Flesh and bone atone
You are the soul slayer
I yearn to be all things
Open my eyes and truly see
My body but transportation
A figment of creation and imagination
Underneath this flesh there is knowledge
That shall bear fruit and flower
I am growing, I am a shoot
I am air and water and earth and tree
I am honey bee
I am bird

**

I am free

I used to think
that writing
released my pain
and my shame

but all it does
it make it real

glaring back it me
inky black
on crisp white sheets of paper
that my pen
should never have
tarnished

I don’t even know
what release looks like

but I know I don’t want it
to look back
at me

like a reflection of words

I don't want to go a
gentle journey,
from convoluted to
convalescence.
I quit drinking again;
found love in
the psych ward.
She's my broken-winged
angel.
So much pain behind that
sweet smile.
She's drinking again,
and I can't fix her.
It hurts, like an arrow
through the stomach.

I have a rabbit that comes
to my yard.
She lies in the same
spot every day.
So much so, that
she has worn down a
place for herself--the surrounding
grass grows around her.
She feels safe.
I feed her spinach, and my
brother sings her
show tunes.
That's what we get
for having a drama
teacher for a father.
Thanks, Dad.

It's been an unseasonably
cold April.
I feel sorry for Harvey;
That's her name, thanks
again Dad.
I talk to her softly.
"Hi, baby--what are you doing?
Do you want to come in?"
She doesn't answer.  I'm sober.
I want to take care of her...
Both of them...
My two little bunnies.
It's cold, and the wind is
blowing hard,
beneath a mean grey sky.

violin strings
taut to the touch
tremble, tremour and break

deepest springs
of holy smudge
turn grey, of form opaque

give us wings
a line to crutch
salve from exhausting ache

a balm from stings
from hurt too much
a limit to chafe we take

soul longs to sing
escape from hutch
to soar the skies as lake

reflecting King's
celestial drudge
the sun in morning's wake

A tree falls in the forest,
and it doesn't make a sound.

A man yells in the forest,
and local wild life forms a mob.

A man falls in the forest,
and he doesn't make a sound.

A tree yells in the forest,
and we all run like hell.

Love is like taxis
They're everywhere when you don't need it
But nowhere to be found when you do

I joined the party late,
years after the favors left
all the cake crumbs even gone,
but celebrate, the same as one,
to have known my angel's living
breath, now gone, like the participants
dancing smiles all the hugs
and kisses, wishes on a candles
flame,
bring nothing back but images.
So alone I sing to you, however
far you have become....
Happy Birthday, my Angel Dear,
many, many more to come