Among the piles of ***** clothes
Beyond the stacks of dishes
Lives a girl you’ve passed before
A truly absurd missus.

She shows the moon her moonlight
And showers in the rain.
If you glanced your eyes upon her
You would wonder if she's sane.

She wears two different shoes
One black and yet one red.
She even has three hair colors
That grow out of her head.

Her skin is very spotty
White patches all around.
Her head is red and blistered
With scales like dragons crowned.

She has teeth like a vampire
Some pointed and some straight.
I’ve been told she bites people
Who touch her by mistake.

Some people say she is a fool
Who hides behind blue eyes,
Or say she is a tyrant
With a torso full of lies.

Some people say she's misconstrued,
Not odd deliberately.
“Perhaps she's a mishap of God”
They say concernedly.

She laughs at jokes not funny.
She does everything wrong.
One time she walked around the town
With her dress tucked in her thong.

I heard she drinks alcohol
Like it's her morning kiss
And slurs her speech suspiciously
In an evil nasty hiss.

So if you see this missus
I’ll tell you what to do,
Just walk right on past her,
Until you’re somewhere new.

She is not worth your time
Not a second or a split
Not a minute or an hour
Not a day and not a tick

So simply just keep walking by,
Your dignity in check.
Keep your eyes on the horizon
And she's gone within a sec.

Don’t dare to look too closely, ma'am,
Fear what she may do!
If you gave her any time of day
You’d find out.. well.. she's like you.

I plant another garden; sow seeds and pips.
Dirt stains my knees and my fingertips.
I go inside, escape the all-seeing sun
and erase any trace of ***** work I've done.
I don't know why
my hands are raw and dry.
Cracking at the seams of my skin,
revealed myself to be wrist-deep in sin.
I planted my garden, but at what cost?
What flowers grow when the gardener is lost?

If I were home..

I'd find comfort in the concrete
Etchings on the front porch
Spelled by a six-year-old
With her mom's apartment keys.

I'd open the front door
Like a gust of wind
On a summer day
Just blowing through

And see you sitting there
On the couch, always on the couch
With a red blanket, a box of Cheez It's
And the game

And I wouldn't stop, or think twice.
I'd just yell "I'M HOME!"
And make my way through

The dining room,
With goofy pictures
Of you and Kel
From the fair

To the kichen,
Where I'd open all the cabinets
To the smell of dust,
Empty aside from cosmic brownies.

I'd grab a pack, and come sit next to you.
You'd grab yours too,
And light one. And it would
Glow brighter than any candle
Ever could. And that smell would
Fill me up in ways I no longer
Can feel full. And maybe I'd notice -
That your fingers were yellow as the sun.
Or maybe I'd notice the teeth still in your
Smile. But probably not. Definitely not.
If I'm honest, I wouldn't notice a thing.
And what a gift that would be.

Did you ever wonder?
When you wandered?
When the sun rose
on green pastures?
When you frolicked
through the fields?
When you laid down
and felt it on your skin?
That soft meadow,
That summer sun,
That fragrant air.

And did you ever wonder?
When you wandered?
When the leaves died and bled
all the colors of the sunset?
When you watched them fall,
slowly, to rest with the earth?
When they floated around you
and crumbled them beneath your feet?
That crunch.
That rustle.
That rot.

And did you ever wonder?
When you wandered?
When the fields froze and
the moon no longer shone?
When your breath turned to ice?
When the cold came to chatter you mouth? To shatter your bones?
When it was dark and you were alone?
I am dying to know:
When the frost came to bite you,
Did you feel it?

And do you ever wonder?
When you rub those bloodied hands on sticks and stones,
just hoping to make a spark, if it will ever catch the same?

he swallows her.

slowly, then all at once.
presses his lips to her cheeks to
watch the color bleed across her face,
like an ink blot in water
but reversed.
her creator amends his mind
and draws the color from her skin.

she was so lovely.
he imagined what could be
with colors as beauteous as these
and though she begs him not to,
he proceeds.

she screams,
and he is pleased.
he gulps them down in kisses.
drinks her last breaths down
like the finest Cabernet
that ran dry on her birthday.
her nails scratch prophecies in his back,
possess him until becomes a wolf
in the moon-like whites of her glossy eyes.
he is wild. he breaks bread and
***** the marrow from her bones.
a sweet slaughter, splendid sacrifice.
her colors dripping down his face
a perfect masterpiece.

sometimes grey is really yellow.
he is sunshine on a summer day,
giggling at knock-knock jokes
with punchlines like the wind.

and sometimes grey is really brown.
coated in the mud of puddles
that he was told not to touch
but leapt into anyways.

and sometimes grey is really green.
when he is, he asks questions
as tall as his dandelion legs
that grow taller with each day.

and sometimes grey is really red.
like the day he came into the world
screaming and all-of-the-sudden
with his middle fingers in the air.

and sometimes i am really blue.
when i look at grey, and yellow,
and brown, and green, and red
wondering how he might paint

wondering if the world will see his colors
until grey cups my tears in his hands
throws them into the air
and makes a rainbow.

i live in a constant state
of ignoring deadlines
and instead taking my due dates
with poetry

every excursion leaves me thinking
what a day, what a night
what a thought, what a line
what a moment.

what if i use this or that rhyme?
i find it sublime, i have lost track
of time, but found me in spaces
carved out between lines
the moments between thought
of whats next in my mind
what word would be one of a sort?
i assort them -

they advance. i am weak,
they assemble. these words a worthy match for me
win me over - i rage no war
just wave my flag, surrender once more
we have done this before, a repeat, i am familiar
i know better, but i am a word *****.
self control is out the door
and i let him walk. i hope he runs far away
so my words and i can stew a bit longer.
i don't want it to end. i am tired of talking in numbers.
i am tired of making sense. i just want to play.
lets have a word day. or two, or three, or five.
i can multiply words if you give me the chance
professor, accept my submittance. my poems provide
no wrong answers. no prompt, sit and listen.
maybe its your turn.