tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76223592012-01-04T17:49:28.088-07:00Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.comBlogger3891100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-45240630350568367012010-08-14T20:04:00.000-07:002010-08-14T20:04:49.480-07:00

I would say I have been awol with JCJ for too long, but I avoid thinking about time in this regard.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-72114321463363798772008-04-28T09:51:00.001-07:002008-04-28T09:51:43.023-07:00

Thanks for reading, but I am closing this blog. Too much Life is getting in the way. :)

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-15717338738408151782008-02-27T19:50:00.000-07:002008-02-27T19:52:10.792-07:00

I have a few newer poems in this issue of Kaleidowhirl.Enjoy!

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-64491122131114683562008-01-29T18:01:00.000-07:002008-01-29T18:02:13.527-07:00

I still see you.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-53621272785849137312008-01-07T21:40:00.000-07:002008-01-07T21:49:27.505-07:00

One of my poems, The Wife, is featured in FourW, an anthology of new writing. I read through my copy and am honored to be included in such a diverse, talented array of international writers.To purchase a copy, click here.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-16347737213142007632008-01-07T21:38:00.000-07:002008-01-07T21:39:32.476-07:00

I have a fan in Phoenix, it would seem.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-83518545349667262622007-12-12T10:33:00.000-07:002007-12-29T11:44:51.752-07:00

Threnody of sleep,the irony of the mine-field.I expect sanctity this time:whisper of a man in a window,sheets into explicit music.I follow the swimming serene,but he is a dirty knife twisting.He opens the window -My eyes adjust to his fall.In this, we want to call out,breathe space, discard land.Instead, I rewind film.I lean in against the glassand say, "Look up, look up."Angles and walls, this

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-52801533587404514632007-12-04T11:26:00.001-07:002007-12-04T11:32:47.874-07:00

"Who wants to understand the poem; Must go to the land of poetry. -- Goethe"

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-11123679836502068842007-11-28T07:27:00.000-07:002007-11-28T07:28:05.650-07:00

"Uncertainty is the refuge of hope." - Henri Frederic Amiel

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-60111777541834418362007-11-16T08:33:00.000-07:002007-11-17T12:47:20.044-07:00

The germination of coats and paperscreated soft winged bats, and I swore youreyes blazed like two pieces of coal wherethey soared. Something temporal floated.A coat held the starved; Was it you?Me? In a jar, an emu egg lodged likea miscarriage. We found so many shells.A tall man rattled the windowswith a weathervane; a woman wrappedher hair with peacock feathers, tears.You said it was the ice

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-13838292215213287692007-11-06T11:29:00.000-07:002007-11-06T11:31:34.102-07:00

but barely. I think I left an important part of my psyche there, buried somewhere under pine needles and crow feathers.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-52740007543591044022007-10-23T12:24:00.001-07:002007-10-23T12:27:27.791-07:00

two more days....

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-21014011875096726662007-10-23T12:23:00.000-07:002007-10-23T12:24:06.116-07:00

over at the Furnace Review...

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-24460002907127667322007-10-23T12:21:00.001-07:002007-10-23T12:21:59.263-07:00

on BlazeVox ...Enjoy,a

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-81845230400859013432007-10-19T10:51:00.001-07:002007-10-19T10:52:01.508-07:00

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-36921041813912749312007-10-11T11:29:00.000-07:002007-10-11T11:30:40.636-07:00

girl and crowthings have not been the samesince the shine of black feathersreached into her. this is wherethe world began: his swallowingthe cobalt ocean. men cometo her parents' home. none tellstories that dance against the fire.with a jawbone, he turns the sky.not an angel comes closeto the jet stone she keepshidden in the fabric of her dress.at night, they become nebulae.what suitor can

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-79276097816942107042007-10-05T12:08:00.001-07:002007-10-05T12:10:54.393-07:00

I am heading back to beautiful Arizona at the end of the month. It has been 11 years, and long overdue.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-81606192372199913372007-09-22T11:19:00.000-07:002007-09-22T11:56:15.148-07:00

a little flesha new sparrow flies from the bowl.it is just an ambition I growin the dim light. I take your hand,place it on my thigh. it is warm, your hand.it changes skin into feather,feather into floods. an unfamiliar musicannounces your arrival.I taste the skin of your neck:musk and sadness. I am desperate for it,to see the body in this nest, this wave.what has made you so hard has mademe so

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1956448918769897222007-09-01T08:33:00.000-07:002007-09-01T08:36:58.598-07:00

he wantsa white birda skya meadowhe wantsa blood batha womanwho will agreeto the gashto the foldand you agreedyou wrappedyour own woundsstuck the cutin saltbled some morebecause when he isthe nighthe is likeheavenyou tremblealone on the dogstarwhile he huntswith your hairwrapped like pearlsaround his knifethe bloodof a thousandanimals freshon his tonguehe wantsa womanwho's not a womansomething

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-64703083701437972732007-08-31T07:02:00.001-07:002007-09-04T11:13:47.088-07:00

The reception for Extinct was fantastic -- a pretty good turnout, too.Thanks for the well wishes!

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-25630893167588018862007-08-20T08:55:00.000-07:002007-08-20T08:56:28.287-07:00

on Literary Tonic. Click here to read.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-67346072899012349682007-08-10T08:05:00.000-07:002007-08-10T08:09:21.850-07:00

If you are on a PC, just right click and save the image.If you are on a Mac, drag and save to your desktop.Show opens on August 27th - Sept 16. The reception is scheduled for Thursday, August 30th, 7 pm - 10 pm.Hope to see you there! Email me at aleahsato@hotmail.com for directions/info.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-65192345290018503842007-08-03T08:36:00.000-07:002007-08-03T08:37:20.203-07:00

Are now live on Shadow Train.Click here to read.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-12562336251707295532007-07-26T06:00:00.000-07:002007-07-27T07:46:01.546-07:00

Sign petition, repost this & help save Arizona sacred sitesHere’s an urgent online petition to help protect Apache Leap and numerous other sacred sites from desecration by copper mining.The land in question is part of the ancestral lands of the sovereign Native Nations of the Apache, Yavapai, Hopi, and O’Odham.These Nations have not given permission for this land to be mined— and yet, there’s a

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-52108525252221768732007-07-24T16:00:00.001-07:002007-07-24T16:00:49.945-07:00

Hmmm...

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-58848154624466238982007-07-07T14:29:00.000-07:002007-07-10T07:50:38.720-07:00

The matter was corrected, and you can now view the poem here:Sorrowland.Cheers,a

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-63884604252918848002007-07-04T06:03:00.000-07:002007-07-04T06:04:03.281-07:00

the zipper has plans.to undo what has beguntakes a careful seamstress,a weaver of stars,a diorama.tonight the ties talk,exchange numbers.the stockings inch close -caress the whalebone stitch.the breasts, hiddenunder palms,long for diamonds.legs part posies,slick skinnedweasels under wire.the mouthforms an "o" -escape forfeathered preylike mistake or"we should not.”the cuff linksstay

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-4415609247873895342007-06-25T06:24:00.001-07:002007-06-25T06:24:45.182-07:00

For the man or woman looking for "porn star named Aleah..." - sorry to disappoint.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-82810470044007107872007-06-15T16:07:00.000-07:002007-06-15T16:08:42.871-07:00

Posted on Blood Orange Review.Enjoy the weekend,a

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-23373364250042429942007-06-14T06:12:00.001-07:002007-06-14T06:12:50.100-07:00

This is the blue note.Blue like the smell of burnt cereal.Blue like the blurred movementof hummingbirds. This is the blue paperstamped with your scent,the underneath forest floor scent.The running from a predatorscent; the one you know.I unfold its contents, those viciousvowels and consonants.I trace the amoeba shapeof the "o" and the "u" -the color of new grapesleft to dry. The confessionfalls

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-7006696964342952032007-06-09T12:16:00.000-07:002007-06-09T12:23:25.272-07:00

I am feeling a bit homesick for the States today. The summer always does that. I associate nice weather with old friends, camping, gatherings, and of course, music.Life has been chaotic lately. I am still getting used to the new apartment and am trying to deal with ongoing medical tests, trying to find the source of my heart palpitations. They're scary and exhausting.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-57866566522798218302007-05-25T09:00:00.000-07:002007-05-25T09:04:54.689-07:00

The warm weather always brings with it, at least for me, a renewed interest in music. I have long associated summer with music-making, maybe because I spent a lot of time around campfires and camp sites where someone almost always had a guitar.Does anyone else get the "music bug" when the weather improves?New musical obsessions:T Bone BurnettGriffin HouseAngels of LightEssential summertime

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-71722447231444413842007-05-10T05:58:00.000-07:002007-05-10T05:59:46.492-07:00

Some new poems here, too.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-9316172372248933122007-04-30T06:15:00.000-07:002007-04-30T06:19:01.448-07:00

The Argotist has published some recent work, as well as Rogue Poetry Review.Go enjoy!

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-46434943445934559452007-04-22T08:47:00.000-07:002007-04-22T08:50:43.416-07:00

one day you will appearholding the veils of womenyou've undressed,who've undressedfor you,the son you would not holdbared flesh:a newborn'showling vision –the son you sawjutting fist against canyon,an endless echoof need -an apparitionone dayyou will regretthe manyou could not carveout of this stone

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-34521043718022873252007-04-21T15:11:00.000-07:002007-04-21T15:15:16.958-07:00

Inspire Me Thursday has posted a challenge to create a visual representation of 'tears.' It must be the time of year, but it seemed like serendipity. I may break out the water colours.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-31623191431585462112007-04-09T07:32:00.001-07:002007-04-09T07:32:53.092-07:00

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-49327511686243765372007-04-07T09:22:00.000-07:002007-04-07T09:43:03.922-07:00

As some of you recall, I collaborated w. photographer Elizabeth Siegfried on a project called Extinct - a collection of poems and images exploring the loss of the natural world.To make a long story short, we now have a show!Extinct will be showcased at the G+ Gallery at the Gladstone in Toronto. The opening reception is on August 30th and my reading is scheduled for September 15th.I'll be sending

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-30796925003652075292007-04-07T09:21:00.001-07:002007-04-07T09:22:00.039-07:00

I am heading to Newfoundland next week. Has anyone been?I'll be sure to post photos when I return.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-25213522840872724082007-03-27T16:31:00.000-07:002007-03-27T16:35:21.706-07:00

You liked to visit when I was the low tidewench, the one with the thin-lipped manwhose bed I made every day, whose dinnerI prepared, then the eventual loss of life.After the grave was filled, you wentAWOL.I remarried and you returned.You would stand on Signal Hill wavingyour arms at me with the miserable sod,as we picnicked in the dank cove.Once I swore I saw you in the window,your lust-filled

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-54431265115512158762007-03-13T07:35:00.000-07:002007-03-13T07:38:59.992-07:00

There's a sly fox loose in the garden.Mother has tried to stamp the lifeout of his red pelt.She has tried poison and steel traps,those goblin-mouths,but he has tricked his way into living.I am told his smile could will a womanto stone.I am told he licks the cherrywood barkand his hunger growsfor the berries we pick in spring,plump black dollskissing up the sun.I imagine he is the sparkling sea -

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-33654362479277536532007-03-13T07:34:00.000-07:002007-03-13T07:35:18.853-07:00

There are many new links on my site. Go enjoy.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-46181967034803668652007-02-23T17:09:00.001-07:002007-02-24T10:40:43.159-07:00

the western we'd star inwould have a horseand a setting sunthe kind of sun that burns your eyeswhen you look for the horizonand you would be a cowboybut not the John Wayne kindyou'd be the silent extrathe actor with the bent jaw lineand pouch of tobaccoI would wait for youon a saloon verandabut not like the good whorewho needs to be rescuedI’d be the sheriff's sisterjust in from the Easta girl

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-78251196276411584982007-02-12T17:29:00.000-07:002007-02-06T18:33:01.699-07:00

Rick finished my new website - it is gorgeous. I'm dancing here.Check it out:www.aleahsato.com

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-61193538398421939762007-02-06T18:25:00.000-07:002007-02-06T18:33:02.198-07:00

Your house is place of mirrorsand carnivals.A yellowing wedding gown hangsnext to a trapeze.Cobwebs have coveredthe windows.A fortune tellerhides behind the laceof the mind's eye –Yes, youare the keeperof strange things :the miniature menageries,the obese mermaid,the sperm whale andtwo-headed Madonna.Summers have passed;boys have grown.A shrill trainwhistleinhabits. Youare aging. Yourhands shake

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-28475239164147097402007-01-26T15:44:00.000-07:002007-01-26T15:47:29.789-07:00

"If happiness is the absence of fever then I will never know happiness. For I am possessed by a fever for knowledge, experience and creation."-- Anais Nin

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-69172688523994971462007-01-16T19:04:00.000-07:002007-01-16T19:06:02.197-07:00

I have a few new poems published on Just West of Athens, if you care to have a peek.Cheers!

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-39601708700766677232007-01-04T14:30:00.000-07:002007-01-07T09:05:18.548-07:00

You are Pegasus dipping wings in a clear pool.Under a blanket, I touch the bare sun.My hand, neither burnt Nor melting - I flicker the yellow dominion.Turning back, you are the cool night,The Joseph star rising first and lastAs I follow. Such comfort is the muddled dawn.You are the plum and the blackbird,The purple violets of proximity.From my side, a plucked wing. Lady in the woods leans into

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-7694928691013777222006-12-30T19:17:00.000-07:002006-12-30T19:28:38.273-07:00

This has been a weird year. It has been a year of *firsts* - first ever surgery, first book, first awakening, first time really feeling like I am heading on the right path, first time working w/ a recruiting firm. Some experiences were terrifying, while others were thrilling. I hope the year has been good to you, too.I usually come up with three or four solid resolutions each year. A manageable

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-5996946649052347712006-12-27T09:15:00.000-07:002006-12-27T09:18:03.231-07:00

Okay, the world must be coming close to imploding - I now knit. And furthermore, I enjoy it. Stay tuned for fancy cat bonnets, toilet paper princesses, and other useless crap.Oh yeah, and Happy New Year. Will be posting my resolutions for 2007... starting a chain.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-90935554936650308912006-12-18T16:06:00.000-07:002006-12-18T16:10:18.118-07:00

Intent lines his stomach. Before them,two steaks await the cutting.Like ants, they move into the burrowsof observation -Neither wants to discloseor seal lips to what latermay be tasted as motionin darkness. The city blowsits way between women. Hethinks they all smell different, butthe taste –they taste the same. Somewheremusic passes throughhim. He chews his salad andwonders if cars are upside

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-30558677777661820932006-12-09T14:05:00.000-07:002006-12-09T14:13:02.525-07:00

All you've ever wanted : the firefly andthe wind, the big realm wherepossibility dwells, the parade of motors.Snow falls on our field. You are out there,lining the horizon, a figure smoking -watching the whirls of garbage burninginto the sky. When do you fit intoa life, cradle the corn and the hammerlike they are starlets batting false eyelashesin a stupid state, always sunshine,always - Do we

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-10806288741994401622006-12-03T14:05:00.000-07:002006-12-03T14:16:32.282-07:00

Updates:I'm doing a radio interview and will post the link and podcast soon.Also, I have a poem appearing in Adirondack Review this month. It's quite a bit different from my usual style. I'll post the link when it's live.Still healing and avoiding the holiday shopping madness. Happy Sunday.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-25191213661508302132006-12-02T14:56:00.000-07:002006-12-02T15:00:24.638-07:00

I liked the crashing.I liked the waves and the stinging red,the tempestuous mermaid,but I cannot pretend I liked us there. Youwith your bucket and umbrella,suspicious camera clicking everymovement. The way you carefully waded,taking the tide as a testimonial,one foot moving shipwrecked crabs -and all the while, I was already outthere waiting, seaweed in my eyes,and the milk-eyed walrus at my

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-16168284845855322972006-11-25T13:27:00.001-07:002006-11-25T13:27:18.740-07:00

You tried to shake it, the fearwith its white head and cut skin, the soapy eyelid'sgrace. If freedom is underground, you would diga hole for yourself.Scare the family – make them wonder why you can't quitsmoking sunlight, spreading legsfor sailors. Why you are still on the earthwhen they've tried everythingto get you to the dead zone.You can't take it away. He's breathing every timeyou breathe.He

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-29444306624679981662006-11-25T13:26:00.001-07:002006-11-25T13:26:53.280-07:00

For everyone who asked, I am well and healing. Surgery was a breeze. All is well.Love.a

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-72706029966622649932006-11-22T18:35:00.000-07:002006-11-22T19:20:22.461-07:00

My father never touched you,waterbird. Lilith sings in my ear -how I love her, the unmoved, stone cold mother.Never allowed in a cop's house, my mouthhid you. My breath betrayed your sweet, succulentsleep. You were always better than me.Try enough to move these feet, orbend over and answer the telephone. Henever understood you, you know. Come emptythe cup, the cupboard. Carry your burden.Don't

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-83791245304899287192006-11-21T19:07:00.001-07:002006-11-21T19:13:57.688-07:00

Well, surgery does not come highly recommended, especially if you are like me and have an intolerance to all the lovely opiates. Thanks to everyone who wrote and sent well-wishes. I am resting, healing, etc.On a side note, I found this old photo in some of my albums. And no, it isn't me, but someone who frightens me a great deal. So I am using anonymous mean girl as my image for now.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-31068189799058044742006-11-20T16:14:00.000-07:002006-11-21T09:08:13.699-07:00

Open this Mexico,the secret passage.I make wind and waterlow, so live like lizard's daughterlicking savagery.Be silent kill.A dragon curled intoa question.Your wish means nothingin the culdesac grave.My guitarplayed against our natural curvelike we would tilt the tidaluntil this swimmingmakes you fat with coins,brimming liquid god.You call the devil el macabre,the tireless one.Pour the liquid

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-70981355441736650762006-11-14T20:02:00.000-07:002006-11-15T17:55:05.309-07:00

If you say itI’ll believe the truth like a car making its way to the crashYou do that, caressThe negatives, hidden gems of our faces laughing near a bridgeFor reliefHolding on by shoelaces to a world that has come closeTo losing usWe could feel it all over again, this teenage rumble and careen,Draw swords in a macabre scene –Fake woundingIn the convergence we plant seeds for bombs, poison for

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-32181639304764990282006-11-07T17:59:00.001-07:002006-11-07T17:59:21.382-07:00

Three of us are in the room now.It is cold; the one heat source smolders, angryIn the corner. I am in the kitchen doing dishes.I am making dinner, making my brothers and sistersSwallow multi-formula vitamins – flu always hitsRegardless. Three of us started out : toddler selfSoothing in a plastic dog chair. My parents on the couch,Stoned or else absorbed in their dinner.I am looking straight into

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-75294057508771350972006-11-06T18:57:00.000-07:002006-11-06T19:08:53.761-07:00

If you are interested, I am published in a few lit sites this month..."Voicemail" is in November's e-issue of Blue Fifth Review."Learning to touch" and "Singing lessons" are over at Nthposition.And, a new collection is featured on Latchkey (click on the left-hand menu for the full poem).If I have been out of touch lately, it is because I am preparing to have surgery and am a little nervous (okay,

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-8360749008610815642006-11-05T15:49:00.000-07:002006-11-05T15:52:43.666-07:00

--Title taken from the song Carnival Justice by Hannah FuryThe whipping boy is an elephant. Not a boybut a bull, the rider of thunder – Could have beengrey-born master of terrain. Now look at the indignity.Ten blondes atop, the big top like perpetual motion, swirledred and blue. The patriotic notion: servitude.Here in the cotton candy, rats leave droppings, brownfootprints in hotdog buns

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-62054867372048338532006-11-02T17:23:00.000-07:002006-11-02T17:55:28.210-07:00

There you are in Nevada, painted fuchsia.--You look into the camera like you could melt itby thinking the thought.Licking the girl on your right, her breaststhe colors of the flag.Sand blows through the picture,making a blur a smile.You'd like to capture this moment, at 39,to spread open chrysaliswhere your wound, an angry fist.Something holds - the release oftwo women, bundles of plums.The

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-75668474629411834032006-10-28T14:10:00.000-07:002006-10-28T14:13:40.792-07:00

Losing tissue, I foldInto bandagesClipped andContained in my plasticWrappingYou arrive and sayCan I touchDoes it hurt when I touchDoes itBut to breathe throughSkin, piece togetherWindchimesMy babyBones cry to be heldLongInto the nightWhen the clickAnd sighs of machinesSingPiecing us into aCareful coveringYou wearNormalcy like biding timeHereWhere recovery sleeps

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-25918876533990491812006-10-28T14:08:00.000-07:002006-10-28T14:09:28.251-07:00

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-63530140451744307922006-10-26T17:51:00.000-07:002006-10-28T14:10:09.139-07:00

The Human BeingLife ends in sepia.There are buttons to be sewn,empty stomachs to fill -the stars to imagineas falling soldierscoming home to mothersand girlfriendswho would not lie besidethem in hotel beds, licktheir tears off of dirty pans,ease aches orpretend.Life is perfect timing -behind your eyes,stolen moment.The passion picnic,fingers like sparks, all silver andgold.Under glassyou feel me

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-86522236265320175262006-10-26T12:09:00.000-07:002006-10-26T12:11:32.540-07:00

Storms are not metaphors. You can’t conquer the bolt, notthe thunder, the masculine desire. Stop riding the lightninginstead, or blow your candles out so that darknesshides your true self. The music will not cover the years.Your withered hands cannot block the storm, can’tkill the lying or the prayers. You can’t get clean bythrowing one small human body into rocky crag. Whenyou stop being pained

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-76353049989857904182006-10-15T09:15:00.000-07:002006-10-15T09:23:59.831-07:00

Choice A Choice B Choice CI am putting together a chapbook or mini-book of poems called Death Follows. I want to use one of these for the cover ... which one? * Thanks to Dave B. for still keeping this great old car around.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1160926915742458862006-10-15T08:35:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:39.492-07:00

I love this time of year - the way the air smells, the way voices echo in the cool morning. I've been known to be fond of Halloween decorations, but living in the city has curbed my enthusiasm a bit.Maybe it is my fondness for the creepy and macabre, but I woke up this morning w. this poem 1/2 formed. Look over your shoulder. I don't think I will ever look at neighbours the same way again.-------

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1160699730106762762006-10-12T17:34:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:39.403-07:00

You stood for two hours between the door and the worldknowing sorry won’t disrupt the girl who has leftboth of ushoping for somethingThe worst kind of mind can tell you how you can changeitStop it like gravity orreturn sanitylike some shoplifted lipstickto its proper placeBut it is the fragments, the shards of happythat’s the worst kind of uglinessAnd being solid for the fractures----the little

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1160096671377404412006-10-05T17:59:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:39.313-07:00

It began as dialogue.Bite. Apple. Vulva.Yours and Mine.It was a rainy day, just before the drops fell,the autumn incense thick in the air.I peeled back the first – the orbof knowledge.Hear me echo.Jesus is the crashand the abandon.Adam was always the innocentone, sneaking peaks at malegenitalia,coveting back hair and testicleslike they were of him/from him, a gift.I grew to despise theY

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1153269293353509392006-09-30T17:28:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:36.179-07:00

This is not me.This is not faithless poison.This is not your arms around myplethora.This is not my aching.These are not your wordson the receiver.This is not my ticking bomb,the eating out of someone's heart.This is not you oryour god blinking throughmutation.This is not white Christmaswith me in your kitchen.This is me breaking the dishes.These are not greasyexcuses.This is you in the

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1159650724568169712006-09-30T13:56:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:39.106-07:00

Premature babies live longerwhen stroked like tiny dogsin plastic shells.Hearts speed upfor the feel of hands smoothingbaldness and fragility.The ugly nurses stay lateto comforttheir loneliness likeminiscule pink miracles.Old men stop by the windowsand look inat death's opacity.Learning to touch,we imagine the worldas a giant motherwho must give us up,naked animals,to the human wilderness.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1159317338068066252006-09-26T17:21:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:39.013-07:00

I have been reading a lot of literary reviews, film reviews, etc. as of late. Some of these ideas have become mental seeds, burgeoning into odd little narratives and poems.Here are two that were written after reading Todd Swift's latest posts, with particular inspiration drawn from the Black Dahlia review.High AltitudeShe was where they could not be.So they desired her heel, the point of

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1159052376861608452006-09-23T15:38:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:38.925-07:00

You ask to see the skin on my elbow, rubbed into a chalky white,rough with a small diagonal scar, a rotated crescent moon.When you finish with skin, you proceed to my tongue.Later, my entire body - needle marks and starvation language-- held over from the nineties --You break this down into two roads - one to Heaven,and, well, you know where the other goes.Botched surgery leaves one breast

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1158797585664265262006-09-20T17:12:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:38.661-07:00

Whenhe opened the doorI knew what he would say,almost like his face would open and clouds would drift in and out as words intermingled with white then fade. He had a name like Mike or Jim because his name would not matter in the end; it would escape down the metal ladder that leads to a random NYC alley outlined here, in my writing. He came to see me.He worked up the courageto tell me whereit

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1158628139634609102006-09-18T17:59:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:38.571-07:00

I've been waiting for you.Typical.You were a wind-up toy,diabolical indigestion.A soreI picked at until a sad brown scabfell to the floor.My mirrorfor a moment, reflectingcrisp cool weathered faceand sunset smile.Now you are a disgraceto my dignity.You'd pull up a chair to any plate,this horn aplenty.Your whores could wait.I hate that word, whore, the wayit lulls, fat flab of menopausal

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1158284047570852052006-09-14T18:31:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:38.483-07:00

Like lamb's earLike new gumLike tongueLike Carmen's hipsLike cardigansLike blue suede shoesLike getting bruisedLike baby bonesLike used tissueLike being usedLike radio wavesLike banjo skinLike a pig's bellyLike secondhand couchesLike Leave It To BeaverLike my mother's chestLike an old man's stepLike you say YesLike we hold handsLike the years that holdLike glueLike the center of the earthLike a

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1157738345734451412006-09-08T10:55:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:38.301-07:00

A pearlor the moon.They still come to you,Greek and shadows.On my heel,a tattoo -Jezebel,the fire-eater.You hold asp to your chestand laugh -youngest daughtersstill impressed by prowess.The dancingfemales are fat with babies.I wear your death threatsin the place of their veils.My wildArabian nights, spat out,bad meat. I writethe stories of circumcision.Speak pleasurein the name of banditsand rise

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1156971542886161332006-08-30T13:58:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:37.944-07:00

We were standing in a row, orderedto not look at each other. Or pray.God hates spoiled children.He would have to wait.On one hand, I count the numberof hits. The oldest will endurebecause the worst punishment isin witnessing.Don't pray or look at each other.I wonder why you never callnow, or if you remember this.Standing in a row,hoping someone would come inand kill him.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1156816685220379342006-08-28T18:55:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:37.856-07:00

When he says vulnerable, I bite my tongue and imaginebeing pinned under a bull, rider going AWOL ora monkey dancing in a costume. I laugh out loud.Vulnerable.When he says vulnerable, I think of vegetable oilover wilted lettuce. My legs on either side of a tableand July bearing down on me until little mumssmile from either side of my cavity.When he says vulnerable, I think I’ll stay awhile.This

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1156613244441413702006-08-26T10:23:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:37.769-07:00

Without alcohol, my eyes close, lips part.My body, stiff and unsurprised.My mind, anchored in the corner.No longer tragic or unleashed, I lay my self on the sheetsand wait for the wildnessto enter.I listen and look at you. You expect a spouse,an unschooled rival, but I am just here.Sometimes I come closeto her, the woman I long to be still.Be still, she says.Continue. She whispers the

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1156432691785727772006-08-24T08:13:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:37.683-07:00

Jason over at The Clarity of the Night has challenged all you writers to a short fiction contest w/ guest author, Anne Frasier.Your 250 words of genius are due by Tuesday, August 29, 11 pm EST.Check it out. Comment if the spirit moved you.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1156367855032571772006-08-23T14:15:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:37.591-07:00

I’m asking myself whyI am looking at the phone as if it will answerI belong to the bitter –arms like Hera, making babies and dinnerPretending the phoenixis for mePretending this is Nebraskaand you are a clotheslineand I am a red tablecloth, pinnedwildlyAsk yourself what it will take –this risk for risk’s sakePlain language is harshI use the wind and the waterflows around your feetI don’t know how

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1156210251685013902006-08-21T18:29:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:37.503-07:00

He believed he could change her mind if he kept talkingw/out pause or conviction. Maybe she would see things clearly.Maybe she would un-write the beginning and this time,he'd be in it – a thick plot full of suspense and lovemaking.He called her every Wednesday, making plans and breaking them.He thought if her heart stayed bitter, she’d be butter on bread;hands on soft lips; his hands on her lips.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1156209119532477102006-08-21T18:01:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:37.411-07:00

Has anyone seen this movie? I have been interested in seeing it, but wonder of I can get past the boner and his bad acting.One cool thing to note is Josh Rouse on the soundtrack.Directionsby Josh RouseDon't like the direction you are going toSeems to lack the attention that it used toStay out all night and get high with your friendsWonder why you don't get one thing doneDon't like the direction

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1156129559637236872006-08-20T20:03:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:37.309-07:00

It’s the night lights that blind us; not the piercing sun-shine, baby. Lay your hat on the back seat.I go into cruise and you keep trying to control.Don’t do it. Stay quiet and let me show you the view.Here’s the lot where I lived. Here’s the care and juxta-position of then against now. I love that.Here’s the happy home and the barn where catschase mice.The car rolls over gravel roads.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1155920530983204482006-08-18T10:00:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:37.221-07:00

The eyes are there. They are staring.The eyes on the walls. They are monitoringevery inch of me. The eyes on the bed post. Theyare always there. The eyes. They are on the tops ofhills and under the river.They are looking at my skin. The eyes. They are seeing through to my organs and plantingdaisies or killing cells. The eyes are always there.They are pinpoint perception. They are

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1154915471440749822006-08-06T18:40:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:37.132-07:00

We're different. They won't stop lookingat us. This mess we've made.But we're different - you and me.We climb the balcony of ancestry and nose-dive into the bountiful colorsof the waythey won't stop looking at us. We're different.We ride the bus different. We cry different.We eat with wide mouths onlygreen foodsand spit geranium.Those vulgar people. How do we live with them?I'd say they are the

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1154802184481928052006-08-05T11:19:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:37.045-07:00

You can make an ending with it.It is sharp.It is starved.It is a performer.It will let you take your mindoff of this.It will release your chainstemporarily.You can make a clean break with it.It is the pinched nerveof your damnation.It is raw.It will make you sickand play some Johnny Cashthe morning after.It is the morning after.It's not a one night standbut the one night stand you missedand

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1154639510573929792006-08-03T14:10:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:36.960-07:00

open your mouth----like soorange globe motor oillick your lipsdon't drytimbredon't shoutin november you'll learn carolsnow it's julyand the tractor drowns out the pianoopen your mouth----wideriowa meadow lima pianopretend you are kissingthe boyor the girlpretend the skirt is your knee is my fingerdon't slouchby this time next yearall the lessons will be forgotten

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1154484241464961512006-08-01T19:00:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:36.874-07:00

I am happy here. It doesn't say so but I am sure it was happiness. The sun shining on our white skirts and sneakers. Two cats in tow. We always liked dogsbut the cats held secrets. I am smiling like I don't know what is happening. Behind my head, there's a vague figure of a man tinkering on a truck. It seems as if he's laughing. I could be wrong but I am sure it was something like laughing.The

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1154393178250958782006-07-31T17:40:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:36.785-07:00

Despite my obvious fixation on Jack White, I am not a groupie. And here's why ...Groupienow that i have opened this uplet's put it to bedthe boy in high school with the black eye and catacombsthe boy in the gym who didn't callthe dancerthe musicianthe poetand most of allthe other poetif you don't explore the glory ofyour immature painyou will repeat itthe bankerthe fatherthe accountantgrown up

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1154286435146166652006-07-30T11:56:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:36.698-07:00

I found out that one of my poems - Voicemail - has been accepted by Blue Fifth Review, one of my favorite lit journals.Look for it in September.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1154115885438136762006-07-28T12:42:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:36.611-07:00

this is not for youyou can open your eyes to the cloudsthe rain is not a signthat song with the perfect lines - not a sign -the mountains in our dreamsthis is not for younot what you are looking forthis is not for youthe tears or the happytale - not for youthe penned skin, the burn and thecallingthis is not your songmy forgivingthis is not for youthe frantic typing or the turningof the

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1153858518639443782006-07-25T12:47:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:36.525-07:00

I met a boy in the canyon. This boy with a mouthopen, sucking the stars into cavities.This boy unspoken.I met a girl in the mall. This girl with a crying facelike plastic lips, the cellophanehypocrite calling mama mama.I met a boy named belief in a bar. He slipped his tonguedown my throat and named methat girl w/ catastrophe.I found the girl in my car.I found you. The you I had alwayswanted to

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1153789818121474602006-07-24T17:48:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:36.443-07:00

"I went down to the crossroadsfell down on my knees"Every artist has a Crossroads song. There's a nugget of something here ... not sure what to do w/ it yet. But it will come.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1153443558712563532006-07-20T17:52:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:36.357-07:00

It is FINALLY here and ready to be purchased for a mere $12.99.Click here to purchase, or visit my Lulu store:www.lulu.com/aleahYou know you want it.

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7622359.post-1153277176640106822006-07-18T19:37:00.000-07:002006-10-15T08:47:36.271-07:00

you keep a picture of me with dyed red hair folded in half at the lipssometimes you touch the creasenightshift is lonelyon wednesdaydrinking coke and listening to frank blackyou feel the dustydreams of another day - fear you'll mold orlose faceby reaching thru - windshield casualtybut noyou don't giveyou are a keeperyou keep the picture of her in your walletit stays in perfect conditionfrom a

Aleah Satohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16439351306951718500noreply@blogger.com0