fleischer art poetry teresa fleischer

Summit Avenue

I am not concealed and renounced

I am not concealed and renounced and lodging with a solitary and indifferent suspensory interest, my thoughts are not random nor are they aimless
I am leaning with opinions yet this too is fleshy and full of determination and there is nothing refined about being impressionable.

If I pass priority for marvel I will become numb. Intelligence will not bring me consciousness, but to be stupid is unreasonable. A straight course will follow an appropriate succession, yet is that really refined?

I assume modesty but that does not make me indifferent and it certainly does not humble me to chatter about endless, depthless sentiment. This trembling is a bachelor of deception.

Do not merry me with automation, but do not religion me with gracious and religious functions, either.

Convey to me with soft rule, the curve of your unrestrained arch, your frank and exceptional draft
for I am overcome and jammed with animate liveliness, a sweet speckle…
like a crush.

Weather , weather, weather in me

Weather , weather, weather in me the slope that is not lean but a high pitch with a gentile swag. Sway and tower over me, drop with equal match to my swing,
burn to the ground consumed and simmer for I want you not to be overwarm with seething heart ,
burnable fade…you will be consumed.

Unquenched, this humid stewing of radiance
spontaneous and scorching
running like liquid through my insides
chiefly set to fire and up with a strike ……
you pilot my heartstone.

Land

Land.

Border me agile, border me plain and terrace,
level and Northland…
spirit me, expanse and sweep me fatherland.
Valley me with union and not out of trade.

Labor but do not kneel and I will grow worldly,
drudge and I will strain and wear and struggle and become your tedious toil.

Labor conscious and I will not pool dry, I will not pond a desert..
a millpond of dry salt.

Asleep mine eyes and away slumberous I heavy my heart

Asleep mine eyes and away slumberous I heavy my heart
drugged and dead pound by pound, drunk with time and rest
high on days to settle and recline ,
off to slowness and leisure.

Sweet time to be in a hurry for haste.
Impetuous and impulsive, such a wondrous sensation…rush feverishly to force matches with me
but bad humor gives way to beat me down, and I am earthborn and timid once more.

Humbled I am in my smallness
for I dare not to show my face crawling with restraint

…you make one stare and to take notice, to carry on with a heart full of loud wonder.
Melt tender and not sharply for I am not hard and bordered.
Womanliness entires me.

I think that I shall want to memory you never

I think that I shall want to memory you never
I think that I shall want to live you ever, ever, evermore ….
let not there be times that are spent longing
but let there be times that are spent in living,
with you.

Let there be days….
let there be days that are today and not yesterdays and yesteryears
they are far too long to remember, they are far too long gone.

Head to me with speed and fast winds will blow at our backside and not burn our skin, and make swollen

our eyes and minds
for the heart is to be affluent.
Make to me with ready speed,
I think I shall want to memory you never.

With whom an extra second will flow to be an hour

With whom an extra second will flow to be an hour, seeded and renewed
routines that mature can now flare almost perfect, and I do not mind .
It is direct and opposing but your motion plants me to a different place
and I find a promise without gain or attention

here I am sprawling in redemption
for I no longer winter with regarded loans,
and I do not crime with compromise.
My heart is fragrant.

I am not mild, my mind is not light and feathered

I am not mild, my mind is not light and feathered
I do not chase a fleetwood of boxed pencils on my desk because they are dull and driftless
and sharpening would make them aromatic

I am windy and stirred
moved with an urge to person a warehouse of ink that has my custody
for I am allowably absent of reason.
I am with impressible disorder, there is a simmering wind of affection
that volumes me with a wardrobe of reckless bravado

mere suggestions make me venture against all reason,
opposing counsel
opposing manners
that only ceremony in the etiquette of safety.

There is an entrance to my template, a purpose to my design

There is an entrance to my template, a purpose to my design
you are still even though within you is not a calm, I am quiet for comfort… yet the essence is not with

silence.

Together we are slanting to sweep this wandering length that tunnels one’s mind.
Drops of me are falling deliberate, low-pitched but I wonder if you will consider my craving nonetheless

you are a contagious sketch, and subtle in narrative
and more so this naming of you flames in me with every whim and fancy, with want and wish
penetrating me with deep-seated settlement.

Behind me is not a spotlight but a dire need for lengthy portraits of you,
for un-resting sketches that do not number in suspension but panel countless reflections of you.

I make more myself the thread

I make more myself the thread and not the wire
because I do not want to go around something as much as I want be woven within it.

I window into this world

I window into this world because I was searching for the footsteps of your heart
wandering in sometimes unkind places and learning to practice error

yet my willingness to know my rightful permission held me determined to tell brightness

and here you are,
the erotic brilliance , in not a glare but in a blaze of sensual splendor
the faithful exact to my heart.