Le Lapin

The time has arrived to address play with the fullness of sincerity.

Contents

. progeny . proclivity . proclamation . preponderance

Proclivity

to tend toward doing

to have a tendency toward

to perform with regularity

LOOK AND SEEM

The sparkling band just last week slipped

between the glistening sink and out the home

just below the reaches of her peering eyes

illuminated by a miniature flash light

she sighed knowing no amount of

hairspray or liquid covering compound

can uphold an image of what occurred decades ago

to her white-picket fence, prince charming dreams

opening within more tenderly now

the bubble of skin between her big and pointer toe

reminded her of a round, tender mound

when she became self healing magic

and the hurt from the loss to the sink

became the stick that punctured the

life she grew through a foundation

those thorns of his betrayal

a deeper shaking within

awakened the logic in which

traveling in someone else’s shoes

is made only worse by having tried them on

to appease someone who could

pretend to have not do such a thing

and she knew

always she supposed

so she left barefoot the next day.

TRAIN OF THOUGHT

Funny how a simple thought

Can make or break a day

Such a cliché

But always seems to be underlying

And momentarily

Briefly

Shine through

The fog of the everyday

That accumulates over the weeks

Of the mindless bog

And moan and drone

Ho humble existence

We attempt to prettify

Spinning pinwheels

White picket fences

Made musical instruments

By children dropping

Sticks across the positive

And negative spaces

Ringing and echoing alongside

The memories of easy bake ovens

And GI Joe tirades

That were presented before my eyes at an

Unmemorable time on some television screen

Reminding me the memory

Was never really mine.

TEMPORARY LIVING

Vertical mini blinds

Playing canvas to the dances

Of light and shadow

Flickering in the dimly lit

Night sky

This evening sky

Vacant from clouds or stars

Leaves an open expanse

Of blackness held not only in my mind

But in my energy

Dying to shine within

The stark architecture-reality

Alive with social caveats

Leaves my spirit hollow

And longing to find

To continue country warmth

Is what I seek.

PIECE OF HAND

The steady flow of the ink hitting the page always held

A place in me that always seems to try to replace

that space of beating myself up again

for what an idiot I seem to be

Never learning the lessons

from the trails behind me

running through these pages

as my feet smack the pavement

breathing comes easier when in motion

than suffocated by idea hands

words full of hopeful future plans

my faith resigned by my mind

rarely if ever holding steady until

we see what comes from the consistency

of daily choices resulting in truth

each day revealed the deep down inside

continues to run to propose a way

to find depth beyond such shallows

of the peaking out from inside

begging to be mined

as a determined destiny.

RHEUMENATION

What’s there to hold onto anymore?

The comfort memories past can bring

Or the promises a future holds

The love, the passion

Where has it all gone

Things just don’t disappear

They evolve

And move on

So, with all this moving forward

Wasting energy on the has been

The stand still is inevitable

Why let this hold ourselves in?

MOTORS AND THE MOTHER OF LIES

Histories are myths, stories written in code and glyph

Realities made by choices, takers of givens have forgone

Will and responsibility driven by a poor man intellect

Wears for shows and tells, by all those believing

The spoils rich men trust their own lies in

Go on labouring and loving as they go on saying

Poor by choice means never raising your voice

The fear of standing alone

As odd man out

Consider the ways fingers ridiculing played your soul then

to the bone in the agency you had once rejected

The cowardice of kings stands in the shadows

formed by complicit malice of the masses

even worlds far off stand on knees weeping

An international saviourdom

Martyring through mortar and land mine

What people draw into their belly

Signs the ways countries paint their fates

Fear wrangling life from the bones and

We hear it in all the moans

There is no saving the best course of action

has been stopping assault - Assail

Whatever motive painted good

Has blood on its hands

and in the sands washed by rain

Each time in generations crying

Why do we keep doing the same thing?

WIELDING HOPE

As the last shreds of hope end

I saw the northern lights -

Sobbing through the forest

the green lights flashed back -

With ease the respect arises

for those who bear a burden

than those who wistfully whisk

responsibility aside -

Nothing comforts heartbreak

but breath and witness.

A cultural shift is amiss

that kills bonds

and people wishing for primal ways

a sense of duty has changed -

There was a time

when things were different

the option to make sacrifices

was considered a gift -

How we are littered ourselves

in grandeur and abjection.

A distain for the tomes

which attempted to guide

Love Patience and kind -

these altruistic motives

have come for far from under scrutiny -

As starving and pain

give way to endless desire making waves

our societies ebb and flow

through tumult and placidity

fashioning wilds for those -

who wield hope.

THE DARK MAKES THE STARS GO MAD

It’s the dark, that makes the stars shine bright

we light off crackers, into the night

drawn lines in sands

boxes from, where we stand

we hope our lines last a lifetime

and when we sleep the tide comes, takes those lines away

round and round we circle hoping the rest can play along

but all the musicians and all those times

have always sang a song - its only for a short time

we will our lives, between these moments

of ritual

claiming sanity, and in the sand

we sink our feet-and see

we see a sea, we count the stars

and run away from all the dark

drawing lines of right, and rules for wrong

when we all know what gives live

and what takes all along

we hold it in our conscience

and call it consciousness

raising up celebrities, to wave our flags

but the truth, you hold in your heart

what makes it break, what leaves its scars

a happy new year everyday gets countered nowhere to claim

any stakes but on your taxes revenue

will they access and comfort you

boo, you’ve been good

rah, you’ve been bad

and it’s the stars

that make the dark go mad.

© Mari Amman

Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL IV.

First edition 2023, electronic distribution. Text and Images by Mari Amman.

The poems contained within this volume were drafted circa 2006-2009, in Chicago, USA, and edited during spring 2023 in Paris, France, with the enormous support of The Trélex Residency.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lelapin.substack.com/subscribe

The time has arrived to address play with the fullness of sincerity.

Contents

. progeny . proclivity . proclamation . preponderance

Preponderance

to be the majority

to be worthy of significance

to factually be in greater number

RESPLENDENCE

a placide horizon feigns a twilight

promising entryway toward oblivion

enumerating plurality as everyone

a toy mountain within sight

precipatory shores impose upon

a horizon hidden behind spines

of mountains hawthorned by

meteorological phenomenon

a yolked encourvature

reaching to kiss the moss lake enclosure

spatters a light upon

a placide reservoir

with stillness emphatically elusive

metallic refraction evocative

respite pool of heavens

graces barrens of resplendence

magenta hues are foretold to be

silvery kisses of hope in a fog laden landscape

penetrated by a few golden slices

feeding forest paths underfoot

begging my bones a curvature to rest upon

a geologically stabilising curvature

kissed by long afternoons’ horizon

placated by the winds’ dappled whimsy

through a darkened underbrush a cloudscape

beckons my footsteps towards a solace

of promise and barren mirroring

a longing nearly here, emptied vessel in wait

pinnacle in demand

the rivers go rushing toward

a meadow blossoming and skies threatening

only an equalising, ever lapping horizon.

MIND GARDENS

dreams are drawings from my heart

the opposite of escape

awaking to turning my fingers

into little hammers the centres of my palms hurt

there’s so much crying in poetry writing

so tomorrow sounds like a good day

an audiovisual story awaiting

without any proper order or ending

nor beginning for such a record marked only

by idiosyncratic time

interspersed and performed

by folk singers

perhaps to be danced at a another time

I have no more wonder

for those with resentment toward creativity

have inside a sickness

and yet we know no one cares if one dare says or does

until the doing is said and so

take pen to paper and say

what is felt, seen, or experienced

how dare she or he? ill makers believe

but what of such thoughts dare to exist?

could be wrong or possibly upright

standing ground

saying ok those worries are not today

again not today and again

gardens welcome hearts

whether they smile or weep.

FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING

For that which people deem trite or cliché

allow me to tell you this isn’t my first poem

and for those who deem freely formed verse

or spoken word absurd

then be sure to steer around Chicago’s Green Mill

permitting peaceful warriors backup band and

the reciprocal space of witness I felt 13 years ago

and may be yesterday’s excuse for

denying my truth

and so if you allow me to

I want to share in earnest with you

this morning’s thoughts on life

because I did not get handed lemons, I bought them

I drank the juice and used the flesh to do the dishes

prone, as a result of taking bad advice, I have a bit of it to give here: take a walk under the clouds

pretend you’re in Paris

imagine a photograph made there

it doesn’t matter if it was or wasn’t

to feel why a blanketed sky

proves more romantic than sun

that is if you want to have a view of what you love

instead of being blinded

having inadvertently torn corneas

I would not advise having to adapt

to not having what you once had

so while I reach into yesterday’s sunshine memory

of which I am not complaining

because my bones loved every minute of soaking in light

instead of shivering to generate heat the euphoria of

pedestrians moving around as Monet brushstrokes

still warned me summer waits patiently

and while spring taunts I buy cheap flowers

because expensive ones die too

and I’ll have the spare change for cheese

later on the extra energy to grow a garden

and own the privilege of giving flowers away

so that was some of what I told my friend today

when I asked if he wanted to know how I choose friends

he didn’t care to find out really

as so often is the case

but I told him anyway:

doers and lovers are for me

not because I love Sartre this decade and may not the next

but because I noticed the people who are busy cooperating with life-getting on with what they can do rarely dare haunt me

those who come back regretting, as if they all read the same script retrospectively noticing a sincere foolhardy diligence to pursue the truth

and telling it to the best of my ability

saw their inverted saga for what it always was

because for worse aimed at getting better

I am what I am, and do as I say I’ll do

unless life changes course

life made sure to teach me to never fight with it

so words are not nearly hot air alone, I suggest we keep our cool I used to keep records and notes, but I know I’m telling the truth

so I don’t have to keep track to stay on track

which is perhaps the way of grace

that’s more than ok

because grace bestowed her compassion

many times I felt undeserving and seeking

yet grace doesn’t always delight as tulips do

but wedges space into closed logic loops

so instead of going on again, instead of being bossy

I’ll tell you what I do and see how it fits for you

I donate money I don’t have to donate

yet if I have some then I have some to give

making less for me but others have some too

and we all can make more or less out of a little

resources are responsibilities

we don’t have to save the world

careful of those pretending to

demystifying life enough

made figuring out how to blend paint colours readied

to create routes with greater clarity in their course

an orientation less shy of the most desired direction

I thought could be easy enough

until I met those who love to make shadeto ensure that which could grow, would rot

so their roots and vision could proclaim

popularity as best instead of letting all the rest

feed their roots too

as life cycles through seasons of rebirth and growth

in digesting the consequences of creatingnow with more caution

to not bite into lies people believe about themselves

the lies perpetuating hell

and that’s the tell

who I make friends with or not

those who are doing the work and not tipping the boat

content with keeping their hands to themselves

or having an extra set to hold be more than enoughnot feigning but overflowing

contented trust maintaining and going, growing

not punching holes in hulls while I’m busy bailing out water

such futility knows only its own sorrows

now this part I do not advise

yet having jumped from those types of ships

though worn out I became a good swimmer

for having been so afraid of water

there were docks that became doors

opening to even a stranger such as me

exploring where open doors lead has been terrifying

yet not in the least I continue imagining a we-

as some say the other is a part of ourselves already

creating an orbit generating a home, which for me requires a specificity

I do make demands and not leave my day up to fate or prophets

for oh whatever god is

what else can earth be here for

but learning how to create more life

from the bounty of what is given to grow.

ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND BREATHS

Being is a held breath

and between these branches

are one-hundred-thousand breaths

toward the heaven

before the descent

back to the present.

VERITE ON PLATO

When she returned to the cave

to tell those what she saw

the cave dwellers cried out in fear

and she became more

of the outside

the other

a myth in her own world

so she set off

to then find more people gathered in caves

societies inspire insanity

the weight of solitude

and the forgetfulness of the chasm

and the totality of each form of existence.

Walking doesn’t heal pain; it only creates distance from what caused it.

© Mari Amman

Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL IV.

First edition 2023, electronic distribution. Text and Images by Mari Amman.

The poems contained within this volume were drafted circa 2006-2009, in Chicago, USA, and edited during spring 2023 in Paris, France, with the enormous support of The Trélex Residency.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lelapin.substack.com/subscribe

The time has arrived to address play with the fullness of sincerity.

Contents

. progeny . proclivity . proclamation . preponderance

Progeny

to go forth

to form an ancestry

to acquire by effort

Quite recently I had the painful opportunity to witness a scene where a strong little boy did not understand his strength and would hurt his more amicable and smaller brother.

The smaller brother began to become tricky and lash out. Less than three, he learned deceit, and the stronger boy began to take the blame, even as he had corrected his mistakes; the picture was set too late.

As he continued to receive punishment at the hand of the sweetness of his brother’s lies, he began to eat less and shrink. He developed allergies and would often become grumpy and difficult to be with.

Over time the doctors decided to take out his tonsils and adenoid’s, forever changing the course of that boy’s body. In subtle ways, predicable to be seen, these memories before the age of 7 will set patterns that result in consequences decades later.

All could have been avoided if the slap and the spanking had not been the tool of education, but instead the way I learned through pain to relate to what they really feel and think. Kids will tell the truth until they are punished so hard and then stop. Then they will internalise the dynamic in their body and it will work out through their life.

Life is not complicated in this way. Though it is often more painful for someone to say sorry and admit the truth than go on pointing at others for what they themselves had done.

WORTH IT

Rendezvous daydreams

float atop a twiddle my thumbs Tuesday

aching for the excitement of the ever acclaimed weekend

I bide my time, with silly banter and dancing

until I can be held near, my dear

I am singing a tune, you had better listen to

this woman is much wiser than she led ontobut no good at games

I’m claiming innocence and honesty

will someday win me a man

who could handle these moves

but not try to tame my soul

only hold my heart with good strong hands

- and an open mind

this time, my lesson’s been learned-

there’s only so much time left to discern

what’s to come of this

I’ll place a down-payment,

on something that could be better than best

a good night’s kiss to put those tricks to rest

tucked into bed with dreams and ideals

cooked up over-easy with some pancakes

and a side of twinkling eyes

for we lovers never say good-bye

just see you next time.

OUR YARD IS GREEN

Innumerable affairs sown

with well intended ideas

became rhetorically weeded

well-groomed beyond where eyes could foresee

the story where fancied lives

far from the familiarly assumed

tend to go drowned out, in din’d overtures

insistent on minor keys and muted beige tones

floating beneath nonplussed waves

recoiled from bites of questioning

began to mutter of built dens buried

abruptly arriving upon false consensus of concision

knowing a cost of freedom delivered through concern

if you live in a body poised within consequential lands

signified by the imaginary kingdoms

separate from commonplace a plenty ordinarily feared

lined-up, heel-toe, heal-to-tow

as far as civil structuring goes

façades conceded for the illusions of

a levelled out daily task temperament

absent from errant hairs, trimmed hedges-funding

wild rabbit hole chases fore-fronting envious glares

echo’d in catacombs of homes full of children's’ giggles

hushed by the ache of arms hugged never quite enough

makes that tickle of touch, became such a rush

idyllically inciting a joyful home instead of a dread

of a manufactured melancholy as a chic or manly trend

having yet to have heard one worth listening to assuredly say

there’s a ascertained way for the lot of us all, as one

which one, of the millions of colours the sky shifts through any moment in the day dare be lumped into notions while thunderstorms’ motions insuring green yards or brown.

PETER PAN

Apparently my misinterpretation of the situationled me blind to characteristics of a pseudo he

wannabe rock star posing sweetly

whispering promises of a somebody I'd held in high esteem

thought once to not have existedthey all said it was a match and what a perfect fit

so with that, I unguarded my heart

and left it to be eatenwithout any cause

other than the naïveté of the encounter of the surreal chain

laying before me

gnawed off while being chewed

a drop turning blue from my iris carries zero hope

for only that streams through my pupils

contracted and tinged by falsely personal persuasions

invoke the gods of logistical gears to churn to step around becoming tinged by the singe and in such depths between crests of waves

there’s no truth only the moon to turn

from where this all began.

NIGHTTIME TREND

A no patience for anything

has withered to indulging in

a click of the mouse wasteland

people have come to call the Internet

all attempts fail to obliterate the time stamp

of something with such speedy connections

barring truth from search engine optimisation

while enclosures remain historically noted

for rot from within

until the treadmill of tired of trying

rat wheel in a cage pattern

ceases to acknowledge the malaise

by conquering the profanity

of the Internet disease

spinning made upon beds

of trial decks limited to shuffled Jacks

there’s a shuffle in a slideshow

slowed from spinning under

the damp glow of a table lamp witness

passages of regret knowing no end results

from any pointed dagger

I feel you threaten with a tighter forefinger

the answer remains a choke

no? so yet again I’ll roll over

for the thing feigning of he saying

be a man

so I can exhale long enough

to see next light.

FINDING LIVING

Walking through a field of vision

a lens aimed by unfamiliar fingers

letting the breeze blow right through me

Passing walks with the phoney talks

never dipping in sticky places with meaning

allow getting by without any thought

the pressing essence of our being into form

For the first time again

I’m finding use in this life

Familiarity in the unfamiliar

As I take a big bite

From what I once thrived upon

and found out was spite

the course spit flung to ragged ground

I’m transported

to a place not in time

Or by coordinates

And that is

My friend

What I’ve come to call

Sanity.

RUNNING

Scorecards are not impressed

by the achievements humans play

to see approval

why do that anyway?

If the idea of we’re all the same

running around playing a big game

Fretting and frantic to get place to place

Where was the last pace

in the last time

You stopped and took

A good look at your face?

Unfamiliar you grew

yet spent so much energy

toward the material intently

You claimed as your personality

When we all know the ego can’t see

but waits ready to crack open

the oohs and ahhhh life

would be so much easier

if you

allowed

yourself to be.

ASIDE FROM

I

am only here

whenever the I

wants to be

Therefore where I look

Isn’t necessarily what I see

Sometimes I’m not so sure

What I make real for me

Is necessarily

what’s best for personal well being

living in this so called reality.

NEW DAY

The movement created inside my mind

from the glimpse of skin the eye retrieved

triggered a reaction in my heart

commanding my body

to coil upon itself

within its source of glee

flowing entirely free

the source of the new

to be found

existing

he made clear he had pursued

to tap from

inside of me.

WILD PETS

Beauty and soul

if only that mattered

in the world

those believed to be learned

better keep humble

though anyone can be

nothing special

never back down

even when someone strikes

on the face or ass

glare back

dare them

try again

remain a wolf

at each day’s end

never some man’s dog.

SWIM AND GENDER

Humans dive underwater

Feet to sky and head to ground

first breaths air chokes with bubbles

those lungs

can’t drown thee now

when under such a spell

contained by the surface

the soul gets

wrapped me up

in his lies

a history of mad women

institutionalised

“without a purpose"

My nerves snapped at that

and bones howled for all to hear

And every day since

my body grew stronger still

Afraid and yet able to stand

Here and witness the lie

to simply say goodbye

Calm and unfettered now

A disposition I can hardly believe

The emotional mess of me

Would have been able to embody.

NOTHING AS EVERYTHING

Keep your focus

you sway …

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lelapin.substack.com/subscribe

The senses are yours to compose a world of beauty with the might of your mind.

Contents

. repose . recoil . rigour . resplendence

Resplendence

to shine

to be beautiful

to glow with splendour

DREAM

This morning (it rained)

I must have nearly diedfor (behind REM eyes) in my sleepI dreamed of an entire lifewith few things no body could tame

with the blame of their exonerated shame

for the pity they failed to exhale from their soul

a dream has little to do with what we thinkwhen there’s no photo

but pure happiness

honesty and heart

that sort of pure leaves no room fordwelling in the past or even

what kind of stand is used to rest our hats onmost breath instead of fixations

permeate the energy for changing

the imperfect, and loved(reflects ourselves at a level)so when we look back at what could be

we care not for

any sort of tear that could sneak down the cheek

there’s no rack for despair

in this dream

only a feeling the vision is shared

inside the soul of a gentleman(sweetly) seeking to also love

so sincerely.

TUNED TO THE SAME BEAT

Please, please, please- pretty please

oh won't this you I’ve grown accustomed to

remain an acquaintance tuned to the melodic frequency

rhythmically synched within

beat, the beat, the resonating thump musters a bump

in my chest cavity,  a well chimed in a personal journey

in sigil to the a could

may dwell long enough to become a would

instead of bound by what I should

rhyme, a rhyme- rhyming with time

suddenly incapable of escaping my mind

the down and nearly out is barely looked upon

or considered

stride, stride, as I stride along

creating a vibratory humming sound

with vocals prepped

ready to burst into song

flown, blown, and sewn

into a great lakes bluster

of a city suburbanites go heading in

travel towards

an illusory escape from the reality

those invisible lines are drawn between

lives all the same.

PIECES OF TOGETHER

It's been forty minutes in a bumper to bumperhead to tail-light situationMellowed by some new age woodwind tunesI safely sit strapped to my means to see him machinehurling now through this existential continuumat mile per hour speeds of which I shy from mentioningoccasionally muttered under my methylated breathknowing my arrival stems

approximately five minutes earlier than planned

I resign to the velocity in which I remain in a whole piecetemporarily and tenderly reminiscing of a morningfrom a recent experience induced of a drugno market could make followed by the picture I mentally made in the pancakes as flowers blooming

between the tines of my fork

this gesture made a fullness of wonderment

in the absence of being witnessed

miniature moments allowed everyday redundancyto seem brighter than the analytical appreciation

I had bitten off with a degree

righted by the wrong worry of thoughts

misconstrued for meaning amongst the lot

possibly provoked by a pace comfortably patternedin the grid of our universe we stopped to findtravel times assuming saner speedsallowing the trigger of a parking break lever

on the verge of snap

a much needed nap.

INCONCLUSIVEToday I sat and thought awhileno-wait, I ran in circles around a theoryabout the separation between the body and mindalways vying for first in line.inquiring at which is better or worse,and found out quite finely the notion

was intentional in its quotient for existential angstsuch distractions about perceptions of glasses

full, empty, half, or what angle

have little to do with the particles

constituting air and mass

formed whether we think about them

or not at last

our subjectivity forms

a solipsism for existencewhen objects become mental events

for tyrants pulling the strings

you can forget about what you thought you knew

since reasoning has a logic

the so called universe could care less about

as the physics tends to the billions grass blades

sprouted and bent beneath daily chores and rituals

our minds are given less weight

in the contexts of a situation on repeat

unresolved as if a dream

or a memory had nary much a difference.

PANTS

Seams running miles of inches beyondthe heels that shifted fromgrinding the ground

into an inhale-able substancethe dust brings our bodies back to reality

in time the miles of walking out now

become white-out between the lines

of a story blocked-outthe memory underlies the stickiness of the substance

if only the truth could be trusted to be known

would we dive in knowing someone would save us

if drowning was a real risk and offer a towel?

to pat temples of fear sweat drops

dry in time for the dance party

we could serenade each other around

a rolled up towel

for example —

to erase the weight of the memories

our dancing legs try to erase

through the memories the scent our sweat carries.

WIND

An abrupt shift in pace. A weekend of inspiration,

forgetting expectations,

exceeding limitations,

the wind I loathed so long and so much,

may have done — all the good.

© Mari Amman

Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL III.

First edition 2023, electronic distribution. Text and Images by Mari Amman.

The poems contained within this volume were drafted circa 2006-2009, in Chicago, USA, and edited during spring 2023 in Paris, France, with the enormous support of The Trélex Residency.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lelapin.substack.com/subscribe

The senses are yours to compose a world of beauty with the might of your mind.

Contents

. repose . recoil . rigour . resplendence

Recoil

to retract

to quickly refute

to perform disapproval

HIT IT

Deadly drops disdained

kneecaps to floorboard

at green and blue inducing speedsbleeding out in salt-baths

with sweat from the eyes

in an attempt to extract his

egotistic pride

all fours out the pourshow the hell

does anyone dare ever ask why

when we know — how cowardly

and morally insufficient

an expectation from a date

to repay with bodies

there’s no romance in

booming an object

not even barely scraping bottom

but claiming an assumption

no one has any thing to loseis a point where some time

life will find

no more reasons or excuse

to respond with love

to the birth of new life

instead of the ignorance

of strife.

THE ALL ONE TRAP

Figuring out the I or me is not thewas to became or am

some kind of cyclic game

of gnostic misanthropy

so if I’m not the me and you’re no the you

then who

do we own our responsibility to? some kind of rhetoric paving imaginary streets

where garbage blows about freelyin the something of not a me

that carries the delight of songbird flightthat doesn’t exist unless in reference to a tree

how many more metaphors can we

weave our way into each others skinas those past, present, and futuresoils are comprised in being

not this or that but everything all at once and yet not at all and always never and foreveruntil what a trip

we’d better get back home

and avoid the solipsism of self help

and short circuited soils

diluting our souls.

TRAPPED

Droplet dotted windshield view widewith faint murmur of a creepinganticipatory sighI just drivemy foot put on lockdowninhaling an earthy lung charring steamweaving through lanes ofintermittent illuminationI can see from within

I’m cloudedand in the darkI can see the volume at which a frustrated mind shriekspick onea route

that can’t be taken

not yet how could we

move into that way just yet

without being

allows a bit of space

a horn and light and yet

we the entrapped

don’t get anywhere in life.

TIMES UP

A folding chair creaksand tucked away are memoriesof dreams too feared for existence they bulge at the seamsas lightly lined irises gleamunder a hidden din of

just enough sleepto keep up

while wearing down

through a disco of directional dissonancelevelled by a demeanour andbland ho-hum experiencesamplified in well made nauseation

a numb

deafeningly silent enough

to succumb

to try on

being in love

with a fightround a ring

a dance knocking toe taps

at the very least

to every beat, a chanceof the vague possibility

to rationalise a stancepushed that way tight on a dare

to tango I bet we all thought

it was easier than that

to focus on a comfort

in structure

to sequester a cryfor the triumphant

bet obliged

the rounds only last so far past sun down

there’s just a bit of time now

before the alarm commandsup and at the whatever

you said yes to yesterday.

PLATONIC FORMS IN THE WIND

The sort of Sunday afternoon napping comfort blewin gusts and rolling blue-hued grey moisture puffstipped my nose into such windsclosed lidded I stood, grappling for groundingthe directions ficklemaking a mess of tangled strandsof lengthening browncan't quite touch what may be signsso holding up a licked fingerdoesn't seem so sanitary anywaythere must be another way to read this wind

in such a situation I’ve allowed myself to get nestled inrequesting a detailed explanation

unbindingembracing

change without a leashwafting through an undermining society

I see no benefit in the dominance hierarchies since there’s an unknown experience to set off into

where known issues are addressed

and small sacrifices of focus are made

to benefit the rest

I’m always amazed how much can magnetically be done

by grazing the hand that which extremity touchesthat felt the beat of violence at the hand of ignoranceand a silence

vibrating from internal forms in our landscapes

commonly characterised by smoothly roundedkindergarten cut out shapes.

SPRING COLOURED SKIN

The winding bike path I taketransforms my sight momentarily into the image of a mountainous Colorado viewan escape from an SUV landscapescreaming so loud, get the hell, outa here!in that momentarily hostile naturedrawn from a wind whipping my cheek skininto buttery softnessdeep within

I long for someone to feellater or soon this experienceinstead of some technological messagesjarring in screens

meandering thoughtsI really scream now to put to an end toscreeching – halt - stop!time mobile palm device interface

has no place

in my ever expanding sense of space soaking in the vitamin D pumping intravenously

sitting in trafficI’m sipping on that which feeds this bodyand replenishes this mind

now is no better time

than yesterday’s so hesitate shall we not

to drop the misery

and let transformation

begin.

NO APOLOGIES

Worshipping practicality, preferring straight linesbuilds muscle easily loves to loathe Charles Bukowskipacks two months stay in a baglibido like a cat in heat

with the persistence of a nun on a missionbelieves men better take some responsibilityand just stop just talking aboutfiguring your s**t out — is this what we permit as a man?

an adolescent in wrinkling skin? no way does such banality fly with meno apologies, or patience

for sorries without change anymore.

These re but a few simple things

yet there’s always more

than whatever perfume and soft skin

applies towards appreciating

domestic aptitudesanyone with heart

has a soft spot for puppies

and babies

and if not a vase of flowersmaybe just a petal or two.

WEATHERMAN

The drop their heads backgaping-pointed fingers to the skytaking sharp breaths inrelieved in sighs of wondermentis that nature's display of soft cumulous clouds floating delicate and strongbut deeper than mind paid to surface awethere more if you’ll go further willing to graspat the inquisition to attaina thorough understandingof what creates the show — as my grief for superficial state of affairs subsidesI’m able to see quite plainly nowhow sweet a man who grows an affinity forlife bonds with nature throughmeteorological enlightenmenta deeper kind of love than say

mere infatuation or lust

within each of us, is a weatherman in waittaking interests in how clouds know

which way to goor the purity of droplets as they kiss our cheeksbinding our histories

to the story of our lands

we lay beneath the books

some hands

have yet to write.

STANCEThe orange sun did set in my dreams played last nightand I just missed the moment for the perfect photographedframe-able picturesque sightsettling for the video type memoryI keep rewinding, fast forwardingthe play in my head knowingto make wear on the imagetil they jump, fuzz, and fadethis afternoon I decided to make new motion pictureswatching the cross-alley door banging in the windamidst the dead still is all around us nowcharacterised and brought to lifeby half sorts of smiles mustered isolated we turned to our sides

side so no one sees my criesand upon paths I make doubtblocks hindering my strides

in making all sorts of connections and plansthey were so beautiful, yespeaceful and realistically attainablelending themselves to hopenot only selfishly but in offering humanity a handin the pursuit of each sun rise

a day comes no companion can

comfort the uncomfortable stance

of knowing we are each our own.

FLIP FLOP TANK TOPS painted toes slide to and froskimming over TV screen fuzz blur pavementmy denim pants actually fitthey don't dare drag on this grey dayquietly illuminated by eyesabundantly rested cheap coffee tastes so wellwhen appetite for chewing is nilif only I had a sprinkle of cinnamon spicemy pockets would feel richby a soil stabbed with miracle growmy green has made way for blooms of orange, red, and yellow.

KEEP

My heart hollowed,been scooped out by you.all for a meaning,that can never be oneto understand.conceived with hope,devised of a plan,once believed rightfully true,unjustified by an emptiness-followed by a longing for a shared embrace.time to fill the space.pour in me truth.please remove-theweight of doubt lingering.when potentialfor som…

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lelapin.substack.com/subscribe

The senses are yours to compose a world of beauty with the might of your mind.

Contents

. repose . recoil . rigour . resplendence

Rigour

to care

to be thorough

to attend to with great detail

EVERYONE ELSES CONCERN

Mood swing me babyas he bounced me on his kneegiggling with cabbage-patch-loving gleea world of gems, can you honestly, tell mewe're much different from themthe selves with raw honest feeling

the winters aren't even as coldevident in lack of piles of snowyet, I go out in search of cement pavementsa stoop to quiver under, unsure runs about my spine

and I just blankly starelonging for lethargic heatI travel to gaze upon

my bathtubs bronze feet

to get a foamy soak in the deepest melancholic mopefinding myself tempted by imagination

shall we call this a salt tub an ocean too?while I fantasise beneath crystalline white bubblesa slumber yelled by liberal banterthrough socialism, indoctrination takes the lead

threaded by duct-tape to seal down

a trap door, we all know can be found

in those history book shelves

beneath wrinkled adhesives

favoured by the few

who decided to take pleasure

in that which is rarely

appreciated.

MACHINE

how long can this last non-conformist mould I make dangling beats dancing

with no rhythm this season makes night-time day

sunlight just creates a headache

oh boy you bet I’ve got some spirit left

and dreams they cannot any longer wait

I revel in awe I  wonder what signs my body begins to make

tune into a dial tone and pause

for we all want someone to love and uphold

such desires are proclaimed to unfold

while we let it all go and tears fly, punches fall

and upon my next rise

I hope the isolated version forces some form of exhaustion from a hunger feigned by the pain gained

when productivity hits its highest

then machine talks back

in lack of sleep.

TALK TO ME

You're a pretty cool kidthat's what she saidas we shivered underthe bent green cast house-light.I kept my cup of teanear to the placereserved for romantic feelingas her voice pouredinto the pores of my skinand I let it soak all in.we spoke of childhood pastimesand upbringing idealsmaking and validatingwhat I commit faith in being real.practical stranger sharingevening time with me-no distractions.honesty-laid on the tableas it's popularly spoken of-I found comfort innot even had trying.

DOCUMENTATION

Witnessing the smoke drawing in dancing winds spun swirling tender tendrils around poorly painted fingernailswhich led us to here where an indoctrination of promises for days to be different led me to somehow wonder

in which ways should life bend beyond the reference

to vehicle identification or other bureaucratic proceedings

as if our bodies were another car next in line.what queer signs survive before mea plasticine compare and contrast game

of who is what to whomcontinually forecasting unforeseen shifted dreams

repetitiously doesn’t make obvious advances

in the phoniness of promises of retreats...the signals said just stopput to bed that which is bathed in mystery

life is already the perfection of poetry

and beams we can traverse upon to letstruggles be stepping stones

for a heart knows it’s never alone and warmed by internal chain reactionstriggered from some form of free-falling spiral staircasedares no one to climb or fall yet resign to gazes in awe

such a turbinate shape, assured of itselfan axis in which time really goes nowhere.

WISHING WELL

A warm breeze dollied up a springsome only stumble upon to drinkwith secret suicide lips stealing

stories of cynically corrupt human beingsa something not quite fleeting

of a pigmented dream residing

inside stiff stories traveling

filled by tumbling leaf forcesinstead of dissolving a wall built

of pellucid lies drawing trickling dripssuch poisons promising understanding

closer to humanitywhile finding a looser graspin a well fitting suit repellant of

people while dragging my body aboutthe air grew thicker still

passerby’s paid little mind

yet mentionedthe sounds were a bit smoother

yet needed more to soothe

such a bubbling well

of a source run awry

mountain air grow dry

threatened by

pouring rain begging clouds

to do their part in a way

to spout tranquility

such remnants of wishes

reflect upon polluted pools

for all to see.

PINCUSHION

Just a jab

another shiny pointed pinresilient by the soft padflowering

within a promise

of power for your spirit withina solid base as tonever tip to any sideperfect to keep aroundpaying no mind to what keeps the captivatingexterior intactas this necessity iseasily forgottenif not aroundthere would be no place

for sharp objects to be held

in the temporary seams

the fusion for the pins

would unfold and spill out

the softness we sought

to contain.

A DANGEROUS LANERiding behind a driver I would never trust

I’m watching cars pass by transfixed I try to be found

a refuge in rotating hubcaps while imagining the sounds

of other vehicular conversations to escape my disdain

for choosing this position in the backseat hearing

the blinker switch clicking at the hand of a slender creature

feigning to be my boyfriend’s friendI remain washed by the fresh shower scent

and glance over at my friend checking

cellular phone messages while finishing a smokeMy legs comfortably tucked, angled to my right

adjacent to my love’s pleasant calm side

I find some way to enjoy our here and now

of some bizarre family of friends version of a story and while notating this situation down

I sense my heart groggily growing

slowly more open

despite my fear and dread

of the drivers’ propensity for distraction

immersed in the sensory experience

and the colour palette around

I tune into receive an echo for my ache for comfort

from the best he could muster was “like woah”

and that was enough input I needed from his lips

to smile and think

yeah, it’s exactly like this.

© Mari Amman. All Rights Reserved.

Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL III.

First edition 2023, electronic distribution. Text and Images by Mari Amman.

The poems contained within this volume were drafted circa 2006-2009, in Chicago, USA, and edited during spring 2023 in Paris, France, with the enormous support of The Trélex Residency.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lelapin.substack.com/subscribe

The senses are yours to compose a world of beauty with the might of your mind.

Contents

. repose . recoil . rigour . resplendence

Repose

to lie at rest

to cause to come to stop

to position a priori

PREPOSTEROUS PUSS

The cat went crazy

as of today, hand to heart I swear, ’tis true

picked up his toy mouse, and against the door he threwnot the toy-but his bodybeggin’ for some form of attentionhis mew, like fingers dragged alongside a balloon

begged a purrty plead to pet his mangy coat-o-reeking fur pet

so I answered with a turn of my face attempting go get his needs met

to move away his pain, through a version of a sneersure his condition didn’t come by my doing

my roommate left him out loose

according to her wonderful ignorance of parasites or worms

so while the cat now damned near crazygoes now to prove, water and food aren’t enough

when love and truth require more carehe pleads my temperament with a life or death needas untrained in veterinarian services— I sink

a kind of remorse for wishing I could know how

to properly provide for this sort of demanding-'gimme now’ mode of functionality

so that poor damned cat did go crazywhile I considered who or how to pay for such a bill

not tied to hand nor will, to incur

so instead of folding down such a wallI took a bit of interest in a sigh long overduemy situationally wagging finger

held back in more deliberationas proof

neglect needs rarely to be spoken of

since form inevitably makes what is plain to seethe inner realm of that pet attestation mirrored

back to me how that damn cat went crazy.

DEEP BREATH WALK

Held beneath the ribbed cloud sky

containing vitality informing organisms

ready to drop into the below

the world breaths for what we call a universe

aggrandised by the ideal abjected from its animism

an imaginary choking on our own smog

or lands filled with waste, man-made ponds

created in haste

or countrysides accumulating iron and bones

such needs craved lay in waste

when a rest in doing aids

the subsidiary aches of belief-streams taken to heart

that part was imagined as not so long ago

a time romanticised as when people used to know

our small part grew a role evoked as soul

    an omniscient maestro

such existential issues seemed to loathe

the religions aimed to guide ignorance toward learning

instead became subjugated to the prowess

of personal pleasures warmed and warned

for even goblins will also devour truth

the laid down before glowing greeds

inside the minds with never ending needs

the continual scramble for purity breeds

a nature play with an entire handle on

each of its pawns, so then I yawn

when another lines up to feign to know

who gets to play god next— or go.

CHIP TO CHEW

One tough cookie

she spoke of me

and I pondered

if correct then

of what variety?

a snap of the ginger sort

a chip of sweet

or perhaps harden biscotti

what have we

then when packages gets slammed

what are cookies called then

crumble

hoover material

something to sprinkle on your cereal

the only thing cookies are safe from

are brooms with spaces

between each

of their bound up embraces

perhaps cookie was meant

to be nothing short of hell bent

on being whatever

buyer or user intends.

MAGNET

You possess

     the energy

to synch your stride

maintain

steady

speed

with me

  a companion

      my partner

in both heart

and but of course

mind

the kind

    of raise your glass toward

my love

we promise paths

to pave

      while all look on

with melancholic waves.

STOCK

Snapshots taken bending rules of thirds

behind our stock photo’d minds perfect and in focuslife promises to bend all such curvesmotion captured by lighting kits read-to-go paste in the internets download books from the webpretend to substantiate matter

when a look sometimes

is as it seems or only appears

as a ghost of a dreama gag-reflex cliché

of one thousand wordssilently spoken in an imagemulling over that thoughtframed as subjective reasonbreathing impatient sighsI-resign to communal passive logicso sure of choices

my doubts provide me sufficient shade

for greater good of man

likely notI still take my handskim  pages of paper and analogue processesas an alternate to the banality

your very own book of stock photography

can also become compiled too.

ALIVE HAPPENING

With a pound to the steering column in a raised right fist to air voice  - a*****e learn to drive -escaped my lips  - a red-bottomed baboon would provea better navigator than you - so I saw he had the I own the road mentalityto an extent I suppose we could all dip inbut when did that become an excuse forthe sort of sun in the eyes blindto unsuspecting pedestrianor line of student holding hand crossingmaybe there’s a baby in towor bad day black glow

taking a step into the streetto be grazed by tire treadoh my-that’s not the consequence of abusy be the life-or cell phone to headreach for spilling coffeepleasantly distracted exuding

by proclaimed dreams as an excusethe demand toward responsibility

remains porous as skin

just how the hell do so manywear rain coats as a remedyor find alibi in popping pain pills

or thickened skinned from tanning booth beds

the growing internet communicationin all its ruminationfeeding tubes for a lack of contentment

yet also lets distance

minds know about

the flippancy toward bodies in the street

and the way writing poems

makes my throat sore

anything our lives require

surrounds our already herewarm sunshine  peaceful breezy airtender grass bedsflowering stemsblossoming buds sharp hail or cleansing rain dropletsour nutrient dense earthoffers social skill lessons from fawns, fish, babies and bunny rabbitsin their similarities are perceptually discrepancieslocked within their nucleic acid

formative keys

such doors opened douses life

in opportunity, so I must warnis this a journey that results in anything being happyor does the endless searching for certaintyforce us to choose so many state

instead of resisting the fear to incur strife and in the fear succumb to just barely being alive?

All from nearly being ran over; I’ll keep making my chances.

PAN

Let me take a napI tried to say

because someone mentioned

it’s good for the bodybut such force-ably made thoughtsonly evoke wide eyed states

in lots of uncondusivecircular thoughts

perhaps spinning

a meandering dream dragging alertness down

while drifting offtugged by another sort of ropedemanded from this morningscaffeine joltIstand.

© Mari Amman. All Rights Reserved.

Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL III.

First edition 2023, electronic distribution. Text and Images by Mari Amman.

The poems contained within this volume were drafted circa 2006-2009, in Chicago, USA, and edited during spring 2023 in Paris, France, with the enormous support of The Trélex Residency.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lelapin.substack.com/subscribe

The senses are yours to compose a world of beauty with the might of your mind.

Contents

. repose . recoil . rigour . resplendence

More fictions than the psyche can imagine are real. Care is called to be taken in ensuring things are not too literally taken. Therefore poetry seeks a position of assertion in perceiving the malleability of physical reality.

The notion poems, particularly those among these pages, are autobiographical must be abolished. This is not a totalistic call but a recollection and acknowledgement to the people who have documented records and proof of their experience and having met the audacity of the listener to deny that experience.

Understanding comes through a deeper step through someone’s shoes and reveals an ability to survive the underworlds with that person. Enduring these ideas, and carrying the water we find below back with us, is my heart’s wish for people to remember the heavenly plane that exits on earth.

There are lines people do say in an attempt to hide the truth. And so it is often through looking back on the pattern a psyche had and its expression in the body, to find ways where mistakes or misdeeds perform as salt. To further explain the meaning of this metaphor:

Salinity relative to water exercises a dyadic of density. Based on the understanding water is the great unifying element and symbol of consciousness, the density of salinity creates ecosystems requiring contextual discernment.

Some morsels of life require a shake to be palatable and others times there’s much too much seasoning, and the salt must be tossed over the shoulder for good luck instead.

As for the habitat, flies gather to brine and marine life flourishes under ideal balance of elemental conditions.

There is a romanticism that is less ideal and more practical when it comes to the weavings made with these black and white impressions of recollections of events that actually did occur. Otherwise known as words, the reader digests the tone and meaning in a voice either offered or situated from within the reader’s mind.

Therefore the words cannot be the author in reality, as Walter Benjamin asserted, the words are coming from a subjective origin within the reader. Therefore the act of reading is also a performance of souls dancing together. The shared temporal space with the text obliterates the “I.” Often the real life events were much stranger than the phrases these pages suggest. And yet, the melody of life sung itself through our bones and days.

What in heaven’s sakes possess anyone to write poetry in 2023? The only truth personal bit in this collection echos as a recollection of transforming actual and imagined fears into full on creative agency.  The blade of the pen, tapped out on a keyboard of course, became the discernment grinder between ideas of illumination and rubbish.

The time at which these lined were scribed into the memory of what a book ought to look like, was a time I committed myself to pointing to social policies running rampant resulting in celebrating rugged individualism, destruction of the family, and extreme celebration or demolishing of the notion: of the “I” in identity.

© Mari Amman. All Rights Reserved.

Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL III.

First edition 2023, electronic distribution. Text and Images by Mari Amman.

The poems contained within this volume were drafted circa 2006-2009, in Chicago, USA, and edited during spring 2023 in Paris, France, with the enormous support of The Trélex Residency.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lelapin.substack.com/subscribe

A soul composed of courage seeks redemption through faith in life.

Contents

. dispose . despair . denigrate . denounce

Denounce

to excommunicate

to publicly accuse

to formally announce

MADE IT ALIVEToday I walked a baby bird across the streetin a small town that smells

as if they've got nothing better to eatI asked my friend what value

has a woman in working a full time job alongside being a momshe stuttered and blankly stared

back through meso I walked my feet in a new directionin cross section of worth and reverenceI remain amazed, I made it alivewhen I could be taking more care

in keeping people from playing with my mindthen again we all are to some degree

and when our stories bump into one anotherwe call it life.and this one is no more virtuousthan one doused in feeling

more in every experienceforgoing the dashing through doing more

allows the space to absorb morefrom less unless we conjure something more desirousamazed they look on seeing too, I made it alivewhen I could be taking more care

in keeping people from playing with my mindso when our stories bump into one anothercan we still call it life or a lie?Time and time againsolitude seems more suitable

and preferably spentin utter quietudeimmersed in the symphony

of light bouncing from wallscaustics and whirring fan bladespush life across my skin

a caress of the cacophony of sensory climaxit's amazing I made it alivewhen I’m imagining a day in my mindwhere men understand life

and when our stories bump into one another

we giggle as we grow life.the less I own outside of methe more a womb of warmth

I grow within that envelopes me as if the nothing has more mass than mentruth and then,

we know better

to never start fighting againbut I never remember when it ever beganso I suggest wespeak in different tongues herefor minds in fights

conjure feelings of unrestand this is what's best:making it aliveand calling what we doa better version of life.

MAD

Hurry, quicklyget into your bodythe limit of your headbest be laid to rest.I can't writeif I'm talking to you.I can't breathwith everything looking at me.Whose words are worth our earsfor the sake of any hopein rebuilding heaven-have yourself some sips of timelet out the dammit

and mad you’ll be no more.Way past ill servants becomemaking tens and twentieswhen miles of greenlay out far as the eyes can seeA two wheeled cycle

is far from binary

seat or not for my ass

it goes in a singular direction.Hush now,

who here has heard-

peacemakers banging drums

making such a racket

damning others who dare use their voice…

Breaking silence vows-

claiming Om Shanti rhythms

vibrate to different systems.

so upside down,

and twisting things out

may not always mean

being still

delivers the right action for all. Literally finding yourself

in a hushin a high kick,

excuse mewhile I side-steparound as that doggily doo poop

won’t clean itself.

Dropped by that Lhasa-or whatever the op…but nevermind,

what’s the point here-the speech of capeesh?There is no

your mind knows it was

but made up by

someone else’s voice who told you soand minds

are not ours

but facets of what

we call one or yours.Let’s blow open those doors

some more while we’re at it-

why not the whole house

since destructionistas

seem to love loud sounds.Even if it’s not all right

in the here or this now

you’ll go mad

waiting on anyone to change itso dance around

or build a new facefeel the ground

and change your pace

life is only waiting

on you to make it.

A WHALE SHARK SPEAKS

Incredible creations of life

spanning minuscule

to mammoth

in every cell of existence

embedded a truth whose desire

exists to live and to grow. For what do those

who walk Earth with furry noses know

in their scurry

across sand or glide through

currents of sea

how much wisdom to them

do we owe? A great deal burdened

by human ego

bears relief

in witness alone

to the experience sustained

in vibrating sound,

scent or vision

of form through algae haze

these light refractions

we share our gaze

with prehistoric creatures of depths

softening the hearts of manyThese great teachers roam

harmonious in tune with

environmental theatrics

and find freedom in turbulent waters

So do humans ever wonder

if their peace delivers our bonds

firm to holding forgiveness

through the eyes of marine life.

RIDING TIME

All the rage lately

is the talk

about how little

and how much more

oh more the ache

we ache

for places with slower paces

The acceleration of days

eats away at the dwindling imagination

counting months, days and minutes

with a melancholic fury

does no one any justice

to the space of infinite hues awaiting

those brave enough to embrace the abyss

of a self made life

We’re not running out

nor away if we turn towards each other

and still look at our faces within

the truth is our bodies do have beginning and end

carried out by scents in the wind

currents of everlasting tides

we flow through the endless ebbs and levies

taxing our anatomies

feigning to be

as if that was all

time really ever was.

TRACES

I have these questions, sitting in myself

if I could only open my mouth

I always wondered how

so many are satisfied by someone else’s why’s

when questions often seem as if that’s all there is

left to keep on pushing ahead

as the more things I never said

become the proofs I can see

as I watched a man pick-pocket some silver haired lady

behind my window

a gasp I tried to get her attention

and yet passed instead of she,

he looked around

just before gazin’ straight up at me

behind the window

he saw me watch him slide his left hand

right down into that beige bag draped near her caboose

and what he drew out

a pocket book so loud and ugly

but it was he who sure made me mad

Just the sight of that whole thing

I reached for the string

to tug on for the ride to stop

I blinked too hard

and nearly lost my balance

Fallin’ into someone in transit

sure can be yet another mess

Guess I looked kinda poor — so saved I was

by wearin’ my favorite T-shirt

from junior high

while all my peers

went on and outgrew theirs

as that man’s want for wallets or my love for setting bad scenes straight

even if an old shirt makes me happy

I remained bothered

by these things and wonder

if saying anything about folks matters

more or less

if imprinted onto some text of a T-shirt

don’t steal ladies wallets.

VERSE FOR SOLITUDE

Persistent,

bitter cold antagonised the lock on the front door

a chill he was unable to shake

a void between love and pain

closed, and within the same

begging the melting flakes

adhered to window —

the pain

framed around the hearth of a man we no longer knew

he fought —

for striking moments punctuated by embers fallen

from each log turned over

a beard of great length grew

within this projected homes-pace

his heart could never find reprieve

but through silvery hairs he could breathe

Enough air into his lungs from out in the cold

he could venture forth

a little more

and so he refined in pace,

single steps at a time —

a rhythm of whirlwinds,

pumping veins

his panting dog in tow —

a companion for which his heart sought

and in this night only

alleviated the emptiness of his solitude

this man’s dog could try to help this man to see

winter and beards

weigh increasingly

heavy within doubtful minds —

such curious sight bestowed

as he walked

loyal companion

near his right toe

a light found

amidst the dark of snow-blindness

a flame burning beyond any his hearth could emanate

a heat, so intense,

no house could hold

remained burning

in a soul

only few could ever know.

© Mari Amman. All Rights Reserved.

Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL II.

First edition 2023, electronic distribution. Text and Images by Mari Amman.

The poems contained within this volume were drafted circa 2006-2009, in Chicago, USA, and edited during spring 2023 in Paris, France, with the enormous support of The Trélex Residency.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lelapin.substack.com/subscribe

A soul composed of courage seeks redemption through faith in life.

Contents

. dispose . despair . denigrate . denounce

Denigrate

to defame

to darken or discolour

to become worthless

WIND TORN SHAME

rising up before

my own nauseated mind

because it's not the first time

I've found myself

dizzying my swerve

second guessing what I deserve—

today I became

everything I loathed

and what's more

the rift of pain

is all I can cry for

pry this dying from

the fighting fit of a little girl

in my heart

the torment of such joys

tease social paradigms

and if only I can reject

engrained ideas of perfection'

I could let this be

but may there never be

tormented love in my life

I vowed long ago

to banish that ship to far away shoreline

so then I can swim safely and free

in a sea

taking tides in stride

and avoiding calamity

of the sails whips

whispers through their boughs

I could sense and see

those undertows

from a safe distance

that is the condition

my heart demands

at this parting of winds

I find the time— let shine

be damned if stormed minds

take deck or have say

I repeat

as words of reassurance

when the world can’t deliver me

the ideas I have about safety and security

there is always those in time

never chase around for chimes

my heart knows its own rhyme

to raise up shame and blast its tarp

for wind blows it apart from me.

ALRIGHT

Every sense of vague is a memoryof every single one of the temporal discrepanciesin outer space flights passing through our bodily rights

So who sets the lines with the lines of the crazywhen people are trying to rewrite history

the order of that which generates life

I demand

and screw for a screeching haltto the sips on the tilted invention making

rhetoric up

calling interdependency, co as if

each one was alone

so while the affectations

dump their whole damn cup on my head

I’ve been baptised already

by blood and water of life

so little to no tendency

have I to conform to absurdity

absconded from the confines of the dark mindsthose who feign to do much

yet little in reality

to pacify anyone’s pain

and delight in the tears before my eyes

this is it, the only nowuntil the next one pleads again—

why ask for freedom

and waitfor the agency to create

our own happy endings

carrying upon our backs

entire stories in tow

someone had the nerve to sayI'm so full of it

so why don't you comeget some of whatever it you meanmake like you already know me

pretending we’ve lived lifetimes before.

so believe me or not

I am here to help you learn

to move your own waydespite his diction

and while more than a little bit

difficult to discernfreedom is found just off the ramp

from the wheel of self-destructionlet no apprehensionskeep me, from living a lifeworth rememberinggone down from my crazy horseafter I rode back on the wings of a spirited memoryI'm alrightfeeling better about what life allows to

be made of me.

CATCH MY BREATH walking bare foot through the sidewalks of my timeI'm dreaming before ever stepping into bedin a place of white that looks lies

and less like lovethe dignity in which soul rovesover plains of indiscernible rows

but let me catch my breathmay I please, paraphrase hereand catch my breathit's a start, a slight of heart by making peace with the pastfrom a view, as minuscule as the thief of desiredancing in the trough and stirring up the thoroughfare

but let me catch my breathmay I please, paraphrase hereand catch my breathit's been a busy week and I can't seem to keep up attempting never before seen featsmy mind running, at least ten steps ahead

I approach the comfort of a palm

within the inner turmoil a dignified well of tranquilitydelighting dances of aromatic benevolenceround the corner of betterment in each breath

may I please, paraphrase hereand catch my breath

catch my breath.

HOLDING TO STILL

In lapses of mere melted flakes, flippant

kissed lids, seconds fell as snow

twinkling lashes danced

flutter, rise and sigh.

Open, not tonight

a watch we never are strike

Keen on queues

we hold our breath

nearing the entrance

the song’s lumen fell

a prior press of reassurance

his eyes matched

to light each move

swiftly and hush

fevered adoration

for an adornment of

impeccable timing

I knew that kind of love

was for-ever binding.

© Mari Amman. All Rights Reserved.

Poetry, Prose &Suche VOL II.

First edition 2023, electronic distribution. Text and Images by Mari Amman.

The poems contained within this volume were drafted circa 2006-2009, in Chicago, USA, and edited during spring 2023 in Paris, France, with the enormous support of The Trélex Residency.

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