In every song that passes my ears,
I find a favorite line.
Usually one to do with the moon,
lovers, stars, eyes.
I've yet to unravel why,
these jump into my mind,
and walk around for a while.
Repeating their tiny scale of notes,
barely enough to go across a page,
most of the time.
But somehow, they stretch and grow and swell
till my brain struggles to hold their beauty
expanding across the field of thought
till that is all I can hear, see, say.
The songs tumble from my lips,
I cannot hold them in,
though I try to swallow them back.
If only I had a lovely voice...

I am not perfect.
Though you say I am.
And for a half-second, I believe you,
As you kiss my neck, acne blotches ignored.
Your moist lips
send streams of love songs
down my throat to my heart,
where they manifest themselves into the bloodstream.
My whole being sings,
without lyric or note,
but still a flowing, pulsing melody
rings throughout my limbs,
Rendering them pure, scarless, slender- Perfect.
You say I am perfect,
and for a half-second, I believe you.

Two birds in similar cages bound,
with bleached white staves
a brig of flesh.
The lock unreachable,
as with any prisoner,
but it keeps them not from calling,
to their opposite companion.

The Jailers hear the songs,
block them out,
try to stifle the warbling beaks,
but they know there will be no peace
till the bleached white staves are joined,
and the two birds may nest together.

It’s the small things.
The little ones almost missed,
But some strand of  soul
Catches them,
Reels them in,
Adds them to the heap
Of silver and bronze plated memories
Stashed in the heart of hearts.
Tiny things.
So unimportant.
Locked away by ingratitude,
Who bars the door with steeled force.
But even a slip of thanks,
Could push him aside.
And flood the world with light.

It has been said,
Perfection is what remains
when there is nothing left to take away.
And if there is nothing to take away
nothing remains.
Therefore, Perfection Kills.

I thought he was going to kill me.
His eyes bespoke the strength of some strong emotion,
I assumed hatred.
I retreated, my feet treading garbage into dirt,
till there was no more ground to tread.
He grabbed me,
this stranger I had never seen
and stole the token so prized by lovers- a kiss.
A long, stagnant, suspended kiss.
I could not separate the moist circles of our mouths.
He held too tight, I dared not struggle.
Finally, his hands released me,
I gasped a breath of cool dream air,
and awoke as the warmth of his body
was replaced by the heat of my blanket.

Things always seem to wind up, then crash,
Like the tops we spun as children
Winding, winding, winding,
Till it circled it’s dizzying path across the dining room table
Reflected in the polished walnut.
Then plummeting over the edge
Into oblivion.

The happy, ignorant, whirling top,
Not knowing its misfortune
Until it meets the floor.
And rolls, rolls, rolls,
In gravity's death throes.

Love:
simple as rain
Falling
Upon
the grass,
But no less extraordinary.

I want to read to you,
And have you read to me.
One of my favorite books,
That will become our favorite.
Coelho, Lewis, Tolstoy, Hemingway.

We will let the words tumble out,
Past the gate of our lips
Let them drift into the air,
on wisps of breath.

Our souls twine about them
And about each other
Strings of letters, punctuation, spaces
Till they become tied as to be inseparable.

He stood
chest bared before the mirror
studying
searching
trying to find the heart
that lay within
if there even was one.

He sighed
ran a hand through tousled hair
Wondering
mourning
why he could not see
the heart within
If there even was one.

He sat
on the edge of the bed
sinking
drowning
in his quest and the blankets
He thought he’d lost the heart
if there even was one.

He sank
farther into his despair
wishing
longing
that he had begun his search
A long time ago for the heart
If there even was one.

He slumped
body contorted and limp
feeling
thinking
that he was merely a body
a shell without a heart
he doubted there ever was one.

Men loosened Justice's blindfold
So she could "see the evidence" they said
She protested and tried to fix it,
but her scales fell out of balance.

Peace asked her why?
Justice cried and her tears
wilted Peace's olive branch
the dove drank the salt water and got sick.

Hope tried to console Peace and Justice,
But when she saw the blindfold amiss
and the dove sick
her fragile heart couldn't take it, and she died.

Love tried to revive Hope
but she knew it wouldn't work,
because she couldn't gather enough
of Hope's soul to bring her back.

And for that Peace and Justice
Shunned her, rebuked her
they said she was useless
and banished her to a far northern land.

So Love fled from men's hearts
and found herself with Patience, cast into exile
Patience was happy because Loneliness fled,
But Love longed for her former life.

And with Hope dead
it didn't take long for Sorrow
to smite her.

She viewed the sky as oft before
The dark clouds gathering, grey and dim
The scent of rain hung in the air
And she closed her eyes, and prayed for him.

The rain fell soft upon the field
Where enemies had come to fight
Man to man and sword to sword
Though the sword she knew, helped not their plight.

The dark ash shafts that she had watched
Her man so gently preserve
Drops from hells own thunder clouds
Steel points without mercy or reserve.

The great yew bow of sap and heart
Its elegant curves he’d crowned with horn
The string he’d twined so skillfully
With his calloused hands, so rough and worn.

The hands with which he’d clasped her own
And pledged to love her, as he loved the bow,
And slipped a ring of silver fine
upon her hand, she loved him so.

Her heart now leapt within her breast
As mail clad men shouted hurried orders
“Women to the baggage!” She heard them say
and she turned to join her frightened neighbors.

The men had no time to say goodbye
They took up their bows and off they went
Towards the muddy field below
She knew that most to their deaths were sent.

She took her place with other girls
Beside the carts and extra mounts
A buzzing whisper of nervous speech
Drowned the men’s descending shouts.

Now and again she closed her eyes
The cross was made and prayer began
She murmured to Mary, the Virgin Blessed
To guard the life of every man.

She listened hard and heard the sound
Of thousands of throats shout muddled cries
Their words were lost within the wind
And a twanging note seemed to break the skies.

She knew the archers all had loosed
Their fingers plucked at the harp strings of Death
Her man had sent his goose-fledged shaft
On a journey to leave a widow bereft.

The clash of steel and screams of steeds
shattered the note of twanging bows
And she heard the battle rage all the more
As the melee rose in the field below.

The battle seemed to last for years
The noise of combat daunting and loud
Waned and waxed as the day wore on
But her prayers continued, her head remained bowed.

Salty tears fell from her eyes to
tight clasped hands, their knuckles white
Spare him, spare him, was her cry
And then the sun brought forth its light.

The army’s women raised their heads
And watched as their tired, muddied men,
Crested the top of the trampled hill
Warriors come from death’s dark den.

She searched the ranks with pleading eyes
For the well-known face of her lover true
But it seemed that countless men came
Streaming towards her, and none she knew.

Until at last the final rank
In mud and bloody mail encased
Came into the valley, worn and weary
And she saw at last the familiar face.

A cry of joy came from her lips
A prayer of greatest heartfelt thanks
Her feet grew wings and off she flew
Into her archer’s strong embrace.

The wise blood pulsed within her veins
First the sixth sense and then the seventh
Her mind was sick of self taught lessons
The clock struck the tenth hour, and then the eleventh.

Her eyes saw colors their’s could not
But names had she not for their description
The tint of wind and the hue of water
They thought it her dumb and idiot invention.

She heard noise when they were deaf
But she could not record or imitate the sound
The music of stones and the language of trees
They would not listen, for they spoke too loud.

She felt what they were too calloused too feel
But she could not weigh or measure the touch
The texture of thought and the surface of dreams
They said it was madness and dismissed it as such.

She smelled the fragrances they could not smell
But she had no perfume or cologne to match
The stench of pain and the scent of hope
They called her foolish, said her mind had been snatched.

Her tounge tasted tastes that theirs could not
But no herb could she find to imitate the flavors
The spice of music and the tang of peace
They said it was merely her tears she savored.

Her heart had taught her everything
Her mind to see, her nerves to feel
She’d wished for a prophet, a teacher, a sage
To show her that all that she knew was real.

But no philosopher would second her claim
No scientist back her with reasearch and facts
Her teachers all mocked her, laughed in her face
And so she fell silent to cease their attacks.

Her newfound knowledge boiled within
Bombarded, her mind was over wrought
She sank into despair with hardening heart
Lost without a soul with which to share her thought

As the clock struck the twelfth with a deafening clang
She stepped to the ledge and looked to the sky
A last sigh to the world, she drew a deep breath
And in silence the seven-sensed girl leapt to die.

I shiver,
in the cold of yet another winter day.
It matches my mood, sullen and grey
But with the general good weather front
I put on as I go out the door.

Cloaked in false sunshine,
I cast my empty rays
To anything and everyone
They expect warmth,
But feel only the icy breeze
Which has already frozen me.

Youth, my beautiful lie
Forever weaving falsehood’s web
Adding more threads as the years slip by
To cover the frays
Begun by Time
For the work is too delicate to patch.

Death, my painful truth,
You watch my futile fiction grow
Waiting till you can cut
The tapestry from the loom
Your scythe sharpened,
Waiting,
To bring me into veracity.

One day I will find the words
One day
But not today.

Today the words scamper from outstretched hands
I, clawing for one syllable, one sound
as they melt into the camouflage of boredom
Unreachable.

One day I will find the words
pluck them from the branches of my mind
gather them into the basket of a pen
and take them home,
lay them out to dry on a blank page.

I will paste them down,
thought by thought
verse by verse, dactyl, measure, line,
Till they've made a sentence
a phrase, a page.

One day, I will find the words
they will be simple, beautiful, soft
as I take their dry hulls,
and line them up in ranks
on the field of an unwritten page.

One day I will find the words,
but it is not today.

There is pain here.
It swells, drifts,
within the ribbed cage
covered with pale, stretched skin.
My heart, the bird, beats it's tiny, wounded wings,
in fear and aching throbs,
to escape from it's bloody aviary,
but the bars are too strong,
and it sings a final, mourning note
as the bones collapse around it.

Give me the pain, please.
Even if there is none.
Project what you think fit
onto my masochistic spirit,
who waits, open, longing
for the jab.

What I said, I meant.
Always means never ever forgotten.
I will forever bear the brand
of two hearts bruised.
Mine included.
Let me take the blow I give,
I caused the pain, let me suffer it gladly.
If I were to break a heart
pray let it be mine.

I loved you as man was meant to love
Selfless, quiet, as few have said
Three simple words,
And meant them
As I did when they fell
Letter by letter
From trembling lips
To meet the cold stone
Which encased your heart.

Each shattered, a thousand splinters,
The O rolled and burst
The U toppled with the I and the rest
Ricocheting back from whence they came
Sharp and piercing
Their barbed points digging
With flaming points into flesh
While silent screams
Echoed loudly in empty halls.

Bleeding, not a drop, but a torrent
All at once
No single bead, but hundreds
Till bathed in red
I stood before you
Pleading
In my hands the last thread of my life
Offering them, freely
You did not realize
I loved you.