Arizona made me quiet.
Arizona made me see.
For every flower wilting
there's
the ghost path of a
creek.

Arizona made me cautious.
Arizona made me choose.
Do I prefer a coy, dry heat
or the temptation called monsoon?

Arizona made me hard.
Arizona made me fast.
The sun is not my friend,
  he lives to laugh behind my back.

The red clay dirt sticks to me
in the
luxury of white
sheets
and now I know if I
move
a rock
scorpions
breed underneath

in the blossoming,
the sweet, sweet,
echoing blossoming
of our love

i hear stars
wrapped to the sky,

i hear the
curves of a
bridge sigh
like a
blue sea,

i hear the
infinite splendours
of you,
mild and
shadowy like
the sky,

i hear dark notes
and light notes,
blue clouds
sweeping full
of longing
and song,

and i hear poetry
so sweet and
delicate,
that my soul
starts to shiver
melting
like the song.

With every passing day my body begs,
Consider that all drink, all food consumed
Will shorten breath, and weigh on swollen legs.
But thirst and palate are no less attuned
Though appetite has slaked as time goes by.
Instead of gluttony, I must select;
Notice what I eat and drink and why
To savor flavor to its best affect.

A poet learns their mindfulness of words
The same.  With small or no restraint at all,
They gorge themselves on overstuffed buffets,
Well-salted with their tears.  Yet, to be heard,
A simpler line cuts through the caterwaul
And quenches thirst and hunger on its way.

Good morning phantom of the far flung sphere,
lovely specter surrounded by space dust,
circular celestial body
that is but a sparkle in my imagination,
may the day bring you blessings
that twinkle like the piercing lights
that ride the evening sky.
I hope dark dreams dared not intrude
upon your restful interlude.
Instead in the place you lay
I hope dreams of love and joy are displayed
and replayed until you awake.

Hell is fluorescent lights and the clicking of mice;
a place where the mind can’t breathe;
a place where the soul forgets her wings;
a place where the only flickers of wonder
are found in well-constructed Excel formulas.
This was never my kind of magic.
I often question why the little rectangles
on a spreadsheet are called “cells” instead of “boxes.”
Then it dawned on me: this is because
working these things as a daily job function
is the closest you can get to feeling prisoner
without committing a felony.
This was never my kind of magic.
Hell remains sedentary, listening to the same
fifteen rotating songs on a soft rock radio station
chosen by someone who makes triple your wages.
It’s prepackaged breakfast out of a vending machine,
eaten in a 4x4 cubicle that’s
fixed in a room without a single window.
This was never my kind of magic.
Hell is a cheap Chinese finger trap:
failing to find release
by pulling in wrong directions.
It’s a tight trickery that insists you stay
because you have nowhere else to go;
but my kind of magic is the inward force
that has met a friendly freedom.
It’s bathed in inviting shades of turquoise,
and fell in love with the solace of the desert.
It’s memorized the curves of mountain peaks
and collected freckles from every angle of the sun.
It loves the rush of blood to the head,
when racing the sunrise
on the edge of some atmosphere.
Something that hell could never
put its thumb on; this is
my kind of magic.

I know a bit about
learning to dance in the rain
like nobody is watching
but...

I know way more about
dancing like a *****
in the kitchen

despite the warden
standing aghast
eating up his own
billowy firebreath
soliloquy reprimands

I earbud block
shimmy, pivot and pop
raising vibration tornado
toss it a flippant middle
and cheeky smile
without breaking stride

devil dismayed
lips keep on syncing
as if I can hear demeaning
demonic procession

but I already know
what he’s saying

stop dancing like that
in front of our son

you mean…

to the beat of my own pulse
shaking divine creation
diffusing rainbow throes
undulating radiant orbitals
all for my own blissing?

one day that boy
will be a man
who knows

better

than to ever
call a goddess

a ***** in the kitchen

I hear they opened
a **** recycling facility

right next door
to the ***** store

apparently
**** can be reprocessed
manufactured and molded
into most durable caliber
of ***** ever

***** that bend
but never snap

***** that pull
but don't shove back

***** that give
for evermore

rapping
(articulately, symmetrically)
across adjacent chamber doors
flung off rust hinges
obliterated ornamental remnants
upon electric yellow sidewalk
chalked with stardust parallels
thresheld holding, walked over
most excellent righteous ride
corset finger writhe
on Other side

(evidently ******* is most valuable
as it’s so transparent and malleable)