A Heart is a Horizon

Do birds stop singing unwanted songs
do we will them silent on weeping branch,
throw a stone, say they're wrong.

What of worlds that spin along
when we fall down,
just don't belong,
do we stop believing in horizons?


What of cerulean seas that cease to lap
to lonesome shores, does time elapse
inside the gap, t'ween loved and lost.


What happens to  goodbyes
should they lose all meaning
when the sun climbs to say hello
and cease to ask all questions why.


If we give up on Life ,
does it go on alone,
without us, when we stop living?
Does it laugh in the face of defeat,
embrace the night and close it's doors?

The dawn will rise without us,
the birds will sing for us,
and when we fall silent
the world will still spin,
as though we begin again,


A heart will be a horizon.

All Roads lead to Salvatore
A Poem by Corset


On the way to Salvatore
I was cracked
A diamond with her head down
pops another piece of gum
makes light of the crest
makes the sign of the cross
across her window pane breast
forever more
Gooseberry products only
she swears
the scratch of her voice
a sonnet of fingernails
on chalkboard
"there are no teachers here "
says she
only nightmares of agriculture"
and the slow lonely climb,
limbs bowing to the knees.
acquiesce of leaves
holding on in vertigo
skinny dipping the night air.

Bertram tells you to ram it
his balcony tilted
like a slot machine
a glimpse of clothes drying
on a Taiwan breeze
ran into a tree
"don't be afraid"  says he
"it won't feel a thing"

You keep your voice down
still it drowns the radio
while fashion jewelry
lift their pointed legs
it's pepper on a dying mans steak
we dare to be sub-standard
people are shouting
we will do our best
to make sure promises are not kept,
to honor the test subjects
we will build a barn
threaten the faculty
with time honored contingency
and look forward to the *****
side of fact.

We shall take our time,
scoffing behind our hands
we know
if a person can not be themselves
they tend to be someone else...
suffering.,
surely there must be a way to
pin this tail on the donkey,
or at least the blunt
blonde official, when you
get a close up
you can tell how old
she is.

O' Helios'
Back arched in regal Blue,
bows into pillar puffed petrichor
Amethyst warred in the underbelly,
verdant memories of waning night
swore legendary red,
o're musk of organdy
blushed brightly pink
an awakening sky.

Daffodils and dandelions
lean into the chariots wind...
sans the sounds of summer's sweet,
eulogies weep over Endymion's eyes.

Cardinal night, closes his door
morning will sing a yawn
in symphony...
and into
the grey goose dawn,
fifty more daughters
are born.

Animal House

Sweeping dust
storm,
Gazelles leap.

Careening reach,
dizzy heights
Shy Giraffes
necking in
undergrowth.

Creeping tide
menageries
mystic sloths
limb and oath.

Sea mist
breaking wave
Sun prancing
Dolphins
embraceable
moonbeams.

Lizards
shedding skins.
Trine children,
Pan animals.

Golden gleaming
processions
growling purrs
Carnivores
give
Herbivores
last rites
confessions.

We are
the animal house
the  hourglass
menageries.

bleating hearts
imminent deaths,
fleeting breaths,
unimaginable
love.

The desert of Rimbaud:
Billet-doux seared skin,
sand strewn dry- eyed
stuck in sister dis-ease
blind birth absent mirth
a third eye sung
strung long song
riddle whittled clean
shame and accused
deep purple hued
****** bruised blessed be
love bid farewell
hell's shining veil
white balloons soon
like mirrored beryl sky
merry birth,
so no goodbye.

Birth in Rainbows

Birthing rings, these things
The things in eclipse behind
heavens doors, we never
spoke of rainbows...

not mine, not my tears
and bent light, not of
refraction or bouncing
planes.


Gypsy clover my lover's bed
is unmade by sorrow,
we'll sleep on it, and dream
of 'morrow beyond the shards
of prism and rain.

Yesterday will not hold us
Out beyond the starlit night
Under the dark dress of eclipse
We will see so many new things
Its churning maw pulls at us yet,
Licking its lovely lips
Longing for its blackbearded
Bliss
Ever and anon
Remember this
Even as we hurl ever closer
Men will be born again
Even though the years
May crawl
Beyond the memory of me or you
Earth shall be consumed
Rivers will run the sky
Eden will burn as promised
Death will be a welcome release
Time will be devoured
Houses shall quake
Ramparts will fall then float
Our eyes will not see origin nor pain
Ufology will be made of us
Grand designs will be grafted in gold
Heaven will laugh at our feet
Outrageous it will claim us all
Uteri and tears
The membrane of existential life
Abstinence of unimportant
Letchers and angels alike
Light will be dark,
The darkness shall be light
Immaterial will be substance
Material will be no more
Every thought will be as body
Placating the will of man
Apple and seed no longer
Calling in false voices
Implicitly with demand
All that we are
Nestled once again
Orphaned by humanity
In the atmosphere
With the children of our *****
Infinite and everlasting
Long forgotten the red earth
Languishing in her blue dress when
Finally, she points her taunt breast
In to the maw of the black mouth
Not even mountains will withstand
Drowning in this black abyss
Young Biota,
Ours is not of lifetimes
Under the cherry moon
Even as the clouds we know rumble
Valentine notes into the wind
Even as his harpoon tongue
Nimbly nibbles our innocent mind
Death will not hold us
Earthen molds will not
Attain us,
The word will not sway us
Heaven bound passengers
Will behold the golden galaxy
In due time of passage
Light as light will travel
Long into the black vein of
Nothing more than thoughtless
Orbs of creation
Through and beyond time
Hanging it's weary head
On the lips of love
Life defined as desire
Dripping it's ***** robe
Unashamed, it will
Sneer into the mob and
Can not be held captive
As animals in a cage
Painting the wall of caves
Time is man made
It does not exist in the
Veins of the everlasting
Eternal word...Love

I will not assume,
will not assimilate,
will not conquer
nor be sad or desolate,
instead,
I will bloom unto myself
a bud of awakening,
for only myself,
I will play soft music
with tinkling bells
in the midst of fields
jazz filled flowers
if you would come,
come gently...
like the light
of a dawning rose,
if you should stay
sit here beside me,
call me friend
and visit often.

Blue Snow

Can I help it
if I gather the down
of white feathers
into my arms,
catching the ones
still floating in the air
with a wrinkle in my nose
when the pillow fights
rain  them
over my head
like blue snow
on a grey
January day.

Budapest
A Poem by Corset


Eucalyptus

Push me in,

be as  tall.

No one out there
is going to sing
pro bono.

Slow down
and
look at where
it's at.

One is fast
and more dangerous

ask her...

Turns out a mixed nut in the right cup.

Clean out the closet,
polish all those pretty bones
bleach them white
as a faded memory
unlike
Budapest,
who gnaws
the edges,

but never lay down
your pen.

Candle Magick
A Poem by Corset


My Latina Coworker
sat across from my desk;
heartbroken that her lover
wanted to try again with his wife;
pulled out a brown paper sack
and asked me if I believed
in hummingbird candle magick,
and then proceeded to tell me
how to cast a love spell.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I told her I believed
in the power
of mind to shape her
universe.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Two days later she's snap
chatting her married lover
again, has been unblocked
and has now switched
to candles of *******.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My dog has diarrhea
and is blowing holes
through the walls of her
crate,
I must have lit the
wrong kind or color
of candles.

© 2015 Corset

Crow-bars as big
as an Oak,
or the head
of Egyptian alien
architects build desert
triads,
ten thousand buff
onyx oxen men
to remove the kite
height splinter
from a kitten's foot.

Somehow I'll hold
my tongue-
tied like cherry stems
cross-like
the national anthem
spools of yarn
big enough
to fill a football stadium
in colors of senescent
knit sweats
alternates with purrs
and claws.

How can one apologize
by way of ESP?
Or plead with ghost
dripped vows  
stay up all night to write
while you were up
scratching the post.

I am remiss for not
admitting in all
the languages
of the world

I clearly
do not speak
in Morris code
or maybe cats
just can't read.
I thought I had,
let me try again.

I was wrong.

friends never say
goodbye
but lovers
so often do.

Chameleon,
You are the master
of disguise with
all the colors sent
to save our grey world.

You with your
empty hands and
knowing smile,
fighting this battle
for individuality,
with your coat
of many colors.

O' Chameleon
how you do change,
too
~but none like you,
to weather beaten blue
when the rain comes,
only to disappear
as suddenly
and as quietly
as it came,
there but unseen,
stealthily,
as a jungle net
on the screen
of camo brown
and lizard green.

I want to see you
shocking in neon
lights pressed
against the
Northern stars.

I watched the paper
soak up the ink
as it blotched
breast strokes
across the page...
suddenly,
street bound
jazz hounds
legs,
pinioned
to pavement,
hand signals
of  July scroll by,
a memory strolls
in reverse as a
name  scrawled contra
across  wheat covered
hills...returned to me
chaotic,
lovely.

A single day
took it's light
from the crayon
colored buildings
laughter ran out
from a beautiful city
where the seagulls  
brushed it's wings
against my cheek
like lovers once
embraced
arm in arm,
long before
infancy.

A memory plucked
from the eye of
golden Roses
littering the street
in irradiant petals
like pieces
of shattered
poetry
in the blood
of a waxing
poet.

6:45 a.m.
The **** crows
the clouds carry a skull and crossbones
across the fretful sky.

See how he looks at her,
a bird caged in a song
longs,
before the open window.

How his heart breaks
for the sky
and it's wide set eyes,
is it the conch
that whispers
to the coast
of aching night?

Flight.

That solid rock
on which pearly
mountains grew
seemed ageless.

Like shifting tots
on playgrounds
more than anything
thrilled to finally fill
the bitter silence
speak to me again
with church bell
hush.

Applaud with clapping
wings of butterflies, but
where have all the fireflies
gone?

Little lanterns barging in
like riots begging
the whiskey night,
like riverbanks in
Kentucky.

Better than the blue
plain cornflower hill
that thanked Heaven
for it's tender wet kiss.

It's raining,
it's raining again
sings the dawn.

Coup Stick
A Poem by Corset


When I was a small child
I would often try to walk
silently like the warriors
it never failed that a twig
would snap beneath my feet
but I am a grown woman now.

Here, where the earth and blade
are dry, the wind spirit
can hear my footsteps,
this is not a good place
to hunt the wind and I
am not afraid to die.

Privacy fences block my view
of the white tipped mountain,
tumbleweeds whisper the names
of the fallen
and there are no buffalo
to fall beside the iron horse,
and the only tracks to follow
belong to the old railroad.

The brave will ride the red path
his pouch tied to the mane
of his pony, his whistle plays
the shrill of the great hunt
a vengeance to collect in scalp,
spirit claws sewn onto
his chest, blessed,
he is dressed for death.

It is a good day to die.

Paint us like the white
spotted leopard so that
the arrows fly in reverse.

Fierce in verse
like Crazy Horse;
who took the evil man's
thirst and with it,
Cut Custer in two,
I will not be halved.

Listen now, as I sing the
song of drums
no longer a twin of mine
as to the number whispered
into the dream.

I'll not be controlled.

On the green grass,
one can move silently
and be as mighty as
a pack of wolves,
I am as unconcerned
as a November cub,
yowling at the moon.

Sticks and stones,
words can not harm us.

I will not be silenced.


Choose the path wisely,
walk softly, carry a
big feathered coup,
for a war of dishonor.

The darkness can not effect
a sacred blaze, but daylight
can most certainly invade
the greedy, hungry night.

Your eyes are waterwheels
like high seas in the wind
Dante umbrella
love's happy suicide
kiss me at noon tide,
feast on lips of starving waif
face turned up to greet the sun
your breast -a brave moor
of breeze sworn content
each salty sweet spray
a crag at dawn
whispering o'er forlorn waves,
breathe in this- still of morn
cheek pressed to blue ribbon sky
dream of me and wonder why.

God can be so cruel sometimes
when morrows reach so far away
and your sail - a dot of horizon
and the space between
a watery grave,
these eyes are water wheels
splashing...

He was so busy painting the sun,
all in yellows and blues
that he forgot that the green
dripped from his brush
and fell upon the round
and blades where fashioned
swaying upon a ground...
and saw
that it was good.

Riddled filled
holes and
rusty dust
remains green
along the sand.

Sing, but only
for the song,
what it once meant
to have a strong voice
gone,
how it was larger
than life itself
stronger than death.

Opinions
meant everything once...
lost among the waves
of  littered rooftops.

proud to call
you friends,
shroud,
to write you
psalms.

It blew to soothe
the savage wind.
So I grew tall
withstood
the watery grave
splashed upon
the break of
cliff sides,
landslide,
tsunami,
I was...
the piercing wail
in summer sheen,
what you felt
meant everything.

I had
destroyed
with love.

Wake tide!
become lost,
be afraid,
speak thy  name
unto the breeze
let it come to ease
your burdened brow.
For I,
will always ,
know
you.

Once upon a time
he accused me
of finding him marketable,
but I swear,
if I had twelve of him
I'd still keep a dozen.

One for each month of
the year, so when one
wore out
I'd cycle that clout
every other moon.

Daydreamer
Turn your head a notch
and we'll see that perfect
dot beside your nose.

Tell me,
even though
sanity may jettison
and stroll down
the lane as naked
as a jay bird.

you remember,
that I had on too many clothes
or not enough and neither one
at the appropriate time,
still,
I can't soften
the discard-
the tint of rose
from my cheeks or the
titan grip on my jugular.

Remind me still ,
with patience,
like every other
seven year old
wearing a zirconium,
Tiaras, pink taffeta
and soft as night ballet
slippers,
that it's o.k.
to sit on my spotted pony
dreaming,
that all princes
will have a heart of gold.

That promises mean
something
even to spectra
and daydreamers...

we stopped laughing
when
the song ended
with the world spinning

and I fell down
calling your name
on the back
street of my worst
nightmare coming true.

Remind me gently,
That best friends can't say
I love you
and still be best friends,
well, I already knew,
it just might be that
all the time my eyes
were wide open
they just
wouldn't stop listening
to the skipping thud of
my pulse.

Dream Catcher

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             Did I imagine you?
where dreams of you
flood the eyes
of a winter incarnate,

only the figment of bliss
borne of buffalo magic,

lead me to this
song of the feathers.

I did not seek it out

instead it lay me beside
a steady stream
fed by the ****** howl
of ancestors.

We are the calling of ghosts
embraced in the pouring
of seasons.


Heart of the mighty bear,
kisses of white doves
where the wild mustangs
run to greet the horizon,
pine knot,
whine not,
braid inside my hair
your lair is a
dream catcher;
catch me...

i'm falling,
wind blown

in the silence
of drums

am I to walk alone?

There is a soft meadow golden
where there now stands oblivion
wild mustangs comb the hard
dry grasses after a long arid winter.


In the distance, wood smoke
from a silent fire that crackles
'neath a hungry touch.


An aubade's warm hand reaches
from the silky horizon to touch love
gently upon her shoulders and roam
the hills, and dusky valleys of the
paradisiac dawn, as it stretches each stone.


...and soothed; by palpebral stream;
each bend a lover's nape
endlessly explored by endless wait
to greet the welcome rise again.

Realize, power
that you hold
folded as a love letter,
to be light sent
ardor
tongue tripped
along the wet
seal,
air mailed,
perfumed.

No paper cuts
to splice along
seams of soft lips.

We had only dreams
hoarded by
crazed postal workers,
who delivered
the daily diamond
incoming
outgoing
bill collectors
and
perfect posts
stamped overdue.

Mail bones litter
lost tossed ground
with the junk mail,
things we
don't want to hear.

Maybe
someone will pick
me up
thinking
"what a pretty envelope"
take me home
and use me
as love letters
to someone dear.

Fill me,
with hopeful words;
like I love you.

I would like that.

Look deep
within yourself
remember
all times,
open your eyes,
hear angels calling
remember all the times,
you heard
"I love you"
take a moment to feel ,
the embrace warm
in memory.
Do not love
in increments,
love wide,
love tall,
honor the right
to be loved.
smile.
build dreams
around that smile.

be
alone,
confused
afraid
legs like water
heart beating so fast
breathe shallow
breathe deep,
whatever form of love
you have
at any given time
there is one thing
that will get you through
always
explore  the path,
whether the path
is friendship,
or love,
once alive
it is eternal
in you

An erudite belief is
that one soul can be
tortured quite more
effectively;
whether one of
virtue or demerit;
with eminent hope
than threat of
imminent pain
or death.

We expect our Mothers
to be kind
and it is not always so,

We expect our Fathers to be wise
how often do we err?

We expect of our families
patience and rarely we wait,

We expect our friends eternal
and lovers faithful
how we so disappoint...
the humans we love that travel
the same path slightly ahead
or behind..,

Knowledge is wise and only
compassion can free us,
only love that is true
knows the perfection of patience,
and only Experiential knows the
way of eternal  change,
and only in this way
may we become the image
of our expectant God(s).

The phone rings
     In yesterday's conversations
teeth words, gritting back
it's patience
busting up thick
          all over the center
A stone hinge
   rock and roll butterfly
how thickly it pours my veins
        when his eyes are closed
fade out
   the third eye is crying,
            Divine soul,
don't follow.
.
.
.
.
Fall.

A quiet light
slips across the stage
pencil drawings
flipped formed into
anorexic glass
stick figure thin
stacked mimes
only the barking
dogs and whales
could hear it explode
into sonar boom.

My life,
has become a debut
of silent animation
I'm the first of Emile Cohl's
funny faces,
my heart,
a voice whispered
death threat
a French caricaturist
largely forgotten
incoherent
love contortionist
pulsations
of the retina
rapid eye movement
fantasmagorie,
complex shifting sand dollars
and rabid flower images,
they never forget a pretty face.
Sword-fighting fish mouths
gaped like cannons
dancing petals wind borne
missing
milk carton illusions
memories drum
tight like elephants
stuffed into houses
avant-garde
artistic movement
curdling my eyes by hydropathy
baths of incoherent apathy
falling between my brows
like Chinese water torture.

Pictures that are missing you,
that were always missing me
and me, missing the music
of laughter, that love
that turned numb
the earth thumbed green.

Infrared light
black light secrets
blue battered sun
yellow
outrage,
tricksters in paradise
loading up
the gun
wild fire
caged in Ice
made it twice
as fun
beer bellied
acrobats
bouncing off the wall
blaring on
the run
caught the bus
to
Cambridge,
Eyebrows filling
the space
of another persons
world,
underlining
their names,
curious
questions
bright with colors,
the honey fist
of Isis biting a coin
for authenticity
pull me from the abyss,
endless sleep
these Maritime martyrs
at the expense of a soul
does she really know,
to what depths
we dive to save
time in squares,
trenches,
backwater streets
in tired boxes,
men throw shoes
at singing alley cats,
tears and thoughts
litter the sheets.

Feast Of Summer Moons
A Poem by Eve aka Corset


Tonight and all over the earth,
there is merriment.
Cocky birds will dance
at  maske and vest.,
and many times at best
I have dreamt of this
in sadness
still to awake with laughter
within my breast.
and yet
beyond these lids
and lashes,
the world is
still our oyster,
whether it be hailed
by sighing violins
or paired by
charmed footsteps.

Madame Butterfly;
my cupid kills in arrows
and so grieves her;
her Puccini,
should love speak
beyond a reasonable
torment of expectation.

Let her feast then
beneath the moons
soft with light and
with souls as bright
as sunlight, brilliant
upon the water
bound not
by counterfeits of passion,
having railed
so long at love,
that it does seem to
have become a habit.

Whisper again
to a ****** night,
that dreams with
eyes wide open,
sailing to a song within.

Love is ancient and ageless and
hearts will remain young
forever,
for which men and women
will hunger,
because,
amour sweet amour
is a  feast
and fit
for summer moons.

Fresh from the accouterments
of green,
creatures churn out of control
rinse and repeat
he gave me a smile
one down to his knees
the wind a born again breeze
and the moon was born
spinning silver on his tongue
while crows hum forgotten
biennial messages
a post part-em in drums
hell arrives on a River boat
demands six pence for passage
we'll pay the Ferryman
just to go home to get some sleep
but all dreams smell the same;
lost,
in this rich man's world.

Gypsy Rose Lee

Strip tease
shedding leaves
shivering,
quivering
vagabond
knees,
cold
January
sun
tossed
off her
clouds.

Haze

"I invited shrimp if that's ok.?";
That's what he calls his little brother,
"sure , if you want too"


He's teaching her how to drive today,
The car windows are down and it's
really warm for May.

She is wearing blue jean frayed shorts,
white cotton pull over, peasant style ,
the kind that straps won't stay up on
sandals reveal new manicure in hot pink.

Her hair is pulled up off her neck with a
claw, tendrils a drift.

She's never met her boyfriend's brother,
she expects young, gangling, annoying.

She starts the engine and honks the horn,
the car smells of octane and dust motes
and heavy aftershave. She likes the smell.
The door opens and poetic attitude plops
into the front seat.
Shrimp is smooth, buff and not at all what she
expected.
He slams the door and she starts to drive.

The young men exchange words,
brother barbs
she is driving as if she had always known how.

Onto the highway, the breeze feels good,
it's lazy and hazy in the car, she leans
forward too short in the seat to see well,
she adjusts the wheel.
A strap falls from her shoulder,
with a matching manicured hand
she slides it back up, no tan line.


Shrimp is feeling the heat,
blowing hard through his teeth,
feels the energy drip in the air,
looking at the girl,
his brother's girl.
She's got great shoulder blades,
long neck, he leans back arms thrown over the
seat, chest puffed out like he owns the world,
watching, watching his brother's girl.

He sees the strap drop, the retrieve , her leaning
up, a little more of her back exposed,
she's hot and glistening in the heat,
lovely shoulders,
great angles.


He pulls out his pen, leans over to her, pulls her
strap down again, the breeze wafts of her perfume
around him, the front seat, she, smells like baby powder
and jasmine.


Hand on the wheel , hand to hold up the front of her blouse
she's helpless and he pulls the elastic down in the back.
stretches it to her waist.
Brother sits in the back watching,
doesn't say a word.
Turns his head to the right and stares
at the landscape through the dusty window.

Time has disappeared in the front seat,
the atmosphere has changed and it's
thick and hard to breathe
he
starts writing on her back with his pen,
and in his mind he reads aloud as he writes
across her baby smooth brown skin.

I heard his voice read as he writes
and in his head it said;


*"Haze, rain on my art, pick a color, pull it apart"

Caretaker
of my soul
love is our body
as one,
would you
be my God,
and my words,
blameless not
blasphemous,
God
would live
within us.
worship,
would find my knees
bent
into all the beautiful
places
found in you,
the only way
I wish to
hold you.

I am as young as the hillside
old as a neonate
I am the miles and trials
between our distant smiles,
We will celebrate forever
we were made to believe
the gift of today is not
tomorrow; it is now.
This treasured  gift
is not a destination;
it is a journey
in seconds,
between this one and next.
We are the breathing
monument
of one life's span
in secondhand
experiences
lived within
a blink
of the
eye.

Oh, Be A Be why
last night we were trying
to keep it...
do it together,
getting tea lights
stuck in the dishwasher.
I will be right back,
with ink... U bate her
old Cronie could barely
keep her eyes
open!
oh, be A be why?

I've dropped this Cubica today,
as often as I've dropped my heart
when I pick up the two pieces of
a broken pen, ***** them back together,
it still works
filling my lungs with vaporous poison
knowing it will eventually **** me,
I pit it against my lips and **** on it
like a straw till it blows sunshine
out of my *ss,
just what he would call a magnifying glass,
of  perspective poetry,
inhalant on course
defying destiny.
Hopefully,
seventy playgirl virgins
will soothe
that remorse,
at the very least a sepharad
of simpatico
with silly  smoking mortals
still whispering of genius.

Pray that love
will be a kind master
blue green and
light of corners,
chastised child
inwardly declaring
independence,
wailing
like lost banshees,
wanton wills,
product of environment,
be one with
apprehension
comprehension
well worth being
God will punish
indiscriminately.

...and as of all
seasons past
must make of us,
no longer a child
but revised,
no longer abandoned
in the grip
and slip of survival.

Prepare
for the play;
come what may,
of tomorrow;
be it sweet with love
or sad in sorrow.

As daylight dreams reach
for dark
under a K-light sky
so must the
world return requited,
kited,
new ,
no one knew but me and you
I will not beg of thee in XYZ
chromosomal hormonal after-tonal

A giant jelly fish ate "To Wong foo with love"
a bit of it's electric lightening flash turned
my skin to glass,
molted down Queen cream
in crock-odor-ium,
it may be a word, it may not,
it maybe your Marshland smile.

I'm going to emerge orthodontia
in crystalline wings and when I do
I hope it won't blind you
like your heart
like your heart forgot
how to pronounce my name and
sunlight forgot to wash the sand
into bleached wood
a drift
from where I cry away
from that small dark part of me
that resembles photosynthesis
in green or gold memories

..of i'll never leave you
even when my tongue has become
a pin cushion for all the things
That get stuck to it
in the dark shifting of
under garments and sleepless
every things
that crawl the endless length of me
as a nightly ritual
of sacred dance.

Jets whistling overhead
Cats caterwauling
such a lonely sound
wheels cornering
like life tucked
behind a delicate ear.

Trent Shelton self help
videos slowly
crawl up the wall

Christmas coming in a dark
alley
somewhere...
heavy laden with second sight
with seasonal child,
Oatmeal and toast
many meals under a dollar.

Her father,
a journey song
"Faithfully"
in mellow gold morning
storm gray eyes
flecked with flaws.

There would have
been more but,
wishing wells and cupped palms
fill faster with rain.

Life's game
pretty lean
trying to hold
against the dark night
born writer,
lover, friend,
breast fed hunger
palms love
as if the last
birthing push
burst into spring
would bring the flowers
back,
last gale clinging to winter
preferring pain to
Passover
or fear of future.
What we need is the
courage of spring
and every breath
between,
a dream in labor.

Lattice

At first glance there was such
sorrow entombed in the sun,
honey hued in mahogany
red velvet Terra eyes
the sun rose with them
a soft whisper in my mind,
my heart and soul flies
shimmering of surprise
in waves of sweetness,
it ebbs and flows ever still,
rise and fall,
ever gloaming,
moving like the gentle earth,
restless and milling
it's throngs and streams
a tender abrade
a gentle lapping
the world becomes a wonder
becomes leaf and petal
climbing,
lattice sunshine blooms
dripping in happy tears,
after the summer rain
disappears humming
drumming it's distant
rooftop tattoo.

Yesterday was beautiful
in the yellow way
that the sun
tasted like lemonade.
In the way
I used to sit at the table
when I was seven and wrap
aluminum foil around bits
of cardboard fashioned into
the alphabet and strung
on a string that said
'welcome home'
like the time
you showed me
how to use lemon juice
to write invisible
love letters, and then rub
a match behind the paper
to reveal the words.
It's a wonder
we didn't catch
the house on fire.
yes,
it felt like that
yesterday,
it felt like
running through the woods
with someone after you
but that someone
isn't
scary,
that someone is
looking for you
and you
are holding your breath
while they count
to 100
still listening
to you, still singing
John Denver's
"country roads"
echoing
all around in the back
of my mind.
Yesterday was like that,
it felt free with no
rules.
Part of me hopes it feels
like that again
today,
the other part is
squeezing the lemons.

Lockets
A Poem by Corset

...with half the heart locket
hanging empty
'round and 'round we go
we said maybe its a lesson
in futility
or maybe it helps us grow.


He says it's hard to be a hero
if it smacks of manipulation,
and all the stacks against it
was a back up in prostration
just convenience counting gears
*** smothered in validation,
well, the years might just prove
to have only been denied pride
but we all have to wonder why
we can't just fly to the other side.

Maybe we can't buy our wings
or strip them of the smell
maybe it hurts too much
like sacrifice or hell,
with half heart locket
hanging
'round and 'round we go
we said maybe its a lesson
in futility
or maybe it helps us grow.

well whatever makes you happy
or helps you to make escape,
these arms only reach so far
wrapped 'round all  those mistakes.

Women should never
be allowed to shop
at the corner store,
where hot dogs, eggs, coffee
gas and scratch offs can be
bought all at the same time.

Inevitably, on a day she is
called to work for an hour
and a half shift, which means
it will take her twice as long
to get ready to work as it
will for her to be there.

This messes up the entire day
that she had planned for poetry
and pretending she does not need
or want a man to pump the gas and
inflate tires.

So she will go to the gas station
completely distraught that the
last 25 dollars before pay day and
her only day off till next week
will be completely ruined by
someone with a dental appointment.

That instead of eggs, hot dogs and coffee
that few dollars will be spent instead on
gas and scratch off's on the outside chance
that that last twenty five will mean she
will one day retire independent.

Hoping that there will not be any sparks
to blow her up as she spills gas all over
the station concrete, while she is furiously
scratching off the silver overlay of her
future.

Or maybe, sometimes we need a little "fuel"
occasionally. to keep us fighting, dreaming
and scratching for happiness, friendship or
for those things and people we need to
believe in.

We love too ambitious
we love incumbents
night sweat elections
heart ache selections
maybe we think too highly
of ourselves
or maybe not highly
enough,
maybe
too highly of others.
I watched you sleeping
tender gaze,
your eyes a shadow
on my soul.

Cast off the vote
cast off the light.

Mama said
A Poem by Corset



Mama always said...
"You  (understood)
must always allow a man
his small victories
else
he will prey
on your weakness
love ( understood)
for him
like a black piranha."
the moment your soft
warm toes
touch the still water.

Friends are works of art
lovers are masterpieces
Hope is the paint brush.

I've traveled to Manhattan
walked the steps of
the Metropolitan,
Perused the desecrated
ruins of Mastaba
Tomb of Perneb
walked like the egyptian
stared into the face
of Van Gogh and wept
with the desire to
touch his strokes
as it were his hair.

Faces of a cherished
lovers are like that,
a landscape of wonder,
Hair swaying in
evergreen.

Mountains contour
in shapes of his face
the sun and moon
turn in eyes that
wake in dreams.

His mouth,
soft supple water
of a serene lake.
His mouth,
sweetly wet and deep,
sky that pulsates
and overflows into
murmurs succumbing
to the miracle
of wind song
in surrender.