There is a tipping point
to define
measure
when all the little moments
weigh more than they should
the long hours, their shadows
begrudge each step
exhale to monsters among us

thoughts are living
like you or me

i am overcome with joy i get to see you again
your tasseled hair
a little happy sky in the gleam of your eye
a picturesque not bounded by frame

my love.

what is it that i seek
from our correspondence

“Write a short poem.”
there’s too much to say,
or been said
yet to be
said


So swallow the penny
no one keeps them nowadays

love or lust
“I cannot tell a lie”
As I lie
Laying
being beneath you
forcing my light feminine weight above
the sun to your sky
it’s all the same
i feel false i do not feel

you compliment my waist,
my laugh;
my witty repetitoire
riles you—
a true Napoleon in this pint-sized frame
they call me pretty
I yearn to be more

you are leaving and I am numb
maybe I learn to forget
opal iridescence in my free-spirited eyes
dance once
you are gone

I scream to no one,
“must I be alone
to be my own?”

firespray
vagrant pines
little black gnats more plentiful
than stars to empty sky
reach. catch a flame.
sprawling for the day
when fire breathes its own life
not the wood I pile,
lay down
to rest
I lie here
will die here
and it is well with my soul
because on occasion there is beauty
in all that simply is

skip-leap through the blinds
ride on the moonbeams
away
But dear doll the porcelain in your skin
hasn’t set yet