Category Archives: Fiction

Brain flow with no personal connection to me other than it was created in my brain.

Me/You: Impossible

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By ExoticHippieQueen © 2012

Me/Heart
You/Head

Me/Think
You/Said

Me/Truth
You/Lie

Me/Stay
You/Fly

Me/Joy
You/Grief

Me/Buy
You/Thief

Me/Text
You/Call

Me/Short
You/Tall

Me/Neat
You/Mess

Me/Calm
You/Stress

Me/Sweet
You/Sour

Me/Weak
You/Power

Me/Walk
You/Ride

Me/Show
You/Hide

Me/Real
You/Fake

Me/Fix
You/Break

Me/Talk
You/Fight

Me/Wrong (no)
You/Right

Me/Wed
You/Date

Me/Here
You/Late

Me/Fish
You/Steak

Me/Give
You/Take

Me/Save
You/Spend

Me/Straight
You/Bend

Me/Cry
You/Grin

Me/Lose
You/Win

Me/Spoon
You/Snore

Me/Done
You/Door.

 

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Darkest Desires

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Let’s face it….we all have deep, dark secrets that live in our hearts, secrets that we would never tell anyone, not our spouses, not our best friends, not anyone. What is your secret?………………
Moth to a flame..
Moth to a flame..

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By ExoticHippieQueen © 2012

 

As a gypsy moth to an open flame,

Are you drawn to your darkest desire?

Too afraid to even give it a name,

Burns inside you like a fire.

 

 

At times only the embers remain

In secret, so deep in your heart,

But then the embers burst into flames,

You find yourself back at the start.

 

 

Another man’s job…….another man’s wife?

What is it that you desire?

You yearn and you burn for its’ place in your life

But you’ll pay for playing with fire.

 

 

Each day after endless day you survive

Trapped in your quiet cage

But every moment that you are alive

You burn with a covetous rage.

 

 

Moth to a flame

What is your fire?

Whisper the name

Of your darkest desire……………………….

©2011

 

Soul of Eve

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What price beauty?

Source: Dreamstime

By Exotic Hippie Queen  ©2011

 

A sky high legend, she nurses Patron Silver

From a sippee cup,

And braids red ribbons into her star-blazed nest of tangles.

Her shar-pei puppy neck whimpers,

Remembering it’s tender day.

 

She still laughs music from her ears…………..

Notes falling down onto her lap

And splashing out into the lost movement

That once rocked the cradle of her youth,

Now very still.

 

Simple chemistry and a White Wizard

Remind her face that

vanity

wanted

it’s

way

But nothing can return the Perfect Peaches

To her sunken, ashy cream.

 

Watching the crowned heads of celebrity

Upload fillers……………

Rabid, her barracuda fangs glisten wicked,

Stalking the nubile for consumption.

Violet eyes roll and flutter

At such obscene lechery

Snow White’s Wicked Queen treachery.

 

A wide putty knife now patches the cracks and lines of

Adulterous afternoons at cheap motels and

Forgotten nights at the far end of the bar,

With the pasty mix of Lost and Regretable Moments #9,

Applied directly to her face

With a heavy hand.

Catgut zippers

Open and close at any capricious whim,

Without hesitation.

 

Smoke and mirrors,

Mirrors and smoke,

A damn practical joke

On an enhanced Mother Nature,

Cheating on an aging Father Time.

The taste for young blood never ends.

 

Blindly, boldly ignoring the obviously

Carniverous Nature of her

Savage vanity,

She pleads mercy for her squishy, inflamed heart,

Acutely abcessed from a

Rash of Disappearances and

A String of Cold Cases gone missing.

 

(Why does she lay bare blue, sprawled, lounging

On the pages of my mind,

As night visions of her inflated face float and bounce down

Main Street

Like the giant balloons at Macy’s Christmas parade).

 

Passionate intent and succulent wildness unfold with

Stubborn purpose

To reveal the raw grit and such pink tenderness

Alternately layered on a True Woman.

We can revel in the enduring

Beauty of Woman

And her soft flesh

Which refuses to fade into extinction,

And rejects the forward progression of

Life’s chaos theory.

 

Moving past the past,

So slowly,

Never fast…………

She sways to Dylan’s tambourine

With Sunday ease

And drips sacred knowledge from her pores.

 

Exhale………..an audible sigh for authenticity

She will remain forever:

The sweetest spot in the soul of Eve,

The distant echo that rattles in her seasoned bones.

Fly true.

Kaleidoscope

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By Exotic Hippie Queen ©2011
 
 
The beauty of the ever-changing kaleidoscope mimics the continual opening and closing metamorphic details of our daily lives.
Life is a kaleidoscope………
gimp.kaleidoscope
Source: thelifebeyond.files.wordpress.com
 
 

Turn.

Change.

The beauty and the pain,

As sun to the rain

 

Turn.

Change.

A life begins as someone dies

See the changes through my eyes

Colors, details flowing through

From another life and into you.

 

Changing hearts and turning ways

Kaleidoscope of nights and days

Turn.

Change.

 

Prism colors stain the mind,

Out and in and through

Then move into your waiting Soul,

The deepest part of you.

 

Details, changes, loves and losses,

dogs, vacations, bad new bosses,

picnics, tollways, planting trees,

doctor visits, recipes,

baseball games and worn-out shoes,

housepaint colors yet to choose,

best friends, birthdays, missing bills,

expensive trips and cheap new thrills.

Turn.

Change.

 

White Innocence, fresh new start…….

Pounding, pulsing deep Red Hearts

Turn.

Change.

 

Into Black Souls, Hate, Death. Lies

Deep Blue Grief, Eyes, Sea, Skies

Turn.

Change.

 

Spectrum of Life

Seconds, minutes, hours.

Beautiful, relentless course

That time devours.

 

Created & Owned by Exotic Hippie Queen 06/23/11 ©2011

 
 

Tribal Bluefly Collaboration

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The anonymous observer in your head knows you well, too well, some might say.

The Tribal Bluefly Collaboration goes by many names. What’s yours?

By ExoticHippieQueen ©2011

 

 

pull me out of this wreck

no one knows

im already on life support.

the hair’s standing up

on the back of my

neck.

 

 

the tribal bluefly collaboration

watches me with hollow eyes

and breathes heavy sighs

its no surprise.

did i say that they often tell lies?

 

 

They notice my scratch and claw

up the down ramp

but yawn in benign boredom

while snatching their own

from thin air and

eating them whole, and buzzing,

blueflies with ground pepper.

made me sneeze.

 

 

as rare as a white truffle

hidden, buried in mossy hills

true understanding and unconditional love

remain elusive spectres.

 

 

this exhausts me.

 

 

the empty places in the

alphawaves of

my mind

slowly fill with visions and dreams

of my pink and white Schwinn bike,

and the little bird that I

cared for that

hung itself so very accidentally

in the v of a branch

during a high wind

while i was at school.

 

 

this is too hard

life’s deck of cards

filled with jokers and jacks

and stampeding horses,

coconut palms and the

smiles of sweet aunts,

little red corvette,

our matching poodle skirts,

skating on stadium ice,

goodbye to my love,

and dancing drunk

on a bowling machine

that was once upon a time.

 

the tribal bluefly collaboration

elaborates and always collaborates

on the hows and whys

the lows and highs

of the passing of life

push and pull of the strife.

make me get off the floor.

can’t keep this up anymore.

i’m on life support.

please just show me the door.

 

or pull me an ace,

bluefly.

Night Debri

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By ExoticHippieQueen ©2011

 

 

plunging………….elevator down.

the day dead ends

revealing its noir underside.

 

a blending of innocent perceptions and deviant deceptions

of what is real.

ignored, Night now……rolls in….. and takes possession

without permission,

then…… rolls out…… a voluminous velvet blanket

across and beyond

that covers the madness of heathens

and the genius of madmen.

 

juicy and plumply expectant like a full-term

Dark Madonna,

she writhes in labor at dusk,

exploding the Night into existence

in an accelerando burst

of euphoric joy and anguished grief,

things that combust in the dark……………..

 

uproar and new war,

flashing, flitting, micro clips of

earthquakes,

new life and old strife,

too fast for the blinking eye

to grasp the scenes,

breaking the speed limit.

the Night will not lie.

 

military deployment,

sexual enjoyment,

children’s famine in Somalia,

midnight visions of the dead,

old men praying on their beds,

airplane crashes,

the dots and dashes

of Night Debri breeding in the petri dish

on the far side,

under the same stars

that you and me and they and he

love and dance,

and take a chance.

 

Noir. both soothes and smothers,

titillates and terrifies.

a blind man’s sole sight,

the moving feast of Night

leaves it’s residue behind like

a crawling insect dragging itself

leaves a trail of slime.

Night is Day’s destiny

on universal time.

Deep in the Velvet Brown

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I was sitting in my car, parked in a very small country town near the railroad tracks, waiting for someone, the late afternoon sun warming my face. Looking around town on a short drive, I saw that most of the town was empty. So many of the storefronts were vacant that a whole block was unoccupied in this three block town. Many of the small homes had for sale signs out front. The only place that showed any sign of life was Hillbilly Haven, a small bar by the tracks.

 

By Exotic Hippie Queen ©2011

 

 

Deep in the velvet brown of her eyes,

I see a dream of a life not yet lived.

Tucked safely there, but restlessly,

the dream sparkles with the brilliance of diamonds.

Flecks of gold shimmer in those eyes,

but I see them only when the late afternoon sun

streaks across the fields onto the porch steps

and kisses her face into a squint.

 

Then I caress her face with my mind,

dream her dream,

hold my breath for the wanting

and live for the day

we can run far away.

 

Ghost town, bare storefronts, all for sale.

Even the railroad tracks want to leave their rails.

She’s the only jewel in this farmer town,

Only woman I want to hang around.

 

Six pick-up trucks parked at the hillbilly bar.

They all live in town so they don’t travel far.

One dollar drafts to forget where they live.

Farmers so poor they’ve got nothing to give.

 

The funeral home’s just down the street

The curtains closed tight, the sign discreet.

They live and die here within one block.

Put in your time like you’re punching a clock.

 

A town that complains about itself.

It’s an empty carton on a broken shelf.

The last one picked in the baseball game.

A dying breed, no fortune, no fame.

 

A hopeless taste lingers on my tongue

The words to music that’s no longer sung.

The smell of fear for what will not be

There’s no one to care, just poverty.

 

When you turn up that corner down by the show,

You run out of town, there’s nowhere to go.

Nowhere to go, but back to the bar.

Lucky for me, it’s not very far.

 

Deep in the velvet brown of her eyes, I see a dream

of a life not yet lived.

If we don’t leave now, we may be here forever.

Come with me.

Now.

It’s not too late.

Yet.