Cannonball!!!*
Diving from the tattered rope
into the writer's pool,
drenching any nearby poets
with a tsunami of images.
Remembering the sheer joy
of finding such a swimming hole,
and grabbing the chance
again and again
to drop fearlessly
into soul's center.
Today,
a toe tests gingerly
familiar water,
as hands open
the poet's chest
with cold-blooded intent
and wrap themselves
gently about
a muse's heart
and
begin...
to squeeze...
to pulse...
in time...

Spirit, please, in time.

Just before the nod
A glimpse of oncoming dream
But no way to stop it

Or dodge it

Or even slow it down

My quill touches down
And spills my life
in scratches

I am a girl cut out of marble.

He is a boy made of copper.

I am a girl so starved
I gorge on air.

He is a boy with a belly full of
Unlucky pennies.

I am a girl with a mouth full of hornets.
They sting my gums.
I talk around the swelling.

He is a boy with wooden legs.
I wonder how he doesn't splinter.
How he doesn't burn.

I am forged from fire.
My lungs blacken and
My skirt billows like the smoke
Coughing out of a chimney.

He ripples like water.
He is always moving.
He walks like ocean waves
And I am pulled into his tide.

He is the boy on the moon
Throwing his fishing line into the sea of stars.
Somehow he catches me.
A black hole amongst galaxies.
There is no way this can end well.

I am a black hole.
I swallow.
I take.
I never give back.
I hope this won't be a problem for the boy on the moon.

He is a ghost of kiss
Still pressed to my neck.
A reminder of what was.
Of what could be.

I am a phantom
Wallowing in this mortal plane.
I am a black shadow.
The thing you see out of the corner of your eye.

He is a boy with a tongue so sharp
It could be used as a sword.
I'd follow him into battle.

I am a girl with a wild mane
And a tamed heart.
Looks can be deceiving.

He is a boy with teeth made of honey.
How did he get so lucky?

I am a girl whose most prized possession
Is a scuffed pair of boots.

He is a boy who is more metallic than sweet.

I am a girl who was not made to be touched.

He is a boy.
I am a girl.
Sometimes we intersect.

What was free now carries a cost
and I have no money to pay,
that account dried up a long time ago,
the last time I thought I was young

Now grandfather clocks know me by name,
chiming in their opinion,
pointing fingers in every direction,
signaling each passing hour like it is a celebration

Waking me from a peaceful moment
while an insulting dawn
hidden behind dark raspberry clouds
sings, “Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone”

I see sunflowers staring through shutters
wondering why as
tear drops collect on their seeded faces,
salting their very existence

So I write out the reason
in the dust on this end table
Finger marks cutting through the dirt
that has gathered, forgotten and reminded

No poetry in those words, that has left me too,
my pen now passed on to someone “younger”
playing hopscotch and drinking cherry cola
stealing her heart as I

Fall into the unmade bed
where pillows are my only friends
Covering up...trying to hide from
the truth that scares me so..........who I am