Hell is hard to escape
  When it's between your ears.

We turn blind in faith
war for religion

stick stiff
to own belief

give gods name
invoke them

and our dogma goes so far
as to turn us

executioner.

Cannonball!!!*
Diving from the tattered rope
into the writer's pool,
drenching any nearby poets
with a tsunami of images.
Remembering the sheer joy
of finding such a swimming hole,
and grabbing the chance
again and again
to drop fearlessly
into soul's center.
Today,
a toe tests gingerly
familiar water,
as hands open
the poet's chest
with cold-blooded intent
and wrap themselves
gently about
a muse's heart
and
begin...
to squeeze...
to pulse...
in time...

Spirit, please, in time.

Another coat of paint won't rid theses walls of all the sin they've seen.

I'm the quiet girl who wears her skirts too short

The exposure of the world through          
my eyes is weak:

Visions of gardens
Silk flowers and twisted vines, I'm afraid,
Are no longer symbols of beauty
I cannot tell sadness from joy
My future is a broken compass.

I am free, but I have nowhere to go

I am in love, but with nothing in particular.