I am the moves to the dance you have done
and the voice to the song you have sung

I am the thoughts that grow from within
before your thoughts even set to pen

I am the magic that forms on the brush that you hold
and the melody from the music that unfolds

I am what is behind the alluring touch you so crave
I weave around all that you so freely gave

I am the one who inspires
I am your lust wrapped up in desire

This is not a ruse
I am who you call out to for help
I am your muse

You* saw a flower proudly thriving
sitting so beautifully on its shrub
and You picked it
because You lusted for it
so You took it

kept it in a vase
enjoyed the waxy texture of its petals
admired its vibrant colors
savored the floral scent

but as soon as it wilted
You threw it away
like it meant nothing to You

and replaced it with something new
because that's how You treat flowers

*right?

Psssst are you still down there
as I check to see if there is still a beat

I know I haven't paid much attention to you lately
but its time to get up and not feel this defeat

I promise from now on I will better nourish you
Just needed some time not to feel and think things through

So after many months of not feeling
it has all finally came to an end
Me and my heart can now again be friends

In some ways I guess it was good that after so long
my heart could still feel such ache
But next time (if there is a next time) I think I will
choose for it not to break

musing on pondering,

cogitating on ruminating,

postulating on speculating,

considering multiple theories,

deeming the discrepancies deniable

positing the petty presumptions,

theorizing multiple condsiderations,

apraising the mediations,

digesting the deliberations,

allowing for freefall meditation,

envisioning the expectations,

presuming the pontifications,

anticipating the asumptions,

comprehending the conclusion,

accrediting the rationalizations,

concluding the comprehesion,

spinning synaptic wheels,

hypothesizing the conjecture,

recollecting of the reminiscence,

adumbrating the prognostigcation,

concocting of the subliminate,

masticating on the cereberal machinations,

of the ocillations, in the agitatation,
apparent,
in an insomniac's maniacal brain,

reckoning not,
on the simple summation,
of the night's wayward,
mental arbitratration,


there is... just too much time,
to think....

and far too little time to write....

his fist clenched
his mind benched
her eyes black
her jaw slack
and bleeding

her blood red
him out of his head
the child hiding,
crying....inside dying

violence never asks
never is the answer
for the victims
it is slow death
for society a cancer

the things that pass between us
by the merest touch, thought, glance and whisper,

are the precious threads
woven through the tapestry
that is our daily lives.

they glint and gleam
and catch our memories eye.

giving us pause
and creating the secretive smiles
that sustain us on the darkest days.

I am a woman,
confirmed by intricate womanly organs.
I am a woman,
Whose heart has been stolen.

I am a woman,
Who looks upon her husband’s soul.
I am a woman,
Trying to comprehend contentment’s goal.

I am a woman,
Running from society’s judging eyes.
I am a woman,
That sometimes cuddle with lies.

I am a woman,
Looking underneath broken shards to find faith.
I am a woman,
That understands the wisdom of what Jesus paid.

I am a woman,
That believed I was damaged to the highest degree.
I am a woman,
Whose flaws shaped me into plain, exquisite Ree!

The hills lay raw and bare.
Unbound ******* heaving
in the gray mist of early morning.
I wish I were the hills
and this car you're driving
was a strong, slow hand
snaking around my own loosed curves.
I want to be crossed by your
barest elemental energies--
moved by passion’s own embrace.
I want to stretch and reach the sky
and stretch and touch the dirt
and feel each resonant-twinge in between.
I want to be filled with the light
and the heat of a new day--
just as the valley
after the fog is burned away.
I want to feel the vibrations of thunder
deep in the middle of me
rumbling of something resembling change
again and again and again
until the light is extinguished.
Then I will breathe deep and slow
******* heaving raw and bare
in the gray mist of a hill-night

I have been sleeping
in the same bed
my whole life.

It never occurred to me
to trade it in on a new model.

My life has been filled
with nightmares.
I thought everybody had them.

And one day i realized
**** and violence
never followed me
to strange lands
and different beds.

The place where
I should have felt
most secure
was the one
most susceptible.

My bed is in the front yard now
too full of ghosts
for even Goodwill.

A broken down
hunk of wood
that doesn't understand
why it is being punished.

I figure
we'll have a burning party
when the weather is better