Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in aaplank's LiveJournal:

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Wednesday, April 4th, 2007
9:09 pm	We Speak in moons, moving our tongues to music without words. I like this word: swoon. Like how it feels in my mouth more than its context within my footsteps. When I wake I take a moment to glance through the window at an angle, so as not to see clearly the way we usually look at glass. Today it seemed green, and blue. Heavy metal affections and now my body is aches and pangs. My house is to resemble: glass, trees, autumn, sonnets, tanka, zazen, systems, distortions, bowing, failing, black and white photos, blank art galleries, ikebana, buckeyes, snow, drive ins, danny, eddie, peter, john, lap dulcimers, mandolins, wooly bears, space, sex, celibacy, piano trios, period instruments, plaid, boots, film, motion, breathing, headaches. We Speak in moons and brush strokes. A drippy blue heaven. I havent the patience for fiction and am starting to feel bad about all of the space left on the page. Though, I like how the Silence Frames these Few Words (1 Comment |Comment on this)
9:04 pm	ledder     d(ear)- you are not here. nonetothematter of shifting. your clutch is dry for the desert. fathers in hair shirts and the monk wearing trinkets. 30 kilos sometimes 60 to remind us of the suffering. life is not suffering. it is light and windows-glass and pulp. plumb hair firefly song. place your hand on the pubic renunciate, a scraping of bone in test tube baby blanket.                         today--                                      friends are dying                                      systems pulsing                                      thoughts thinking                                       craving turns to glue (desire is sticky)   what a big sky you have                                            the better to breathe you with   (2 Comments |Comment on this)
8:59 pm	this is a series of tanka poems that i wrote this time last year. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- waiting with rain drops head pulsing heat a turning leaf writes her name in the grey perhaps she'll wear the blue scarf     one more dollar let them stir their own oats it feels good to place my body along the upekkha bench place my hands in mudra   waiting is one thing being where you are, another a car passes by bird song in rain empty wisdom bell   wisdom talks with quiet things people are nosiy a horse, a tree nature takes care of her in my absence   drawing a white dove he constructs a poem with moody skylight heart pumps                         as she approaches.   drinking an ocean doing what needs to be done an endless blue born of windows you are a poem without words   it was in what she said it was in what he said they were both human and in the space beyond words an autumn tree turns red   where is rest a drawing of an owl in new fictions he stands naked and doesn't mind the staring   with eyes closed or open you can sense the subtle body organs and tissue, muscle and fluid the door left ajar wind in a coffee can   windmill in ohio a fence surrounds a vacant lot cultivating grey a skilled famer is empty walking through fields in moonlight   fall runner you must buy a barn to raise an owl                              these days fall runner   a pen listens through headphones an acoustic painting the sorrow sound reach back buttons sewn on blue plaid an ocean or a lake   a dream of death a dream of flying the body is a fog of banjo strings and worry scurry phantom foresight   there is no smoking oak street warning sign skecth my face on a lake borrow an owl's fate craddle flesh in snow wings   window poems awake you can't count on the many ways bound to the coast though you know nothing of water outside your dreams.   woonsocket wind song bone resonance in ring shift wordless brush stroke perhaps you know everyone perhaps new life with wings   there is a ring and a bone and a hurt and a flesh and a tear and a look and a trust                                    and worry   there is a light in a room without walls there is a child in this room gazing through windows his name is grey road   love pervasive along cobblestone in wind thought imagine a day without endings a dream in daylight this your stumbling(beautiful) life   (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 3rd, 2007
8:59 am	duster     grey-scape ask me to draw a line- a line that holds the sorrows and faces of flux and                           whispered goodbyes. walking is my tongue and it's in these steps that all of her blue manifestations                                            give to guitar strings and barnyards. you see the thick brown of his hair but he knows its greying. the tears of crowsfeet writing verse for children of barren wombs. now grace steps into night skies baring the humiliation of honesty as simple as flesh-                   it's breathing still, standing in unfamiliar sonorities, with hands of earth in effots to utter                                  a beautiful word. (Comment on this)
Monday, April 2nd, 2007
6:10 pm	long time well, i just finally got back on livejournal. i have another blog now though (http://not-always-so.blogspot.com/) but, maybe perhaps a few more poems over the next few months. i've written a few in my time out here in mass. hope all is very well. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, December 7th, 2005
4:16 pm	Remain Two (after Robinson Jeffers) Snow falling in stilled motion. The orange glowing of streetlights placing shadows on             gentle footsteps. Two trees entwined                 remain two, but mated through the loneliness of seasons change. One stands firmly: a massive grounding wrapped in gritty bark. While the other: wrapping its smooth, curving body of arms and veins in water light around this bareness. They remain through Winter's chill, leafless and humbled, remain to embrace loves boredom. Sex is not mentioned here,             only the suchness of trees resting in the convulsive hush of December's sight. This is a space. The night whispers to flesh and wood alike. A space of loving commitment to growth beyond growing, thought beyond thinking, and a language beyond communicating. The snow surrounding is hardened with ice. Evidence of travelers, some on two feet, others four, remain in the shadowed light. This space that marks both ends of the line with a singular limitless action. No definition and possibilities radiating in reflection. The holding trees remain. Two of intimacy with gravity and injury. Shape born of the wind's carving. Love born of all things simple and slowly shifting. (Comment on this)
Monday, November 28th, 2005
3:51 pm	my name is:                                 window 32 parts of (      ) the grey voice whispering:     "bleed you, mine, bleed you" (Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 22nd, 2005
7:43 pm	mouths perched along the mountainside he was from the vast flat and knew it knew its sweet corn lullaby the hush of pumpkin song thoughts germinating within silences atop the crackle of firewood a brief illumination of secrecy the shadowed aurora sings the blues at once without the company of guitars and oceans swaying in blue glass finger tips allowing all beings breath of                 ( o ) breathing the mountain belongs to those who love the mountain and cannot see it their countenance in this way the universe is ours when we aren't there being not being your injury is your shape hips favoring the left bare skin exposed to night panes sounds in distance ginger root dream with eyes of peppermint burning it will feel good on your weathered tissue like my hands along your body in winter's pulse (Comment on this)
Sunday, November 6th, 2005
10:27 am	Jamba poem Perhaps Ill trade in these eye balls and shove Grandma into the bloody little boy. /BRIGHT / FRAUDULENT / MADNESS/ what? that rests in Idaho. Perhaps Ill grandma out the shed and Boy out the barn till winter and what? the fraudulent fact of delusion from its apple juice of madness. Perhaps, when the sun milks its quarter over a divided sleep, Ill mother out the boy and loot the autumn ink out from a rusting tractor in a queen-sized field of sockets a place where grandmas love children and let them sleep in their truth. And then ,again, you are the shape cut into this movie. Perhaps, this is a movie: [ A boyan Aidan-shaped structurecut from threadbare cotton celluloid /FLASHING / STUTTERING / before the horizon of Iadho Thousands of Aidans ,/SELVES/, flickering to create one appearance of the action(s): What would grandma think? & The shadow of her mouth is an ocean of madness. ] (Comment on this)
Thursday, November 3rd, 2005
7:46 pm	door in grey there nobody knows the whole set of facts the subtle shifting paradigm child's hands he will drop it the floor then a pulsing whim i would go there to meet the snow home where no one wishes themselves be because it's too cold to think about ourselves i like that door for once my skin doesn't feel red lonely heat i am this isn't clear hidden in the ice forms around bare tree branches bone arms reach towards the grey sky (Comment on this)
Thursday, October 27th, 2005
7:48 pm	walking in autumn with you in mind. you are sitting at a desk, looking out the window at a woman putting on her coat. she is cold, while we taste cloud's apex with our eyelids. by the side of skylight, someday, these boxes of books will rest on shelves. i'll bring you tea and a sweater then step back out, pushing my boots through decaying leaves, brown and orange to the teeth. i may sleep out in the fields while you work on another poem. (Comment on this)
Friday, October 7th, 2005
1:57 pm	Nadie poems I see you there in mind's harshness. You are stealing sleep earned from an honest days aching. Your eyes soften around breasts and folds of skin. You don't hide craving well, and this is not         a love poem. I sit still mostly to mostly sit still. You become Jizo. Some other's time. Others, Terrence, Nadie. The saint. Her name is Craving, patron of the longing. See her gilded breasts. Taste her skin through skylight. ==================================================== I'm sorry for not welcoming you as I should. You, my gray visitor descending skies and stairs. It takes me a moment, a time given to being no one, to learn to hold you, to rest my cheek next yours, to serve you tea. And, I am forgetfully glad for the moments filled with you. Filled with Jesus or winter. (Comment on this)
1:48 pm	Blake edit "Sick Rose" See William's rose wilting in secret winter. His invisibility hushed in white, like the howl of storms seeking spring. O, art invisible flies.                          Destroy does dark joy.                      William's rose in thy crimson bed, his life resting atop your belly so as not to risk windows. He slowly decaying for none to see the howling flies invisible. (Comment on this)
1:46 pm	Tanka The heat is gone now. Gray winds carry the new rain; it shimmers on green. I pause now from time to time and imagine your soft kiss. The silent posture rests within the horizon. Snow gathers along rooftops in windy moonlight. No one is there to see it. (Comment on this)
Sunday, September 25th, 2005
11:54 pm	A worthless song I was writing on the guitar Aurora left me. Autumn came in/just this morning leaves fell gently/but he wouldn't know he wouldn't know The bed empty/on his right side eyes closed gently/not to know not to know cause........ she was gone/his happy song was painted in shades of blue She drove out there/to the coast-line When she got there/the sky rang true it rang true Such sad freedom/on the water she could see it/just for you just for you cause, etc. (cont) (Comment on this)
11:41 pm	A breath and a whim. Wilting shoes for the longing. Can you see Texas? (Comment on this)
Tuesday, September 13th, 2005
9:15 pm	Wishing May they all be simple, honest, decaying brown matter between fleshy fingers.                   Paper leaves to offer the spaces, the gap between now and now.               The darkness is torn. Open windows letting windy whispers into the shadowy light. We are hungry so we swallow the moon. Push through the watery ball and insert the finger into the brain. Who was talking that day anyways? Nothing can mend this heart but its blood red beating. ============================================= Boulder, CO (Comment on this)
Friday, September 9th, 2005
4:06 pm	Cyndi All through I'll be. I will be with you. Knowing that we feel the same. No past back reaching    forward. It goes running. Oh, under those white street lamps. Precious time. No matter. Only life. And in the living, the night today: Living. I like your F# face. Your resolution. Bb under your stray breathing. A brand new gait. Until it ends, there is no end. The night is with you, is through you. Sing back the forgotten chance. Sleep in your eyes if you are lost. If you are losing who you were, If you think of you, the clock ticking circles, what you've said will catch you. The love of loving is your waiting fall. We have no past to start. There is no end. (Comment on this)
3:58 pm	No Longer And God gave way to her. Winds willing, breathing green. The yard's unkempt nature, growing as it was meant to, was beautiful to a few in passing with subtle eye. Too gentle to the touch, these fingers stained of sin. No longer- "You're too harsh" "I know" "You know" The others spoke of his marriage so casually. His left ear rang with an infinite dullness. There in the untouched wind-sea of grass were spider webs.        Life only to appear in the letting. Twisting spirals of stairs wearing moss. Stoned decay of make-believe castles and lakes. (Comment on this)
Sunday, August 28th, 2005
5:59 pm	Poems written with images----expressed with out images "When doing life work, you may be surprised Consciousness forms SOUNDS Dream Gates WHO        YOU ARE Carrying the simple, earthy, Footsteps of our past True lover of leaving. the artless arts ================================================================ Aurora Winter & Spring home your Loving-Kindness (Comment on this)