another hull breach
most of her fortune slips away
suckled by the undercurrent
her shanties are bottlenecked messages
entangled in self-accusation
listing through distress and tide
she flags toward more sympathetic waters
love is the bright iris of balmy weather
a ballast for threadbare optimism
she makes berth in tiny lips
that pardon her insufficiency
emptiness, a welcome refuge
projected under the twinkle of satisfaction
mirroring devotion
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 12:12 PM UTC
We, one by one, born with lashes that peak
To cover eyes that look to twisting toe,
With addled tongue and rose-red painted cheek,
And tinkled laughter poorly masking woe;
Who, created equal through tithe and toll,
Are never authors of our living plots.
And ever wind-swept by confusing roles,
We cannot deviate from this our lot.
Why is it, then, that you and I, thus drawn
With arms that yearn and dry lips that beseech,
Use these – our able tools – to tooth and claw
The ones that could sweet oneness truly teach?
In this, I have no answer for you, yet.
And bowing head to breast, I am regret.
May 4, 2019
May 4, 2019 at 3:33 PM UTC
I am finished with being a muse –
The victimized wet-dream of art
Who, slowly turning on a dais
Raised on superficial planks,
Will soon be a forgotten toy
That once loved, now has lost its charm,
And crushed into a corner waits
Till memory renews its rank.
The gods can have this blessing back.
I'll mar my face and tear my hair
And burn my robe and crown of gold
And wade in mud up to my knee,
Or suffer cows and sweat for milk,
Or brave a sea of mug and chair.
Oh, silver platter-washing, I
Would gladly be ordinary!
Yet, bar-girls also have to feign
And feint from lofty thoughts of He.
And milkmaids, too, are often set
Upon a stool above their wish.
From scullery to cloudless mount,
If privy parts inverted be,
You serve the wielder of the wand,
Obliged to lie down as his dish.
May 3, 2019
May 3, 2019 at 10:30 PM UTC
I reach back through memory and mortality
To inspire that which I am to become
Exciting the bones of my ancestors
Their feathers of black and red and white
The golden rays of dead and declining stars
Deflecting off the face of the moon
"Is life still real if it echoed?"
"Yeeess," they exhale from eons past.
The first and only answer to an ageless urge
Stretching to me, through me
Filling the unfathomable empty
With intimacy and evidence
New issues to nurture
Most seeds remain in the shadows
Dreaming of a shift in the design
Stardust progressing toward potential
Again and again and again
And again the bond is broken
And refashioned
I am remembered
In unsettled frenzy, my soul awakens
Setting alight my future
May 3, 2019
May 3, 2019 at 10:14 PM UTC