Dear Diary,
As of today, I am officially a registered Republican
Now before you freak out, let me explain…
It’s finally happened!
I am in love! In love!
I can’t stop thinking about her…her rich auburn hair
Sensuous lips, smooth, silky voice…
She is an ambrosial goddess
Ahhhh just to say her name
Michelle…Michelle…
It’s because of her, I have become a Republican
Michelle has opened my eyes to so many things!
For instance, this country really was founded on Christian values!
Separation of church and state…that’s just crazy talk
Oh, and climate change? Forget about it!
But most importantly, Michelle helped me see that ALL lives matter
Michelle is very involved in her community
Why, just yesterday, we handed out boxes
Full of bootstraps to the poor
I gave my Birkenstocks
To Bernie Sanders…
Michelle says that nothing turns her on more than a man who wears crocs
And I am embarrassed to admit this….
I would only tell you, Diary
But She’s really into **** ***,
Michelle says it’s not ****** if it’s a man and a woman
And with her husband’s gay conversion camps, she would know
Come to think of it,
Nothing is a sin for a Republican
As long as you don’t get caught
So, there you have it, I have abandoned my socialist and Jewish roots
Do I have regrets?
Well, maybe sometimes,  
When Michelle talks about cutting veterans benefits
For a fleeting moment I recall how it felt
To take care of each other and to love people unconditionally
But then I think I sound like ******* flake
Twirling crystals and prisms or some stupid ****
I do like the idea of legalizing marijuana, though
But my change of heart and this whole Donald Trump thing is not my fault,
There are a limited number of seats open on this love train
I mean…
let’s be real, ok? Americans want epic battles and
Dad never smites people anymore,
Whatever happened to a good old fashioned smiting?
The way I see it, as long as Michelle doesn’t figure out that I am not white,
She and I are golden.
Anyway, thanks for listening diary,
I gotta go…Michelle and I are getting matching Jesus fish tattoos
I know, the irony, right?

Her face wears anger, daring you
to look into her eyes and offer “hello”
the only things left to lift her to standing
are guilt and tears held in place daily
by repeated phone calls to her children

Neighbors are uncertain what to say
everything changed when her husband died
tinnitus of lonely continually ring
guilty for feeling angry that he left her
she always drinks alone now

I brought her some dinner on cafeteria china
unbreaded fish that she wanted for lent
She thinks people are laughing at her.
her eyes are brown and mostly terrified
crying out for someone to see her

Standing there, in her soft, white sweater
head drenched in tears and apologies
anger exchanged for compassion
I hugged her tightly for a good long time
so she would know that I meant it

Spare me the rhetoric
Your transparent lines
Trying to get me
into your bed
Can’t decide between playing
a hipster or a
corporate American
Your new tennis shoes remind me
of the first day of school
I was just looking for a cup of coffee
Honey
Better luck tonight when you hit the clubs

a malt liquor brain bath to deaden the nerves
his entire body is encased in a crusty scab
hard enough that he can’t feel your smile
…much, but then…
he tries, scared eyes breaking contact
his stories are wrapped in laughter bandages
because it’s funny that the nuns
would humiliate him in school
and that his brother killed himself
by jumping off a bridge in St Paul
doesn’t every kid dream of having a bi-polar mother?
that was the brother he could talk to by the way
the other kids, well, just as mean as the nuns
a funny story alright. tragic comedy of
a sensitive soul with a pillow over its face
until it was smothered almost dead
arms flailing in desperation, muffled cries
“there is new skin beneath this scab!”
**** it.
pour some beer on this thing until it drowns

if i were a bird
i would follow you
in-tune your rhythm
with my vibrations
as one, we climb
the rocks of high places
our perceptions
our panoramas
entwined
rising suns and rising moons
whooshing wings and winded breath
sweet communion

I am the mistress of time
sneaking away
to our meeting places
urgently luring calm
inconsiderate of responsibility
burning our fragrances
on each other's flesh
leaving something
to taste until
our next rendezvous

He told me that his father had been murdered
I picked the wine with the purple bird
and a beak shaped like a cork *****
ran into an old boyfriend at the liquor store
because life can be random with our emotions
his beard was already taking shape
one year of mourning marked by his son
it felt like a social gathering, looking out of
my window, how I had the best view in town
then, how the hospital below was excruciating
how his shirt had been covered in his father's blood
how he had not been able to talk to anyone
because he needed to be strong for them
how Dad had tried to bargain with his killer
and that image was giving him nightmares
he just wanted everything to feel normal again
a friend and neighbor
one glass of red
shoveling dirt until the casket was covered
his buddies were waiting at some guy's apartment
a helplessly sad hug goodbye
he smelled like Aveda, although I didn't mention it
how humans can walk and talk while dreaming nightmares
subliminal messages between the living and the dead

An earnest, sad face standing before me
guitar in hand, at last
I hear the words of a song
written one year before, but never sung
whose score on pages had been let go
to be caught up in the wind
and played almost imperceptibly
in the rustling and swooning of tree tops
Had he said these words to me
I would have known
I would not have been buried
beneath a doubt so heavy
that I was unable to sit upright
fears and insecurities sowing seeds of destruction
aware that all our laughs and smiles
were nervously reaching, like wandering vines
grasping for a place to climb and grow
Leaving meant his feelings could not bind him
so music and lyrics were given
although he burst into tears
and could not finish its entirety
lips tremors speaking “this is not goodbye”
But I knew it was
and I was stunned. Paralyzed. In disbelief
standing barefoot in my driveway
watching his sobbing face through the windshield
without enough sorrow to make him stay
I honestly thought he could not go without me
But I was wrong, I was left
numb, a walking zombie
hearing myself speak
feeling my face smile
moving about as if I were still alive
through the changing of seasons, workdays and holidays
until gradually I belonged to my body again
For years, this remembrance hemorrhaged
with tears from a cancer ridden heart
But now I exist  
on the other side

Let me be near you
In the comfort of your countenance
The wind softly swirling your tendrils of hair
Waves of sunlight land on your eyes
Almond shaped glow
Like a cat crouching
Beneath the bed
Measured movements
Measured breaths
Drawing surroundings inside yourself
Passing interpretations onto me

Let me listen to you
Blinking and shining our eyes locked in embrace
Speaking more loudly than the tongue
But making way for the tongue
Words that unite and ignite
Increasing breadth
Permission to hope, trust and believe
In this world
One more time
Lingering, holding the moment
Heart soaring from understanding

Let me touch your face
Graze the heat and texture that enshrouds
All that is you. Let me inside
Our spirits commune
Smile over us
Inviting
“Taste and discover!”
Who we have become
Who we are becoming
Recognition of this stranger
Stopping by on his way through time

I like how the air feels
when you are in the room
the atoms visibly assemble
as your soul and synapses
converge
the earthly and the ethereal
and I need it now,
the air you produce with your exhales
I need it on my skin,
through my pores
inside my ribcage
wisdom and innocence co-habit your face

you are pure running waters

raising humans above your head
like a homage to the gods
like the worship of cats in Egypt
your hands form a basin
to cradle my vulnerability
they safeguard the ethos of who I am
and exalt the who I want to be
you are inside of me
and together we are whole

the first time we passed in the hallway
our energies awakened
to the presence of a like spirit
it was that instant that you
became my friend
although neither of us knew it yet
a year later, mouths and hearts opened
empathy
spirituality
humanness
and humor
linguistic nuances and predilections
sing with ease and asylum
the enlightenment and
liberation of being heard!
for this, i vow my loyalty
years, miles, and actions
are inconsequential
here i stand
confidante
encourager
synchronicity
how much you have been
to me is fathomless
the who you are, is soil under my feet
your words breathe air into my mouth
your kindness anoints my head with oil

Question marks
tucked safely in their beds
this dancing in my eardrums
is disconcerting
collapsed into a light socket
smallness becomes smaller
vitality shrunk to a keychain pendant
time leaves track marks on my body
doors crack open,
watching me think
(please, turn off the light)
laborious trains of thought
off their tracks
shrink wrap over my nose and mouth
if I knew why
I would tell you

the empty glass of earlier red wine
is a temptress beside me as i sit in this chair
subtle sways of fragrance wafting
her beckoning calls out like a siren

isn't that just like a woman to do such a thing?

Glistening coffee eyes deeply
peering through mounds of rich, bearded head
disarmingly kind, evoking trust
the look of a sorrowful past, he
graciously smiled and unhurriedly spoke
taken aback, taking me seriously
“No one has ever asked for that song
it has never been recorded
I am surprised you even know it.”
For a few seconds we looked, but said nothing
for this moment felt somehow large
maybe they could play it the next time in town
a song of his brother’s fight to stay alive
we could not have known that in  
the months to follow,
“cures” would shear the head
of this Lamb too
and I would send his own words
back to him for courage:
“Pay no mind to the vultures
and the vultures will fly off again”
I wonder, if, upon hearing the news
he recalled this exchange at a bar in MN
and it gave him chills like it did to me

It is time
to
remember
to
forget
self
there
is
more
world
than
me
there
are
more
needs
than
mine
when
love
is
center
earth
revolves
around
it
is time

I hold your hand
but mine has no sensation
numb and heavy
it belongs to someone else
Horror stricken
at how this feels
I cannot touch you
I cannot want you
Any more
The elements of rope
that had bound our tails
as we swam to hide
from Typhon
have been torn
Forever
like the flesh of
my soul that had waited
for you
Only for you
even while I did not speak
secrets you should have known
my whereabouts clandestine
did you forget
that what happens
on the outside
is merely fog of a
disassociated self
I only become real
in the mirror of your eyes
and smooth awakening
of your caress
You were the one
to understand my world
but today,
after being apart for so long
I am still numb
even though you hold my hand
and I pull it away
as you cry and rage

Four years of hopes flung into the sky like clay discs
of a ***** shoot and foolishly, I think
that they are real pigeons with wings colored
in iridescent shades and cooing softly to me

“I am coming home.”

I do silly things, like clean my house, buy new
******* and his favorite foods. I push all other
men away and wait, so I won’t risk rejection or
inflict wounds by betraying this man who

does not even belong to me.

As the date approaches, the estimated time
of arrival becomes more and more obscure
like the day he left for California and never
came back. And the innumerable

broken promises every day thereafter.

“I won’t be here a year” he says. But year two
hides him safely in west coast crevasses. “No I
won’t come to see you” declares year three
“they confiscated my electronics,

I am not supposed to talk to you.

I beat myself in the head with a golf club, don’t
you see how much I love you? I am coming back
for you in year four; why didn’t you wait for me?
In rushing water I stripped naked  

37.83 N, 122.54 W and carved a poem

about us into a rock but I needed to prove that
I am normal, so I loved and ****** the autumn
haired girl. Why won’t you talk to me? How
could you hurt me this way? My song set

tells the story of you

but I cannot let you hear it because you have
abandoned me.” One by one, the hopes are
shot down, “pull!” cries his fears and erratic
behavior, because I broke his silent contracts

by moving on with my life.

How many times will I scold myself saying
that I never should have answered the phone?  
If your muse is tragedy, you must continually
feed it. Now is it he or I with the spoon in hand?

Mounded spoonfuls of clay pigeons.

Tonight,
the full moon was not allowed to delight me
despite my charming and persistent coaxing
she remained quiet behind the clouds
and my wine dripped slowly
on the outside
of its glass

the stars you swallowed
have turned into
a brain full of people
and own the sky
harmonious jealously  
ardent decrescent  
half -held constellation

you are waiting
waiting
waiting
suited up in your spirit of self-loathing,
eating a full helping of anxiety every day for lunch
mucking your ears with the wax of negative self-voice
making it hard to hear the whisper in stillness
as for me, I will live
live
live
even on those days when you can’t come along
I won’t wait for spring and every dream I’ve ever had
to happen before my heart can be light
before I can sing and exude sunshine
and if my warmth can open your tightly
closed bud, I will shine until we bring forth color
this exact moment will never happen again
our closets could be filled with maps
books and autographed vinyls
but if you put a picture in a ziplock bag
remember
the life in that bag already ran out of air
whether waiting for tomorrow or wishing for to-day
the only heart that’s beating strong is right now

my voice has no freedom
thoughts rammed down
a lion's throat, my
roars rattle like a spoon
in the garbage disposal

The aura of your spirit precedes you
Calling out insight and energy
It swirls around you, hanging above
Like a singular beam of light
And you tread on instinct;
seeing with your eyes closed
Universe amalgamated;
a conduit for its voice
And you tell the tales of your old soul
And you tell the tales of your purpose and journey
But a broken hearted boy haunts you
The one who ran away and no one cared
So you tear at your feelings
as they hold you under
Gasping for air in the oxygen of escape
But it wears off
It always wears off
And you forget how exquisitely you are made
But one day, you will make peace with the boy
And suture the bleeding holes in your heart
And the footsteps of this nomad will climb
to see how much bigger your world can become
and that some dreams are built very far from our homes
Because at this moment, living inside of you
is the energy that makes a good night a good night

Even though it’s new
the wires of your cage door
still rattle.
Cold inside, you demand
a constant 71 degrees.
Pop and techno
hit me in the face
like that puff of air
at the eye doctor:
                  jarring
distracting
                     slightly painful.

Peculiar keepsakes on display;
like that odd family photo
ridiculously large
lunging its welcome
from the foyer wall.
Your plump daughters wearing ringlets
and uncertain smiles
hang between your
arrogant head.
                                         You.
              Everywhere.
A shrine.

We sit outside with mixed drinks
you talk about your neighbor
the sushi king and how
this neighborhood
means you’ve irrevocably arrived.
Meanwhile, I am bored.
                Terribly

                            terribly
bored.  

You keep talking,
although I was not
finished with that
                          sentence
                  yet.

I am watching your words
drop like dead leaves
you point at them with one hand
and cover my mouth
with the other
But getting drunk,
laid, and rich
are not my super powers.
And I can’t dumb
my vocabulary
down
                        any lower.  
              

I turn to look
at the front door behind us
and nearly choke on the
claustrophobia
in my throat.
It’d be a really great offer
               if I didn’t have a soul.
Water from your lawn
runs down
the cul-de-sac
lined with desolate
         cages.
I escape to the driveway
where my gas gauge
is empty
but my wings?
My wings
              are fully extended.

A picture dangling from a tree branch
balancing me on the arm of a chair
I wince and want to look away
but sometimes force myself to see
a simple philosopher of gentle lifestyle
imploring, beseeching, under Broca’s collapse
can't you read the words in my eyes?
wait! please wait, for me to say it!
unceasing enlightenment worth telling
finally, he starts to cry, but he is smiling
and holding me, and he still smells like him
I read “Things I Learned From My Dad”
which is everything that has made me human
expected the whole world to think his way,
but it doesn’t, and he can’t talk anymore
#5, “bonds are built through conversation”
only, we speak with hugs and tears now
my arm around him, I read slowly, he nods
but does he understand? Explanations are
swirling dust in sunlight, silent fog attacks
my voice, why have I been gone so long?
I still look away from this picture, though I  
cherish its everlasting, like every word
he has ever spoken, and the sound of his
infectious laughter

i listened to the clever
words that you sang
watched you close your eyes
and strum your guitars
forgetting myself,
charmingly moved by
your poetry and cadence
yet the pervasive,
recurring thought
was how impelled i felt
to welcome our bodies
fervid collision
bury my hands in your hair
firmly seize your jaw
graze your  lips  
and kiss you.

i stood too close to the edge of the portal
silently ******* me into
it
surrounded by ghosts
so much singing a dizzying high
perspective grumbled and wrung me out
saying that dish is not clean
because you did not rinse it before
putting it in the dishwasher
what the hell did you eat anyway?
essence of absorption and deception
i dipped them in truth until they tasted sweet
honey unto my lips
all i could think about was the honey
the ******* desire to be slathered in honey
licking it off my own body
and his
while the wind tickles the fine hairs
inside my ears
can you hear the sound of self
disclosure?
forgetting anything other than captivating madness
that has not happened yet
there are still people around, I know because I
see them, barely

Some love can never
be destroyed
its color clings
to the backdrop
of our hearts
notes of its song
beneath a layer of paint

I would not trade one year of my life.
Not those requiring great caverns of energy
simply to rise and meet the day
nor those from which pain has burrowed
deeply in the delicate fiber of my psyche.
For every decision by me and others, each
grouping of words that have passed between mouths
every face that has touched or met my gaze
have left tiny autographs for me to read and interpret.
And I like who I have become,
observation, trial, success and error
all training my intuition,
I see her and trust her with implicit acceptance!
Guided by glory alive in sun and soil
knowing thyself is my greatest feat
I create my own creed with which to live by
a truth that is mine, and mine alone
no one can steal it, but contribute quietly
my teachers come in many forms
surrounding me in ways only I can understand
For I will live true to my genuine self!
recognize my gifts and use them for good
have intimate, meaningful and loving relationships
value human beings and bestow demonstration
learn always, my mind remained open
develop my character with un-tethered honesty
impact humanity in positive ways
embracing the present, in fullness and experience
because there is beauty every way we turn.
That I am alive in this moment is greatness
and wisdom begins with this realization.

“Here is the test of wisdom,
Wisdom is not finally tested in schools,
Wisdom cannot be pass’d from one having it to another not having it,
Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof,
Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content,
Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the excellence of things;
Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes it out of the soul.”  --Walt Whitman

My love is like a star
whose light continues
for an eternity
even after it dies.
Look up, it is still there.

Oh the gratitude! gentle easings into the day
bittersweet warmth of coffee on my tongue
i stare into the space of thoughts before me

an even greater warmth reaches out to me,
the kind realization that the ones i love are
sipping and pondering and contemplating

smile, i, at the morning community, welcome
impassioned melodies that awaken my soul
and brighten my eyes, oh! the gratitude!

the sun never fails to rise
i, yea we, are yet, alive

A jealous glass
of jostling waves
sits alone
on the bedside table
music
fire
lingered lyricism
of passions
mouthed
we own our selves
our bodies
and time
I am never more woman
than when you
are inside of me

Two cats were we, tangled together in the sunlight
drowsing in awareness of peace
and its war rising, with the proximity of our bodies

Oh heat of summer
Satisfy me
I welcome the sweat on my ******* and stomach
Warm and winding currents of air
Hold that thought and attend to my eyes
Spirits speak here
Surrounding we two
This is where they sell the things
That touch my god

i am crawling back under the covers
shivering from this injection of reality
the light feels as cold as the air
just close your eyes
make yourself forget
my bones are rubbing against each other
i am sure that something is breaking

diaphanous tremors
when my nakedness is not enough
to portray how bare i lay before you
create a signature in the corner of our art
engendered by the voices of our bodies
which sing liquid harmonies for 
the completeness in our honesty

comfort comes in many forms
scented soft garments against my skin
recollections of your kissses
your eyes, and kind words
audacious pronouncements of Lord Henry
mystic deliria of containing multitudes
melatonin and gilmore girls dvds
at last, sleep crawls into my bed
"i was waiting for you to finish your poem"
she says

The hobby is distraction itself
Aligning physical space with
Awareness
Four inches closer to
Goal number three
When the walking stops
Does it all become dull?
Even then would I construct
Another reason, if
There they were
The prints of your beautiful feet

I feel like you sometimes
as I flit about from day to day
cautiously touching ground
in search of a safe place to land
In search of the kind people
whose motives are gentle
and whose words can be trusted
“Come closer, I won’t hurt you”
Some of the most frightening
words in the English language
And the naive ones who
still believe in love
get run over
or batted about by a hungry cat
and left to decompose throughout
the remaining weeks of summer

Blindly letting "us" oppress my spirit
I have put my happiness
under your directives

But the sky has tapped me on the
shoulder saying "come with us,
this is where you belong"

Aura expanding, lithe and flowing
sweet gifts of elements,
divine exhales of summer

Grounded, reaching, floating upwards,
songs of widened pathways;
portals of endless blues

And I stroll through this world with
freedom eyes, and I think and feel
as one unencumbered  

If you want to find me, you must
let yourself soar, because I suddenly
remembered I can let myself out.

ever sit alongside someone you love
whose face is gaunt and body
is emaciated because her organs
are eating her own flesh
until there is nothing left to
draw upon and her
heart will stop
her lungs will cease
and she smiles at you
and says
my kids are going to miss me
do you still wear a size two?
are you seeing anyone?
you seem happy, i am glad
and you hold her hand
and take a picture
because any minute
she could be gone
and you keep crying
but you have work to do
and old people die everyday
but she is something special
to you
we are soul sisters
i tell her
and she agrees

There are streets and alleys
downtown Minneapolis
where force of wind
refuse me another step
lascivious, storming breezes hot,
syrupy, and summer-like,
plastered dress against bare thighs
gods of sun and moon
insist
their weight upon my body
and make love
wildly
throughout my soul

My aunt Ruth wore red hair
a deep smokers voice
and matte lipstick.
She would implore me
for a hug
at frequent family gatherings
where the women were loud
so I stayed with my dad.
One day, the women coerced me
to embrace, by scolding me
for being rude.
My young brain could not connect
my fear with her voice,
but Ruth knew. She also
knew she was dying;
you don’t say “lung cancer”
in front of the children.
If it weren’t for the voice,
I think I would have liked her  
because most people in my life
told me to go away.

Raw.
Real.
Elegant.
Ubiquitous.
Too afraid to plant gardens
In lower cases and capitals
Scent of rotting buds
Decompose in my brain
Sun and rain whispering frantic
Can’t smell the blossoms open
Too often haunted by their voices
Tongues of flowers left upon caskets
Books of poems shut inside

If I were a bird,
I would follow you
Along the spring of your step
Your hair bouncing when you walk
Notice the things that make you laugh
Hoping my tiny flutters
made you smile
and when you looked worried
or heavy hearted
I would sing you my song
and carry you away

Phone kept close
Watching the clock
Maybe somebody better
will interrupt
Darting eyes
Incomplete thoughts
Words bounce and ricochet
off the side of your head
Mix your messages
Feed your ego
Pretend not to notice
my wilting enthusiasm
Don’t text me when
the next girl threatens you
with conversation

My reflection in the window sees
me rocking back and forth
no corners or arms that feel like home
except mine
sickening comfort of isolation
worn wooden closet doors of the mind
clasped into lock by the metal eye hook
if a single tear escapes, it may carry my sanity
to be evaporated into the atmosphere
mist too fine to collect in a drinking glass
I hurry too much with my voice
stomach churns to create numb butter
so I rock, to make it think we are on water
being carried back to the place where
I feel magical again
don’t look at me until I do
because I cannot believe that you think I am beautiful

Love is supposed to set you free
I know this
Intellectually, I know
Chasing love stories and songs
Into blissful eternity
Crawling through the rabbit hole
Of my lover’s pale eyes
Puffy eyelids close down
Trapping me in
The moisture of tears
and bulging blood veins
Searching for exits in
Corpus callosum
These thoughts, those words, that smell
Don’t work
Neither does complaining
About who I should be
Generous anger poured over ice
Laughter covers the sound
Of eggshells crunching  
Make it through one more night
On the edge of the bed

The jungle of green betwixt our houses
Pulse with crickets lush with lullabies
I lie awake wondering why I lie awake
The gravel in my eyes beg for dreaming
At my feet, the body of my feline
Warm and purring, weighty
In this light my mind sails to places
Of dark skies
Those with blackness so heavy
You cannot feel your equilibrium
I hear thundering waves licking the skyline
Bold stars lunging towards me
The only hope that I will not be swallowed whole
I have hands to pull plastic bags off faces
That didn't even know they were there
I am convinced that my cat is bilingual
Recurring existentialism
Gives me reasons to awaken

we both like to go
where we last felt the sun
because eventually, it will return

That serpent fear
has slithered into
my stomach
and is coiled there
a dark, solid weight
secreting his poisons
digesting my soul
I swallow hard
to push him back
down
my throat where
he climbs and lunges
to remind me
he is still there