At night, my dreams are wrapped around you.

Silken sheets,
Sweat,
Sweetly sworn promises.

When I wake,
I seek a reasonable existence,
And you are nowhere to be found.

Lover, I know your hiding ways.
Your solitary existence can never include me.

And I know my dancing dreams can make no sense
In your tragic,  melancholy world.

Still, I dream this silken, sweaty dream,
Where your lonely tears warm my cheeks,
And my cheekiness tears into your loneliness.

I pray this prayer:
That we will both wake up before it is too late.

I chase words and phrases
round and round inside my head.
My thoughts slide.
They are soft butter on a hot knife.

Dripping from the blade,
they slip, without pretense,
into my waiting hand.

I cup these thoughts in my palm,
and pour my melted butter words
onto your paper heart.

Of this, my heart so eagerly embraced
The plans of youth in dreams retraced
And in that song of once forgotten fire
A burning now of long quenched desire.

See the trees standing tall and austere?
The meadow grass with flowers appear.

Split rail fence
Winding path
Stone wall
Signs of a life,
Proof of it all

The poet seeks to recollect
Through phrases in earnest to reflect
But the pen, in solitude rejects

Through wasted years of hopeful dream
I've not set foot in a single stream

Of longing
Of bitterness
Of regret

These will be this poet's epitaph.

a crack of light shines into the dungeon of my heart.
i see the dust motes float on by.

this too shall pass whispers across my room,
and the dust motes float on by.

Whatever other costumes might have been hers for the choosing,
She wore the robe of disenchantment.

She should have been taught,
Truth skates a razor thin line that will slice the flesh from your bones
When you try to deny it.  

The mask she placed upon her face, a tragicomic mockery of belief,
Its blue-black marks tattooing her cheeks,
Were a constant reminder of her mistaken identity of herself,

Mistake.


(And in that moment of stark realization,
Didst thou not ponder the sickening irony of a life gone awry?)

Bury me under a thousand pounds of unwritten promises;
You are the sand that weighs heavy upon my shore.

While the shadow ghost of dreams dances lightly through currents of my remorse,
The moonlight shimmers brilliance upon your still waters.

Bury me under a thousand pounds of unwritten promises;
Hold me fast within the depths of your silent longing.

I poured my grief into your ocean;
My love fell gentle into your waves.

Pour it out,
that dis-ease of your remorse.

Lay your broken bones gently
into this cut crystal glass.

See how the light refracts?

'It'll get bad reviews, we should scrap the project before it breaks the budget.'*


We sit and talk art and beauty, love and fear,
my heart cracking open, and you,
rushing in.

We sit and talk,
play at this deadly game,
ignore the consequences,
shun the inconsistencies. The

words,
words,
words,
they swirl,
and
we slip,
we slip,
we slip.

It's a real cliffhanger.

Hearts on sleeves,
music weaves,
stories come to light.

Secrets, oozing out between
the well crafted lines of
our carefully scripted plot.

We sit and talk circles around
the herds of white elephants
that come to watch the show.
Mocking us, they laugh
as we tiptoe through fields of daffodils
under dark skies with rainbows.

(Scene change now)

In dark of night
I squeeze out hope
from my heart.
God ****** hope
twists up and knifes
me in the side,
leaves me bleeding on the floor.

And you,  fool you are,
rush to my aid.
If you're saving me,
who's saving you?

You, with your secret decoder ring
from your box of caramel corn, cracking
my heart, you peel my layers.

Your questions run deep but your feet will run faster, and

I'll fall,
I'll fall,
I'll fall.

Gravity's a real drag;
I've felt it's pull before.

Me, with my third eye see the pan and play.
This show will end leaving us all sitting in our seats
wanting another thirty minutes,
a tidier ending.

This ain't Disney.

We'll feel like we've been
ripped,
ripped,
ripped.

No refunds here,
go file your complaint with the man upstairs.

The audience stands, turns to go.

White elephants know there's no silver lining,
no *** of gold.
They threw popcorn at the screen, but you didn't notice.

I always hated white elephants;
I thought you did too.
Who invited them to the show?

We step outside,
no curtain call,
no applause.

Hail falls down on this sunny blue day.

Afraid to touch you, but
I want to catch you in my mouth.

Would you please just go away,
before I end up with lumps
on my head,
in my throat?

My eyes blinded by the sun,
the hail,
this ill fated show.
​

falling down into the pit,
tumble my stones into the
gravely grave, where my heart
pours a sieve, where rain
falls down in sheets,
enshrouds my truth.

my seething, growling, gnawing
tiger caged in her corner,
spits into my dark night;
she's ready to pounce.

i thought i'd tamed the beast,
but she was only waiting in shadows.

now backed into her corner, she strikes
her razors across my face.

i bleed onto packed dirt floor.

tiger's eyes glow green.

by possession of my reality
i'll plow my new existence

(the tree most heavily pruned, i'm told,
brings forth sweetest fruits of the season)

laying dormant for quite some time
but feeling springtime's urging

leaflets springing from my branches
your words, my fertilizer

my soul will give me gentle rains
the Sun, its glorious power

it won't be long now before i feel
tight buds begin to flower

then by wind and butterfly,
by pollen shared and spread

words burst forth, oh fruitful
dreams!  these heavily laden branches!

Once, I loved a man, who never once loved me.
I pined for him both day and night,
But he never once loved me.

He played his song for anyone,
For anyone but me,
And I pined for him both day and night
But he never once loved me.
.
His lips were moist, like ripened peach
And his arms were meant for me,

But he played his song both day and night
For anyone,

Anyone, but me.

On this night,
my heart forgot to stop loving you.

With star dusted verse and milky way melody,
I sang to you a jasmine scented lullaby.
Through crescent waves of moonbeam,
I breathed my lavender love into your dream.

In the morning when you wake, will you feel me there,
as sunlight, streaming through your sleep damp hair?


Mine is the heart that forgot to stop loving you.
Yours, the heart that could not remember to begin.

My neighbor has advised more roughage.
"Healthy bowels will keep illness away."

My therapist says group will do it.
"Share your stories with those who relate."

My doctor gave me a script for ******.
"Call me when these run out."

My muse sings urgently into my ear.
"Keep writing, we'll get there, no doubt!"

My friend tells me more prayer is the ticket.
"Talk with God and you won't be afraid."

But my sister (the French psychoanalyst) tells me simply,
"You need to get laid!"

now i've tried the vegetables, they are tasty to eat
and the group i found, well it's just down the street
the prescription's been filled, and easily (twice!)
my pen keeps me writing long into the night
and prayer brings me answers, my truths come to light


but this last advice has left me in stitches
you see, its been such a very long time
would someone direct my feet, and,
please tell me, where do i get some of that?

(and now she dissolves, into fits of hysterical laughter)

and already
i see the lay of the land before me,
all it will bring.

i travel up this mountainside,
for what else can i do
but move along?

the cold fear grips my head,
leaves my hands bloodless,
frozen upon the reins.

and i dig,
i dig the spurs of my resolve
into this steady steed.

to this place i go now,
this hot burning land
where all my anger dwells;

and the music there screams my name, screams

my complacency.

i train my gaze upon the horizon of

my freedom.

and i dig;
i dig the spurs of my resolve
into this steady steed.


Here be my dragons!

and their hot, fetid breath
will scorch my vapid plain.

Angel on my tree is cantilevered.
This amuses me immensely.

How clever is the subtle Stellar Jay
who clamors loud on swaying autumn's branch
and never sings of summer's fair embrace,
nor daydreams of the trysts of spring's last chance.

Yet eyes so sharp the jeweled beetle under bark;
snaps him up, pries her beak once more beneath the bark.

when he took words from me and stole my voice
i had given up the notion of having any choice

my life became a muted scene
i lived each day in a nightmarish dream

when he stole my words from me

reaching down into my throat
he pulled them, one by one by force

my words lay in a puddle on the floor

i left them there, not knowing how to get them back
one day he simply swept them away, they tumbled into a dark crack

now that he is gone, i've pulled them out, washed them off.
i arrange them on a page. but some words, i've noticed, have gone missing.

i wonder did they blow away in the wind? never to be found again?
or are they broken in the dust, waiting for me to find them,
to mend them with my hand

or perhaps they are smashed beyond repair,
and i will have to live my life as such
never being able to say all that i feel,
unable to find the words that can mean so much


--bruised orange

immeasurable wealth,
freely distributed.
the mighty pen sways
hearts and minds.

treasures inherent,
readily bestowed.


--bruised orange

you would chase ghosts down a narrow corridor
seeking absolution from your own regrets.  

don't think for a minute you'll find your answers there.
the love unfolds at whatever pace you are willing to set.

joy is reserved for the heart that forgives the past,
and beats itself wildly into the future.

would that you would go a spell further,
fight a round harder, walk a mile longer,
perhaps you will see the clear waters,
the soaring vistas, the spring flowers

sandstorms blind your eyes and sting your throat,
your music lost into the wind

walk on, lonely pilgrim, walk on and meet me
in the green valley

its just 'round the bend

i've a song to play for you

slipping from your mouth
dripping forth from pen
poem speaks its own
language of within

name me muse,
imagination,
inspiration,
soul-speak

your truth is drawn
forth from my lips
kiss me quick
or kiss me long
i'll have you sing
your mirrored song

i'll trace my pen
'round your most
sensitive places,
drive you to madness
with my exquisite phrases

or strike at your eyes
with this raging dagger
let the ink pour forth,
your wounded stagger

kiss me quick,
or kiss me long,
choice is yours
now sing your song

ocean slams
into the breaking wall.
i build this wall,
reinforcing with steel beam,
concrete and stone.
higher and higher it goes,
deeper and wider i build.

ocean crashes onto my shore, washes over my sand covered feet.

oh, my sea love, take me back into your depths.
fill my lungs with your salty waters
so that my song can spill out
and i can once again
dance the delight of words.

Oh fickle poet!
Your slippery heart is in your hand
Bind your mouth,
Persevere.

"Oh, ***!"

You are the loosener of tongues!
I can wrap my mind around my own ellipses...
The convoluted hills and valleys of
"Do you know what truth is?"

sadness settles on this sandy shore.

suffocating,

song of silence.

Don't speak to me of those droughted days
when you reigned over me for twenty years.

Your dark clouds planted themselves
above my garden like seeds wanting
to rebirth a strangled youth.

I sickled down row after row:
your bindweed, your choke pear.

Purple flowers strung about my neck;
those bitter fruits, I swallowed whole:
a peck of yoke, two bushels of anguish.

i embrace the darkness within me
and find there is light enough to bear
no longer need to run in fear
or pretend i do not hear
the call, for it is strong,
and will commence the
silent scream within my
brain when i stubbornly
turn a deaf ear to its song

i'll find it oozes through
the pores of my skin
attacks my kith and kin
it only wants to be loved, too

i find a full on frontal address
relieves it best, no mere
handshake will do. darkness
wants to feel the love, too

SO:

darkness, my old friend
what will you share with
me today?  what juicy
news to me impart
what breaking waves
upon my heart?

sit a while, have some tea
i know you have something
good for me.  i know you were here
just last week, but i can't get
enough of your sweet embrace

so crack me open, spill me out
leave me breathless on the floor
in the morning, you'll leave my side
and me? i will have enjoyed the ride

my thoughts impressed by all you share
and i, the better for your care
morning light upon me breaks
you always leave me, but ever return
bearing gifts, so thoughtfully prepared

you always leave me,
awakened, and aware


--bruised orange

she had thought to extinguish.

but she could not,
and would not be able to,
as the fire burned curtains
and consumed the air she breathed
and flames licked the blistered panels
of her sweating walls where she had
hidden the secret letters of her youth

Your broken paced brand of love has worn me down.
I was a once sharpened pencil,  now worn to a nub.

You were the sharp rock that cracked my alabaster shell.
And you never even knew it,
You never even knew.

I have no strength to blame,
There is no need to ask my forgiveness.

I could have wrapped myself around you,
A blanket that would have kept you ensconced.

But you ran;
You ran until you could run no further.

You laid yourself down.
You slept the sleep of 'I give up."

I did my best to wake you.
I grabbed you by your mind's eye shoulders and shook you.
I shook you hard.

But your poppy-laced dreams have held your eyes fast closed.

*And now I weep for what might have been.
I wring salt-water from my tear stained dress.
I weep for the emerald city that could have been ours.

Luis drives around the block once more;
his car zipping, ripping,
as his thoughts
are surely racing.

We don't know,
but Monica keeps his keys in her back pocket.
She waggles her peaches when he drives by.

"Juicy fruit", Luis murmurs, then
shifts it into high gear,
spins out,
comes again;
his gravel strikes her hard
between the knees. Monica spreads

her branches, two twigs waving.
She shouts,
"Hey old man, why don't you come perch on these?"

It's a dance of disaster, and no plaster cast protects
those alabaster bones she bares so well.

reams of paper at my feet
words i write, my desolation

my coward's heart locks inside
the words i long to sing

my pen is stilled, my heart explodes
my words tumble to the ground

the evidence, on clear display
in reams of paper at my feet


--bruised orange

i hold my mind up to the light, and turn it this way and that, examining the cracks, peering into it,
checking its clarity.  
i can stand this way, outside of myself, and say 'this is a clear mind', 'there are cracks, but nothing too serious, nothing that can't be mended'
but my mind is a tricky thing.  it breaks glass.  it slips and oozes through my fingers, falls to the floor, spills.

liquid truth stains the carpet of my interior.  no spot remover can take this blemish away.
and i cannot just leave it there on the floor for all the world to see.  i'm down on my knees, scrubbing and scrubbing through the night, but liquid truth just moves on down the hallway.  it is mercury, skittering away from my frantic hands.  

all the while, my mind sits in the corner and laughs at my futility, recording everything on film, news at 9.

I cast my words into the sea.

You drop anchor,
retrieve them with your net,
And whisper, "*******,
You are not dead."

Your faith in me is a buoy
In the ocean of my disbelief.

Still, I flail against the waves
Of disconcerted effort.

"My talent has drowned," I cry.

Yet you pull it from the depths,
Pump your own warm current
Into these collapsed lungs.

I gasp, and spew salt water verses
From my sea foam mouth.

Today, someone rang my bell.
For the first time in two years, my first thought was,

"I wonder who that could be?"

Prior to this day,
--Oh, this glorious, beautiful day!--
A ringing bell was an emergency siren met with dread and fear,
A signal for full alert, always accompanied by that feeling of impending doom;
Screaming out from the pores of my skin--

"Where can I hide?!"

I'm sure you can't understand or even possibly relate.
You, with your normal life.  
You, who feel safe within your home.
You, who think nothing of the buzzing of a bell, nothing but happy anticipation.

Today, I had a normal reaction to a very normal occurrence.
And I felt victorious.

Today, I felt surging within me something akin to hope,
Something that bubbled up inside of me, shouting out,  
*"Yes, you can and will live life again."

Stop.

Your over the top brand of loving
has me breathing too quickly, and I cannot

Stop.

I look up at the full moon shining,
as your mouth
quivers down my neck,
and I don't want to

Stop.

My limbs are quaking and the
moon is glorious and tomorrow,
there will be dishes and children
and you really need to

Stop.

I think to send you home,
our bodies heaving,
My mouth forming 'oh's
and you really need to

Stop.

Just stop, park that car,
look up at that moon,
so still, so far,
so here, so near,

Just stop.*

And 'Oh'

Can we just 'Oh?'

For a while?

I got nothin.
It's sad, this aching to write and write,
But the words coming out sound so contrite.

Like that.

I stand up, stare down at my page.
I see the lines, those imaginary borders
between my stubborn head,
and my bleeding heart.

I pray that the division will have a remainder.

That forgotten piece, the inconsequential.

Because the remainder is the thing-
That space between there and here,
Where time sits in a chair,
staring at its own hands.

That no man's land where eraser crumbs
become mountains worth climbing.

Where the fairy tales of our own beginnings gather breath,
Spreading wings over the valleys of our truth.

the poisoned well of my inspiration
no longer quenches
the thirst of my longing.

those crystal clear waters that once sustained me and were a balm
to my parched lips are now tainted
with the quick silvered spill of regret.

i stand here, peering into these waters.
i wonder, can this well be saved?
or should i take the advice of the experts, and cap it now, before it takes another life?

i beat my head
against the cold stones of my resistance.  

giving up is so hard;
it runs counter to my nature. 

i stand here, watching
as an acid rain falls down.  

i stand here, my eyes locked on the scattered image of myself in the water below.

i stand here, my feet frozen in their place.

 i stand here, tossing pennies
at a face with eyes accusing,

eyes with answers i don't want to know.

you, who are of my heart, you, who
still the breaking waves upon my shore

i am but a scratchy grain of sand,
yet i knit the pearl of your longing

crack the oyster shell you cling to
and know your beauty

see that your heart's desire
has been within you all along

cooking pots simmer on the back burners of my mind
steaming, steaming

wordy vapors rise,
spreading syllables across my bone-dry ceiling

letter clouds are gathering

i stand below,
head raised,
mouth open,
hoping to catch the rain of inspiration

Joy abides in the celebration of tradition, transformed,
The claiming of creation as your own.

jammed under my nail is the pain of you
with blood that cannot flow (from a wound that cannot bleed)
my finger in my mouth, i try to **** you out,
tiny flaw that flashes white hot in my skull.

the carrion of your memory has left an imprint impossible to erase.
i would cut off my hand to be free of you,
but too late, your poison courses through my veins,
your pith of pain absorbed,
rooted forever in my bones, my splintered soul.

i have planted my words
in the soil of your heart
my tears have showered
the land at my feet
my hands have pulled
the weeds in the furrows

now i must trust in
the mercy of the sun

what bounty will come
is not mine to know

time is not mine
to complete


--bruised orange

What would happen if we tore them down
All the walls that keep us apart
What would happen if we threw them to ground
those masks that hide our true heart

Would it not be in our interest if we forgot the tales,
what our fathers told us about the 'other'
and looked for ourselves, with bright new eyes
upon the faces, into the hearts, of one another.

Would we not find there something good and kind?
Could we not discover we have a like mind?
If we look around we just may find
that cord encircling, those ties that bind

Will you see the beauty of this fine garden?
Do you feel the strength of these branches strong?
Can you sense the waves of our connection?
Do you hear the notes of this new song?

open bright new eyes and see

we are made for one another

we are family


--bruised orange

oh words, come forth
do not be shy

your fear of
being misconstrued
has clamped your voice
tightly shut.

words left unspoken
scream silently to a deaf
audience and
are not compelled
to leap and prance


--bruised orange