Stories of the Two

Tuesday Night Post # 2-23 by DBL

Distant Strangers,

  Find it simple to let it pass through you.  Like a chill that you can't control but feels free and pleasurable.  Wild is a thought a irreplaceable fear of morning light.  What do I search for?  An empty space to stay.  That thought that reminds you what you once understood is actual something you never could. 


*     *     *      *      *

 She Died Cold, I lived  Seeing Her Mold
(Stories of the Two)

A rising step from heel to toe
Keep this thought close around ample room
Deep in a place a light sequesters a hope to grow
Back when you found it hard to say
Everyone has their way to not to show
Now I get the hints reliving sounds eyes rising wheels turning
Sudden vision of you practicing your gifts
Maybe then I had no way had no help devils live in quiet
To really share manufactured hearts broken machine stuck to stare
Never new just confused often found
Sent away in hopes you would be around

In my heart never true
They tell us sacrifice the new
In a dream walking near
With those heels I never fear

Stretch the time of every night
Details never lost as we engage in this artificial recited flight
Words we choose always right hazy dream teasing me
As before I left you there quiet safe high above the stage of fear
Revisit that one place there you stand always full of grace
Safe to dance wild swing arms climb the vine
Chasing that thing you missed before chasing it just a kiss to adore
Breaking down expose the want finally you are content grab it tight

In this heart never true
Tell me to sacrifice the new
In this scene you walk near
With those heels I never fear

In that thought it was right adjusting for the windy sight
A shoulder pressed hard and strong on a wall of nether thought
Holding back the words guarding back the choice to break
An honest theft to not show you wrinkle you scold you
Had it all never needed to adjust the screw
Just pretend all is grey find it better than to stay clouds cover rancid mildew
Lets spend the moment that follows looking at the line of our dearest desires
A simple map of that stage we never cleared standing on the liquid grave of fear
Always moving always flowing always chases us to empty glory
At the bottom of the pool this rose bathed and pruned drowned of smoke and booze
In dark there is only nightmares but for me
There I find my curse I wrap around this cold fire choke in smoke

Drown your heart kill the true
Show me you sacrificed your new
In my vision you walked with me
In your heels you seemed free

Tuesday Night Post #2-20 by DBL

Random Occurrences,
How exciting a change in tempo becomes.  Some fall to every beat, myself I search the next.  A fine line occurs between free spirit and reckless action.  To destroy this box I search for it.  In a room with no walls I will find it…until then let the choices fall in the order we have to choose.

*     *     *     *     *

Transposed from the Geometric
Left a temple to touch this foot
Seventh of the strand of this rope
He did see but once
An offer from this one of the other
From a position which she sat
Head tilled neck a sway
She smelled the flower that was not hers
In an image the back of a hand
Swam across the arch of this position
The eyes they tried but never wandered past
The hazel ones
Which were honest
Open with the pressure of neglect
She often seemed to belong to the company of herself
Everyone had a share of this impression sitting on a shelf
In the same room they dissolved into fluid smoke
Two colors of distinct
Sharing each a tail of discreet
In a small chamber of this draw
Few things hid
Two flew in the air of unnecessary thought
What is there but the next foot to drop

Tuesday Night Post #2-18 by DBL

Pardon My Grace,
So, I shit these out every Tuesday.  You deserve more intent and at least a bit more gentlemanly attentiveness.   Now what is left is to hone the art of simmering the pot.  Cooking it at the right temp to see if there is some maturity in the words. 
In any case don’t hate my love song, so to speak.  It comes from places unknown that I seek and stumbled onto.  It’s not an excuse or an apology, no no, not at all.  They are just words that come before the ones below, like an excuse to engage you in a prolonged kiss.    

*     *     *     *     *

Pearing Down to Geometry
(Stories of the Two)

I plan to see you through the end.
Even though these words you will find fitting but somewhat removed.
I speak in hopes of sharing what I have seen in precious moments of the obscure.
If I can, can I remove the Figure Square and the picture in which it was there?
De-flesh the souls that saw, retreat all that are an event with minimum draw.

Lines that intersect to a box
Four planes one of which we have the floor
This plane could be of future use
Altitude we will not share
Losing one, peer in there
A plane removed became the door
He entered
We see him now a ray that has only one direction
Back into itself
The dots that form the set that are in this box
Some of three
One of two
2 of one
Separate lines wind and wrap
The three in the box
The white landscape
Packaged well they won’t tell
From the space displaced went the ray that held the first unwind
To the area of the right triangle
Composed of intersecting planes
Each its own
Finding time, laying low
Tender moments left to show
Concentric circles that became his eyes
He had a glance

Even then he would not take that chance, but what he saw the Colors True.
They themselves list the shades he tried to hide.

In the honey brown he did not lose knowing there was interest, which he could not refuse.
Light brown segments made the flow, round the evidence of a wish he traced often.
Fleshy pink and purple nodes, a dense line that should be avoided, this is where a closer inspection finds repetition like before.

An arc that ends up a sweet gesture.
Congruent figures, a light brown section of orbs rolling to the lower quadrant.
Just the same he saw her change in his direction.
The helix that wrapped around her bare, fell to the plane that is now of use.
Two adjacent angles on a block, slowly flowing to a spot.

Can I leave it where we are? 
At this point, which I find fair left to unravel with only the two to share.  

Tuesday Night Post # 2-7 by DBL

Ummm you are so salty,
     But you are my friend.  What is a friend, but a neighbor of occurrences and mutual acknowledgment?  Acknowledge my shortcomings since what you see is what I give you not who I am or what I will fool others to be.  I give you words just like others give you questions.  I have only what I find scattered around my feet.  These are thoughts dropped by this clumsy scribe. 


*     *     *     *     *

Throw salt in the fire
(Stories of the Two)

This scene you remember rite
Placed in an open field
Empty space to fill with grace
On the last trip to find a truth
he wandered
Draped in a blanket white
A stumble and a fall in a pool
One half wet the other grabbing up
What he saw

A figure above
No choice left
this hand prevented this crawl
She had no voice
A relationship made in resistance
When hands pull and there is no reference
What direction is the question

Twisted and tied this union had no space
But to collide
Violent force that creates
This in turn would suffocate
In her pride she hid her strife
Backed off hands a square to another
This one a brick brother
Mired in a history of misogyny

He wears a jacket of fashionable truth
A black hat adorns this gospel
Unaware she follows
In one judgment she keeps herself shielded
In another she steps where he wants her
Maybe he is not aware
Maybe she is
He will take what makes her a mother

Gladly she gives what is not hers
Thinking what she needs is something
others wish they could recede
Now the new is the fools that follow
This path it corrupts the Youth
In his eyes what is needed
A simple joke
A friendly coax

Solidarity for the salt of this earth
For which they are thirsty
In unison they milk each other’s arrogance

Half Awake I Remember, Half Asleep it Makes Sense

My bed lies beneath a window in my room
In my box
There is no light that filters in
It’s much to early
The only thing that wakes me slowly
is the water
It throws itself on my glass
My eyes slowly open between a thought
One of sleeping and one of remembering
This I try to forget
Memory that I am
still here
Without the love
Without the past
Without the things I use to know
My feet have felt no warmth
to quicken
In this thought I fall
Back down to being insensible
In there it makes sense
Your form
Your figures
Your timeless companionships
Wetness on the glass
Reflects only what will last
I see you there
Never more closer
than when I never knew
what I know
of everlasting
I awake
Time has passed
My regret is that
what I knew I left
What you brought
I can never take

Tuesday Night Post # 2-1 by DBL


So here we are again


*     *     *     *     *

In This Action They Trans-versed What Already Was Rehearsed
(Stories of the Two)

Life is forgiving
This life forgetting the next
A chain of memories dissolving into self
Not paying for the scars
This one was for free

A devil gives only what is wealthy when it is lost
Turning pages in anticipation following you just to see
In that time I spent staring at a lovely space
My head held to low missing every beat

No sense in taking it all
I found myself waiting for the fall
In autumn time I avoided stepping on the leaves
While you dissolved in their misery
As we stumbled to meet in the middle
We ended up stepping on our feet

Every part I remember
Especially when I rubbed them free of soreness
Your transition was warranted
With this revolution I was left with defeat
Solo los quedamos con Dolores

Glimpses of the lovers in past lives
Of lovers in twisted embrace

Now on this cloud

A time line of encounters
A radiating spectrum flooding my consciousness
An awaking of the past
I can only make sense what weathers
This subliminal task

A body with its breath fingered though mine
Mutual termination with passion as a noose
Mended hands flowing away from the truth of the fire
A growing mound growing old and tangled
Enemies of the state finding
destruction in our hate
Individuals of influence dancing in a hall
Judging not
who we were
what we were
where we were
But living tall
Children touching
A rock with its shadow
A rain fall on a meadow

The brightest one in which I saw you across the hall
One glimpse I knew I knew you then
Never again did I see you again
To make sure I had a chance
I replayed again

Far I am from the one I was
I can only recite what never was
With knowledge came a void
A void of miss-care and neglect
My rational mind becomes a holy reject

Tuesday Night Post #40 by DBL


I am returning to the series “Stories of the Two”, I included a short one just to recap myself. 

*     *     *     *     *

Out This Chair

Out this chair
sticks two arms unadorned
Made of wood on end small hands peak
Held out in front reaching from the back of this chair
Held out in front of me
In no resistance
This chair I think
My friend to seek
holdin weight seems improbable
a hand shake stiff
familiar to my touch
options end in mystique
Stepping back making space for this interaction
Forward came the hands
Hitting the ground a finger splintered
To adjust this new change
A simple action complete
Three-strand rope finds its way
Circles just above the wrist
Even layered rest the rope in rolls of 4
If you ask I will speak
As it is I own this thought
Rise to its legs
The chair is held

*     *     *     *     *

The Return
(Stories of the Two)

An event not recorded but always remembered
Both left with a part they did not previously know
In his thoughts he tried to let go the things he did not own
In her action she tried to dispel the image that allowed her throne
The flesh remained in his heart the rest exchanged for the divine spark
She remained free to allow this cruel earth to destroy
What remained of this seraph on earth 
A want to perish
A persistent love
A rope that ends
For her an new life that began

Now both at ends that differed from the beginning
They met
They embrace
They unified the actions that made them complete
As fire burns hot and energy is consumed there exist an exchange
If we remember that we wait for an outcome then it soon ends
If we feel that there is a process that is where it lives
In this story of the two the beauty was in the exchange
What remains to understand is the in-between

*     *      *       *      *

As a surprise I left her with a thought
And empty one that later fills
I find that when I try to find the end of a tangled rope
I must forget that there is a beginning
I slowly find the way
If I see that parts are undoing then I know I am on my way
If I stray and start to maneuver the other end confused
I don’t move
A change of thought
I know I dropped a few
Of the things I thought I carried well
As I age my arm degrade but my balance achieved 
Time for me to remember myself and who I use to be

Tuesday Night Post #23 by DBL

Tuesday night, hope your night is well.  For the few that stumble onto this let me know your thoughts if you are not to shy.  In any case I welcome your eyesMay we welcome what deserves attention but seems full of madness and let us reject what needs culling, these things that look so alluring.  Making perfect squares that have no corners let us make love to that part that is reason and make friends with what is intuition.  Intuition so often seen as wild at heart.  Yes, maybe but, the most wild beast have control and finesse.  Have you seen a bull in a china shop?

*     *     *     *     *
Spit and Thorns
(Stories of the Two)

With an excuse was my choice
To give u my voice
With a coffee in hand
I tried to make u my friend
In time I could not fight
The feeling that felt so right
In your presence I rode on your smile
In the abscess grew a child
A self-refection of the loves I formed
In hopes one would be adored

I made my love, a juvenile lust
Formed from dirt and rust
Now she’s old and grey
I hope she’ll stay

Always the angel rite
You kept your distance tight
I tried to spread your hand
Putting mine in the red
True you were never near
Enough to let this thought appear
I feed my love with simple hellos
Inviting all the woes

I made my love, the one with horns
Formed from spit and thorns
Now she’s old and frayed
I hope she’ll pray

A chance occurrence
Tested our endurance
As I sat in that room
I soon realized the electric cloud that loomed
An awaking that told me
You also wanted to hold me
Always the dark angel
Loving to endure
You made sure every second counted
Until you yourself could not doubt it

I made my love, the one so sweet
Formed from cold and heat
Now she’s pleasure and pain
I hope she’ll lose her distain

I stand on a log
Rolling, I on a jog
Holding something small in one hand
Something heavy in the other my head pouring like sand
She rides on my shoulders my lover lost
In the dreams, this was the cost
A fireball
Surged through me from the fall
Heaven sent to aid my rule
The self inside this mule

I made my love, the one I lost
Formed from our different parts
Now she is he and she
I hope she’ll become the three

In extremes we found
That love is profound
She left me light
Which emptied blight
Left me with knowledge that in that flash
Vivid and bright left a pile of ash
With two extremes
We find the beauty in between

I made my love, from a lifetime of loneliness
Formed from profanity and holiness
Now she’s horrid beauty
I hope she’s found a residence in human’s cruelty

Tuesday Night Post #22 by DBL

Vessels of Atrophy,

For once I am late.  On top of that this one I much enjoyed and just grew and grew.  I know it could be expanded but this Tuesday post exists not to be perfect but to create.    I much enjoy the "Stories of the Two" posts.  I hope you do too.


p.s. still in search of a trusty editer

*     *     *     *     * 

The Exchange
(Stories of the Two)
In their world to eat is to drink from the river
That flows from one to the other
Two magnets in an ocean afloat
On waters of growth and desire
Separated by strong currents
Violently drawn together by inner forces
Chaotic storms of light and shadow
Every encounter they find new corners in their minds
Old memories to guide this chance occurrence
Glimpses of One that existed once before
 Separated long ago
Their thoughts find a home in one another
Never straying too far
Two stars so close no thought can escape
Flairs ripping the skies
Falling with time to replicate

This is the exchange
Like heat flows to cool
His darkness empties into her
Pushing light directed to a void that is him

A strange feeling to her this want to hate
To mistrust
To crave destruction and revenge
A bitterness that sweeps the surface of her form
A form new and hungry for the unfamiliar
That bitterness that frees the earthly law of atrophy
To want to hoard in fear of time and its brevity
Positioning the self in hopes of ending on top
To respond with reaction
To see with her body

For him it is strange to see that in natural law
A release of evil can create brilliance
Clearing the clouds that fog the eye
Giving love without the fear of being destroyed
He sees the end as a cycle of this love
Not destruction
He finds strangeness in acting
Not as a reaction but as a direction
To care not because it affects him but because
It is what makes the cycle continue

To visualize this exchange one mustn’t see how
They engage

The way he looks from her eyes to her lips
To see the words leaving her mouth
Only to get lost in the loveliness of it
No this is not where it is
Or the way she catches this act
Which draws her closer
One mustn’t think its there
When they walk the streets
As she wraps her arms around one of his
Trying to absorb what she can from it
Contrary to what we know this is not it
Not even when he stops to gaze
At that brilliance he wants to understand
As she presses one hand on his chest
To see if it can penetrate his form
As he swiftly positions himself
To take from the fountain
That is her welcoming mouth

Delving deeper
It could be easy to say the exchange
Comes when they lay bare and intimate
As they rest from the day
Him slowly
Tracing every curve of her figure
A delicate finger
Over her back
Down her spine
Round her hips
In between the thighs
To her newly soiled feet
Up to her breast
A tender moment is spent here
An occasion for her to retrace the steps
To formulate the figure outside
Basking in the sensation
One of the few sensations that is purely pleasure
In this vessel type

A raw minded kind
Would place their bets on the exchange
That follows
A literal exchange
A visceral sight that we rely on to find a middle
Between the two
There is no separation
Here either
It is not the action of her holding him close
Past this moment
Contemplation the next motion 
Looking deep past the windows for a sign of consent
Holding him as she slides him inside
Turning inside out he finds
He is captured and released
The moments when they find
It difficult to locate their end or want to
This is not the exchange that is profound

A glimpse of it is there
The relinquishing of the self
In pleasure they leave marks in other circumstances
Would reflect devastation
The exchange of their body’s
The leaving of something of one another
Inside of each other
Moving as one
Motion that switches 
The leader soon
Becomes the follower
Symbols of it yes
A complexity of the dance
Gently brushed upon by these words
Exploring this exchange
Is the Story of the Two

Tuesday Night Post #19 by DBL

Wind Bags,

Studying with Hiroko Tamano in Berkeley has been a cosmic experience.  Lessons that have made me be aware of this sphere we spin on and the many forms humans can transmute into by inner want, not external forces.  Just one more reminder that the human experience is a rare experiance.


*     *     *     *     *
Seed of Choice
(Stories of the Two)
Sunshine and a moonlit night all in one
A reminder that time is not real and rules destroy beauty
In his view she is his master
This inner growth through her skin expels
A sobering reproach
Proximity makes a touch even more inviting
Drowning in the fluid both find common ground
In secretly he burns the land for renewal and devilish destruction
In passing she finds cues in the footsteps
Rhythms of walks that signify an extension of this transformation
Two energy sources flooding the space
They try to defy their rules of disgrace
As he expands so does the darkness
As his inner light expands her darkness matures
As we study this corporal transformation
We witness integration
Their words become disjointed
Arms pulled every which way by the comic winds
Her present sense is of a needle and tread that cruises through
Her newly formed flesh
Now she is only connected to her past by strings above
Grounded by one below
A single string that she chose to sew
A symbol of her mortal self

Tuesday Night Post #8 by DBL

 Expanding Field of Malignant Tumors,
             With every loss there must be some found.  With every negative account there is a positive one.  So... where did our money go?  Money made is some how lost.  A ghost of bills light and easy to move.   Move Where?  A different course, a different country or a different time.  Time was bought so we can be left confused.    Turn it upside down then it goes down stream or upstream.  Either way it goes to the top of everyone's mind out of sight at the right time.  I am no Scientist but can you make energy out of nothing?  Whats the law of thermal dynamics???

But this has nothing to do with this post.  


*     *     *     *     *

Reflections of the One
(Stories of the Two)

I believe in phantoms.
I've seen some with ugly long faces permanently in horror
Others still and sunken reminders of the plague that can be a thought.
One keeps me company.
A creature similar to me, fallen off course, a start for chance encounters.
As I walk, as I see, she becomes the template in which I measure the rest of material existence.
The standard hair, the pretty dress
The average pair of legs,
Become a crumbly itchy projection from the outside world.
Fleshy and materialized forms of earthly delusion.
Into my minds eye it comes, destroyed by that which is occupied with, my dark angel. 
It seems as though this lovely ghost was made special for me
To exist in my tarnished heart.
To be looked for desperately in my sleeping life, and spiritually in my waking one.
It is ironic that when I began to see the light it was partly blocked by this shadowed figure.
An angel so disturbed,
She finds a temperate climate in my darken soul.
And angel so beautiful
She brightens the same space.
She is with me so often I could write stories of our voyages.
I ride on her wings of sensual piety but the weight of us both keeps us on this middle earth.
For now she tickles my perverted mind, but soothes it back to the surface.
A relationship that is ephemeral because of the fact that we exist together, purely as converging paths of an instance.
An instance that needs to be understood removed of judgment.
Because this instance is our own she is willing to wrap her elusive self around me.
Let us forget our role.
Our birth and our death,
Our creators and destroyers that make us of different substance.
May my words be a testament to the possibilities of new rites.

This Bondage is not of marriage but of a three-legged union.

Tuesday Night Post #7 by DBL

Frontal Lobesers,
            Lets set some waves in motion.   You ever been part of a wave at an massive gathering?  I always find it more gratifying to see the wave then be part of them.  I am sure some love to be the first crest.  Its a feeling that if i would describe I would no doubt start a tangent about the urge we have to connect and flow into each other.  Maybe start to babble about the mirror of the natural world that is technology.  It is our play our way of digesting what is really happening,…maybe a different time.  


 *     *     *

In Transition
(Stories of the Two)

A sudden blow to change the coarse vessel

Resumed the oath he once had lost
Engulfed in thought and growing moss
Lined up square on a triple cross

From above the corner came a floating figure

Seeing signs of times advance
Questions of the past romance
Finding freedom in his lance

View point scores a visual of her dirty soles

Figures fall with approach
In his mind he rides the coach
Way of life severely broached

Riding on wings of white shine black on her back

With passing situations
He opens up to varying positions
Trying not to make any deceptions

Moved by heavenly urges bored enough to touch with her toes

Making friends with the eagle
Trying not to feed the ego
He realizes he must let go

Sitting down at the level to eat with the folks with her fingers

Like a book taken off the shelf
Dusted off and full of health
Setting fire to himself

Gravity pulls the meal her essence has no longing use of legs

As time goes round and eventually continues
Things build on chance encounters
For both an evil end is nothing that matters