you have formed me
into ribbons of notes
sound waves flowing
more gracefully than liquid
becoming so large
i have swallowed myself
and nothing is left
of me,
but feeling
metaphysical transformation
emerging to float
levitation so light,
it transcends the weight of air
symbiosis, in hunger
and purity
set free
ambient auras transfiguring
our ephemeral realm,
cupped in its palm
reflections in the window
show not our clinging bodies,
for you and i have become vapors
translucent existence
taken over by our spirits
this, my love
is what i have been waiting for

accidental
collisions in the dark
titillation held softly  
like warm tea
in a porcelain cup
the curve of my hip
ever arches towards you
cool skin and warm touch
are my delectation

A wet, salty tear rolls down
Emotions climb out of their grave
Explosion of light inside
Spread and seep from my lips
Powerless to contain them
Gasping as they emerge
Given utterance, validation and freedom
"I am still in love with you."
Another wet, salty tear

A rudimentary grave
dug with bare hands
sculpted with lashing tongues
going deeper and deeper
until it dredged up
tainted water
now the grave
is thick with mud
but no less deep

Sunday morning
Light, warm and golden
One glass of wine, and Tori
Removing much more than clothing
Inhibitions, self consciousness
Falling to the floor
Dressed in empowerment  
The strength of woman
Long time family friend
Memorize my totality
Enshrouded in flesh
One morning, in May

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

hiding inside a locked gun cabinet
was the voice I hear
when I talk to myself
I could sip a writer's heart
his aromatic words pouring
corkscrew lies next to knives
keys, pens and dollar bills
guardless bold timid steps.

contact.

my breathing increases
to catch up with my heart
the way of not aloneness
in soulspeak
walking me home  
aurora borealis
or is it a normal human being.

The sun was shining and I was free and warm,
chasing little yellow butterflies
alongside the garden where my mother was working,
a source of food for our family
along with factory pay and Saturday night band gigs
with bare feet and lilacs I rose above it,
watching myself, a small child caught up in her world,
thoughts and music floating with purpose
uninterrupted wondering if there was another
version of me doing the exact same thing
at that exact same moment,
in China, in India, in Africa,
although I did not know the names of such places,
I knew the pictures of dark skin and brightly colored
clothing, from the Encyclopedia Britannica's
prominently positioned in the
bookshelf, center of our living room
and it seemed that I could feel the other “me’s”
that we knew each other and spoke via the
sound tunnels created by earth worms
and the encyclopedia girls seemed happy too,
simply to be alive, dancing to their songs  
yet there seemed to me another, quasi Diane,
this one not so different, nor so far away,
but she was beyond my grasp, and unable to hear me,
and I felt a vivid, deep longing for her,
eventually, after minutes of chasing, the butterflies
could no longer be found, remembering reality
I was sad for a moment, but I imagined that
one must have fluttered off
to that other little girl
through the hole in the air that I could not see
and I smiled, hoping she would be able to catch it.

You are forward motion.
There are no steps without your shadow
before, behind or beside me.
We are sun that reflects light on the moon
and in turn, the moon lights our paths,
the cycle of light creating light
like cycles
of love creating desire;
creating more love
creating more light
desire satisfied continual motion
even when we are still.
The words we speak  
form mist to pass through
by the moisture of our breath
shaped in letters and language.
Spaces we create
both expanded and enmeshed
by droplets of our waters
lost inside the body.
One body of water.
One body of light.
Creating passageways and shadows
in forward motion.

In this world we come in contact with many people
But there are some
                                    With the artistry of language

There is a kind of humor that only a wordsmith articulates
A kind of intimacy that only a metaphor can tell

A type of eroticism that the presence of its descriptors  

                                    Elicit transcendent flames

And the absence of its poetry leaves it ordinary

And there is something about those people who live instinctively
Knowing that their choice of words can

Capture an experience
Encompass an emotion
                                     Bring it to life and let it fascinate

And those people are my starlight
My still night and moon

Those people are my sunlight
My energy and ocean

They breathe me
Feed me

Surge through me
And identify me
                                      And I am drawn to them

By something bigger than myself, inevitably, we see into one another
Understanding the life within the bonding

                                      Is wordless
But would not exist otherwise.

I had forgotten
how sincerely
hard I tried

to make it feel true

Complete passion exists
in the poems I kept hidden

There is a fine line between enabler and friend,
my bed sheets are always covered with ash.
But this story only works for about a month
after that I’m just repeating myself.
My eulogy said I donated my organs
the day I was born, the day and died and…nothing
so she wouldn’t be ashamed of my wretched life.
But I’ve been feeding flies with embalming fluid for years
we’re all born with a death sentence, baby
I am not the first, and at least I made it interesting.
Hidden among chairs filled with the saved
are the tatted, strung out and pierced people
and three angry women in the front row, boldly
Loud enough to tell my mom it’s her fault
Loud enough to tell homophobes that I was bi-******
Loud enough to tell the church that I think god is *******
That preacher talked faster and over them
but I wanted a scene
because if anyone ******* really cared
they would want to know the truth that
my worth was not singularly seen in my art, and
that deathbed conversion was merely fiction.
Funny how my last hurrah on earth was yours, mom
my life story told by the uncle who
dispenses guilt dissolving pellets
and the born again preacher whom I never even met.
While my true friends raged and cried in their seats
waiting for an invitation that never came.
Was that song part of this big distraction?
Half the heads nodded in approval
but the few clenched their fists and shook,
and I love them for that
and for all the times they had my back.
For the time they tried to get me into re-hab
and the time they pulled my car out of the ditch in the rain.
Thank you for not pretending I was something you wanted me to be
for loving the good beneath my ****** scented brilliance
***-up passed out in the bathroom
crawling into strange beds.
Let that preacher say whatever makes you feel better, mom
with the message that talks about Jesus instead of  me.
There was more oxygen in the needle than in your womb
and we both know one air bubble can spell disaster
so save your breath for someone who doesn’t
hang crosses
around
already hung necklines.

i have too much
to offer this world
to be
an angry man's
trophy

You can tell me that you love her
and you thought you saw the
soulmate of your youth
while driving around
listening to break up songs
You can tell me that you did not
expect us to feel a telepathic
“i feel the same way”
“how the hell did you know?”
magnetic force of synchronized
brain waves and ferocious fondness

okay, those were my words...

You can tell me you just want
to be friends because you have
known her forever
but what is “knowing?”
subdued by candlelight and a
fourth glass of water, i am
tempted to be discouraged but
the truth is

i don’t believe you.

My inner child claims that she wants love
to be held and told she will always be safe
that she can sleep soundly
and no harm will befall her
but she has grown
and the acts for which she longed
can feel condescending
because she learned how
before she was 10
to take care of herself
and eventually
she liked it better that way

Make love to my whole self
Each molecule that makes me alive
Make love to my laughter
As your lips graze my stomach
Make love to my hurting places
Tenderly licking my wounds
Make love to my compassion
Hands gliding in discovery
Make love to my ideas and dreams
My body in surrender to you
And just as you have entered me
I have slipped inside of you
Passing through the blackness
in your eyes
Notice this
Feel me there
Don't let it cause you fear
Intimacy will heal us
And we won't be left the same

I have three clocks on three different walls
They tick in alternating rhythms
Unified, yet...not
Occasional cars in the distance
My old cat’s tiny snores
My floor boards creak even when I walk on tip toes
This space is as alive as my silhouette in the window
As my stomach rising to yoga breaths
As the stiffness in my neck distracting my comfort
Each sensation is peace nestled in my ribs
My body is held together by the pressure of air
I know the stuff of stars are within my veins
And are watching me through the branches
Over the rooftops
Into my window
Becoming my clothes
Growth and life await my free form
In this instant I emerge, and have been
Still, even wearing armor
Wisdom is not the same thing as protection
Return, return to the foundation of me
The songbirds sing every morning

A little girl barely fitting behind
the metal casing of the basement furnace
The wall feels cold through her t-shirt
and scratches the skin on her back
No one knows about her hiding place
Except the spiders that occasionally crawl
across her bare legs and feet
It’s dark. She tries not notice that it’s scary
Because it is quiet and it’s safe
There is nothing to stop her from existing
in the world she creates in her mind
That world has sunshine and loving words
Where she is pretty, like the girls in the catalogues
with dresses and ruffled underwear
Jesus carries her on his shoulders and tells her that she is special
So for an hour or two she is not un-bathed and unwanted
She will sit here dreaming until she falls asleep
Because no one will notice that she is gone

Behind the joy of fundraising mittens
Lies the truth, fear and delayed expectations
Pouring milk over cereal is hardly caretaking
Armored with semi
automatics and fruit roll-ups
Healing and unity are synonyms for
Denial
social appearance
and shifting blame
If not literally helpless, they pretend;
Your homelessness should not embarrass you
When you tell your cold son that this tent
is a blessing
They’re doing what they can
in spite of the circumstances
They voted for
warm milk
took money
And sabotaged
the guy
Who sees, knows and fights
I’m dreading
the well worn rationalization
and their refusal to be defeated
While white authoritarians
Drain blood from our hearts
Maybe Mom wasn’t losing her mind.

I should have been there
I should have said to hell with it,
I will believe!
in you, in me, we two will last eternal
THIS is our time
I should have smelled your hair,
known the layers
of dark waves that adorn your face
like the halo of a perfect celestial creature
yes, the stars themselves bore little bursts to knit  
together the incomparable exquisiteness of you:
elusive scientist
pretty boy
Apollo
you are magic, you are water in the shape of a man
perfect among both men and women,
a sensual mystery of sinewy limbs,
sculpted lips, eyes peering out like dark brown moons
We should have been there
in the songs of life upon the sun
your long, thin fingers interlocked with mine
my heart singing louder, our suns strum the music

oh how your eyes see me, how it feels to be seen by you
your words: I inspire your concept of the cosmos
and I am the only pure entity you have ever known

The last time I touched you, Oct 2012
instantly transported
held by you and fall skies
showing me wonderment, and taking it from me
convergence of our air mixed inside collective lungs
gentle, so gentle the demeanor of your form
permeation in aroma
muffins, tea, your clothes
your breath...
the unmistakable addictive scent of your mouth
bones pressed together, and I cried, with the words
"I still love you, you still love me
and that’s not my imagination"
we in agreement, that it would always be true
as long as the galaxies keep motion alive
My need to kiss you;
undeniable, unending, insatiable need
you could not kiss me back,
for the woman
who would eventually
give you a son
but you let me kiss you

You let me kiss you

and sent me on my way
trying, for the rest of my life
to turn everyone I meet,
into you

The pigeons and bunnies come close to me now
I am rewarded for my perseverance
I know what I know
Panic must not accost my knowledge
Like a shoplifter
with arms
full of *******
at Victoria’s Secret
The greatest impact I possess
Is understanding
wrapped  in a warm blanket

Games, manipulation
conscious agreement
I will look at you
through my window
Crisply snapping
freezing breaths
in and out warmer
still cold
I’m lonely
Or lazy
I cannot decipher anymore
The word “capable” floated among
Tea leaves
Capable of what, I haven’t decided
yet
I drink it before the water cools
No phone call
No email
Am I running out of time?
Oh yeah, I forgot to be grateful
At least I’m not the subject of a
****** documentary
Those things are brutal
Yet, I’m sickly entertained
Maybe we’ll care for the homeless this year
Sweet optimism from inside my house
My sofa
My blanket
My cat and TV
Is there meaning in wool and cotton blend?
It’s called home
home in a good way
Tinged with the flavor of innocence
Mmmmmmm
It smells delicious
And smell is 80% of our taste

Finding muscles I didn’t know I had
I sit on the carpet and stretch
God that feels good
Flexibility returns with patience
Oh yeah, that’s me
As I curve backwards
To touch my feet
My deep breath returns
Opening my heart
I meditate on ****** sensations
I am alive
Girl, do not waste your life
Sometimes the birds
Sing only for you