Down a peaceful, quiet lane
The two-story farmhouse awaits
Bathed in evening hues
Of rich lavenders, pinks,
And dusty apricot
The lilac scented breezes blow
Whispering stories of summer
Let me dance in pastures
Of buttercups and wild daisies
Where horses graze contentedly
And Virginia bluebells sway
Where time becomes stuck
And lets me live this golden moment
Just once more

**~Marian~

I slipped and told you I was trans,

and now I don't think I'll ever have a chance with you.

~for those who will read this and weep~

the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-job experience

localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!

the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life *****” advertisement

I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs

summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created

so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)

but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early

got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind

these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived

When she’s gone...
I crave her like the first time I ever laid eyes on her,
I can feel my tongue twisting and forgetting all my words-
A thousand thoughts swirling around my head,
But I still can’t manage to conjure just one
I can feel my body tense,
Begging for her familiarity to wash over me
Like the way soft green hills of the valley
Roll endlessly over one another
Creating a masterpiece that leaves you speechless
When she’s gone,
I crave her
Like an artist craves that one sunset they saw years ago-
Decades later and they’re still trying to recreate a moment
That’s nothing but a memory
Yet they can’t stop, like an itch one can’t find
Because none has compared to that one
When you’re gone...
Things come out all jumbled and backwards
Like “good night” instead of “good morning”
And “I hope you’re having fun” instead of “come home, I miss you”

I feel lost in a sea of words,
That have stitched themselves to the roof of my mouth
I try to explain what I’m feeling but nothing comes out
I feel the weight beginning to crush me,
Making it harder to breathe
Sowing my lips shut-
shutting down like the rest of my body
Everything feels like so much,
But then nothing at all
I’m lost in the confusion,
Do I have something to say,
Or am I just my own downfall?

I used to write
My secrets in the sand,
Knowing they would never stay
Long enough to be told.

I used to just swim,
pulled my hair up and never
Really tasted the salt that foamed
After the crash.

I've ran in the sand,
Sure, but never have I
Ever let it smooth my
Skin into what it could be.

Before today, I've never
Let the current take me
Under and feel what it's like
To always come back to something.