I am the mirror that I watch my
self in.
Behind the mirror is where I see.
Only ask for the 'freedom to revolt- psychic,
analytic, artistic- a permanent state of questioning,
of transformations, an endless probing of appearances,'
......found on the dustjacket
......of a book by Kristeva,
who wrote about revolt, and love.
Everyone should love wholly once in their life, as
the daughter of fortune knows.
The tenor of love demands it.
Love, illicit, a revolt against the order
of the rest of it.
The amatory moment is poetry, open-ended,
without a story to guide it, what's behind the mirror
where I watch your face.
Venus, Goddess of Love, married to Hephaestus, master craftsman.
Of course love is wedded to art. How else
could it be?
The block was a red clay-baked brick which took two hours to smash. It revealed
itself, heavy, smoldering with beaten passion, betrayals and intrigues, over my heart. Cracks of light appeared that became white-red lava that disintegrated slowly the faster I danced.
When I melted into the mirror, love flowed freely.
Venus, Goddess of Love, but she knew her Ares, Mars, God of Fire and War.
Venus undid her bodice and melted
into his arms.
Illicit. Love.
Sometimes I prefer the quietness
of my own thoughts.
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
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