Anastasia Sara Kaufman

Anastasia Sara Kaufman

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

I talk to the moon

There’s a full moon rising over Firenze

My rose quarts in the window reflects a tiny white light.

I like to think that the moon is reflecting back the shine of the rose quartz too.

A small pink glow to illuminate her third eye.

If I could sit down to tea with the moon;

I imagine we would talk about long distance relationships.

We’d complain about being on opposite sides of the world from our counterpart.

She’d remind me that even though they can not be in the same sky at the same time,

That her light would not shine the way it does with out the existence of the sun.

Shining- on his own- where ever he may be.

She would remind me that it’s natural to ebb and flow, to wax and wane (each of us fulfilling our personal duties)

She would say:

“But isn’t it beautiful how connected we are? One would not function right with out the other!”

We would talk about how we orbit one another.

The moon and I,

Our loves and us.

I would offer her some more tea

Looking into a cup of emptiness

And she would say:

“Tonight I am full,

no need for excess.”

Before she would make room in the sky for the sun to rise,

She would remind me to harvest all that has been cultivating within me.

She would tell me not to worry

for she will return the next night

to sit and talk to me

over some rose quarts

and a cup of tea.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

The Link between Sex & Death

"True Sexuality demands the destruction of the ego.

The loss of oneself in the other."-Sabina Spielrein

After a particularly intense orgasm I was thinking about how at the peek of pleasure I had the thought that I just wanted to die. Now, obviously this wasn’t a morbid thought, no sort of suicidal this is so bad I just want it all to end type of thought. There was something in me that at that moment would have been utterly content in exploding, or spontaneously combusting, as I felt I might. It reminded me of an acid trip, how at the peek you are laughing so constantly and so hard that the experience just doesn’t seem like it will ever end. Maybe you will be on acid for the rest of your life and that idea sounds so awful but only because you feel so good. It’s the same thing. Its so good, that its too good and if it doesn’t end soon you are going to die, or for god sake you better.

Then I found out in many languages and cultures the word for orgasm actually means Little Death. Go figure, I thought this was an original idea.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

SIDEWALK

If your body were made of the cement outside my house I’d write you love poems in chalk and lay my body down on the sidewalk to be able to talk to you. I’d place my ear to your hot surface on a summer day to hear you whisper to me. Treading lightly- I’d be careful not to scuff your surface by dragging feet. If kids spit gum out sticking to you and turning you gray, I’d spend ours outside with a chisel scraping you sparkly clean. But you wouldn’t be like sidewalks downtown that glitter as if the act of sparkling takes away the grime and crack cocaine residue.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

My Beautiful Scar

Tracing the dance of the needle in my skin I wonder why we choose to scar ourselves.

I wonder why we fall in love, and put ourselves through avoidable hells

With emotions cast upon us like evil spells, and the needle dwells in my back

Try not to react, yet shudders break my concentration like thunder

Shudders break my concentration like you walking into the room.

Shudders break my concentration like-

OM

And my beautiful scar resides with my heart

Reminding me that no matter the situation

No matter the heartbreak and devastation-

I am Gracious Harmony

I am one with the Universe

And all I have to do to converse with her

Is

OM

Hunched over the cold metal chair I-

OM

And though I cant see him my mind sees the lines being engraved forever in my pores like ancient drawing in caves.

And though I cant see it, the flower which lives between my shoulder blades in constant bloom is one of passion-

And I know my passions are always in bloom trying to keep the balance between my mind and my heart- remembering to leave room

My teeth chatter and my focus is obstructed

A violent vibration through the core of me

Pulse palpitation while you pledge your love for me

Try not to react but shudders break my concentration like thunder

Try not to react but shudders break my concentration like-

And I remember to breath deeply into my heart chakra and-

OOOOOMMMMMM

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Ah to love

"Those wounded in love, unlike those wounded in armed conflict, are neither victims nor torturers. They chose something that is part of life, and so they have to accept both the agony and the ecstasy of their choice.
And those who have never been wounded in love will never be able to say: “I have lived”. Because they haven’t. (Paulo Coelho)"


Marinate on that.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Down On Me

I am raising suns & orange moons

Searching for traces of God in ruins, twisted up and woven between blades of grass.

And I day dream of the past moving like molasses

Ring around the rosy around & around & around my last man.

Evaporation of so many plans. Crumble into millions, millions broken into trillions crowding, irritating every crevice of me like sand.

I miss you like I love sex on the beach.

I miss you like I love to each a peach.

You moved me with the power of a Dr. King speech.

I’m raising suns & orange moons

I’m raising sand and hell and I mine as well raise myself too.

After so much spent on raising you.

But we’re movin on up like elevators in this world baby

I descend down to get grounded to my earth, and swells of you break fourth within me and rain down on me.

Love rain down on me.

I am setting suns & blue moons

Hues of human love blend from red to rust & blue to a melancholy shade of dust.

Yet we will transcend, our heart and mind bend to reach to some higher understanding of

Purple.

I get high above the city.

I sit high above the city.

Casting light, my love is plenty.

I think about the man I’ll love

And how he’ll bring me flowers, just because they’re pretty.

I sing high above the city.

Twinkling lights fade in & out as my eyes go blurry.

I smile to our mother moon

Because I know my love is coming soon.

I know

My Love

Is coming soon.

Love

rain

down

on

me.

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

The Collector


I am a collector.

A dusty shelf in the attic

shelters romantic smirks like plaques
It is home to hundreds of ephemeral smiles
And plasticine memories, wax once reflected as Gold
now malleable by time
Love’s lost sparkle and shine, molded and changed.
Yet nothing is rearranged, collecting dust bunnies.
Dead left for display.
Figurines boyfriends set nestled in with crystals and candles
Dried rose petals
I can’t seem to rid myself of their bodies. Pieces of them left deep inside of me. I dig them out and put them up. (Maybe if I can look at them objectively they wont make me so sick and heavy…?)
One boy left his dick on the shelf. I kept it even though the rotting flesh left a constant reminder of what was. And One boy left a whole arm! Sometimes I take it down from the shelf and lay my head against my favorite contour of bicep. There is no warmth to help me sleep.
There are scattered freckles of all shades and sizes from each boy. The one brown one from one love’s inner thigh, the one from right behind the other love’s ear, a bottom lip freckle and a collar bone mole.
It’s not just the shelf I keep loaded with my loves.
My purse is heavy too. My purity weighed down.
I carry them everywhere I go. I wrap them in bubbles and flesh. Fold them into my stomach and tuck them behind my ribs. I feel them when I sit on the bus, I feel them as they dig at me when work gets slow and I stair off at a dark window. Thinking…
My figurines are puppies, some even made of chocolate, hollow like Easter bunnies.
One cold lonely foggy night I feel hungry and I bite the head off of one, and fall sleep gripping onto another.
This figure melts under my heat and half its body slips, melting away- right eye and mouth sloping to an eventual drip
Dripping all over everything. Staining everything. Making a mess of everything!
Wake up and wise up. Its time to clean up, dust things off and purge my possession.
This is my confession. I possess it as it possesses me. I search for resurrection.
I want to covet you and you to covet me.
Cover me in resin, preserve this perverse desire to be destined!