Susan Elise Wing

Susan Elise Wing May 7

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.

Susan Elise Wing May 7

Graffiti

There's graffiti on my flowered walls.
I scratched it there
with a pin,
when I was very young.
The view
from my bed
was much better then.

Susan Elise Wing May 6

URSULA AT 10

Ursula crafted a boat today
made of styrofoam,
white as sea foam.

Ursula sailed her craft today,
over the bay and
into my eyes.

Shaped like her - with waved bow.
Long and smooth like a
handmade arrow.

Bon voyage!
You are off!
God bless your journey.