the po~et 17 (outloud)

Professor Shaffer had become an established poet and was gaining national attention. He had received an invitation to read his poetry at the Miami Art Institute. He invited his students --hoping that Jack would accept.

When he announced the event in class she immediately became excited. It would be an opportunity for her to see him in his element.

That afternoon she dressed carefully, she wanted to be youthful and alluring. Her skin looked like a toasted honey comb and her hair black and shiny was pulled back. Driving there that evening, she couldn't help but think about how gorgeous he had looked earlier when she saw him in his suit.

She could hear her heart pounding she couldn't remember the last time she was this excited. She found it hard to understand and even harder to explain why and how she felt about Paul. Their worlds were so different the classroom was the only thing they shared. Even there she wasn't on the same level he was, he was the professor she was a mere student.

She was hoping that night would be special that maybe in the evening sun he would see past all of their differences. That he would see her as a woman, a woman that wanted him.

Jack felt him as he entered into the room. As he walked down the marble staircase, his body moved like a god, the sun hit his eyes and the blue was deeper than any hue of blue she thought could be found on earth. At that moment no one else was present their eyes took them to unlawful impermissible places.

He spoke to her sensuously saying her name. She loved to hear him say it the symbols that represented her sounded so different parting his lips. She often imagined how it would feel whispered in her ear falling onto her pillow. He made the rounds and spoke to the other attendees and then he came and stood by her. She had never seen him outside of the university's campus. She wanted to touch him, she wanted to lock her arm in his, she wanted to kiss his lips before his words left them.

She followed him like a lost girl into the reading room. She sat next to him and she felt as if air had become extinct--wind no longer filled her lungs. Just the need to be near him. While the first poet was reciting her work, she was dreaming of him, untying his tie and removing his jacket in a secret room there that they would have to scavenger out.

They had to change rooms for his reading. She found a seat that would allow her eyes to roam his body. In class she couldn't help herself neither did she resist the temptation to admire him.

Paul was confident that evening claiming the time as his own. He was in his world a place he had carved out for himself. You could hear it in the weight of his voice giving strength and meaning to his words. He was funny and bright--poetically walking on water. She had read every line of his that she could find and she soon found herself reciting along with him, no one else was there, it was the place where she found him. In his literary world, between lines meticulously weaved, she fell in love with him, his ideals, his words--now spoken outloud.

the po~et 16 (lost in his jungle)

Jack has conceded that she loves Paul. She loves the way his shoulders are broad and his waist is narrow. The way his back, butt and legs all meet displaying the length of his lean body--long, ready to be climbed.

She swung from his lines like tree vines in a jungle . Consumed in his literary world, anxiously anticipating where his words would take her next. Once she entered she knew that there would be no exodus and she didn't look for any. She wanted to be lost with him. Stranded in a place where the only meat necessary came from within, where the dampness of words satisfied the thirst and their meaning clothed the skin.

the po~et 15 (eulalie--maybe?)

Like Poe he writes of an unknown woman and Jack has convinced herself that he is speaking of her. Sometimes she fits the description, other times she is unsure--leaving her feeling unworthy of such devotion. Too afraid to speak to him she changed the order of her day. It was foolish to her how she had memorized where he stood and where his feet treaded. The orchestrated path he took, his daily routine, even the deepness of his voice. All memorized, for the opportunity to see him as he passed. She was sure he had figured her scheme out by now, but she was not aware that he enjoyed the unexpected encounters. She thought she would have to draw back not to appear to be in need of mental intervention. It was becoming increasingly clear that she could and would not have him. His scholarly repuataion was all he had and she was sure he would not succumb to such deviant behavior--even if he possibly did find her attractive.

Rules--the road sometimes isn't a straight line. Nothing is as clear as it was the day before. The guide is asleep and the map is outdated. Death creeps in along the way robbing of the pleasures meant to be celebrated in the cool of the day. Mourning doesn't get any easier. What's lost can't be replaced and if it could--would it be new?

She promises herself to wait until rules were no longer an obstacle they would have to overcome.

the po~et 14 (on the thrashing floor)

As she looked out of her kitchen window that morning it would seem that the sun was taking it's time rising--as if it called in saying it would be late. That set the tone for the day.

She had wanted to roll over and see his bearded face and allow her hand to roam his body checking to see if her touch would get the response she was hoping for. Instead he wasn't there, his words would have to suffice. She was reading his work as if he was reading the words to her, picturing that look of self fulfillment as he is amazed at what has been extracted from his soul.

Even though she believed there was no hope of having him, she loved him. She had never kissed him, never made love to him. She knew little of his past and was always surprised when he unrobed himself through limited clues.

In her mind she had convinced herself that they could heal one another, they could cover one anothers nakedness with a quilt. One that would block away the past and keep them warm through tomorrows nights.

Around mid-afternoon over a lonely lunch she realized between the lines on the ink stained pages would be the only place she would ever have him. She knew it wasn't real in the tangible sense of realness, but it was a common place. It was the place where he left a part of himself, where he was not ashamed of the ideals that resided within. And whenever he entered there he left a piece for her on the thrashing floor.

the po~et 13 (when light pierces the darkness)

Paul is unaware of how she feels. She has managed to elude him--until now. He soon discovers her hiding place. He could feel her but couldn't see her. She had been able to be near him without his knowledge. When he found out his heart sank down into the soles of his shoes, but the realization of her carefully navigated steps gave him hope.

The forces of nature have a way of bringing things together. One must write them down and speak them into existence. A law proven when light pierced the darkness. Sometimes his world seemed darkened longing for who and what he did not have. It was devoid of form.

That night he whispered a secret prayer for it to be so. That he would soon feel her body in his arms and that the words he wrote of her would soon part his lips, land and kiss the outside of her ear.

the po~et 12 (bathsheba)

Whenever Jack sees him her lungs become disabled, collapsed, non-functional. The air becomes tepid and thick. These feelings suffocate trapping her words at the top of her throat leaving her tongue only to mumble mindless babble. Torture, but his image like a relief pattern carved into her memory justifies her suffering.

She's still not prepared to see him even though she was hunting him down tracking his scent hoping to see his shadow. But when she sees him her body contracts--as usual. Her intestines weave into a knot making it difficult for her to move forward. She wants to run and hide, she wants to talk to him, she wants to touch him, she wants to kiss him, tell him she's in love with him, she wants to follow him to wherever he's going, instead she just smiles and says hello--stupidly.

Bathsheba posed seductively for David. Some say he fell on his own sword. I believe exaltation didn't seduce him. It was the silhouette of Bathsheba bathing, waiting for him to come and take her.

the po~et 11 (the 4th of July)

Her internal humidity has made the air thick. She's having a hard time breathing. Her heart beat is irregular. She is sure that the experience is new. Her body feels vibrant as if life has just begun. He has indoctrinated her--into what she isn't sure. She has never been attracted to anyone like him. Uncertain of the rules, she finds it difficult to know how to express how she feels, but she is sure that this wasn't going to fade away. She thinks of how she feels when fireworks fill July's night sky or when the sun kisses the earth good night. The possibility to live outside of herself and have control excites her.

Unfortunately she can only dream of being with him and work up the courage to approach him. This is only permissible in her dreams. The episodes are continuous. She allows them to take her places where she hasn't been able to find an entrance into. Places outside of the body where the ground has no gravity and the air consistency elates the senses. She prays no one discerns the unfolding drama playing out behind the curtain. It is her secret world and one she is not prepared to exit.