My gratitude is a girl in
a red dress.

I keep her in the palm of my right hand.

the wind blows, hard in her hair,
whipping it,
in the many directions of good fortune

but in my left,
the compass spins
with the magnetic compassion

of a broken watch.

and I fear my luck has
fallen bread-side up.

lost in poppies
the flower of Forgetful
slumber in
feathered fields of unknowing.

wander blue
into the cloud.
embrace the
soft plumage of
reaches uncharted
between cerebellum
and heart,

for the map is torn
beyond God.

Appologies to the spider
I crushed clumsily, by tracing
what I thought were the lines
of law.

make them to break them
bridges of bone
no way to even phone it in

if you don't save
the number.

Dear The-Way-It-Is,

You are a wall of un-change
a tidal wave of useless titles
a blast of helpless brick bits
a  futile hale-storm maelstrom of styrofoam hopes

this is the forecast I cast
throwing knuckle dice.
feeling it in my knees.

no carving out of entrails.

due to my extreme kindness
to geese.

my whole body is wanting  for your
cells.
wrapped around mine like
a straightjacket of warmth

I need the fingers laced
pressure of bones on bones
not in or around
but on
senses fulfilled
smothered
in the passion of closeness

but the miles are thin yet numerous
stacked upon each other
melted graham ******* bridges
fossilized seemingly breachable
but not

shoulders itching with the distance
tendons, muscle fibers to light
floating away.


your shape. It is missed.

I swim
through the ocean
of my own consequence
one I've  forged
with my own neurons and
feeble synapses.

I traverse
this plane
existing as I do by
the seat of
my own trouser legs
frayed edges show
only in the closest
of light.

I float
Backwards in my own
consciouness, my
existance a waking
moving riddle
my own eyes,
the eggs
on the skillet of
this reality.

this constant
cosmic breakfast is
a mystery to me...

Unable to cast off the cloak of the day,
the slide of satin and pillows, no respite.
Sleep is no haven-

In the dark, they swell my heart.
In the murk, the memories of others clang about
ringing, shouting.
skull echoing to capacity.

it ebbs and flows-
the small brooks of tears
I
scoop them up in my basket
throat full of osmosis emotions
specks carried home like fleas on
a host beast

You take me there too-
flash your refusal and fear
through my sleeping mind
dream bits splayed, smeared, crossed.
richocheting through my inner ear

turned to the wall, I
send out a prayer that
I will see all of you
after the night.
whole, living, safe
with open eyes
bursting with
rage, hope and strength.

But who knows the morning?