She steps outside.
The sunlight beaming on her beautiful dark skin.
The breeze of the wind going through her thick ***** hair.
She embraces the world but yet there is a dark cloud following her every step she takes.
What could it be?
She can feel the warmth of it caressing her skin.
She can taste the flavors of it fondling her tongue.
She can hear the noise being absorbed by her ears.  
Everywhere she goes, it follows her.
Every breath she takes, it will always be there
Every time she blinks, it will always be there waiting.
She can't go forward and she can't go backwards because the little black cloud is there.
What can she do?
Face it head on like a battle between good and bad.
Pretend it isn't there and just live her life
Or embrace it like a long lost friend.

I write for me, not for thee
I write for me, in order to see
the things to which I might otherwise be blind
to rummage among ruins to see what I may find

I write not to create mystery,
nor to unravel history
not to fill my pockets with gold
or even have words for others to behold

because I write for me

when words scar a clean white page
like some tiny creatures released from a cage
I pause long enough to explore
why I opened their door

they were not asleep but only hiding
and when I allowed their silent gliding
I had to follow their puzzling trail
like they led to some great holy grail

And when I saw they did not end
but they like I could only pretend
I paused long enough to breathe
and finally to conceive

I write for me, and not for thee

so even if I don’t understand
the nature of this literary land
the words still keep walking
and my eyes keep stalking
the path I take for me,
but not for thee

Tonight I married a graffiti artist.
This is the third time I’ve been proposed to
at some ***** house party.
This time there was an ordained all-faith minister
on the porch smoking a cigarette. That was enough.
I said yes.
We’re all strictly first-name-basis here, nicknames are even better.
So to him I’m just Mimi. Focused intently on my hand,
he draws my wedding ring with a permanent marker
and kisses each finger as he finishes.
There is a tiny replica of his tattoo on the underside of my finger
in addition to my gigantic drawn-on diamond.
It is my favorite part.
We talk politics and eventually art.
Turns out he’s sort of an amazing artist.
He said he’d put my name up on a wall but I don’t believe him.
Intricate, passionate, and thoughtful.
His smile is adventure.
That’s why I married him.
He asked to read my poetry and in my fuzzy judgment I let him.
Maybe he even liked a few phrases.
And he was polite as a hopped up boy can be.
Getting me home before three,
lending me his jacket without me asking.
I know he’ll forget to call, or that he even has my number.
and that we won’t watch Pulp Fiction
tomorrow.
That I was really just a glorified
snort of some white powder,
I am like all the glitter that fades in the morning
like smiles do, or permanent marker
after a few washes.

Now there is this small cool joint called the Jokers Lounge
You can come on in and play around just dont act like a clown
Its pretty sweet ya hear and some **** fine folk
Just have a seat and get a drink some fun will soon begin
Oh groovy is this place with the smoke and bluesy sound
They have the sax and trumpet to and yes that cool *** base
But dont forget about that guitar and that smooth kat on the drums

You see we're all a bunch of characters cool as cool can be
And if you come on a friday night you might find B. B. King
Its a home away from home with our good friend Bobby Rush
We like to joke and kid around but we're all just family
They have good food and music to and the best **** company

Now put on your clean cut suits and your blue suede shoes
Get your woman lookin good in her best **** summer dress
Cause we're all be on the dance floor until night turns to day
Its a simple little place with posters of the greats hangin on the wall
John Lee ******, Memphis Minnie, and T-Bone Walker just to name a few

There be songs of *** and naughtyness and gettin on the floor
So if your shy and a little ***** I suggest you hit the door
See we're down to earth we sing of hurt and only speak the truth
So come on out its not that far your find us on the corner
Bring some friends and pack um in its that place out by the water

I find these letters in my lap jumbled and a maze
But I wish to tell a story without so much a haze
Ill try my best to tell it true so all the world can hear
But some is lost a little dim but ill bring it close and near

It starts like this so perk your ears its special to my heart
way back when there was this boy who came with just a quip
He's smart you see and like's to play and doesn't know how to quit
strong and true he love's to move and never quite sits still

One sunny day he meets this girl who is so beautiful
they talk and walk and sit and stare passing by the hours
Holding hands out in the park he moves for that first kiss
He brings her close just closer more to them it was just bliss

He can't believe that she was his and her to him you see
For just a while ago he was empty as can be
Life was hard and kicked him down no where was there light
But in she came and made him sane for there's was love not pain

It was a dream with but a dream no finish and no end
They made it work both had that look two pieces of a puzzle
To come as one not be undone from the world or to each other
For there love was strong him hers its true you could see it from afar
They felt it deep within each beat so bright just like a star

You see tis true that love may find one looking just within
Just take your time and it just might come walking round that bend
Stay the course don't give it force true love's out there your see
So this is it but not the end for this is just the start
Our journey is long but we have no fear for we just follow our hearts

Life is not always what you planned.
We were in the back yard of the abandoned house next door to his watching his two mutts chase each other around the perimeter. House after tiny peeling white painted house line the street “Summerbelle” with roofs covered in crinkled brown leaves. He runs his hand through his too long ***** brown hair. Tall and blue eyed, he could have been handsome maybe.
I had stopped by to pick up my glasses from on top of his coffee table. I don’t remember how they had gotten there exactly but at some point last night roasting-marshmallows-and-a-bonfire had turned into mango-juice-*****- forgetting-your-glasses-party with all the neighbors.
We were talking about fall, how the colors and the smells are beautiful, but foreboding, warning that winter and depression are coming. It’s a problem we have. On my walk over I had stopped to pick up a particularly beautiful leaf to give to him. It was just the sort of thing he would understand.
I reminded him we have to dress up for class on the 6th, and asked if he even had a suit. He then launched into a ten minute story about how he used to work on a senator’s campaign, 18 hour days and everything.
Not something I would have expected.
We gradually shuffle into the house, and I pick up my glasses from right where I had left them. The door is never locked in his house, but no one usually steals anything.  The walls are covered in crayoned drawings and quotes, over the top of it all “Fleetwood” graffitied in orange and red. I remember that is what we had decided to name the house last night. I had been sitting on the couch with a beer admiring the artist, bringing him a new Blue Ribbon can periodically for a kiss.
“Are you and A together now?”
I shake off the hazy memories. “Hm?”
“You and A.”
“Oh. We’re…yeah.” His signature grin never faded but his eyes had dipped to the floor. “How could you tell?”
“The way you spoke to him.” It was all the explanation he offered. “He’s a good guy.”
“He is.”
My mind wandered back to the morning, waking up next to the artist brushing my hair off my face, kissing my forehead. Surreal.
There wasn’t much left to say, so it was time for me to go. Turning to the door I saw what I had written on the wall last night, hidden under the windowsill, part way behind the couch. Under the song lyrics, clichéd quotes like “Be good or be good at it” and messages of peace, love and adventure it was nestled.
*All the same, we are nothing.

(Old Lyrics referring to those heard from "vinyl" albums of the 1960s)

from dusty cardboard covers
and winged time that flew by
oh poetic ponderous parchment
you have become my sacrament
my sense and soul, my mind’s eye

my grandchild cries in the background
faux fighting to stay awake
while I sit in monitored light
distracted by her playful plight
penning lines for others to partake

some have scripture and prayer
to make their journey into the divine
I plunk rhapsodic rhyme on an electric page
inspired by what I read in a golden age
now seen by me in tragic decline

so I whisper words of the mystical muse
and let them be my guiding light
and weave me through this tangled dream
like some moonbeam on a trickling stream
flowing into my deepening night

in the dead
of night
I write
for 'tis then when my thoughts are draped
like soggy towels on a sagging clothesline
but in the light
of pestering day
they
bounce around like busy buzzing bees
in a place I call my head
so in the dead
of night
I write
and squeeze what I can
from those soul soaked rags
hoping what flows won't be like tears
or some sanguine soup to **** my fears
for in the dead of night
I write
not to purge my heavy heart
of pain and grief
but to come closer to true belief

Hey you with your
squinting eyes
judging the turns
on this foggy night
with your head held high
and ears in the clouds
life so young
as you listen to the sounds
weaving through the traffic
as your engine roars
and you answer with a finger
to those petty car horns
speeding through the fog
flashing your brights
blinded by the reflection
of your own bright light
you weren't humble enough
to dim yourself down
and now you've missed your exit
and you're looping around
for a head-on collision
with your own pride
all because your infinite focus
was on your self-centered inside

You sent me a text message today
It had hearts and smiles
and it read the words 'I love you'
I don't think there is an easy way
to say how bad you missed,
    (it was by miles)
I really hated it.

When your name appeared on the screen
my heart sank
and I feared that it would crack
Because sliding open a phone isn't the same thing
as you sliding in the passenger seat
as we tear up the town in that old tank
Reading your name aloud in this quiet place
just doesn't reverberate the same
as it does when it is whispered to your face
and I may have a strong imagination,
but I just can't picture it the same
when I read 'I love you' to myself
because it doesn't sound like it does
when it's uttered from your lips
      with silent concentration

You sent me a text message today
it had hearts and smiles
   ...and I frowned

We like our steaks ******
my daddy and I
wear plaid and glasses and slippers
and hibernate in the winter.
I steal the pens out of his desk
and lose them.

I steal the wedding rings out of his dresser
and stare at them on the bedspread.
Sometimes I wear the gold one
and remember that time I found it
in the glove compartment
with the rest of the loose
change.

It is ritualistic.
and it makes me aware
I’m scared to become him.
But I know he did what he had to;
I will do what I have to
when my time comes.

My time and the easy way out,
I am already so much like him.
But at the end of the month
there will be a new package of roller *****
in the desk drawers
and he won’t say
a word.

Stupid, stupid girl.
How could I ever think
he could look at me and
want me.
How could I ever think
I was beautiful in his eyes.
That other girl
the one he chose
so bright and pretty
so thin and perfect,
nothing like me.
I feel terrible because
I hope for the worst,
hope she breaks his heart
and he'll come back to me.
My heart aches and it shouldn't
I was nothing to him,
why can't he be the same to me?
Nothing.
Stupid girl,
thinking I could have something
that actually made sense and
make me feel pretty.