Why
doesn't it move?
It seems too
burdened
with all the heav-
y metals
it carries inside
of him.
Poison.

I think
it's got me too.

All these smiles
(that could be) -
cutting out cookie dough,
ripping up gift wrap,
snow crunching under boots,
fume of warm coffee grounds,
tender touch of the lips
-

lay (spilt) at my feet;
like the blue ocean
mist flowing on
at the cold feet of the moonwake;
like the eggshells & yolk &
white staring
at the feet of a shell-shocked child.

Let it go.
The headache, the surge of pain-
free medicine through your veins,
Let it go.

Float in the air
fighting your ghosts in a night-
mare of clouded screams and whips
and lashes of
peace

peace

peace.


Sleep at last.

Dragon in my Closet


1.
I should write a poem
today. Now. But
I just don't feel like doing so.
Instead, I'm going to write
a story
about why. About the Dragon.
And that'll do.


2.
Once upon a time,
there was a To Do List
that needed to be Done.
It had items and points
and notes and scribbles;
she was absolutely the most
prettiest thing.

This beauty belonged to a Knight,
a pilgrim in the Land of Adulthood.
And I'm about to tell you
why, though he wanted,
and tried and tried
he never could
get the stupid List Done.

So, one day while
he was wooing Lady List,
a thunderous roar stopped him
in the middle of his speech.
He smelled the sulphur before
he saw the shadow fly over,
but it was too late
and the dragon grabbed his Lady lover.

The List yelled for help,
but what could Knight have done?
Before him stood the vicious
Merciless Procrastination Dragon!
With a slice of its claws
and just one breath of flames,
the poor List was done for
and could nevermore be Done.

Well, you can imagine
the scenario that now unfolded:
List gargling on the floor,
Knight screaming like a toddler.
The Dragon wasn't done yet, though,
he still had one more goal:
Keeping the Knight busy all day
so he won't rescue List with CPR.

This was the easy part,
and loads of fun too.
Knight had snapped out of his shock,
but the dragon just had to
keep his paw on the Knight's head
and hold it there until
the Knight got tired of fighting air
and became very still.

Then the Dragon lifted his paw.
Knight fell on the floor with a
THUD.
Dragon flew off with a smile on his face,
happy with the fun he'd had.
The Knight scrambled the strength together
to crawl on all fours to his List -
or rather, what remained of her -
and pretended she still exists.

(But she was dead,
and the Knight was broken.
He would never even look
at another List again.
Until he gets lonely and
tired of Nothing,
then another To Do List pops up
that's in need of Doing...)


3.
This tale is true,
believe me, 'tis so.
I have met the very Knight
and greeted the Lady too.
And the Malicious
Procrastination Dragon
made its nest in
my closet.

And that's why
I'm not writing a poem.

Never say
anything
you might
regret


it
Means
only speak
words
that have survived 3 days'
chewing,
churning,
turning
in thought.

When the blue ink of the sky
drips into the salt of the sea,
drink of it.
Drink of it like tea.

When your cup is filled with ink - pen
blanket, journal, tea...
spill of it.
Spill your words on this white sea.

When ink pencils speak with colour,
drawing walls inside you & me,
Let's speak of it.
Let our words flow set us free.

When the black blots of ink
write moving letters in your heart,
sink in it.
Sink in the waters of your thought.

When the Vast Cloud of Ink
glows from the depth of your eyes;
I’ll know you drank of it.
You drank the stars into your skies.

i watched you walk by
the fog on this window
nose on the floor
eyes there too yet
somewhere long ago.

i watched your leather
jacket-back heave as if
holding up a box of lead
but your arms were empty
save for a twitch now, then.

i watched you blend in
with the waves of people
like a squeeze of paint
(or drop of ink)
dissolving in a glass of water.

you biting your cheek till it rips,
your fingers pushing back the skin
on your nails - it stay(n)ed with me
as this smell of ground coffee does.
you are cracking, bit by bit.

... and i am left to wonder
how long till you shatter?
who will catch you when you fall?