January 24-30, 2005: Lisa Manzi and John Dorsey

Lisa Manzi and John Dorsey

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Bio (auto)

Lisa Manzi is a poet and writer working from her home in Greenwich, NY She believes that the recent split of Brad and Jen proves her theory that husbands should never be prettier than their wives are She was born and half-raised in New Jersey and, therefore, is exempt from being called an elitist with any credibility Read more of her writing or contact her at www.lisamanzi.com

The following work is Copyright © 2005, and owned by Lisa Manzi and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

A white feathered bird at the sightline to his door lies head facing east, belly up, rotting in the morning sun. There are many omens to a home of discontent We walk by. At dusk I stepped in the back door of your house Taking off my shoes, padding about the cool and thick of the floors Home while you begged the dropped sun through the slit blinds, to send another woman to you Another woman from another life You were drawn down to grit asking half a moon to let her rescue your own soft skins Until the day I said choose I may hear you calling out the broken windows and my eyes fall again Remember how I came through the back door quietly and waited The back door that keeps me with you Always the back door, kept unlocked before me. Turquoise, copper, green earth and flesh I unpacked your colors today mixed up with mine Fugitives from our past, crumbling round pats that can’t be returned I shall lap up your stowaways the way time stalked down our children – wringing them out, pretending they are my own.

the vortex of wisdom i thought i had gone beyond the sea above the holy vortex of wisdom found in sleep whispering secrets in some sweet bashful dove’s ear which was my .mistake we are few tiny kissing seahorse footprints amongst the many waves in the middle of dance party .u.s.a i pressed my body up against the wisdom to hear love singing music to my ears like some schoolboy riddle crushin’ on cleopatra thankful for this blood ambling through my veins set before the nile our water fountains were made to strike oil so not thinking i pulled up a chair and blessed the tsunami like a child asking for permission to speak in tongues oh please big daddy part the red sea while i dream a little american .dream