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muMs is an award-winning New York City based Poet and a member of the Labyrinth Theater Company.


muMs the Schemer ===> Schemer: fiend, foe, friend, fear, /swallower of your fear, /blasphemer, /dreamer…. /to hold, to have, to be in a condition akin to, to victory he prevails! /A mathematical or philosophical diagram representing the astrological aspects of the planets, emotions and intellect on scales, /teller of your tale /in a letha-phorical outline, /a concise examination crafty and secretive in sign, /a systematic and organized chaotic plot. /I am muMs the schemer and you, are not. ===> The first ‘m’ is lower-cased /concerned with race /and small manipulative matters of that sort: /the things in our face /that bleed into our heart. /The ‘u’- also small- leads me to look to the sky, walk there the edge of a shore equating to particles of sand, stars, the moon. To be under all that which is bigger than me lead’s to the second ‘M’ capitalized for the manipulation /of that that from which all shall begin /and again /from when /we least expect. /The ‘S’ is the trick: the hush of it all. /The control over what we discuss, beckon or call /or plural to represent the many that know /or just that the path is a windy road? /No matter, it also is small. ===> muMs, the schemer and echo-er of it all.

welcome to a new day --goRealer

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

the alchemy of a moment

A Gentleman sits in his own reflection, 
in a three-piece Gieves&Hawkes tailored to fit the mood of a cold introspective blur.
His complex resonance can quake a hush over a crowd.
It is his unconsciousness lost in the thoughts or her.

He is a well-manicured existence 
that has it's start at the fingers tips.
His Jacket hangs nearby. 
Out the sleeve of his dress shirt 
peeks an inconspicous worth.
The Movado from her, his birthday, last July.

Though ‘what is' can never be ‘how it was’.
What only a Belvedere on the rocks with her did
is now what a Lagavulin neat, alone, does.
His desire, to taste fire.

Numb... forget... summer, expressions in the grass, under the magnolia tree, the right foods, bottles of wine, touches of purpose. The south of some somewhere, inseparable. 
the memories confined to her face and flowers, and birds singing, people smiling. 

Outside of her he hasn't been able to stay long enough to danceto focus, to care if she is safe, any other she but her.

Even after three Ciroc's and laughter
the lay down with lust only lasts
through the heat, the delirium
that puts any she-other-than-her's worth 
in only how she moves to music.

Forever is NOT in flesh disposable delight
and FOREVER should never be as great as right now.
This moment in anticipation of fully sensing
the reality of a formed memory
formed to hold on forever.
Here, where
the past and future embody a dangerous imagination,
teetering on this very fragile, single, present.
If only to stay here, in this moment, remembering tastes, feelings, 
breathing in unison with her while sleeping...

Tell time to slow 
before the memories of how trust thins to frailty 
begins to erode to the unbalanced. 
The unsatiable unsaid. 
Its pain is as plain as the door,
as the challenge to NOT walk his Gaziano's out 
and be in this penetrable place for more 
that his pride will allow,
his wit can assess,

he'll close his eyes, 

let the memories go.

Think on the delicacy here that will pass between.

In this moment do not suffer, do not dream...

Do not miss 
the smell of her Michael Kors 
as she walks through the doors
 hear her Satin Roger Vivier's place each step towards, 

set in simple, black vintage Givenchy 
contouring her soft shape.
The delicate elegance of say, 
a DaVinci, a Monet...

He'll touch her hand, feel her benignity, 
accept regret enough to make the truth scream from his heart
unshaken by any loss of dignity.
A 2.4 carat princess cut diamond starts to
burn this moment into infamy. 
A moment of future and past fused, a symbiotic emotional vortex 
that can suck out all that could go wrong in time.

I take you, from here to infinity... 

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