I refuse to die
Before my eyes have witnessed
A butterfly's birth

I do not know anything
but I believe
much things

and yes its true

when folk stop believing in God;
they do not believe in nothing;
they believe in anything

Legs pinched and yellow as ginger root
My hands like yams, and belly,
The whole of me looks plucked from the underground,
Topped with a thin sprig - enough hairs to count in an afternoon
Face pink as potatoes in the kitchen,
Eyes plain and brown.

A trip to the market yields a bag of onions
and whispers of the monster woman.
If I am a monster, I am a recluse
Curled around and polishing the opals that grow fat as melons inside me.

Cut, I do not bleed.
My veins only hold the roar of a thunder storm
Field mice find homes in the folds of my ankle.
The weather cannot be contained in my blood alone;
My open mouth stumbles like rain drops thucking in mud.
Angry, I howl sunlight.

I used to be a school yard socialite,
But was always twice as wide as tall,
And a careful turn would tumble three of my comrades
It wasn't long before they turned on me

Back then I thought that children were the cruelest creatures
All rocks and fierce joy,
But the mothers watched with condemning eyes,
And snarled.

Today was the windiest day
of all the days
street lights swung hard
like children trying to get high enough to touch the clouds
skirts flew up
hair was pointed in every direction
I usually hate the wind
I have said before that I wish we lived in a world without it
but the cold brisk air kissing my ankles
and ears
were love letters
being delivered from a long ways away
from a city I have longed for
and belonged to
without noticing
I suppose the breeze was so light
until today
I suppose Chicago needed to get my attention
and sweep me north with the wind

A Sunday morning out there that
Makes me want to open every
Window and merge outside with
In-.
I could eat the weather; it's so nice.

She smells like fresh laundry
When she sleeps.
Slight dreamsmile on lips that say
They love me daily, and when I run my finger
Over her latest tattoo, they part in a smile even
Fuller. She stretches with a morning moan.
Never interrupt a streching girl.

God...
I hope to God that there is one
So this gratitude is recieved
By The Deserving.

I never pray; I never don't.
I've never been outside a church.

All I have is the same as the richest man
In the world.
The currency is just slightly other.

Beauty seeping from the pores of
Everything, and contrary to the claims of mr.
MC Hammer, I can -indeed-
Touch this.

You write so beautifully
In the dead of night;
03;47am
Most people are asleep,
Their minds at a rest.

But you;
You are a wild fire,
Your thoughts are fireworks
exploding through your veins.
Every idea that comes to mind,
Becomes art;
Scribbled on a page,
Desperate to form
In the real world.


Thinking is a necessity,
Without it we would go mad.