A thousand days
Followed by a thousand nights
Callused hands and silk ties
Each a different journey of the night
Scabs and names becoming all the same
Three hundred more
Whistling a song at the door
A simple melody
Of a hundred scores
Carried in every lore
Another night
How nice
I look up high and see the sky
Smiling wide
I whistle for each life
Each in my mind
I'm becoming whole tonight.

Paint me a picture
Of your skin
Does it bronze beneath the sun?
Or sizzle and blush
Like your cheeks
When you’re in love?
Is it soft to the touch
Like when your palms graze
The smooth surface of water?
Or rough around the edges
Like your favorite book
And its lovingly worn corners?
Does it melt in the heat
Like sweet syrupy treats
Dripping through your fingers?
Or does it welcome the winter
With wide open arms
As if greeting a lover?
Paint me a picture
Of your skin

It lurks in corners
when I pass by,
slowly,slowly,crawling.

It waits for me
behind the door,
gently,gently,laughing.


It tumbles down
out of the sky,
softly,softly,falling.

It rises up
out of the floor,
whispering, whispering,

come to me.

Oh, shadow,shadow
on the wall,
don't swallow me.

Yes,she talks to squirrels while admiring their acrobatics on a phone line above
Monarch butterflies land in her hand and visit awhile
It’s an Indian Summer and things go up and down daily
The autumnal rainbow is slowly beginning it’s spice rack color show
She likes her iPod tunes and private fitness time
An October walk in New York
Greeting and playing with every dog or puppy crossing her path

C@rainbowchaser2018

A kerosene
Pharaoh leans
On barreled dreams
With feral teams
Using gasoline
To mask the screams
Of the last to breathe
On the path he weaves

His petrol
Gets sold
To fretful
Death droves
Chaos enfolds
Compounding tenfold
In this hell we’re stenciled

They’re fighting over a commodity
Using false dichotomies
Haughtily
Making others duel
Over fossil fuel
To say who rules
Which seems cruel
So they fill textbooks with lies
And put a gun in my hand
If I give a vexed look I’ll die
So I give in to their demands

I’m too blind to see
The refinery
Assigned to me
Is designed to be
The life I lead
For lies of greed
Making the sky bleed

We shoot chemicals into the sky
And deep into the ground
Never stopping to ask why
We hear a rumbling sound
And all the animals around
Have turned upside down

Getting oil
Is deadly toil
But not for the royal
Who’ve never touched soil
They’re too busy trying to foil
Anyone trying to save the planet
Anyone trying to use compassion
The prison door they slam it
Saying we don’t have enough rations

I become a head nodder
Eating lead fodder
As a pet otter
Clapping for treats
In shameless defeat
For the ruling elite
On a shrinking iceberg
Showing what my life earned

Pills on the table,
Burnt toast abandoned on the counter,
Dregs of coffee in a floral cup;
Someone's been here.

If you look in the mirror and
See her blue-bruised eyes,
****** Mary about to
Go out to the bars for the night?
That was once my mirror.

I haunt everywhere I choose to live,
And you can't sit at my table without
Drinking the wine I've drunk.
Get ready to feel.

I don't find myself here often,
Sugar grainy under my nails at the quick,
But something bitter sleeping under
The corners of my tongue.
Chasing myself through dark rooms
And thinking,
"I miss something sweet.
I must be an oyster."

Whose floor did I sleep on
And leave a shadow behind?
In what grass have I vomited,
To leave myself standing there greeting strangers?

"That's my house,"
She points into the darkness behind her,
Or out of the mirror and into your room,
Or at a lightning-struck tree trunk on the side of a fast and lonely road.
"That's my house."

Bury me under the chokecherry tree
Then they won't forget how and who I was
When life is done retching and spitting me out
Plant me with the kindred roots like a little cyanide seed
A hard and bitter pill in the wet black maw of the earth
Remind the little children
Of the red ridged fingertips that pressed my taut skin
They gauged that I was valuable and ripe
And bruised me

The saying does go
‘better the devil you know’
he said.

And sure to god
a fire was lit within me.
Sometimes you'd miss familiar monsters.

Sometimes you'd be suspicious
of the finer things,
of the promises often promised,

made now. But for why?
What changed, when I paid
nothing for it.

I'd almost miss
the curled up ball,
the loneliness in the dark night.

That's all I knew back then.
This feeling of content --
it feels fake, nerves I never used