I've been swinging from the Witness Chair hoping and praying, often contemplating
When will the Agenda End and Blossom of Freedom Begin?

Apparently, Softly shake my Head and Smile,
We've made it to the last Mile
....of this Life Long Marathon...

Raise your arms in a V for Victory and set Sight ahead, you'll see the Yellow Banner tape there for You, the One, to Break.

I swear to God I am not giving up
but every breath I take feels like smoke
and I am not sure how much more
my tar-stained lungs can endure.

There are nights like tonight

When the world is ending again,

But this time it's not your fault.

And you wish that the fault was yours,

So as to have a reason to be with everybody else.

And you wish that he wasn't so lonely

And you wish that a different he liked to be lonely like you do

And you wish that you didn't like being lonely like you do

And you wish that another he was lonely

And you wish that she knew that you were lonely, but assumed you were sad.

And you wish that you didn't enjoy brooding

But then you could be happy with something else for a change.

And you wish that you knew what a real smile looked like,

Because you don't believe that you've ever truly seen one

And you wish you were a little meaner so you could seem a little happier

And you wish you were a little different  so you could want to be happier

And he wishes you were a little nicer because he doesn't know what mean is

And a different he wishes you were meaner so you could be somebody else

And a different he doesn't even know that you're nice at all.

And you wish that he thought you to be a sadist.

And you don't know why.

Maybe you just want to feel bad-***.

Maybe you just want to feel something new.

Maybe you know that he wants you to be something new.

Maybe you don't know that he is something new,

and you will be forever the same,

forever alone

an maybe you like it that way.

I texted you
at 12:30 a.m.
with a beer can on my bedside table,
asked you
if you remember
how my lips taste,
told you
it's been a while
since anyone's touched me
like you used to,
added
haha, I love you
to texts that
didn't quite make sense;

I asked for it.

That's what I keep
telling myself.
It's not ****
if I gave consent,
it's not ****
if you didn't touch me,
it's not ****
if I said yes when
you offered to make me less lonely.

I remember when
that boy you were always jealous of
told me he loved me,
I remember wanting to say it back,
I remember the smell of
my mom's *****
on his breath.

I said no.
Took his arm off my shoulder,
turned my head away,
told him not to kiss me,
told him not tonight,
told him he was drunk,
he was lying to himself,
he was just lonely,
he would not love me
in the morning.

I was right.
He told me
the last thing he remembered
was sitting down next to me,
he said
sorry if I tried anything,
I said he didn't.

My point is,

the boy I loved,
longed for,
still long for,
was giving himself to me,
his flushed cheek on my shoulder,
his hands in my hair,
my name on his lips,
and I said no.

My point is,

I, whom you knew to be vulnerable,
to be empty,
to be broken,
was begging you to save me,
my desire on your phone screen,
my scars in your memories,
my cries echoing in your eardrums,
and you asked for more.

My point is,

there comes a point
in every person's life
when they are given the choice
to do the right thing,
or do the wrong thing
and convince them self
it was the only option.

My point is,

I could have been
at your doorstep,
in your bedroom,
begging,
pleading,
naked,
ready,
and the right answer
still would have been
no.

My point is,

you did not **** me,
but you made me feel violated.
You are not a *** offender,
but you are an awful person.
I did say yes,
but you should have said no.

My point is,

I may have asked for it,
but that doesn't mean
you should've given it to me.

I lean back on my factory-fresh
Couch (that still smells of IKEA)
And turn that Jeff Buckley's Grace
Up so loud the cat escapes under

The bed; ears flat, wide eyed...
And remember. I flip through
My own history -forgotten love,
Nights of such beauty they

Forged themselves onto my
Mind. I see myself stronger;
Dumber. Rougher hands and
Mind.

I hear Chris Cornell and Tori
Amos in shared recollection.
I walked Oslo's paved streets
From a job I loathed.

But it was summer.
I was free.
I was a rock star waiting
To be.

I see hopes I had that remind me
It's not too late for that.
And begin to resonate with
This is your time.

This is when you choose your
Future. Choose.
It's never too late for
Anything.

another postcard came,
sent from the hollowman.

bright, happy pictures
on the front.
and terse, inked messages
on the back.
"am ok" or "doin fine"
"still here"
&  "i am living my life"

anger and grief,
etched in each
& every  penstroke.

he, rings ben,
& they talk,
like lovers , in hushed
& secretive tones,
for long periods of time.

but he won't speak to me.
ben says,
he says, it is still .....
too hard, to fresh & raw
....and i remind him,
to much of her...
(she has a name,
i say angrily)

but, really,
i don't know,
what to do with that.....
any more than i know
what to do with.....
the boxes, stacked,
in our garage.
your bequest to me,
the residue of your life.

each time i open
one to unpack.....
i add,
a cupful of salty tears,
before resealing it....
god!  
it might be years,
before i get them done.

and i know,
this is not so much,
about his all encompassing grief,
or the tidal heft of mine.

as much,
as it is about,
my need to make,
things, better and smooth and fine.

you,
in your much missed
wisdom,
once said,
"we are the sisters sisyphus'.
me, i am wanting to be,
glue,
always, holding things together,
often, way past, their prime.

and you,
you, want to take,
a jagged pebble
and work and polish it,
till smooth as a marble...

but really,
both these things,
are tasks never done....

and in the end,
the world has it's way..... things, lives,
come apart and shatter
and we are left,
to begin again, again....

so, sue for you
and  in your memory...

to laz,the hollowman
i give his mispent anger
and recieve his postcards
and hope that time will heal.

as to, the gift of your boxes.
i seed my salted love...
they will be there,
when i am ready
and the tide is right.

and i let the world have
it's way...
in hope you are smiling down from above....

and i think you are...
this weeks message,
    
                               "got a dog"

I was a toddler lost in the
Woods at night, awakening from
Sleepwalking.
Mud on my pyjamas,
Leaves and twigs on the head of
My teddy.

My mother's voice stronger
From the front door; crumbs
To follow into warm arms; each
A piece of poetry paving a path
From the opposite of Heaven
To Heaven.

I've seen them in the mouth
Of a Great White breaking surface.  
Heard them in the sandpaper
Sounds of a mother's tongue against
A stillborn kitten's wet fur;
Wake up. Move... Wake up...

I've found them swept under rugs, or
Left by the last boy to climb
The tree to the top and carve
About the view.
I've smelled them when monster-
Biting the tummy of my friend's
Screaming daughter; laughing
Herself to an unavoidable  
Diaper change.

Pieces of poetry  
On centuries old headstones
And toilet cubicle walls. In old
Eyes regaining faith in young people,
Like yesterday on the bus:

A little old lady getting up.
A wave of helping hands to
Support, secure, show respect; every
One of them a piece.
Each finger a letter; each hand a
Word, a complete poem
In the shape of an

Everyday moment witnessed by
A busload of commuters and a
Poet with busy eyes,
Gathering all those little pieces

Of poetry
Into
This.

Mourning
Has washed over but it's swelling tide
Does not ebb
Each day dawns in brightness
Many things for which I thank
Surrounded by love, by comfort
Yet even the weight of your arms fall short
This sadness has become a sickness
For which there is no cure
The rose tinted frames I wore before
Are now shadowed
The sun still shines
Birds singing
But it's always raining in my head
Leaking out to form rivers
From where I spring in cathartic feeling
Healing is no process
It is a journey
One that I will follow through this life into the next

Facebook instead of face to face
No picture can take your place
No amount of pokes will do
I just long to see you
I desire to see you face to face
I want to see your smile, hear your voice
It is my choice, Facebook alone will not do
I wait for the time that I can see you again, face to face
I repeat Facebook alone will not do
I really want to be with you!

Caffeine curdled with cannabis
a rushing stream of nerves
corrupting my senses
  stalling the hunger
  arousing the amygdala
     to focus on what?
Connaturally knowing
through text I display
sketchbook paper smudged
with charcoal black
the color of my mood
  keeping my will at bay
Too many words
not enough time
   relative to all
   conceptually absolute
  mentally resolute
emotionally destitute

I say
She understands
Not everything I do
She approves
Not all acts of mine
She finds good

She just knows

My mind’s every line.

Not everything I speak
She finds sweet
Not everything I love
She loves
Not all ways of mine
She finds good

She just finds me

For her just fine.