rattling the bones from underneath
she speaks, and if
the world could shake itself away
from the mold, we know we’d
see a strange thing:

smoothbacked darkness picked out with light,
the core of eternity, the lasting impression
of non-being, the antithesis both
of chaos and order.

past the imagining of cold-death, of a dancing universe
toppled in the middle of the stage,
being is embraced with nothing, loving-close
attentive to the ends of the world, and much much farther.

the lady wears no veil here; the actor wears no mask,
the play is well-known, the stage has always been set,
the story is star-crossed, and hopeless
in pre-Pandora purity.

here’s the bronze pale dusk
where the descending star
strikes off sparks, chafing
the raw metal bones of Earth,
on the way to Styx, and the passage freely.
while we, supine a little while
and mad in the blindness of midnight,
rock back on our heels, the last gate
guarded with the sharp steel of dawn.

easier to lift the jar
when not in it;
just so, the city
is a heady wine
drunk from the inside-out
we see nothing but
our own inebriation!

not for me
the evening parting, the cooling of the ways
in which we bow and pick separate paths
as the sun departs too, all in its own way;
in midnight we meet, in the cold early morning love,
at dawn we part, break, and the road
is wet with only dew.

the road -
first i never saw it,
then i was born to it,
then i’d forgotten it, as
it ran me towards you
and an inevitable dawn.

cold morning, cold day,
cooked on the flame of evening
crisped, burnt night
flavoured with sand and age.
ashes and cinders cold, yet-
somewhere in the hearth,
an ember stirs the darkness warm
with both hands, we reach
for a taste.

I’ve been thinking short and hard about the difference between WordPress and LiveJournal – part of it is certainly community, friends, knowing you’re usually writing for an audience that knows you versus the anonymous Googling masses. Then, too, there’s the friendslock – so you feel safe writing about your fetish for lasagne served over a naked female mannequin, even if you probably shouldn’t.

So I’m not sure where I can take this blog. I’m older than I was when I wrote the blog that came before LiveJournal – I’m more aware of the fact that I could get fired for writing, and I have more to lose now. Then again, I haven’t exactly revealed my name, address, and SIN here – it’s still relatively anonymous.

All this was developed by an intense desire to explore, today, fetishes – mine for pain and bondage, the concept in general – and the fact that I felt the urge to hold back, rather than make the leap into full-contact blogging.

I’m going to think about it a bit. I’m not storyboarding this, but maybe I could put some more conscious thought into it.