Some died in the Spring;
and some by the river, deep
in Winter beneath a bridge.
Some died alone by a tree
behind a repossessed house;
and some with their cats
at home, quiet as a mouse.
Some died reading bills
that come in the mail;
and some reading the part
number, reaching for a fan
belt hanging on a nail.
Some died with a flyswatter
in hand, toilet paper in a screen
door, dead flies on the floor;
and some like heat lightning,
fast as a sick baby’s breath.
Some died without a warm, caring
woman’s hand on a forehead;
and some sharing a last cigarette.
She, my old lover who loved danger,
died on the side of the road
in the arms of a stranger.

take a baseball bat to
your brother's car.
strike out and
light your matchstick bones,
burning a high fever that
scorches your torn-paper skin,
branding your shattered limbs with the
ink-black, swirling lightning of
your childhood's summer storms.
a tattooed promise along
taut shoulders, bearing,
like atlas, the sky,
with the north star
guiding you towards
peaceful slumber, and
home.

h.f.m.

Legacy girl writes hollow poems
In the petal-pressed pages of her notebook
Breadcrumbs of who she is
And who she longs to be
There is an ocean between the two
Starlight dreamer gazes up at the moon
They weep together about all the many ways
The world can scar a person
The moon looks at her nightchild from a high heaven away
And sings of her craters and how she overcame every one
Forest nymph sits on the shoulders of her favourite tree
Tells him about her day and of the flowers she smells but does not pick
The leaves are whispering gossip to each other
Birds are bringing her shining things
And she tells the birds a story of Icarus
She says ‘you do not have to fear the sun’
She is the sun, and she would not harm them
Not them or a single growing thing under her warm gaze
Legacy girl jumps down from the tree
Crosses the hill and three fields to the ocean shore
There are whales waving from the horizon
And beyond that, in the sweeping red hue of the moment
The girls are close enough to touch

Her hand makes ripples of her reflection

is it Thursday already
sheep all move
he is cocky
that catched rat´s tale..

it is balm that sooth
firth of forth
in my crib
i laughed..

lime in the coconut
ad lib..
i broke down
on this day..

and turned to
sound
it was somewhere
to belong o..

and two legs
sure sanctuary
a beauty of vistas
your eyes..