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Below are the 16 most recent journal entries recorded in Jessica's LiveJournal:

    Sunday, December 14th, 2003
    10:31 am
    Ruth I am
    At the feet of one older, one wiser.
    The truth is
    I am frightened by the size of submission,
    Beyond the point where tears come,
    So that all I can do is lay myself down and hope for some corner
    Of that garment to fall upon me.

    Once I was Bathsheba and did not take into account
    Your eyes, what they might find,
    What hungers your fullness might betray.
    Perhaps in my feminine flesh, even weaponless,
    Danger still clung like a glove at my curved hand,
    And I poked a bit at your tender heart until it began to tear.

    (Maybe I was even Jezebel, or would have been.)

    But thank the sandstorm for where it found me,
    As in its moment, my mouth was filled with sand
    and rendered wordless, soundless, a desert within to the desert out there.

    In the moment I saw you were a man, my knees also
    Went weak and there I stood before a desert tree, holding blind for balance.
    Disconcerted, centerless, my heart flipped over underneath my breast,
    Unveiling things never seen, like seas upon which I could stand and
    The will to place myself in your hands.

    Ruth I am,
    At the feet of one wiser.
    Today you turn older
    Than me.

    And I hand over the key.
    10:23 am
    new draft, a little more perfected
     Everything in me is growling
    Is this what your words do?

    Everything is wanting taste, but taste awaits hunger.

    Hunger is bitten, and bleeding, helpless.

    We looked into the window-turned-mirror,

    I saw you beside me: What two things ever fit together so well?

    This I dream to see every ever, not just morning and not just night

    and so upon your opening mouth,

    I find myself daring and darkened, like evening with fire

    And I lean in to hear you just a little bit more certainly.

    Everything in me is humming with fireflies
    Is this what your words do, and more?
    7:47 am
    Another work in progress, also started tonight...
     Everything in me is growling
    Is this what your words do?

    Everything is wanting taste, but taste won’t come until hunger.

    And hunger is bitten, and bleeding and blessed, helpless

    Where we looked into the window-darkened-to-mirror,

    I saw you beside me: What colors, what shapes. What two things.

    This I dream to see every ever, not just morning and not just night

    and so upon your opening mouth,

    I find myself daring and darkened, like evening with fire

    And I lean in to hear you just a little bit more certainly.

    Everything in me is humming with fireflies
    Is this what your words do, and more?
    7:44 am
    A work in progress, started tonight...
     December 13, 2003

    Ruth I am
    At the feet of one older, one wiser.
    The truth is
    I am frightened by the size of submission,
    Beyond the point where tears come,
    More like all I can do is lay myself down and hope for some corner
    Of that garment to fall upon me.

    Once I was Bathsheba and did not take into account
    Your eyes, what they might find,
    Or what hungers your fullness might betray.
    Perhaps in my ghostly flesh, even weaponless,
    Danger still clung at my curved hand, like nails,
    And I poked a bit at your tender heart until it began to tear.

    Maybe I was even Jezebel, or would have been.

    But thank the sandstorm for where it found me,
    As in its moment, my mouth was filled with sand
    and rendered wordless, soundless, a desert within to the desert out there.
    In the moment I saw you were a man, my knees also
    Went weak and there I stood before a desert tree, holding blind for balance
    Disconcerted, centerless, my heart flipped over underneath my breast
    Unveiling things never seen, like seas upon which I could stand and
    The will to place myself in your hands.

    Ruth I am,
    At the feet of one wiser.
    Today you turn older
    Than me.

    And I hand over the key.
    Wednesday, July 31st, 2002
    12:06 am
    just testing this thing out
    Wednesday, June 5th, 2002
    2:39 pm
    a poem i just found from june 2000
     As your dreams drip dry,
    you are pacified.

    Strings of sleep
    wires of surprise:

    They wrap around you
    when your eyes clap shut.

    The chapters that chastize. the milk bottles that atomize
    exoskeletons that fossilize. campfires that
    baptize. bent forks that appetize. the diets
    that dogmatize. climates that magnetize. cotton
    sheets that disguise. velvet curtains that dramatize.
    aluminum corners that galvanize. the stopwatches that hypnotize
    the teardrops that vaporize. the mountaintops that
    urbanize. the tongues that verbalize. the peoples
    that uprise. pixels that systemize. hues of
    blues that rhapsodize. Pigments that publicize:

    They are the strands of justice behind your eyes;
    the methodical moonrise.
    The manipulated strings that play
    with alibis.
    Thursday, May 9th, 2002
    9:00 pm
    updated
     Calligraphy

    You are sharp as calligraphy.
    You’ve scorched my auburn eyes lavender
    with one capricious poke into
    the starry flesh of my past.
    Agony is frivolous. Still the bliss of tears is
    scrumptious on my tongue.

    Under the warmth of your whims
    sleeps a scissor-legged fairy,
    the blood-red edge of her caresses
    hidden by the shadow of today.

    Jessica T. Lockwood
    8:45 pm
    ok, tyler, here you have it, what i have so far
     Calligraphy

    You are sharp as calligraphy.
    You’ve scorched my auburn eyes lavender
    with one capricious poke into
    the starry flesh of my past.
    Agony is frivolous. Still the bliss of tears is
    scrumptious on my tongue.

    Under the warmth of your whims
    sleeps a scissor-legged fairy


    Jessica T. Lockwood

    i still need to incorporate the word "today" and i dont like the second versy thingy much
    Monday, April 22nd, 2002
    10:00 pm
    2nd Draft
     Thinking about the lights
    and queen of the land.
    Purple and orange and green, she explained the lump
    in her bed above the pine trees.

    And the breeze went to breakfast,
    the prince flowed in through the open doors,
    found her very sleepy with

    some kind of monster that God had
    with peas
    for dinner that night.

    But mine, mine were frozen.
    One hand had everything she could hold
    with the thumb in my pocket.

    Everyone else’s were clapping
    that she lived a happy life.

    Exactly.

    But... I wasn’t really with her mother and
    father, the king

    of my thigh.

    All the music was
    this life of luxury,
    so one was pure or it seemed so like a church
    with all those perfumes...

    The prince offered her a place and didn’t know just what
    to do but that boy playing many mattresses

    felt so big and so wrong about who she was.
    (And not like everyone could see me.)

    As the moisture filled the room, only a real princess was so delicate
    to be bothered by

    the melodies and harmonies and I now knew the prince
    loved her.

    She replied. But no one could understand.
    With a “yes”.
    And very soon they prayed for someone to touch

    God.

    And what? Was I supposed to knock on some stranger’s door?
    Think about it, and it smelled

    pure to everyone. Was God with the mothholes?
    Was she there? That’s what I wanted to do.

    Went out into the street as
    me but no one came;
    but nothing happily-ever-after happened.

    And there were tears, too, of a pea under a pile of mattresses.
    9:31 pm
    a poem i'm working on....
     [Rough Draft; untitled]


    thinking about the lights
    and queen of the land
    purple and orange and green,
    she explained the lump in her bed above the pine trees

    and the breeze went to breakfast
    the prince flowed in through the open doors
    found her very sleepy with

    some kind of monster that God had with peas for dinner that night

    but mine were frozen
    one hand had everything she could hold
    with the thumb in my pocket

    everyone’s hands were clapping that
    she lived a happy life

    Exactly.

    but... i wasn’t really with her mother and
    father, the king

    of my thigh.

    All the music was this life of luxury, so one was pure or it seemed so
    like a church and all those perfumes

    The prince offered her a place and didn’t know just what
    to do but that boy playing many mattresses

    felt so big and so wrong for who she was
    and not like everyone could see me

    as the moisture filled the room only a real princess was so delicate to be bothered by

    melodies and harmonies and i now knew the prince loved her

    and she replied but no one could understand
    with a yes
    and very soon they prayed for someone to touch

    God
    and what? was i supposed to knock on some stranger’s door?
    think about it and it smelled

    pure to everyone and was God with the mothholes and
    she there? that’s what i wanted to
    went out into the street as

    me but no one came. but nothing happily ever after in a grand happened.

    and there were tears, too, of a pea under a pile of mattresses
    Saturday, April 20th, 2002
    2:10 pm
    You Did Not Have a Home (one of my favorite songs)
     You Did Not Have A Home


    Oh, You did not have a home
    There were places You visited frequently
    You took off Your shoes and scratched Your feet
    'Cause you knew that the whole world belongs to the meek
    But You did not have a home
    No, You did not have a home And You did not take a wife
    There were pretty maids all in a row
    Who lined up to touch the hem of Your robe
    But You had no place to take them, so You did not take a wife
    No, You did not take a wife
    Birds have nests, foxes have dens
    But the hope of the whole world rests
    On the shoulders of a homeless man
    You had the shoulders of a homeless man
    No, You did not have a home
    Well you had no stones to throw
    You came without an ax to grind
    You did not tow the party line
    No wonder sight came to the blind
    You had no stones to throw
    You had no stones to throw
    And You rode and ass' foal
    They spread their coats and cut down palms
    For You and Your donkey to walk upon
    But the world won't find what it thinks it wants
    On the back of an ass' foal
    So I guess You had to get sold
    'Cause the world can't stand what it can't own
    And it can't own You 'Cause You did not have a home
    Birds have nests, foxes have dens
    But the hope of the whole world rests
    On the shoulders of a homeless man
    You had the shoulders of a homeless man
    No, You did not have a home
    Birds have nests, foxes have dens
    But the hope of the whole world rests
    On the shoulders of a homeless man
    You had the shoulders of a homeless man
    And the world can't stand what it can't own
    And it can't own You
    'Cause You did not have a home.

    Rich Mullins
    Friday, April 5th, 2002
    5:23 pm
    Huayca?an
     Well, you're still in Huayca?an, without a drop of joy,
    where all the lamps are dim all the faces hidden.

    And i have left the corner of the street for the inner room
    where i have locked myself.

    Here i find my God in the silence.

    I know that Abraham begged mercy for the cities set to be destroyed. And God heard.

    And i know all i can do is pray that you might understand:
    this love i have for you,
    from whence it comes,
    and what has happened to me,
    what visions have passed before my eyes.

    And God hears.


    Note: Huayca?an is a Quichua word meaning "Path of Tears"
    Wednesday, March 27th, 2002
    5:10 pm
    another one
     decapitated songbird in your pocket
    still he flies like a seraph
    toward the light.
    fresh tangerine between your thighs
    and the taste of silver on your knees
    a buckle of flesh across the door
    i turn the wheel and lock it.

    waiting hummingbird in your pocket
    still he knows how to live
    in the dark.
    black tangerine that rots between your eyes
    taste of bronze makes you feel
    a measurement of food, of love, of power
    science takes off like a rocket.

    saddened lovebird in your pocket
    won?t be able to breathe
    in the heat.
    green and tangerine that make you finally blue
    the taste of gold left from that flu i gave you
    the end of everything we made.
    the day i opened my mouth to the song

    and let it be sung.
    5:02 pm
    another poem i found of mine
     i washed the feathers from my face and sat down next to the ruins
    i pulled my pockets inside out and wiped the dust off of my lips and slid my tongue across my teeth
    i tilted my head back and watched the lightning split the sky into shards of copper silver gold and bronze
    i can change my name but i can?t
    change
    who i am.

    i put on your accent
    and i pretended to be
    you

    i tried to be one of you but i am only one of me.
    Tuesday, February 26th, 2002
    10:03 pm
    Going Home
     This is a poem I found tonight that I wrote a couple days before coming home from Ecuador...

    Going home
    is like dying sometimes
    because dying
    might just be another going home.
    You kiss one mouth;
    you want another.

    Going home is like dying sometimes:
    You get so close that you just want to let go.
    You stop putting your underwear into the laundry basket
    and put it in a plastic bag inside your suitcase instead.
    You stop kissing so long, you stop kissing so hard, you stop kissing with your eyes closed.
    You start to cry.
    You see a light and you just run to it.

    Time passes like birds through the sky.
    You hold it back so hard it doesn't even try.

    You love someone, but space can get to be a burden.
    You can be together or you can both be home,
    but you can never be together and both call it home.

    Dying is like going home sometimes:
    You don't know which way to go; which way is home?
    You kiss one mouth,
    but you really want another.
    You cry one tear for leaving
    & one for coming back.
    Tuesday, September 11th, 2001
    5:51 pm
    peace, please.
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