Death is not the final word.
Without ears, my father still listens,
still shrugs his shoulders
whenever I ask a question he doesn't want to answer.

I stand at the closet door, my hand on the ****,
my hip leaning against the frame and ask him
what does he think about the war in Iraq
and how does he feel about his oldest daughter
getting married to a man she met on the Internet.

Without eyes, my father still looks around.
He sees what I am trying to do, sees that I
have grown less passive with his passing,
understands my need for answers only he can provide.

I imagine him drawing a breath, sensing
his lungs once again filling with air, his thoughts ballooning.

You could die for it--
love,
or refuse it altogether
and know nothing
except the urgency
of youth. Men

have been
solitary
for ages
carrying the
stoniest of hearts
in their broad chests
while we women

begin too early
brush the brown leaves
from our shoulders, go
from bloom to fade
as soon as
we see the sunrise

We let our eyes go first
Then there is the limp lolling
of our hearts from side to side
the tongue we cut away
the blind kiss on the backlash of night
the giving giving giving of skin

As women
we blindly wish
past the ****** of passion
as we vanish into a world of men
whose ribcages we were scraped from
Perhaps we are born of seeds
our essence crawling up the stem
to feed the bees.

Perhaps
every flower you see
is a woman
and when
she's in bloom
and when she is blooming
red
and when her leaves are wingbeats
of green in the autumn wind
beating wings of green, yes
even as the wind tries to humiliate her
it fails because
she's in love
and only she would die for it

after, when you are driving
75 miles one way just to get to her
and her wind-touched hair,
bleached white by the September
sun, the gray sky coughing up clouds,
that is when the doubts surface,
hard as stones.

it is late afternoon by the time you arrive,
the storm has already been through here.
you are not in your own element.
you are a runaway.

but, then she is there, standing right in front
of you, wet with rain, slender as a branch.
you watch as she makes her way over
and your heart gardens, rupturing red.

love is believable
in every moment of exhaustion
in every heartbroken home
in every dark spirit,
the meaning unfolds...

...in every night that sings
of tomorrow. in every suicide
i carry deep inside my head.
in every lonely smile
that plays across my lips.
love is believable i tell you,
in every scrap of history,
in every sheen of want.

what can be wrong
that some days i have a tough time
believing.
and in each chamber of my heart
i pray.

I went looking for God
but I found you instead.
Bad luck or destiny,
you decide.

Buried in the muck,
the soot of the city,
sorrow for an appetite,
devil on your left shoulder,
angel on your right.

You, with your thorny rhythms
and tragic, midnight melodies.

My heart never tried
to commit suicide before.

I have been used
I have been abused
But you wouldn’t know that

You say you see me
You say you know me
But you don’t
You just want
To see what you want
To hear what you want
But you wouldn’t know that

I was mistreated
Misunderstood
And hurt
People looked down on me
And treated me like
I was nothing
But you wouldn’t know that

You look through me
Not at me
You hear me
But don’t listen
You ignore my words
And ignore me
But you wouldn’t know that

I have been talked at
Not with
I have been told to
Not asked
I have been laughed at
Not with
But you wouldn’t know that

I’ve been treated
For so many different
Problems
Your head would spin
I’ve tried so many
Medications
You would go insane
But you wouldn’t know that

I’ve tried to work past
All the beatings
The darkness
The bullying
The abuse
It hurts
But you wouldn’t know that

I’ve told my story
To few others
Because the few I’ve told
Don’t believe my story
Because I’m me
Because I’m happy
As happy as can be
But you would believe that
Wouldn’t you?

And as you sit there
reading
You don’t know who I am
Where I’m from
What I do
What I want
What I wish
What I need
Because you simply
Don’t
Know
That
Nor
Do you care.

The spider, dropping down from twig,
Unfolds a plan of her devising,
A thin premeditated rig
To use in rising.

And all that journey down through space,
In cool descent and loyal hearted,
She spins a ladder to the place
From where she started.

Thus I, gone forth as spiders do
In spider's web a truth discerning,
Attach one silken thread to you
For my returning.

I wish that I could say to you
The words that run through my mind every time I see you,
Speak to you,
Think of you.
They are right there, waiting to be transformed from idea to existence,
But they never quite get there.
It’s funny that, given everything else I’ve laid bare,
I can’t let myself say the words that put my heart in jeopardy.
Because if I say them,
And you don’t say them back…
These words that I leave on the tip of my tongue
Are my perch on the edge of a cliff:
If I gather enough courage to say them,
It also means that I must fall.
Are you ready to fall with me?

I feel like writing
I don't really know what will spill out
Bleeding through my fingers onto this
blank canvas
Not always with an effortless flow
I want to open myself up
To let my honesty out with intelligent wit
With confident tones of inspiration
I feel like exploring myself
Like finding a burried treasure, long lost
Inside memories, imagination,
I get lost reading about other intriguing
made up scenarios and personalities
I swim in an endless sea of emotion
Drowning in dreams untold
Fighting to find the right portrayal
I wonder if I will achieve my goals
But for now,...
I just feel like writing