https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/user-96-jasmine-mann en 2005-2012 shakespearesmonekys@gmail.com 42.65593 -71.33391 Mon, 08 Jun 2026 21:09:59 GMT yacs http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss 70 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12951-petit-moineaux https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12951-petit-moineaux i. the sparrow sings in the morning on wind and amber notes. i know his voice, know his song, know we live in cages we erect ourselves, nests where we hide acres of beauty. yet somewhere his ache is my ache. ii. a true sparrow has claws, a beak and two wings. i have none of these. iii. it is not inertia that keeps me a woman. gravity will take my skin, my breasts but not my hair, not my bones. my hands will hang suspended in the air, as if in flight, swirling through the dust motes. i will feel the sun on my skin and wonder the elegance of birds in flight. iv. a sparrow sleeps two by two by two. we have our own dichotomy: my pair of breasts pressed to you, two hands sliding down vertebrae, hip bones and lips touching two by two by two. v. i will not be crucified a Jezebel for red lips nor ivory skin nor suffer the lithe tone of sinew etiquette laughing with bronze throats and rose tongues. we are all of us flippant and none as perfect as the other. vi. and the sparrow will soar. throw me from the window i have already fallen. 7/9/11 ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 13 Aug 2011 03:15:22 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12951 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12951 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12951 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12950-fish-bones https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12950-fish-bones i. i have not fed the fish in weeks. they spin slow ripples above the surface tension of the water, dart up and down up and down up and down. somewhere beneath the driftwood lies the bones of an unfortunate casualty. its bones sway in the current: stark white ribs like fingers stretching toward the surface. in my own bed i lay with the light on my face, feeling the spaces between the intercostals. i know what hunger feels like. ii. because it is winter i pile the blankets over my chest, up to my neck. my hands are cold but you will not feel them. instead i watch as you undress as a crop of gooseprickles spreads over your torso. tonight you will not warm my bed with your pale and snaking arms writhing from beneath the covers. tonight i will hear the fish splashing in the darkness and fall asleep with my ghosts. 2/9/11 ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 13 Aug 2011 03:13:30 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12950 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12950 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12950 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12949-quickening https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12949-quickening i. the boxes are stacked above me, towering with a sense of unease I've felt since a child. we pack our things inside four walls, we pack our things inside our walls, always inside. ii. I stand outside the store, loitering in the snow. my lips are blue as my scarf, cheeks white enough to mask the snowflakes and tears that fall upon them, ensconced in silence. I am empty, but I press my fingers through my coat to feel if something will press back. somewhere a baby will fill the clothes in the window, somewhere a woman is pregnant, but she is not me she is not me she is not me iii. being for the benefit of love, I can no longer draw lines in the sand, I can no longer watch as the waves dissolve our boundaries in foam. we are miles from the ocean, we are miles from anywhere, we are we are we are we are iv. there is a quickening in the way the tires hit the road, gliding across the frozen asphalt; it will be Spring soon. ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 13 Aug 2011 03:12:26 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12949 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12949 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12949 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12948-memento-mori https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12948-memento-mori I. the ants have found fresh kill. they march mechanically in and out of their holes they have tunneled through the earth. i wonder how they do this i wonder if one of their six legs they use as tiny hands to gently move each grain of dirt, smaller than a pebble, smaller than a crumb i wonder if they think of cells and how they orchestrate these tiny grains with their tiny hands into their home, into nothing II. she was buried on a school day. it was cold and it rained and i wore my tights with that green dress my mother would make me wear to church. i walked under the tin rooves to the resounding thundering of my thoughts, like a million tiny ant feet skittering and pattering and running through my mind until i wanted to scream like lightning until i wanted to run to run to run to run to run III. her skin was not black. it was the color of cold coffee my mother drank in the mornings after she fixed my breakfast after she fixed my hair after she fixed my tears when she told me ashley was gone i looked for her on the bus but her seat was empty and cold and the color of coffee my mother drank IV. the rain continued to fall as we stood under the eaves as she lay surrounded by white ashley was not white, i wanted to scream she was my best friend and the dress she wore was not her dress, the doll she clutched was not her doll, her fingers were too stiff and her eyes oh god her eyes they buried her without her eyes V. somewhere in Texas there is a grave in pink granite and the ants march tirelessly, tunneling, ever tunneling through the earth like great roots spreading around a casket, cradling a seven year old's petite, white bones 12/01/10 ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 13 Aug 2011 03:10:59 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12948 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12948 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12948 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12947-as-the-night https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12947-as-the-night I am not afraid of dying. It is the living I fear for, as the nights endure in slow, lacunal embalmment. I am drained; my anxieties all that is left in the fleshy frame of this body I call a woman - a veritable Pandora. I am not afraid of dying. No - I am afraid your hands will tire of the weight of my breasts pressed against you. I am afraid my lips will no longer be welcome to wrap themselves around your hard shaft, taking you in deeper as I suffer your moans, as the night lingers in apathy. I am afraid the sheets will stay too clean and crisp when you are not there, when I part my thighs to touch the quivering wetness that lays between them. I am afraid of never giving myself fully in the throes of marriage and sex and orgasm. I am afraid one day I will lose the strength of character to tell you I am done I am done I am done I am done. 11/29/10 ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 13 Aug 2011 03:09:56 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12947 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12947 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12947 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12946-i-ve-never-known-snow https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12946-i-ve-never-known-snow November was the death of us. It would come with the mist of rain, gray mottled skies and the chill of winter digging into old bones. We never wore mittens back then. Never learned to throw a snowball, never made a snow angel, nor gave birth to a snowman. We only knew of ice; the world outside our glass house. At night we would be ushered into the cold. Play, she would tell us. Dinner will be ready soon. But we both knew what that meant. The window would close with a lengthy sigh, the drapes as wide and deep as the night. But you could still hear the yelling, the slaps, the sound of a heavy fist making contact with bone. And all the while no snowflakes fell, no icicles chimed in the moaning November wind, and the cat would sit at the door meowing for his dinner. 11/18/10 ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 13 Aug 2011 03:08:33 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12946 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12946 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12946 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12945-odin-s-song-postpartum https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12945-odin-s-song-postpartum I. Nine days I hung from the boughs of great Yggdrasil; limbs wrapped tightly 'round my neck - a choked and dry tongue scraping across lips as I tried to speak with the taste of ash and leaves in my mouth, as I prayed to Odin, as the branches clawed at taut skin and a swollen belly. But the runes were silent. II. It was there from the depths of my womb he was ripped - bloody and screaming, as my arms reached for him, as the branches silenced my tongue with ashes and leaves, as Odin swallowed the last of my voice. And still the runes were silent. III. I do not know the husk of this body anymore. I do not knows its skin nor its hips nor its breasts nor its curves. I only know of blood and placenta, stretched skin and an empty belly, my body a broken Ragnarok. IV. He speaks to me in runes, and I know him; I know his skin as his tiny limbs wrap tightly 'round my neck, as my arms swallow his body in a close embrace. ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 13 Aug 2011 03:06:31 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12945 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12945 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12945 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12467-25399-vonnegut-7-30 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12467-25399-vonnegut-7-30 our time is borrowed in fragments here on earth we have fooled ourselves into believing we are the pendulum of the universe; the great axe that departs head from shoulders in a steaming spray of red fireworks. we wage wars for fun, slaughter innocence and lamb alike with a cool monochrome demeanor and let old die too soon. 5/13/10 Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Thu, 01 Jul 2010 18:50:27 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12467 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12467 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12467 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12468-woman-of-sin https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12468-woman-of-sin Icarus dreamed to fly on feathers and wax, the brave fool. And braver still, his pagan voodoo and amber prison; Fingertips spread wide as the flames burned. I've dreamed of the quiet before the fall. Of icy depths and emerald fire. Fingertips spread wide as the waves drown. Temptation, I know you. The sea has swallowed my wings and I am the straw that lashed the beast's back - a whore, a sin, a woman. 6/29/10 Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 03 Jul 2010 03:16:47 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 1 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12468 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12468 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12468 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12398-the-hero-always-gets-the-girl-6-30 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12398-the-hero-always-gets-the-girl-6-30 Marriage is not about you and I. We were rich before we were poor - before the stigma of a white picket fence, a squalling babe at my breast and a 401K. We were free. You would act the Robin Hood and I the Maid Marian, laughing through Sherwood Forest; the gold slipping between our fingers as we made love carelessly beneath the trees. But you are no hero, and I am no maid. The mornings hold no stories as we rise from our bed to start the coffee, make the breakfast, pack the children off to school and let Nottingham sleep. ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Mon, 26 Apr 2010 04:01:18 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12398 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12398 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12398 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12397-blue-is-for-sale-5-30 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12397-blue-is-for-sale-5-30 I am creating art. My eyes paint you as you undress, trying to fit which part goes where. I imagine my hands touching you in tones of cerulean or perhaps viridian. You speak of love, but charity is a fickle mistress and we are both for sale. Abed, we won’t speak as you press your hips to mine; and I will wait for you like stretched canvas. Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Mon, 26 Apr 2010 04:00:03 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12397 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12397 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12397 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12396-the-girl-with-poetry-on-her-arms-3-30 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12396-the-girl-with-poetry-on-her-arms-3-30 I knew her. She was the kid who would write poetry on her arms in black sharpie because she liked the way they smelled. Her mother kissed her every morning and made sure each lunch sack had a note with a little heart on it and the words: “love” and “hope” and “faith”. At the lunch table the kids would tease her and draw penises for her arms, scribbled with words like: “poop” and “stupid” and “hate”. At home, she’d stab her arms over the l’s and o’s until they bled and she would always wear a jacket at dinner. It was on a summer day I saw her thirteen year old body being dragged from the house on Elm Street. She had hung herself in her room, wrote a note with a little heart on it in black sharpie on her arms. A few years later, I saw her mother at a store and saw the tattoo on her arm as black as sharpie, with only one word: “despair”. ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Mon, 26 Apr 2010 03:58:06 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12396 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12396 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12396 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12384-of-ladybugs-and-growing-up-2-30 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12384-of-ladybugs-and-growing-up-2-30 My son held a ladybug in his fingers once and asked me: “What is dead?” I didn’t have an answer. I asked myself the same once, as I sat and watched a ladybug drown in my coffee. She tried to swim and I imagined her mouth - gaping and gasping for air. I didn’t move to help her as she thrashed for the last time; her body slowly dragging in spirals. The ladybug was so small and red I thought it looked a little like blood. I never wept. Back in his room on the floor, my son sat looking at me in all his three year old innocence. On the carpet her body had been pulled apart - legs crumpled, red wings held gingerly in his hands. I looked at him with all my adult wisdom, but he only ever asked the one question: “Mama, is she dead?” And we both wept. ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Fri, 16 Apr 2010 04:44:28 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12384 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12384 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12384 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12383-spring-is-not-here-1-30 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12383-spring-is-not-here-1-30 the peonies are early this year pink petals clasped tightly around the morning dew ladies parade about in skirts, twirling loosely, pink fabric splaying circles around bare legs I look down in my lap, see pants - black fabric clasped tight to my skin and think I am no lady I am no flower Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Fri, 16 Apr 2010 04:42:46 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12383 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12383 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12383 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12370-where-trees-grow https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12370-where-trees-grow I. behind a tiny house stood a small grove of giant pines. they soared above her as she ran past them bare-foot, limbs flailing behind her - toes tunneling in the cool earth, running, always running to escape the giant that towered over her. II. in the kitchen he would rage at her with his fists, her adult frame crumpling beside the wall, ceramic wind-chimes shattering; I would fall on sapling knees, tiny limbs twisted in dread, watch as bruises unfurled like pine cones on her skin. III. it was his favorite and she had to look her best for him. the dress was tiered taffeta and velvet - a deep hunter green that whispered a forest of pines as she ran. IV. I stood underneath the boughs, still and cold, rooted to the earth, smearing fat, wet tears on the dress he tore during his ravage; tiny seven-year old hands weeping with sap. the same hands that, afterward, stroked her beaten face, still and cold. I had forgotten how beautiful she was. V. the house was vacant and he had been gone for many years, but mother and daughter would return to the grove, walk under the giant pines, shed tears like seeds and wonder where trees grow. ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Mon, 19 Apr 2010 23:05:57 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 1 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12370 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12370 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12370 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12020-maelstrom https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12020-maelstrom In the dank echo of the night this mother will soothe away night terrors: terrible krakens rising from the depths of synapse and bone and hot chocolate. Yet still midnight slithers on and my pages are filled with nothing - the rarest flutter of breath in that space between the neck and the shoulder and lace. You come to me, husband, in this squall of isolation with your bible of body; fingers like tentacles wrapping around my skin, a wave of murmur telling me there is no time, there is no poetry. Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Tue, 27 Oct 2009 05:27:12 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 3 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12020 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12020 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12020 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12009-my-father-s-last-symphony https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-12009-my-father-s-last-symphony my father had an old piano made of oak that he’d pile various things on top of. the surface was golden lacquered, soft, and obsessively polished. there was a brass lamp and a bench where old music sheets were stored; the keys traditional black and white, except for the nicotine stains from the many times he’d smoke while banging the keys, writing notes, erasing them, trying to make them into something more than snuffed cigarette butts, and an over-flowing ash tray. I never actually saw him play. when I was twelve he told me the tragedy of Beethoven, how he sawed off the legs of his piano, banged on the keys, ear pressed against the floor to try and get the music out of his head. I never actually saw him play, either. the first song I ever played was one of Beethoven’s. my father taught me and I practiced every day, trying to get the notes just right, banging them, erasing them until my father asked me to stop. eventually he quit smoking and I quit playing but I still buried him; like a thousand used cigarettes like a thousand notes under his bench like a thousand deaf symphonies. ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Tue, 27 Oct 2009 15:32:52 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 1 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/12009 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/12009 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A12009 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-11922-babel-tongue https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-11922-babel-tongue I. Here and there the sound of a dumbek can be heard through the toes of this third story apartment. The noise is an ever-arcing crescent, the beat waxing and waning: doum doum doum I imagine the man: sweaty palms, and seasoned fingertips gliding over the smooth surface of the leather. A thousand years of Islamic history and culture wanting to be heard and remembered. II. You bang the pots as loud as any three-year old with chubby hands. A thousand days of exuberance waiting to be exorcised from the body like some uncontrollable demon. “Mommy, look” you say; and you want to be heard, so your feet stamp and shake the floor - ten tiny toes thrumming the carpet’s surface like dancers in a harem. III. You are the language I speak and we won’t understand each other with dry tongues. But sometime after midnight when bellies are full and the laundry is folded neatly, and your voice is a breath, you’ll shuffle out, sleepy-eyed whisper, “Mommy, look”. Palms sweaty and fingertips grasping yours, we’ll remember to turn off the lights, leaving shadows on the walls and crawl back in bed like the slow beat of a drum. ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sun, 27 Sep 2009 16:38:42 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 2 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/11922 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/11922 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A11922 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-11479-lost-child https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-11479-lost-child it's summer and I lay motionless. the dogs are barking again, howling and bending their pitch, great snapping jaws opening wide to prey upon carnal memory. it makes animals of us, the way rough hands part prepubescent thighs, tiny fists pounding on sweatslick skin, and a heartbeat that screams no,        no,               no, with every thrust. when enough blood has been spilled, the dogs grow bored, licking their jaws, teeth twisting and gnashing, until I can hear that calm whisper, "I'll kill you if you ever tell". ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 12 Sep 2009 04:45:38 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/11479 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/11479 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A11479 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10941-anxiety-in-heels https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10941-anxiety-in-heels The cat will jump from couch to floor to bed and ghosts will rattle at the windows as you look for laughter between sun beams. You don't express love in the casual way you sing "Twinkle Star" or in that matter-of-fact tone informing me, "kitty is hat, not food", and that the proper way to cut a sandwich is to promptly eat it. Our arms and legs are airplanes that fly us to exotic lands; and every time we land on our feet as the cat leaps at whispers hanging in the night. Darkness swallows us all. Eventually sirens come pulsating blue and red. "Uh-oh mama", you'll gasp nose pressed against the glass - and the police drive away the scowling criminal in handcuffs. When it's time for sleep we exchange kisses and a ritual only a mother can give: good night sleep tight don't let the bed bugs bite see you in the morning. Laying in our separate beds I'll listen to your rhythmic breathing across the hallway. And the silence envelopes my fears, like the tail of a cat curling upon itself. ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Fri, 06 Feb 2009 19:51:50 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 2 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10941 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10941 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10941 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-573-04.-the-death-of-may https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-573-04.-the-death-of-may we drove through may. we were always driving. In Tennessee we stopped needing more gas you paid while I spoke lightly of marriage you scoffed and we kept driving as if the death of may followed us. Jasmine Mann Poems In The Basement Thu, 22 Jan 2009 04:34:37 GMT /section-545-poems-in-the-basement#comments 1 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/573 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/573 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A573 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10539-at-least-babies-don-t-grow-out-of-condoms https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10539-at-least-babies-don-t-grow-out-of-condoms I feel a little like a used condom. I always feel sorry for those things. There's usually a penis inside: some big and fat, some small and skinny, some red and bulbous, some pink and sleek, but they're present at the most intimate moment a human can have, and when the pleasure is done they're tossed aside in a sticky mess, waiting to be dumped. I empathize with the used condom; it's not their fault, they don't know what they got themselves into, and they all end up getting called the same thing: "trash". They're thin skinned, fragile and sometimes break. It's tragic, really, looking at the shriveled thing that broke. Instead of the sperm dying in a latex womb, they've found mine. It's tragic, really. ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 10 Jan 2009 13:24:46 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 1 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10539 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10539 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10539 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-7900-how-do-i-move-pages-to-other-sections https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-7900-how-do-i-move-pages-to-other-sections I want to know how to mave a page to another section without having to type it all out again. Anything will help. TIA  Jasmine Mann Site Issues & Questions Tue, 07 Jul 2009 02:50:26 GMT /section-368-site-issues-questions#comments 4 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/7900 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/7900 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A7900 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10367-songs-upon-a-sea https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-10367-songs-upon-a-sea Ice would cling to the rooftops; slender fingers clasping December, clutching the moon in silver apathy. The cat howled at the wolf in the dark. Hunger having seeped into empty bellies and the night deepened, ripe with blood; death hidden behind every shadow. The Merrimack smelled of winter: its slow decay ebbing and flowing, like teeth gnashing on old bread. Tell me again, when we walked this river, when your skin was warm beneath your coat and the sway of these hips caused you to shiver, tell me again you used to love. The stars weep what my eyes cannot. I sing you songs upon a sea of ice, but the woods won't answer your name, and my soul is too old for these bones. ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Fri, 30 Jan 2009 19:07:35 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 2 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/10367 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/10367 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A10367 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-9806-viva-mexico https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-9806-viva-mexico Para Sonia: mi amiga, mi hermana, mi curandera. Te quiero mucho mucho Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Tue, 21 Jul 2009 19:47:33 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 6 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/9806 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/9806 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A9806 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-9798-little-brother https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-9798-little-brother For Jake: you are not forgotten Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Tue, 14 Oct 2008 02:37:05 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 5 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/9798 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/9798 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A9798 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-9661-through-strength-and-weakness https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-9661-through-strength-and-weakness I imagine my mother in her kitchen: the air pungent with whetted appetites, as she imparted her wisdom to me over boiling water and chopped garlic; the scents never left her hands - shriveled husks of youth, each wrinkle a memory. I wanted to be everything she was: a cook, a mother, a wife, a woman, but I never saw beneath her eyes how she wore her pain as easily as she wore her smile. Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Fri, 10 Oct 2008 12:57:56 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 6 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/9661 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/9661 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A9661 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-9660-the-body-language-of-us https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-9660-the-body-language-of-us I bruise as easily as fruit with no skin; and you cut me when I am most ripe. Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Mon, 29 Sep 2008 03:48:57 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/9660 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/9660 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A9660 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-9617-for-glory-in-the-highest https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-9617-for-glory-in-the-highest I. In the ancient gutters of Rome murmurs the thronged concession of old monks singing God's prayers. And if you listen, you can hear the voices of marred bones beseeching their Lord for peace. (Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini) II. I fear you abandoned us long ago; as my blood called to you, as the mist swallowed my tongue, as my hallowed screams fell deaf. Did you weep? III. Yea, though I walk through the valley in the shadow of Death, I can see you. my faith is guttered, O Lord - but I can still see you. (Hossana in excelsis) IV. Glory in the highest descends - for if you are not my God, why then, have you come? V. So in the shadows I shall wait as my body grows cold. (And in the shadows I shall wait as your body grows cold.) ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Mon, 22 Sep 2008 01:11:21 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/9617 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/9617 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A9617 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-9513-untitled https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-9513-untitled Something I wrote, but couldn't figure out where to end. Title to come. Maybe Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Mon, 15 Sep 2008 01:50:43 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/9513 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/9513 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A9513 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-9325-blue-sky https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-9325-blue-sky Stream of consciousness to get the juices flowing Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 16 Aug 2008 05:38:42 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 2 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/9325 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/9325 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A9325 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-9188-i-am-not-dead. https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-9188-i-am-not-dead. Paul is Jasmine Mann Scribbles and Tidbits Fri, 18 Jul 2008 14:57:21 GMT /section-41-scribbles-and-tidbits#comments 2 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/9188 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/9188 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A9188 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-8264-sin-and-suicide https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-8264-sin-and-suicide Not 100% polished, but it needed to go somewhere Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Thu, 17 Apr 2008 03:49:24 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/8264 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/8264 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A8264 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-7804-estos-huesos-viejos https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-7804-estos-huesos-viejos I am an old soul between nothing and everything in this old hotel in Mexico. We lay iris to iris, bone to bone and it took 540 million years for our eyes to evolve. "Eso es mucho tiempo", I give you in my best spanish, but you don't listen. Even the flies have gone. The ground smells of limes in summer. "It's hot here", you say in english - but you are already blue when I am dirty. Mis manos son pequeñas pero mis huesos no mueva. Además, no puedo oír la lluvia y suspiro para esta medianoche. No puedo leer tú. (My hands are small but my bones still. Besides, I can't hear the rain and sigh for this midnight. I can't read you.) ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 31 Jan 2009 07:50:23 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/7804 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/7804 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A7804 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-7790-how-a-mother-is-born https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-7790-how-a-mother-is-born My first attempt at cinquain. I was proud of it yesterday. Today I am not. Who knows what tomorrow holds Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Tue, 04 Mar 2008 03:32:58 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 2 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/7790 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/7790 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A7790 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-7760-for-the-man-who-stares-from-his-window https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-7760-for-the-man-who-stares-from-his-window No - do not presume you know mebeneath those crumpled white sheetsyou dream of.For I trembled already,spoke broken, red vowsfrom the scent of memory. The sway of these hips were notdesigned for you.The eyes on this face know too muchgrief. No,no,you do not know me. You were not there when life wasstripped from my womb: beautiful,bloody, and screaming for these breasts;they were not made for your lips. So do not pretend throughthe panel of your glassthat you are a standing convictionand I am half a heartbeat removed fromforbidden. No ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Fri, 29 Feb 2008 17:48:33 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/7760 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/7760 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A7760 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-7743-coffee-break-2-28-08 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-7743-coffee-break-2-28-08 breakfast is:eggs and toast,Bukowskiand coffee. --------------------------- living the life i dreamed, i never imagined i would have so much around my hips and so little in my wallet. --------------------------- why does it always go back to sex? --------------------------- the only fighting words we have left, lay between a pair of breasts and a gun in the glovebox. --------------------------- the temples are crashing down around us, but we are too deaf to listen when it is fashionable to be blind. --------------------------- somewhere, some god is laughing in a wholly cosmic sense and I don't know whether to laugh with him or weep. Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sun, 30 Mar 2008 15:00:34 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 6 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/7743 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/7743 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A7743 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-7708-commercial-break-2-26-08 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-7708-commercial-break-2-26-08 I fear I am buthuman,and not all amothershould be. --------------------- It is not enough for meto love you, my son;butit is enough thatwe can sharea cookie anda hug. --------------------- The silence is what Iworry over,not the destructionleft in your wake. --------------------- If poetry is myproverbial cigarette,then writing is mynicotine addiction. --------------------- Save my writings,so that whenI am goneyou will knowwho I am. --------------------- Staring at the moonfor hours will bringyou no lesscloser to brilliance. --------------------- Falling in and outof love worksvery much the sameas a penis Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sun, 30 Mar 2008 14:54:28 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 1 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/7708 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/7708 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A7708 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-7464-on-the-topic-of-love https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-7464-on-the-topic-of-love it used to be that I would think of flowers and sunshine: you know how poet types are. and you would sit in your corner and I in mine and eventually we'd meet half-way, kissing clumsily and groping with quiet reservation. sometimes I could smell a faint earthiness on your skin as you climaxed. afterward I always wondered what it was like for you but I'm just a woman. Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Tue, 26 Feb 2008 05:55:58 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 1 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/7464 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/7464 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A7464 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-7400-granite-and-silk https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-7400-granite-and-silk I'd love major feedback on this one Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 16 Aug 2008 13:39:20 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 6 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/7400 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/7400 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A7400 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-7328-this-is-a-little-late. https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-7328-this-is-a-little-late. He was a great man; it is no exaggeration. There is a light that has left this world, and it can never be replaced. There were so many people he touched within his lifetime. He had so much to give, and he did. His selflessness is unmatched. I am so very blessed to have so many happy memories of him. I think everyone who knew him feels the same way. What else is there to say? I will miss him. I will miss him a lot. The visitation and the funeral were perfect. Aside from the family drama, everything went well. It was a beautiful day: sunny and clear. He would have wanted it that way. ... more Jasmine Mann Scribbles and Tidbits Mon, 04 Feb 2008 03:17:41 GMT /section-41-scribbles-and-tidbits#comments 1 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/7328 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/7328 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A7328 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-6961-organic-and-red-lace https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-6961-organic-and-red-lace And they'll come out of blue jalopies hard, and hoping to score higher than their fantasy football team. She won't come willingly, but they will take it from her in their leather seats ripe with organic and red lace. (souls are cheapest with a bottle of wine and cleavage) In the mirror she won't see a slut - she was a virgin once, and only spread her legs to anyone willing to part; smoked cigarettes in her mother's closet full of organic and red lace. Eventually she'll look into the mirror, again, think of when they took it from her - and see she's older than she used to be. ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Sat, 31 Jan 2009 07:56:18 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 2 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/6961 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/6961 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A6961 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-6561-red https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-6561-red on a swing,on a porch,on a sunday afternoon,swinging her legsshe said, "momma,daddy ain't comin' home". and they came with black coats, solemn faces gave her a letter, said he was dead; that they found his red on the ground and he died bravely for their freedom. momma sank to her knees, clutched the letter to her chest screamed, "baby, no no, no, no, daddy, i can't see him, lord, he's gone, no, he's coming home in a bag". on a swing, on a porch, on a sunday afternoon, she swings her legs, clutches the letter to her chest where she found her red, says, "momma can you see daddy? ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Thu, 20 Dec 2007 01:34:18 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 1 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/6561 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/6561 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A6561 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-6530-the-birds-are-silent https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-6530-the-birds-are-silent the birds are silent,wholly now. and on this moon-less night i stand by this window in themiddle of this room andwonder where love goes. (and feeling, of course, isnot forgotten but love) oh,how it grows cold and i long to feel yourhands upon my hands; your lipsupon my lips, and laugh until we aresilent in this room, and feelyour skin on my skin Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Wed, 19 Dec 2007 05:14:37 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/6530 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/6530 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A6530 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-547-things-better-left-unsaid https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-547-things-better-left-unsaid i would turn to you,eyes full with such ardor,lips full with such erotic desires as to make you shiver. and you,your hands with their elated sanctity,your breath with its sultry quiver,you are forbidden. graceful frame, you turn away,and i imagine how it would feel to run my hands down your back,and how it would feel to lead you into the hollowness between pleasure and sin. on the verge of something beautiful. ("and how i wishhow i wish you were here...") Poetic Insomniac Jasmine's Poetry Mon, 03 Dec 2007 14:47:26 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/547 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/547 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A547 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-553-if-you-must-know-i-m-really-a-mermaid https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-553-if-you-must-know-i-m-really-a-mermaid There's dualismin my small waist,an arch to my backthat moves my hipsto shimmey groovesand legs shape fluidcrescents on the ground. I like howthe water wrapsaround my arms,slickslidingover smooth skin'ssmatterfrecklesand scars. The tendrils of hairweighted withviscosity's volumeframe ecstasy's face;flick shimmeringdiamond drops with everysnap of vertebrae. Morning rituals areexhausting, butI could danceto my own beatfor hours Poetic Insomniac Jasmine's Poetry Mon, 03 Dec 2007 14:46:29 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/553 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/553 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A553 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-569-freebirds-palindrome https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-569-freebirds-palindrome may, and it's raining again. but jet planes draw lines across the sky in white, they form strings around our necks, and her breath is smoke filled, expels small halos, her voice dances around my smile as the faded cassette bursts forth playing Yes; so the last of her cigarette is snuffed and there's miles behind our pain, asphault and steam underneath our feet our lives stretch out on the road, like mother, like daughter, we're nomads freebirds freebirds like mother, like daughter, we're nomads our lives stretch out on the road, asphault and steam underneath our feet and there's miles behind our pain, so the last of her cigarette is snuffed as the faded cassette bursts forth, playing Yes; her voice dances around my smile and her breath is smoke filled, expels small halos, white, they form strings around our necks, but jet planes draw lines across the sky in may, and it's raining again. ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Thu, 28 Feb 2008 17:19:39 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/569 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/569 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A569 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-599-0419060214-prenatal-butterfly-phase-2 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-599-0419060214-prenatal-butterfly-phase-2 i.bone for bonei know youshaped youfrom ovum to embryoto fetus toour child ii.breathless, forminginside passion's wombthere is a home for lifethere is a home for usand you are loved you are loved iii.buthome is a2 am barefoot car ridea Pink Floyd songan empty ochre horizonstretched beyondsegmented highwaysbeneath the stars beneath you Poetic Insomniac Jasmine's Poetry Mon, 03 Dec 2007 14:44:59 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/599 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/599 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A599 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-577-0303060237-prenatal-butterfly-phase-1 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-577-0303060237-prenatal-butterfly-phase-1 there's something growing inside this belly an ache for a future a twinge for happiness (love, as it is) so tell me, my darling humor me, when we decided the condom would break when we decided, lust (this mother's vice) before love, that  you would be a father, and i a mother when did we choose? (to want our child) tell me, love will you be leaving when i am fat and ugly a screaming baby left (healthy in my arms) nursing at my breast before you, will you want what is left between these legs after birth? (will you still want our baby?) ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Fri, 02 Oct 2009 05:00:33 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/577 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/577 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A577 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-546-0101060150-epact-palindrome https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-546-0101060150-epact-palindrome barren and cold; it's winter again. i would hold my hand to the window, sitting at your feet, framing the doorway, limbs leaning on the edge, you would smoke a cigarette, but you quit your addiction. obsession comes naturally to you, compulsion pulls you, and for now your only concern is the distance between us. you tell me about the forecast tonight, but i just want to hear your lips speak "you're my daughter" "you're my daughter" your lips speak but i just want to hear you tell me about the forecast tonight, and for now your only concern is the distance between us. obsession comes naturally to you, compulsion pulls you, but you quit your addiction. you would smoke a cigarette, framing the doorway, limbs leaning on the edge, i would hold my hand to the window, sitting at your feet, barren and cold; it's winter again. ... more Jasmine Mann Jasmine's Poetry Thu, 28 Feb 2008 17:20:59 GMT /section-72-jasmine-s-poetry#comments 0 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/post.php/article/546 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/comments/feed.php/article/546 https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/links/trackback.php?anchor=article%3A546