oh, they dream
they dream by day
look at them
stood atop a field of daisies
always reaching so far,
like their hands could
break off at any moment
arms stretching to catch the wind
it's the only thing they'll trust
eyelashes fluttering,
ribs expanding, breathe, they keep breathing
they're drifting
don't stop them
don't tell them to come home
don't box them
don't let them know you feel alone
don't love them
aren't they beautiful?
aren't they broken?
please don't scare them
a drifter scared,
is a drifter lost
and yet again,
we've lost them

Momma always taught me to pull up my sleeves
Before sitting down to our evening meals
So that I'd protect my arms
From the messes I carved
While letting my salted wounds heal

When the sun sets and the moon rises,
We see a perfect relationship.
Not in the sense of the two joining
Together in a beautiful unit,
But in the sense that one cannot survive
Without the others' presence.

It is a circle, a pattern, a never-ending cycle that defies time and all of the odds. The sun recognizes its counterpart and kisses it in greeting every morn' and evening.

20,000 years
that is all I want with you
time is ours to steal

Fake beef and chicken
No one will really like you
Despite condiments

I've always been told I can't run from my problems
but why can't I drive down the coast,
boardwalking and hanging ten
smiling at hippies dressed in henna
why can't I ascend the mountains
reaching into infinity with palms wide open  
I could hop into Seattle,
feel new rain on my face
kissing strangers reflected in the ***** puddles
or maybe flow with rivers til I found a bear's den
they tell me I can't run
so I won't
I'll spring
leap
slide
crawl
I'll tiptoe over the line

conversations with pat turn into
an all-out battle rap
people would think we're insane, crap
I swear nick isn't a pope, what a faux cat
pat's always talking about **** and it's bat-
crap crazy but who am I to judge
sometimes life throws you in the dung-
eon and you gotta discuss it over fudge,
son listen up, be better, do better
let her borrow your sweater and then
go get her
use all your might or she'll take flight and aw
next thing you know, you're stuck with **** and
an unpopelike cat with three names and
she kept your sweater
I know this
I'm a fortune teller

the award for 'best sense'
goes to Touch.
let me prove it to you:
I can survive without
/seeing
/hearing
/smelling
/tasting
and though I'd love to see your eyes spark with passion
and though I'd love to hear your happiness when you succeed
and though I'd love to smell your aftershave in the morning
and though I'd love to taste your kisses created for me
I would rather cut off my tongue or gouge out an eye,
than live a day on this earth with no hands of yours in mine.

you're a piece of trash
a misshapen forgotten thing that I kick under my bed
rotten carcasses hold more genuine character than you
and I'd rather inhale them than catch the stench of your pretentious flesh
you're a selfish troll with daggers for eyes and knives for a tongue
attending masquerade ***** with a guise so clever, everyone we know thinks you're actually a human being
they think, for some funny reason, that you're my mother

I'm six years old
trying on witch hats and scar faces
you grab my arms and shake me
you tell me the candy people will assume they're painted bruises for October 31

I'm not scared of monsters
and I'm not scared of you
I'm scared of who I'll become

this Halloween I'm dressing up
I'm a person with a chain metal suit shielding my most precious insides
and pretending to be something I've never, ever been:
Brave.

a Time for hushed wind
Unseen forces pushing white clouds
in Ever-present blue skies
they Say no drinking before noon, but
I quietly Declare a glass of wine
can be A quite sophisticated gesture
if You take the time to celebrate
the most fantastic of Tuesdays.

my eyelids grow heavy...
holding the weight of my choices
one is wet with tears and the other, black and ******
is it not okay to find ourselves?
the more I search, the more my identity turns to sand
tries its hardest to shift and spiral
right out of my clenched hands
continuously, I assure myself that I know who I am
I smile back, I answer calls, I tip the bartender
so I can guarantee that if they found me
washed up on this gritty gravel shoreline
they wouldn't understand that I tried sinking to the bottom...
simply to find my peace of mind  

for under the ground lies a habitat of freedom
an abundance of silence, solitude, serenity
to sink means I've succeeded
but they would yank me to the surface
they always do.
and I struggle yet again
to understand if oxygen and warm towels and emergency lights and people and warm tea and life are a blessing
or if, yet again, my plans to find myself have been hopelessly
foiled...
I really hate warm tea

I am a master at the art of ashes
human cremation takes artistic commitment
once the smell of singed eyebrows
burns your nose you can never be the same again
you know, my skin grew flame retardant and at first I wished grossly to return it and buy a new shell
but I've made the executive decision to aerate my diaphragm and pump this fire out of my pores and into your palms
singing with a slow burn
branding your sweet fingerprints into my skull
see, something outside of myself must contain me or I'll spill, gritty and fine
end over end into the depths of the alleyways and cobblestones
but, to be quite frank, I'm drowsy
so I'd rather you climb to the top of the world and release me, softly letting me blanket everything I've ever come to love
instead of confining me in that ugly porcelain jar that I spent my entire life peering at
while it hovered, haunting me, above my birthing ground
sitting precariously on that wooden mantle
above my fireplace
above my home.

do you ever look at a person so long, their face changes?
studying them so intensely until who they were is no longer who they are--
they have morphed into a stranger with a life story unknown.
the same concept goes for written word..
repeating a word over and over again until it looks foreign.
foreign.... foreign... foreign.. foreign..foreign..foreign.foreign.foreignforeignforeignforeignfor­eign...
foreign...foreign...foreign.... see?
the scariest part is that we are able to convince ourselves of the change almost wholeheartedly.. what does that say about validity?
there may be three truths in the universe..
one kind that is objective,
and one kind that is subjective.
perhaps when the two marry together,
we have a third universal maxim.
but how can we ever know for sure?

to end the silence
we must first stand up and sing
for those who are mute
             ~*~

hold up
let's keep it real
I see you weaving through the masses
pockets full of whatever
of whatever grabbed your attention
this week
now all you can do
is hope you don't
get caught
trying hard not to show your guilt
clawing at any minute chance
of an escape from the powerful
from the confinement brought upon you
against your will
against America's will
walking slow enough to seem unaffected
but quick enough not to draw suspicion
you're a coward
you're a thief
someone should take you out
"but my kids", you say
"but my girl is struggling", you plead
"but my ma is dying", you cry
"but I lost my job and-" handcuffs
sirens
shame
publicity
rough
life is freaking rough
now all you can do
is hope you don't
get shot
hold up

the stark contrast of her short hair against her delicate face utterly baffled me, if only for a moment.
I had known her as nothing less than balanced and complete
smooth edges melting into curves and grooves so fine,
a telescope couldn't tell where she started or ended.
years ago we'd held hands as the earth shook under our dusty feet,
locking ourselves in place to watch hopelessly as life as we knew it... crumbled.
without understanding why, I hadn't been afraid
perhaps her uninhabited laughter was my antidote to all things broken.
now, looking out over the marina,
remembering how she giggled as the fish danced sonnets through the currents,
splashing her tanned legs in pure merriment as we watched their undersea show,
I felt like I had made it all up.
maybe her eyes never sparkled as she scolded jillian tarver for her promiscuity
maybe her cheeks didn't warm when I delighted over her paintings in the sunroom.
it was a different dimension, back then, one I had tried to forget -- not because she was an unfavorable memory -- no, because in order to make something of myself, I had to let her go.
that hair...
I always told her how her soft curls drifting across her freckled shoulders would drive men mad, would drive me mad.
she would scoff and pretend to bat at me and tell me she was nothing special; she attempted for all she was worth to convince me she wasn't worthy of my every last affection.
I promised her she was wrong.
not only did I break that promise, but I broke what was left of my ability to care... for anything, for anyone, for myself.
she....
she had three lovely kids and a house on the hilltop with my best friend, and wouldn't you know that she chopped all her hair off and died it black.
I turned from her gaze and resolved to look out at the marina, at my marina, at my spectacle of dead fish dancing for my eyes only.
next time the ground cared to rumble, maybe I should hitch a ride.

what a wretched feeling,
being lost in my own skin
I find ways to stretch wrong
and all the kinks move to new places
places that weren't to be discovered

drowsy eyes fighting against light
my spine straining against might
I'm going to snap myself in two

if a cat has two realities:
poison or death
can he be blamed
for acting the pessimist?

he shuddered the first time we touched
and the second, and the third
hitched breaths and a racing heart
careening right into mine

faces so close, sharing air
in, out...... in, out.....
his demons are my enemies
his dreams are a part of me

everything else in the world
is upside down and burning

now the only person I will ever burn for
is *you

have you picked your poison?
look at us
look at all of us
pathetic
bags under our eyes,
lifeless and gaunt,
maxing out at three hours of sleep per night
what keeps you awake?
demons?
yes
skeletons?
yes
depression? war? weather? abuse? addiction? epidemics? heartache? heartbreak? stress? worry? scars? acceptance? lack of money? ******? despair? pending approval? family? illness? the future? disaster? pain? friends? tragedy? guilt? hatred? work? secrets? anger? anxiety? sadness? curiosity?

somewhere along the way
we forgot how to be happy
I mean, /h a p p y/
we forgot that we are only going to inhabit this place
one time, for any given (or taken) amount of minutes
and to remedy this
we pick a poison
so, tell me
what's yours?