what does it take
to become a writer?
published words
or beautiful thoughts

like a fish out of water
walking backwards upstream
grand illusion of compliance
buying nothing sight unseen

respecting their essence
detached from their path
connected in spirit
repelled by all wrath

norms without ethics
morality sans love
passion ever searching
a need to rise above

heart sinking hatred
mind numbing neglect
mountain moving greed
rarely circumspect

not infrequently i ponder
how my being was unfurled
wondering deeply in my soul
if i belong to another world

Broken conversations,
empty lungs,
doors half open,
hearts almost out of love.

We used to talk of how
we used to be infinite.
But now every second now feels
like a stroke against an unforgiving current.

Our conversations broke
as the flaws of our souls
fell through the cracks of this glass foundation.

These upset words that escaped you
left the air around me a little sad,
a little awake,
and with a lot of echoes.

My lungs went empty
talking you down.

I left the door open for you.
So you can walk in
and slip in quietly-
I won't say a word.

And this heart could never go empty,
not mine.
Yours,
at this point,
I know not.

Flowers never lost their color
as long as you walked this earth.

day time disaster drifting
disdainfully into nights dark-lit
by only the protrusion of the sky

skinned till thin
in pieces at my feet, once, I mourned
and now again before mystique fails mystery

I grow tall and directed
shifted and perfected
incomplete

do they trim the *****
after doing your chin?
doing that to me is not a sin?

I am a woman, in a man’s body
with a ***** that doesn’t work
I have ****** the vineyards and the haystacks
grown a beard as long as a pine tree
the beard is downstairs
and it is joined to my hair
which is also long, flowing from my shiny head
I speak 500 languages
I cant read
I once slept outside my own house
in the blizzard of 93’ I fingered somebody’s sister
I even slapped a judge for being too **** ugly
but seriously, I’m currently jacking off to everybody’s mom
no no no, I’ll be honest for old time’s sake
my greatest lie is that I am/have-done none of these things.

As water is to cleansing rain
and heat as to burning flame,
so are you to me; the same.
My fiery rain.

Fill the gutter of my mind.
Fire the coal your heart has mined.
Burn me to the end of time.
Your fire does reign.

r ~ 4/1/14

A whippoorwill &
some mourning doves,
the gutteral croak
of the wood stork,
chasing squirrels,
a dying cricket or two.

Who knew
the splendid call
of a hawk circling above
could be such a sweet sound,
part of the greatest symphony
ever composed
& played for us
by the master,
conducting
beautiful harmonies
from the pulpit
above.