Laurie's "Virtual Chapbook"

Dealing With Desertion

I have worked, tried, fought, made mistakes,
hoped, planned, speculated,
spent hours by myself.inventing reasons,
sighed, given up, recommitted,
walked shopping malls empathizing
with leaping puppies at the Pet Ranch,
gone walking, gone running, gone crazy,
run away, lost myself -
if only you would do something
truly obnoxious
and let me hate you cleanly.

The Geometry of Human Beings

You move in your circles,
I move in my circles,
and we intersect, sometimes
go on a tangent together and fall back
into our separate lives.
And I revolve around the problem
of being an individual -
we exist only in points,
can know only now
and look behind us, trapped in the isolation
of our own point
of view, our own experience,
and try as you might
to share my perspective,
you cannot leave the track
in which your race is run,
the circle of your own life,
but at most can intersect with mine,
and when we burn bright enough
launch together, near escape velocity
matching paths for awhile til
the gravity of our lives pulls us apart again
into ellipses that carry us round
back into our circles, broadened now
for having touched.

Arachne

This is my sheet of dreams, the music
of my spheres, my orbs
uplifting, growing with the night;
my sound spinning air
weaving webs
in silken arcs
moon reflects in every strand
lovely long lace
lonely tree limb
against moonlight webwork branching
lowly spinner, growing larger
with the darkness, spider dancing
orbs uplifting reflect magic
long lines lovely rolling seams
weaving music softly silver
spider spinning sheets of dreams.

Stars

I can't remember when
I couldn't be seduced by them -
they lie so lovely,
distant suns no less real
than the warmth of a lover lying close in the dark
my intimates, asleep when I wake.

Our intimates - extend your reach
son to sun
the points of light dance
even for Managua, even for Baghdad, even for Johannesberg -
a partner for each soul
dancing in darkness
waiting for the dawn.

E-Male Lunch

O my electronic intimate
tall, dark, and dreamy
your letters so
enticing, so full of
promise, innuendo, lust -
yet in meeting so mundane;
your lips so full
of work at the office, daily life -
over ribs and blackened catfish
I can't believe we're sitting so close
feeling each other breathe
watching each other's mouths
knowing the things we've said
late at night, alone in our studies
stroking our keyboards, burning up the wires
with intimate Email, knowing such things
about each other
and not even touching
once
just chatting about stocks
like we worked together
or your wife were watching;
you know my husband wouldn't care,
would understand if we held hands
once or twice under the table...

How distant you are -
your handsome face, your muscled body
your biceps stretching the cuffs of your short-sleeved shirt
so not the nerd you could be,
your writer's words so perfectly describing
a million things that don't matter...

How distant you are
two feet across the table,
near enough to touch;
how close
when you speak
from a hundred miles away.

In the Desert

I went to Egypt once, alone
to learn from people there who knew
the answers to the questions
I did not yet know to ask.

I studied silence; I studied patience.
I studied wind, I studied sand.
I searched the desert for my darkness
that had driven you away.

I learned to plant date palms.
When I ached from digging,
I learned to make baskets.
When the dry reeds cut me,
I learned to weave cloth.
When I blistered from the shuttle,
I learned to dry fruit,
and milk goats, and sew tents.
And I dreamed of a sandstorm;
you were lost in it, alone.

You'd been traveling for days
searching for the lost part of yourself
that remained wary of your approach,
that would only allow you near
when you were quiet, and gentle, and centered, and free
of the noise that chatters daily with us all.
Just when you and he were about to meet
I approached, just before the sandstorm came.
Wanting to help, I had brought supplies -
dried fruit, and cheese, and cloth in baskets.
I tried to reach you, to talk to you
but your lost self saw me, and turned and ran.
You never saw me; I slipped away
behind a sheet of sand before you glimpsed my face,
separated by the storm as completely as by an ocean,
and I became a hand grasping empty space.

I stood still with my camel, breathing,
heating your cries in the cries of the wind
and knowing that your survival
had nothing to do with mine.

Back at the village, I wake on the day of my leaving
without the tranquility I had hoped to find,
with your memory not lost
but wind-burnt into me,
and thinking that I can find peace
if I can be the empty space
enclosed by a hand.

Of the Sea

You are dark, rough and dangerous,
with warm, gentle currents running through you,
eddies that break on the shore
in twisted curls of foam,
broader than I can swim across
deeper than I can fathom
sometimes so shallow I can see right through you,
but a voice that could sing me to sleep
for the rest of my life.

Light Promise

When I left work today, it was light outside.
The air was stabbing vengefully
cold, and the blinding whiteness
lay everywhere, across
roofs, along
bare sidewalks and streets
streaked winter-white with salt.

But each sharp lungful
brought air from a sky
still blue, still light enough
to hide stars behind it.
And I knew
that some ancestor long ago
rose in her skins from the meat at her fire
or left her child asleep under a heavy quilt
and stepped outside
to take deep breaths of bitter-cold air,
watching the sky,
feeling the same warmth I feel -
the creep of daylight
promising spring.

Losing Contact

I am giving you space, so much
space that I am outside the ship
in my spacesuit, no longer connected
even by the support line, but
floating free, spinning between the
blue-white plain that fills half my sky and
the wet black star-studded night
filling the other.

Catch me; I came out here
by myself, could get back
alone, in time, but adrift
I think too freely, ponder how much better
it would be if I moved first,
cut you off, changed my mind, ended things,
before you could say those words to me;
in acting first, imagining control
anchoring myself again.

Sometimes there's more danger
in dealing with your feelings;
guns and blades and terror games
only scratch the surface,
only tax the flesh, are only make-believe.
But playing on the edge
of affection counts for real,
takes more courage, bluffing, maybe losing -
there's no edge play truer
nor payoff bigger when you win.

Waiting

I want to unbutton your shirt and
pull it off of you,
slip my hands around your back
and slide into a kiss,
melt your lips into mine,
run my tongue along your lower lip, then
suck it into my mouth,

still pressed all up against you;
to be at last where the most important moment
is right now, holding you here,
mashing my self against your skin,
then fall asleep
in the interlocking shape we've become...

In a thousand years or roughly forever
when it comes to pass that we are together,
I will breathe these words through my fingertips,
Braille them into you,
not speak them aloud.

Now each night I write another line
make love to you a little more
each night
as I breathe before sleeping.

Some nights all my time is made of waiting
listening to thoughts throb
not patiently but difficult;

all there is is wanting,
or having wanted, once you have

which is sweeter.

Escaped

It makes me want to cry
when I think of your smile,
your pretty eyes, long-lashed
your ready laugh,
your gentle hands that clasp
the bars of a motorcycle
or a guitar, or a baby,
or my hands
with the same intenseness,
the same strength
pouring out of your bright, burning core
that loves and hates
and measures the world to your length
loving me
loving her, loving him - all
facets in the kaleidescope of you
undiminished by your refraction -

when I think
hard thoughts and fractured
edges - you are slipped away
like the one perfect face
you glimpse for an instant
in the crowd by the subway,
live whole lives in a look of mutual attraction
cut off when the doors slam shut -

I am standing in the station
watching you leave
with no right to chase you,
ask your destination or give you
mine, just alone
tasting that moment of connection
as it echoes down the line.

Gardener

You water me, feed me
guide my limbs skyward,
stroke the dust from my leaves,
train the tendrils of my hair,
and, beneath your fingers,
I bloom.

Awakening

You breathe into my ear, and
the hiss of moisture creeps
through, the seed the clouds needed
to start the rain -
which collects, from mist to drops,
starts to fall, falls, and cascades...

Open wide beneath the sky, parched prairie
I catch the torrent, deep spring rain,
my grass growing long and lush, vibrant green and tall,
flowers waving in lazy breezes, blossoms
paper-thin and fragrant, calling through the air,
prairie dogs nesting, darting
in and out my edges,
grouse and pheasant soaring over me,
my roots wriggling down into the earth
tendrils emerging, drinking, slaking thirst
nourishing my buttes and valleys,
my hills rolling out to the horizon
infinite in every direction, alive and
spread open wide beneath the sky.

Laurie Ochsner
536 Heathcliff Drive
Pacifica, CA 94044
Laurie@ChaosMedia.com