Susan Elise Wing

Susan Elise Wing 40m

BAD ZEN

Loosed strands of wanting, willing,
tossed by thought-winds,
day and night.
Heart's hope gathers
in the morning light,
to stumble and fall
when the darkness comes.

Susan Elise Wing May 7

DRY TEARS

A November gale is blowing
through the sun-smashed trees,
shaking my sight to
the roots of perception.
The wind-essence pushes
memory slides past my eyes -
eyes that looked out at the world
and learned the habit of
crying without tears.

Susan Elise Wing May 7

LOST FRIENDS

Poking around in these ashes
reminds me of a traffic jam of
friends I once had,
way back when you could
understand confusion
with the best of them.

We moved, bumper to bumper,
in and out of chaos, cold cities and
warm lands called hands.
It was a mess, I guess.
But I was our mess.

Susan Elise Wing May 7

CAN YOU LIMBO?

Tinkerbell and Tijuana, the mistresses of lost hope,
mill around these high-tech molecules
called Future, waiting
for the lights to go back on.

By train, my brain sees a tunnel ahead.
By foot, shadows dance upon my back.
In the stillness of a page of news,
I wait for my muse.

Susan Elise Wing May 7

MISSING ME

My incidental life
is a weight I cannot lift.
Of my own creation,
it's an indicaton
of the rift between
who I am
and the shadow
I've become.

Susan Elise Wing May 7

DEPRESSION

Cry me by the bedside,
by the edge-side
I've been before.
Who saw me walking lonely
through all those shades
drawn round my door?

Susan Elise Wing May 7

I AM GAIA

Rose juices rush
through mountain streams,
down his sides thick
with thirsty pines.
Coming to rest
in my shining cave,
until the waters rise again.