A Labyrinth

I am an open source,
anyone can take from me,
add to me,
edit me,
credit me.
Of course, you have to learn a bit of code,
but I believe every,
fly-by-night programmer,
has something to offer.
An idea that I would never discover on my own,
an inspiration,
a collaboration.
What do I have to lose?
Perhaps I could catch a virus or two,
But I would be building antibodies for a better future.
Learning, teaching, growing,
becoming,
always evolving.

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I have a quick wit,
which could fool people into thinking,
that I am thinking,
that I think quick.

But the truth is I am slow to process.
You should know,
the process to become the strong woman that today I am,
well, I had to crawl before I could learn to stand.

It took decades and hours of pondering,
philosophizing,
reflecting,
dot connecting,
never skipped a stepping stone,
took the time to be alone.

Me time is precious,
and I take it,
and I find it,
in all sorts of places.
And I roll over your words,
and mine,
and others besides,
over and over,
tumbling,
till they are fluffy and warm.
I wrap myself in them,
hide my nakedness,
and keep myself from the cold,
so when someone makes a joke,
I am ready.

I have built my armor and arsenal for years,
but when something totally new gets thrown at me,
do not expect me to be able to understand my own laughter and tears,
right away.

I have style,
I am free,
but I cannot seem to combine the two,
and willy nilly rattle off something totally new,
I am not an improvisor like you.

It will take time.
I am a little bit slow.
Just thought you should know.

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In different situations,
you need a different type of spy,
to gather information,
and make postulations,
predictions of future actions,
the best way to approach,
various warring factions.

Of course,
there is James Bond,
cool and collected,
always in a suit,
and totally disaffected.
But he is a movie depiction,
a complete work of fiction.

The Mata Hari too,
has her place in history,
her seduction and mystery.
I supposed she failed.
She danced away her secrets,
her body was too eloquent.
But probably she did not think,
she was emotional but not so intelligent.

Did you know that Julia Child was a spy?
Carefully,
writing recipes,
oh, she made more than pecan pie.
Educated and ebullient,
she catalogued deep secrets.
It is important to digest what you are fed,
to be calculating and well read.
But who really knows what you will do with the energy?
You never know when you’ll be called on to catch a ruse,
or spark a fuse,
to just be prepared to field whatever is thrown at you.
Could be a python’s fang
but I hope its lemon meringue.

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Oh Jerusalem,
how strange it is to be back in your embrace,
to smell you,
to taste you,
to dance you.
I have found a new place,
a new city,
a new love.
And yet,
I still find comfort in your streets.
I know your every corner.
I have traveled your every alley,
every crack,
every peak,
every valley.
We are intimates.

I do not regret my move,
the excitement and fear of the unknown.

Oh Jerusalem,
remember when you first seduced me?
When you broke me?
When you reduced me,
to tears?
Do you remember when I said I was leaving,
and we were both heartbroken,
but found a way to keep on breathing?

Do you know that some people stay still?
That they never go out to discover,
other places and people to uncover?
Are they content,
or merely ignorant?

Oh Jerusalem,
How much can we love?
How many times?
When should we give up?
Who gets to decide?
When is it right?
When is it worth,
is it worth the fight?

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My body hung over from a night filled with kisses and poetry,
I pull myself up the stairs to my crystal tower,
grateful for the railing and the wall.

I will rip you off like a bandaid,
so the wound can dry and heal,
but I hope that you scar.
Wherever you go,
wherever you are,
I can look down on a pure white crescent,
a glowing moon on my tanned grape skin.
After the bruises heal,
it will be the only evidence that you were present.

You are present,
a present,
a gift,
that I cannot keep.

As much as I selfishly,
want to lock you up,
I know that the song of a caged bird,
is the heartbreaking blues,
and I would never ask you to defer your dreams,
you don’t have to choose.

But I cannot make promises that I do not know I can keep,
I don’t want to be a liar,
and I know that you would neither.
So if you return,
when you return,
as much as it now seems to me to be an impossibility,
know that I may not be here to return to.

And perhaps you will find time to be slow,
as you travel wherever you will go,
but for me it will be fast and changes will come,
perhaps,
if you return,
when you return,
whatever it is that burned, burned, burned,
will have caramelized into something hard and entirely unmalleable.

Perhaps, this was just for the moment,
and we must accept that love is fallible.
Or whatever this is,
whatever it was,
was momentary as it is palatable.

Finally my loneliness will have a name.

If only I could lay the fault on you,
instead of my reluctance to,
let anyone close.
But what they say is true,
and I am glad for what I had,
even if I have to lose.

Go,
fly that plane,
sail that boat,
see what there is to see wide and far.
Go wherever you will go.
But I know that you are an honest man,
so with you I will be candid,
I’m ripping you off like a bandaid.

But I hope that you scar.

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In the morning,
my Venitian blinds,
leave Zebra tan lines.

Sunbathing with open arms.
I like being striped.

To wear something so loud,
some might say is silly,
the lion will find you in the crowd,
but I cannot hide my stripes,
I guess I’m just not your average filly.

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