BOOK LINE - Virgins Are Meant To Die

So that's the Book!
I already have a line of 10 poems waiting for the next collection (this brain sleeps precious little), but I'm going to take a break from collaging/posting for now so that I can put this book together {front/back cover already in-process, see above}. I'm only putting in the best, so if there's one you like POST A COMMENT, for gosh sakes, and I'll put it in there for you :)

I'd like to thank especially Julie P., Jessica P., Krista L., David K., Brigitte H., and the natural world in general for contributing so many aesthetic moments to these collages; Julie, Val, Ashley, Jenna, my dear friend Lilyann, Kanani, Jenny, Brittany, Riley, Jacquie, sweet adventurous Becky, Mallory, Eryn, Irena, and the judiciously vicious carniceria of actual / computer-mediated date-finding in general for spurring so much of this poetic self-medication (and growth in understanding) regarding the nature of male-female communication, the negotiation of mental/physical attraction, and the affective/philosophical construction of self-acceptance and confidence.

Since everyone so far has reacted  with some variation of balloon-eyes (you know, ..oo00OO) on hearing the book title Virgins are Meant to Die, here's the back jacket-cover's elaboration. Thanks for reading, closing your eyes, and imagining with me:

*     *     *

                                                                  To the virgins,
                                                    or their champions:

Before you get upset with me,

inhale a step back from 'literally' and think

about what it felt like  growing up:

Remember your skin, when you considered saying “hello,”

catching the air on some sweat that you didn't feel growing

until – yeah:

there's the body your eyes were in love with ...

And do you remember when your crush-gods/goddesses

stopped being perfect? For your sake, I hope you do –      if     they          still

seem faultless, there's a lot of dying yet ahead of you.

But  No,   don't  worry,   love, if your skin's still soft,      pre- bruised,

and thinks the ground will be just another cloud

for falling through.

The ground will help you stand up after

it makes you weep. Die as a virgin,

rise a bit stronger-skinned, and         treasure

the scores that you keep.

       - JK

(23 August 2013)

Safe enough to cry ...

{ spur }

“What's wrong?”

                                        She asked like she didn't see.

                                                                                                    “My leg's

                                                                                Cut off from the rest of me.”

“Oh no,”

                                        She said like a medicine.

                                                                                          “I know,” he said,

                                                                 Like her needle was under-skin.

“Will it heal?”

                                                  “Not the half that's cut off, I think.”

                                          And she laughed,

                        Like some air in the kitchen sink,

“I'm no doctor,

would a hug work to bandage you?”

And he burst,

  Like 

          the   water 

                   she 

              bubbled 

                          through.

Always, Only, Ever ...

There was only one way this was going to end:

With a kiss or a cry – a kiss; a cry.

Because growing up carries up only one lesson –

That virgins are meant to die.

“Silver-lined clouds,” “This too shall pass,” and

“Good things come to he who waits”

Is a lie, is a lie: everything is here, cycling,

Embracing the raw tidal weight.

“Good friends are forever,” “I'll always be here,”

“Some things you can depend upon”

Is a thin veneer on a ship's cloistered lung (

past a rock, then a high wave, gone).

Let me tell you what is, and always, and ever,

The wisdom you'll feel melting dreams from your eye:

New skin needs to callous, chased into chafing;

Embracing, abrading (what's hard holds the sky).

There was only one way I was going to come:

Up the rocks, through the sand, over sharp branches – I

Felt the air on my shredded skin – gasping, then laughing.

Oh! Virgins are meant to die.