All material on this page is copyrighted by Lillian Austen (contact 
via e-mail address on "Main Page -- Denver Sandwich"). Any use without
consent of the the author is prohibited.

© Lillian Austen-- 1/15/99

                          ~~ Life after Death ~~


          He's Smoke

          He makes love so fiercely, like the hero in the movie who's 
killed all the bad guys and clutches the woman to his chest with his  
broken ribs and kisses her with his broken nose and you know they're 
going to do it and he won't even feel the pain because he's so heroic. 
That's how fierce he is .  
 
He says pain makes you feel alive.

         I'm alive!  I'm so alive! 

         He makes love so gently like a baby- suckling and mewling
baby, baby, baby.

           and he brings you gifts.  Shiny, mystical objects as a 
raven would bring. and he leaves you notes and doesn't call and just 
when you think he is at the farthest reach of your orbit he appears, 
pretty and brown in turquoise and boots to talk of Indian Angels, the 
bird people, his people and his Month Long journey to go to a 
Halloween party. You ask if he he'd seen the sunrise and of course he 
had and you picture him rising joyfully at about the time you were 
greeting the piercing peach sky after a ragged night. and you wait for 
another sunrise listening to-- inhaling his breath. and you have 
nothing to offer but surrender and your secret mantra  Savor this, 
Savor this.


        And having masterly mastered you, weaving you through the 
night until  where you  end and the silken quilt begins becomes a 
molten unfolding in the room with orgasm visions of shallow blue 
Chinese bells on a long cord and a fleshy thick white Geogia O'keefe 
Kalla Lily with an electric red stamen like Luke Skywalkers sword, he 
smiles, giggles, gives a little bow and is gone.  And you want to ask 
him.  Is it my turn?  Is it my time?  But you can't ask smoke
about time.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ © PP 1/15/99 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
© Lillian Austen -- 3/12/99


Often in those years as I lay warmed against your back 
composing little word poems of gratitude and tenderness
as you slept
Enamored of your humor
but afraid of being laughed at
afraid of waking you
I never spoke

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Insomnia Meditation

Full moonlight through the skylight
glowing in the bathtub
Dog tags clinking as she drinks from the toilet
baseboard ticking heater pipes
Little boy on the couch talking in his sleep
Someday peace again.  Someday a cool hand on my forehead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gentle Spirit Man

teaching me the rhythms of the garden
teaching me the sacredness of touch
I learn to share with you the universe
I learn to not hold on to much.

Sipping your seed from me
pruning my trees
searching the almanac for the final freeze

Coming and going in a cosmic dance
accepting the roam with your romance
humble, spellbound, a timeless trance
is it ordained or is it chance

Living a pattern I can't decern
my awe renewed at your return

Longing and startled at your return
Like waiting for the spotting of a sacred owl
Knowing the lesson I must learn
Loving your freedom you teach me how   

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~© PP 3/12/99 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

untitled -- © Lillian Austen (Paula Preston) -- 30 Jan 1999 

 to and from
from hibernating bear to raging wolf
from seductive allusion of supposed safety
to hot eyes with no lies of anything more then the moment
from tender touches and terms of endearment 
from emotional cowardice and pretense of commitment
to electric intention with indifference to future
I spiral in the moonlight a singing ghost 
allowed to howl for what is found and what is lost

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ © PP 30 Jan 1999  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A love so kind
it reaches across the chasm of separateness
the mysteries of sparkling blue differences in our protoplasm
me and you
a love so kind it brings me back my visions
A love so new and know

a love so doomed by it's intensity

A love so lost in the safety and the sense of self
-------------------------------------------------------------------

-- love 101 -- © Lillian Austen, 22 Dec 1998 

Distancing yourself because you're leaving?
Too busy preparing to leave?
I'm wasting the now with my grieving
to easy a loss to believe

Dreams brought to fruition
savored on a graying day

Dreams yet to discover 
uncovered while you're away

settled, I dream at my leisure
awaiting the dance to begin

if ever it is to begin again
let it begin in the Spring

The Denver Sandwich Home-Page