impossible valentino center stage, you are a silent movie. disinterested chin up, lips pressed and painted you shrug off spotlights and eschew the applause. back turned to the audience, (adoring fans, all) you ignore the script, wait for your own protagonist. yet the heroine will remain behind the curtain, for she is no primadonna and has been given no cue. ~tatiana, de profundis (04/15/04) pedestrian funk when windows open to houses /(hearts) past them quietly walking (slower than snow) at once is heard the symphony of spring. televisions spew white-noise words, disjointed living room laughter. kitchens get dirty with pots/pans and private conversations (i listen... and the possible less probable orgasmic bedrooms sing among sleepless dreamers and the sleeping dreamless . ...to everything) somehow despite this windchimes always become churchbells, weddings. solitude. ~ tatiana, de profundis ~ (05/15/04)  the human coil astrologically inclined bodies fold into effortless origami, exposing bits of seaglass skin touching the scarred, the sacred, these handspheres conjure atmospheric chi, create light spirals in 3 third eyes while divination hangs like a circular soundtrack on the quiet mouth of a martyr. ~ tatiana, de profundis (06/25/04) dream(-like), the im/possible i layer my path to distintegration. first with love, shaped like the impossible; then with delicate, almost destructible pieces sliced too thin of feathered dark and soft, silver wanting. i tear with teeth, (not so pearly, but as pure white as really i am) the separate skin that hides this secret. here it is: i no longer long for any of this. tonight, before i sleep, the makeshift alter of all my forgotten dreams will burn with candles bright, and dim will be my desire for (you). ~ tatiana, de profundis (july 28, 2005) multi-media silent as a dishrag, weathered with waiting i'm finally done with desire. it's so damned predictable. i need something newer, more violent than lust or too many shoes. i want to make an art project of life. cut it up, paste it onto the thick of my soul. smell the blood of my paint. find scraps of salvation in tree-bark and ocean-glass. tie threads of hope to stars, razorblades and someone else's eyes. ~ tatiana, de profundis (04/11/05) [ukiyo] at night, she is a geisha in a room full of whores. she returns again to her quiet mystique, bows low to silence. (needs her painted lips to be kissed. pretends to love, does so exquisitely). she still stands alone, waits for conversation. (wants desperately to bind her body in silk and write gold-leafed words for no one in particular). she salvages her sanity in a crystal vase, make flowers of her memories and drifts like a birdless feather through the floating world. ~ tatiana, de profundis (april 21, 2003)  she wanted storms You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: she wanted storms. The rim Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson, And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire. -Anna Akhmatova An atheist, almost, you are an irreverent slave to disillusion. False were your prayers, profane as pink plastic rosary beads. O! How she would have admired your attempts at sacrilege, might have even rewarded you with a hail of just punishments. Yet you cast aside your belief for the sake of something softer, find sanctuary in the church of maybe instead of the house of will. Now she's turned her back on divinity, buries her passion in mediocrity. (For what is a goddess really with no one left to worship her)? ~ tatiana, de profundis (27 september 2006) Les catacombes the end is the only beginning. we must unconnect the dots, now succumb to our futile faith and, playing games with sheep (as was as were and as like as was) jump fences far from hope, make love in this dark underground among endless bones of ancestors (the filth of dead whores, the cracked skulls of children). my boots are still muddy with anticipation and the sin of want. i kissed immortality away that day. next time, i shall walk slower in solitude. praying for nothing. ~tatiana, de profundis (09/25/04) ant[e]/biotical i was never a tomboy but i have scars on my elbows and knees. not from trying too hard or taking risks; i never ran too fast or climbed too many trees but when i did i'd often trip over my own anxious feet, chose the ones with twisted limbs despite otherwise being graceful (elegant even...sometimes) i fell harder than the rest. yet, even though i always healed quickly, got up ready to try (and try) again, i picked at those scabs. i opened old wounds willingly rubbed dirt in them; let the world infect me with poetry, insanity and the poisonwood of romance. ~ tatiana, de profundis ( may 1, 2007 a.d.))  succubus/incubus i still find pieces of his skin collecting in corners. sweep them up but they keep regenerating, like a sci-fi nightmare. (only he never dreamed in sci-fi. never dreamed). we used to hang our souls above the mattress like souvenirs from a pow-wow, cheap and plastic. sucked the air out of lungs, took turns breathing. sometimes we didn’t breathe. i felt the bed grow heavier with memory last night. a flannel scrap of him; ugly but warm. hated the way he dressed but oh fuck, the smell of him. i loved it. he smelled like me. ~tatiana, de profundis (12/25/04) demi-immersion she wants to dive in, but the water looks impenetrable; it glows like frosted glass lit from behind, from inside this warm & empty cradle (this coffin. aren't they really just the same thing?) "...the same," she sighs and falls into the smell of lavender, the familiar sensation of being (and of being in-between). nothing sinks beneath the surface faster than fear or rises above it as slowly as certainty. she knows that she is floating but she wishes she could fly. ~tatiana, de profundis ( may 23, 2007 a.d.)  (dreams made flesh) swimming inside walls [inside] was i, sheba quenched by a sea of mouths, unknown (swallowed stars with fingertips, referencing planetary action) trance-like kissed we all with words as dark as eyes, dilated skin circles tasted by other lips made ready with the musk-mingled perfume of ecstasy the queens and kings of arabia, subjects of in this royal bed.