Monster, Monster in the Mirror,
How did you get your hooked claws?
Can broken nails and rosy lips
make both those and your crooked jaws?
How did your jagged fangs achieve
their sneering, snarling, biting gnash--
And your eyes, once wide and fearful,
turn cold and hungry for the catch?

Monster, Monster in the Mirror,
your forked tongue is barb'd and quick,
full of death and lurid poison;
does your poison yet make you sick?
Why do you hunt the ones you love?
How, dear brute, did you get so tall?
Years spent cowering in corners
ought to have rather made you small.

Monster, Monster in the Mirror,
Pity forsook your childlike face.
Did frightened gasping rob your lungs
of each and every breath of Grace?
Through lines of tears and mirror cracks
a soft, gentle figure appears,
--for a moment, as by lightning--
will you consume it with your fears?

Monster, will you at last become
all that you swore you would not be--
and if you do what happens then
to all there is or was of me?

flung forward over slick asphalt
six cylinders speeding towards eternity.
your legs, our arms, tossed out the windows
grasping    breezes     raindrops     freedom.

scents of summer storms fill our lungs
drenching us, cleansing us from the pollution of
cluttered basements, chemically-treated arguments
the stale musk of lonesome and striving.

trespassed swingsets launch us into skies, hazy city lights
love born of fading stars and whispered stories
breathless utterances of shared sorrows, griefs-
                                                   Grace­ uncovered in nods and glances
                                                        ­        -clasped hands when words fell short.

barefoot toes urge a hesitating pedal
throwing us faster into our borrowed Kingdom
as fanfare trumpeted from skipping tracks
announced our four-wheeled ballroom blitz.

this automotive palace became our confessional,
our summertime, our refuge, a long-sought embrace.
we were vagabonds, saints, sinners, artists.
                                                        ­                               we were heroes.

washed in waves of sound, our fellowship burgeoned--
souls knit together in a tribal affection
ensconced in a fortress of rubber, glass and steel
steeped in diner coffee, wrapped in warm fragrant incense:
                                                        ­                              *we sampled salvation.

a jade rimmed cup and painted saucer
cradle warmth laced with gentle sweetness
subduing roasted strength into peaceable stability.

whites and creams and chestnut browns
froth and dissolve into a delicate caramel shade
as minutes are sipped away in uncommon quietness.

yours is always the shy whisper--
                                                       ­ *i love you.

climbing this path, i am still.
pausing to seek breathing slows,
wings unfurl as burdens drop
and here is Truth calling my name.

pulled into the arms of the Lover of my soul
the fear and fighting begin to ebb.
whisper to me the who of my being;
remove from my side the thorn of when.

open my eyes to the quiet retreat of darkness,
my heart and my hands to a new embrace:
family begotten of trials, tears and wounds
bound up by outstretched arms and words of grace.

though the moment be fleeting soft and bright
or longstanding steadfast with a quiet glow,
i know as i trip barefoot down
this is true Home where i shall return.

The battle begins in the dark.
With a stabbing inhale you rip me open.
Tear me from sleep--heart pounding,
     we wrestle in a distant corner of the bed.
             Wake no one,
                                say nothing;
                                              it's not his problem.

I know every trick in your book:
the immobilizing grip, poisoned gut wrenching fear,
the way you force my eyes open, pushing back fitful dreams.
                                  
                      ­            Yes, I know your tricks, but knowing hasn't helped me yet.

I can drown you with a bottle in the night,
               but your back before the dawn, gnawing my insides.
Should I starve you of sleep,
               your joint locks force and turn the choice against me.

After so long the war has become intimate--familiar and rhythmic--
                                                      ­                            our private, frenzied dance
                             ragged breath and fevered steps memorized
                             culminate in a flawless performance.

In this state I begin to imagine that I wanted it this way.
What would my life be without so practiced, so relentless a partner?

it's in bottles of bleach
piles of books to read
the twisting of desperate fingers.

it whispers in endless lists
screams through fitful pacing
scrapes its nails against stolen dreams.

begging for a crowd
to surround and drown
its hungry grabbing voice.
what would i do
to be rid of you?

                                                           ­                               apparently very little.



the alone sounds of
pen on paper
a turning page
wandering restless feet
speak to me of all that's
                                       gone
                                                empty
      ­                                                                 ­ incomplete,



when does it stop?
how does it end?
silence the wrong kind of loud.

"Get a Grip"
"It's Alright"
"You're Overreacting"
                               mantras i cannot avoid.

breath quickens
as nothing happens in an empty room
that spins for no one to see

no one that is except
for me
who cannot be left alone.



they said i'd grow out of it.

Let me be
asleep and free,
borne up in the arms
of the Willow Tree,

floating on
in ship or drawn
by boughs over stream
without eyes for dawn.

Light my way
where playful fey
disguised as fireflies
spring onto the bay.

Here no wraith
in nightmare waits;
no starved tormenter
may claw past the Gate.

Castle looms
seaside, with rooms
of silver stars and
night skies caught in blooms.

Pools too clear
to rob, my dear,
mystical creatures
of their mirth or cheer

find inside
solace to hide,
their well-kept secrets
not stolen nor spied.

Sleep that can
bear mortal man
to reams of Faerie,
can you waking ban?