voices
new legs emerge beyond the wall, cross legged, seated, waiting, rolling by

The woman hands are burnt
They boys hair is grey
The girls are a girl and a boy
Another part of feet passes while the other sits

The lip and hands get up
The boy puts his hands in his pockets
The girls get closer to whisper and squat
And I don’t see the feet or others through the corridor- they are gone
After discovering I could enclose myself in the porch with black mink blankets, I looked up the train schedule and got on the velo to the home owners needing a ride. I lost my black chord, and limoncello soap, and burlap notebook somewhere in Europe, but decided to take the eggs, lemon yogurt, and champagne with me. 
My chest was sweaty and I pulled my hair back and the Moroccan man of the house drove slowly to the train station- telling me I wouldn't make it. 
“She's a maniac” played on the radio. I wanted to explain to him - that was me. I was the maniac. 
I got my ticket in slow motion- went to platform one- then saw the train pull in - several platforms away. Fucking. Bitch. Ass. 
Two hands on the luggage- and run- love that I brought the eggs- and black chocolate cake, and tiny yogurts in glass jars. 
In France is it de-classy to drink of of a full size champagne bottle in public? I am, an American. 
Down the hall and up the stairs, while the French exited down the platform , I rolled up as the doors shut. A man looked at me from the inside while i pressed the button. We tried to open the doors and the train left. I felt it move away. Whimpering. 
I sat in the shade and ate the lava cake with my fingers. Fuck the platform. Perhaps i'm right on time. 
Two sides
Step into the pool
Take my breath from me
I feel so hot
Change in the closet
Dust fire, slap me with the fern
Release me from the heat
Torture me more

Repeat steps three and four
The water contours to me
Take a bite of spice
Lead me up the hill
Regarding ruins
Put the whole sweet in my mouth
100 heads one window
Bastion walls
Sleep with the other minds
Pour me tea

Step in baths, at cranbrook, at the bastion wall
Float me in the pool
Lead me to the shower
Cool me, heat me, cool me 

The grid of venus
She is laid bare on the cloth of stone. She is always there. The
Cloth Perimeter
Venus in the moonlight
Make way, for the place to sit. Make way, for the cloth in sunlight.
Tonight we rest in the moon. Tonight we rest together
And Venus. 
She is awake. 
Venus, the beauty, she is still. 
She is awake. She rises 
and sets.

which ending does the path untangle
hold me, us, another self
what will i need, where shall we be
feed me ice cream 
find me in the grey house
i guess ill take my girls

again and again and again and again 
phaidon when shall we reach you
ample seamount
bermuda rise
hudson canyon 
tulip creek
halt, on the seashore

where are the seasons
who are you in summer
slow me that happy place
winter, forget me not

what time is now to start
what time is never

kite tails, get high on you
kite tails make me smile
fall in the sand and run like mad
kite tails high on you
he rakes the sand in smooth pattern

again and again
again and again

zen in the garden gives
watch it now- pass from below
altitudes and messages
landscapes full of sun 

pure knight, radiant light
country time and celtic seals
the ancient rock with crystal face

he left in secret, green moss grave
tell me whats in your eye
how deep the mind goes
polychromatic, take your pick
pink red yellow three
feed me sugar and give me more 
sip on hot chai tea

all of my favorites
pass me a drink 
bubbles and hot stuff
pass me another 
hemingway sent to, have some from 
fitzgerald and zelda, love each other
take me to Paris
take me to Copenhagen 
fly me to Berlin 
Leni come find me
on the ice mountain
Cocteu is quick to alive the ancient

making bodies run to me
making bodies run to me

come alive and come find me
come alive and come find me

pantone tell me your code

open the book and fine me another
compensation history 
its clear to see the fascists are back
crush it back, cracker jack

angels fly up to the sky 
and releve
to the passe
to make another sun happen
new earth is blooming
a young earth fire sounds
red rock earth bite my garden
depleted way the promise land
let it all out
let it go 
get your fingers black and red

blue earth blooming
green spent forest

if this is free, if this is rain
just drive me farther into pain
don't let me go if i stay stop
and keep on moving till I drop

the cliff is far, don't make me reach 
out into pastures, dead with weed
hover mist and lifetime ponder
let the earth linger longer 
let the earth linger longer

He was ready to step up
drink the last sip biting down
open red scar, let it bleed 
to find the source of the victims devil

The witch may find another
spell to cast you under
ophelia and the white flower
gravemark all the maddening stops

fly above the clouds in 50 thousand integers
let the whip crack down
and sparkle in its mast
Knowledge and power will find thee


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