After you’ve ran with green through knowing frantic summer strength
you fall,
in going home rain,
with all the land in the world.

I live in a desert
My Dear.
With a loopy-eyed cat who bites
and a roommate who might as well.
All of my clothes are ripped and stained
and I don't know where I'll be working tomorrow.

The other vagrants and I
We can't afford to stay,
but we can't afford the gas to leave,
either.
The summers are too hot--
the winters are too cold--
and the days and the nights are too dangerous.

But we're here
and we're young.
And someone has to feed the cat.

emptied limbs creak

slowly unburdened
there is no lifting
of palms

notes left of sweet
sensations
dances
fruit
habitations

move on the wind

We exist
As a reflection of the creative force
That drives the universe.
It imbues our cells,
Our molecules,
Our spirits.

As children, we did not hesitate
To pretend,
To imagine,
To make up songs and stories,
To paint and draw,
To dance and sing -

Another joyful voice in the choir of the universe.

So tell me why
Do you hesitate now?
Why do you hide behind self made limitations and fears -
Excuses that become the walls of your cage,
Your prison cell -
Your tomb.

Why do you say
that you are not one of THEM -
The gifted, the talented, the artistic -
(As if we were not all made from the same stardust)
Repeating it over and over like a mantra-
that could absolve you of your responsibilities,
Your role,
Your unique harmony in the song of creation.
Oh, what arrogance!
What hubris!

The Dark mist, it beckons,
It curls its manicured tip.
I twist, no, I resist,
Pleas die softly on my lip.

I conjure my life's images,
Of decent well adjusted folks.
Crumpets, giggles and tea bags.
Pinks and yellows that it evokes.

But fragile as an egg shell,
The cracks they show some more.
Lust and desire bubble forth,
Crimson lies sprawled upon the floor.

I'm told that I'm the Good Girl
Of frocks, and poise, and grace.
Yet the cracks they draw me in,
Fingers touch velvet and lace.

The Good Girl she suffocates,
In deaf silence she screams.
Awake she hides the gaping cracks,
Plays freely in her dreams.

So, Good courtesies in the light,
Smiling pleasantries at the fore.
But with heads turned I come to life,
Filled by the Dark I fight no more.

Two lives I live in parallel,
Soft moan sneaks past my lip
I am the dark, I am home,
I curl my manicured tip....

​
“she’s like broken glass.
dangerous with sharp edges;
but beautifully complex”

I only write well when I'm a mess

Knowing this I spit on a fine line

My neighbor thinks I write very bad poetry all the time

I don't argue because it very well may be true

Meanwhile

Burned by my upstairs nuisance

He promised a case of red bull

But only delivered a stereo with no knobs

I would be angry but he is saner than I most days

So I sell the stereo to a deaf bird for nutrition

But my ramen packets break dry and maggot filled

So I eat cancer and drink the sun instead

my pens are all gone

They ran away when I started pacing

most things do

Preparation is key on nights like these

Fall weather comes and I breathed easy

But now my climbing tree's are dying
and my shoes fail in spades

I met a creature who said my words were strange

I laugh because what is normal?
I never did fully know

So that time tested debate unfolds with mouths clenched from use

I offered peace in the way of grape juice but gave myself vitamin c poisoning

So I ***** into the rabbit hole
no home left for that metaphor

I never really saw what all the fuss was about

good night