Throughout her adult life
all of the land shaded.
Feverless islands where the
aged couple sleep.
Never once have I hosted a party. Not once have I
told you, I have
been hurt.

Shattered seconds stretch and flex into passing hours;
As black ink bleeds thru thin white space;
As unspoken sentences dance in the dust;
As the artist’s pen rests on the crest of the wave,
Perched like gulls—hungry and hunting;
As the broken clock laughs, filling space with an echo of time;
As the Creator dips his brush;
And, painted words drip,
And fill,
And bleed…
And, Art is born.

A flawless red curve of
Seductive lips
Your bold tongue
On the cusp of mine
I savor your words
Reckless declarations
Breathed down my throat
Slashing my soul
A wound that won’t heal
Exposed to the memory of
*******
Memories that make it my ruin
The way you wrenched my heart
Racked my mind
Molested my soul
The desolation you left me with
When you were done

I look for Pink
To comfort and inspire
My emotional essence
You will see if you
Look into my eyes.

lying on my mattress
or floor
staring into the
pure
white ceiling.
Thinking, breathing, wanting to scream.
Everything's perfect.
except for the white ceiling, of course

where is the clarity in my thoughts?
the straight lines,
in the jungle of scribbles?
the uneasy nuances of my ideas
push me back and forth
until i’m nauseous with
self conflicted confusion

dizzy, turned around ideas
dance & twirl until I
**** out actions taken
with jumbled conviction and
lost intent.
where is the clarity in my thoughts?

At the end of the night,
I will bow,
In one swift motion,
As the pressure releases,
Like the beat of a butterfly’s wing
Or it’s gentle heart.

At the end of the night,
I will drift off,
In the ocean of my mind,
Asleep at last,
I free fall through space,
Like a shimmering bubble,
Formed by a child’s breath,
Sent off into the word,
*Careless and free.

I lifted you as high as I could.
The next day my left arm ached,
And I half-smiled recalling why,
Proof I had done my job.

It came as no real surprise,
To be accused of doing nothing.
The only woman pallbearer,
Of course my body should be brought into play.

The aching of my arm
Was proof
That I didn’t let you down.
Until, of course,
That was the task at hand.

i wondered about a kiss
the way it would taste
like tahaitian vanilla
and your sunday coffee
down by greenwich village
where we saw all the worlds stage
through a rose colored glass
and those heavy eyes
when the grass was greener
and you left me there to die

I am talking
At walls and mirrors

I have deleted
Your number

I am trying
To forget his name

I have been shutting
Everyone's existence out



This is how I need to be
This is what I need to do
I need to focus on what I have now

But
Work still does not get done
And I still cannot focus.






.