~
O Painter
with thy own eye
                        would thee
paint me in mine own natural hue
prithee paint me as i am,
imperfections
            and blemishes true

Load thy brush
                      with colors sundry
to maketh yond first pure sweep
across the ****** frieze,
fill'd with pangs of hunger.
paint me as i standeth
                  bethought, in deep

With mine own love and mine own desire,
blurring the edges unclean
with mine own regrets
                  and mine own mental gyre,
in mine own natural age,
               of deep forest green

O Painter
Paint me sinister turquoise,
in lavender and maroon,
combine the amethyst and amber
blend the iceberg
       and the indigo moon.

Paint me as i standeth,
       prithee see with thy eye
a mistress in yond lady plight
Prithee paint me all i am
i cullionly
a mistress in all yond lady might

Paint me in the optimistic
                             silv'r of dawn,
but don’t miss the purple
to shade the bruise
                              of the bygone.
paint me in the sky blue journal

O Painter
Paint me as a unique template
smudge black white and grizzled
merging all the colors of thy palette.
col'r me a rainbow
                            in a rainy drizzle

Paint me tall so yond i standeth
loftier than any mountain
Paint me as a dram bird, delicate
with soft feathers silken

Paint me harmony, as a violin
so yond i can sing thy solitary tune
paint me as thy poetry
         with song and melody
wrapp'd in a cocoon

O Painter
paint me as a dream yond rises
                               in did saturate colors
with a steady upbeat flight awry
tint, a fluttering
             of a quite quaint butterfly

Portray me with endurance
imbue so bold and bright
doth not hesitate
                to depict mine own mind
in profound fuchsia and white.

Useth the colors yond thee would borrow
Thy palette not yet exsufflicate
Paint mine own loss and mine own sorrow
in search of a shade so ******

Adorn mine own heart in glowing garnet
at which hour thee paint mine own love
add a true broken blue shade
of the cloud and the rain above;

Study mine own dry sorrow
                              in mine own soul
useth any shade thee plaited
soften the edges of control
in a tinge of xanthene.

O Painter
Prithee paint me
Mine own passion and mine own spirit
shall has't a crimson r'd hint
mine own remorse and mine own regret
shall reflect an ink stain print

Paint me in mine own eye so true
O Painter
but add a dash of courage too
~

i have become passive

schoolgirl taking notes on other people's feelings
and claiming for the self
another person's soul worth

i am cold
entirely numb, aching by poetry
it's like not even the words that cut and bleed and scream and cry move me anymore


i will forever claim to be
someone i've only dreamt of

           and no more

Overcome by this inverted lightning, i storm
into an abbreviated tomorrow, where i flood
into the dreamscape of today, eyes raining

down and inward. i sleep forth into the world
of waking, overcome by the temperament
of this mummified mouth. clawing the dragon
now hungry for my golden intimate currency

our love hides at the ends of my fingertips.
Fire nibbles the soles of my feet through
to my own heart, crumbling me clouded

where i go blind. i am sorry, marooned
on this island, where the corals reach down
from the sky. where stalactites rip the sails
of all incoming boats, the dragon survives

in an ephemeral artery, or in some capillary
where his teeth reign over whatever empire

smothering into, he becomes my face

to she that saves me. i have learned to love,
in that love has shown me it is beyond me;

where
the dragon follows my fingertips to your hair,
you walk beside me. where i am given i,
but awakened, beneath a golden sky

the dragon suckles everywhere

that i am saved. by the weapon of giving,

we carry an honest love
between our outspread palms

richer in treasure is
the continental freedom of having
washed ashore together.

The walls are a litter
of chaos layered upon
the anarchy of
spray painted letters;

Various styles of
dripping calligraphy,
silver lines spilling
their energy down
this hard word laden wall.

A lovely looping Y
is engraved in flesh tones
while the rest of the word
remains unknown
permanently obscured
by the intent of
newer artists.

I am awestruck
to the point of
an autistic response,
paralyzed by the
thick presence
of chipping paint
that flakes off
to take us back
to a blank canvass past.

Till, a swirling view
twirling through
enchants me to move.

My hands tremble,
reaching for the small breach,
longing to be swallowed,
absorbed, and added
to this discordant beauty.

Red prints are scattered everywhere,
On the wheels of industry,
The ballots of democracy,
On the clothes we wear.
We left them on initials,
At ATM's and One-armed Bandits,
In stone, I'l leave mine chiseled.
I saw them on the beggers's cup,
He wasn't asking for so much,
When I looked back, I saw my tracks,
Outlined in red retreat.
The message is on the road maps,
The vericose veins of land,
The arthritic grip on sanity
Is dripping red demands.
Dark rooms of photography,
Invisible ink and trickery
To get you to sign,
On the dotted line,
In red.