Most days they toss me rocks.
I open the door and they
show me The Desert.

chairs litter the stage
and I carefully go
pulling the thorns off each
one of my cacti.

'drum sticks for you.'
'did you need a pick?'
'try that sentence again...
without that word...'

Door slam. Louder than the drums.

And during that time,
I am aware of the danger.
But it's not the kind you know in the
***** of a blade against your neck...
It quivers on the surface of
my reptilian brain
like a polluting film.

I go on blithely.
dancing on the concrete
jiving for education
slurs rolling off of
me like rain.

it's any day, in the midst
of the early morning car ride.
tears slipping onto my scarf,
down, into the lip of my traveling mug,
that it comes out to
my Father.

"Sometimes I hate this job...
but then they talk a bout love songs."

it's professional roulette
from day to day-
whether this afternoon
the trapped souls
will hand me coal
or diamonds.

What will you
do with that gum
on your shoe
It's still
pretty good
mostly new

granted you
may get rabies
******
hep C
but since you
Opted out,
there's more gum
for me.

the thump of my
heart is
always in my chest
you would think that
with a rhythm like that
I could never feel
alone.
Well Science,
You're wrong.

bounce back
forward
still behind.
if it
was the right
hand, even
when it does
feel right
and the gut
says no...
when will
I know
if my
gut just
felt like
lying because
it just doesn't
want to
be
attached to me
anymore?

I can't read that smirk
or why you made it.
I don't know this
path.

You have inches on me,
in my heart
I need stilts

The inside-lion looks in
the mirror surprised
she is a
mouse.

the force of my wishes
does not make me

a commander

misfit toys, I'll
be your soldier

made out of tin
(because lead is ill.)

if you stop trying to drop me
out of the window while you're

playing.

Or I will need to start
wearing a parachute.

strangers often see
the most unfortunate parts
of bared hearts
stuffy noses
and baggy eyes.
they don't know
what you thought of
today.
whether breafkast
was toast, or
regret.
so when I
can read someone
Else's face.
like a book
on the second grade
level.
that will be the day
when I become like
prof x
and won't need to
play eye hockey
on the subway
anymore.

Something of a wasteland lately-
Only elbows, shoulders and ribs.
Tentative and soft about my navel
Yet, above my hips no camel can trace a
Path.
Drops in this desert are fleeting and often the bones
Of strangers get in the
Way.
People look at me now and
Don't know what
To say.

I don't write them anymore
I say I've lost my words
But in truth, they never left
Bubbling under the surface of my lips
Like sweet blisters of hope, confusion and rancor
I am really [only] a living dictionary
My thoughts like a river
My mouth like a hose
But you always say stop.
So they just sit, drying up
While I breathe through my nose.

Love as
an anagram
starts the
word-

Evolution.

Snow is falling-
covering up the memory of
Summer

I stand
in the sallow light.
shoes of Passed Days
upon my feet.

the knife of someone
Else's survival
clutched in
my hand.

wondering as I
run...

Will my Will be
enough to...

Get out of
here
Alive?

blurred hands
christmas present shreds
paper snowflakes on the floor,
anticipation- snap

next slide shows...
was it a woman- my aunt?
why was she carrying fruit-
it was late in the season

I remember,
placed on
the table, linen cloth
blowing in the -click

late afternoon, blue
sky cobblestones red
balloon. carnival somewhere
I was-change

only four
and in a life
I've never yet-
lived
before.

You were home once.
I was too, for a while
looking for the light left on.

and in my heart, in the
dark
the wick sat still
waiting to be nurtured into
flame.

I bathed it in wax and protected it
from the wind.
I waded through the storm.

open the box of matches, now.
get the logs set.

I see you standing near trees,
wanting for tinder,
straining through the gloom
calling that you're out and need
the oil.

as the twigs crunch under my weight
I hold my breath and beg you to
check at your feet.
for starters are numerous.

But you bumble in the dark,
searching for my face so you can
meet my eyes.

As I find your fingers, under mine,
willing to let the bark slip through
I wonder if you'd freeze,
if I didn't help
you.

the dance I do with
myself
somehow, deliberately stomping on
my own feet.

stopping just before the gap oh-
I mind it
don't mind if I
do pass right THROUGH it.

shoot the foot? I have holes
to the stars.

I could hang hooks on the wounds I've
pierced in my nervous little soul.

Confident bark, blink and nod.

"Padlocked and sealed," I'll say.

But through my teeth, raw, I know I'm just treading mud
and banking on the Gods.

How are you?
[no I'm not. I'm not. Everything is falling apart] Great!

Hi!
[I need to hide. hide before my seams split open] What's new?

How was your day?
[frustrating. brick walls. ice daggers. you name it. I need a tall building] Not too bad, yours?

How are you feeling?
[shattered. please don't...I can't] Sleepy, a little.


[bursting out. spilling. tidal wave of complete wrongness. ribs rattling around uncontrollable feelings. rage. throat tight. calves twinging. head spinning] Smile!

Could you-
do you?
really desire this knowledge?

Unwanted, unwarranted, personally, so I won't regift.
I'm not sure your ears  really want the weight of
it, anyway.

it's already been written myriad-
the elusive verse,  
felt numerous
by others
dimensions parallel to mine

it's why we do
it isn't
it?

but what of
the depleted word bank?
slowly drained like blood so
precious with only
silver floating plasma left
ethereal, just synonyms and
consonants still clinging
to the edges of the canister


what will I say-
when nothing else remains?

D is for dinosaur who walks in the rain
C is for canary. she'll never be the same
E is for eskimo

F is for functional - she feels quite insane
G is for girlfriend who is never to blame
B is for backboard I should have never came

M is for meeting he couldn't postpone
L is for license, or rent to own
P is for pretty

All of your Alphabet stepped out of line
couldn't arrange them, there just wasn't time
instead they're all jumbled- but it's gonna be fine
oh oh oh

So if you're spelling with plenty of vowels
means the wind's still blowing in, something's afoul
you're late to the blackboard, best just throw in the towel


School's almost over, this isn't a start
we've all got you, this won't stop your heart
Fall back and trust me, you won't come apart.

XY and W just weren't the same
after they learned that Q had stolen her name
the rest of the letters just did not care
That's why we're ending- so I'll just stop you there.

it is time, dear one.

to move ( no longer dally here.)
and stretch your legs into the unknown-
dangle your toes into chaos and
tickle the chin of change.

inch onto the branch of
choices and follies and casually
inform fate that she's got a nice ****

So spill your daring chant
roaring the words of a cowardly
lion as
you sally down this saffron road

no scarecrow here, just the winds of tomorrow

to tell us where
to go.

I can make my voice strong
but the truth of that falsehood makes my throat burn
I am losing ground

slip-sliding over gravel
boots into wheels and I am back
and that control
is not over you
and it's not over me

it's just lost in space floating
between my pillows
and my quiet thoughts at night

the balm that I hope I can bring by turning off the light does
not quench

sleep does not smooth and
the jolt of decisions overly made
hashed and delayed

has my existence catching itself at the door

I don't want to be human anymore.

I wanted to be different
to be able to
hold back somehow

to look like a different
world- a new
flower.

But I was still the
same. Inside, outside

You were like an owl
covered in wise
feathers, drenched
in sadness
licked with a coat
of happy
regret

All my heart
went into your
arms and I
fell down the
mountain again.

We've got
to stop writing
These Letters.

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...

underneath me
my metal river flows still

these are my scars
and you will not take them
away

I used to long
for an eraser

now I will slash at anyone
who will slash at me

double strike them
remove the metal

but you can't remove
the memory.

in my brain
there is a switch
somewhere
that I need to find
or my bathtub plug
at the base of my spine
to drain out
the full reservoir
of all this building
slop
tears, conflict
guilt, an angst
ridden moral chain
of knots that
is clogging
the channels
of continuation
for my life
path.
because if this
don't go soon
I'm looking at
you,
Lord.
And we're gonna have another
talk.

sharp lines work their  way
through my veins
run the labyrinth to my heart-
a spiky, futile, mercurial art.

where I dance in spirals unknown
pondering the number of steps down from my throne
crown of thorns, I'd never wear
rather, I dare Delilah to cut my hair.

plucked at the web, spoke you your lies
Atruistic voice, the most formidable disguise
my chameleon dance done, Exit Stage Left,
Dear little Psyche, still on the run.

I can measure my life
in lists of things I
meant to do.

The bullets, the stars.
numbers, arrows.
Musts, maybes and
Laters.
All there in
the wobbly print
of my 9 year old
boy scrawl.

If I circled it
did it first,
Will this guarantee a
different fork?
Wil  walk down
my to-do, to
Prosperity
If I accomplished
it all?
or
would I start
a new way
perhaps tattooed on
my arm

would I start , then
cllecting boxes
of regrets?

Every lists is
a promise I pretend
to make for
myself.
my Beautiful
False Paper Trail
for a productive life
assuredly.
not the one
that I lead,
At all.

there are new ones
but I don't know them
the way I do
know you
the words that
might offend
sayings, actions
that confuse semi-strangers
but are like
breathing, sighing and
blinking to
you, who have
often sat right
at the root of my
soul, interpreting
calls as they come out
and pressing your hands
into my shoulders
and looking
into my
mind.
they don't know
anything but
my outdoor
shell
and as I am
concerned
maybe they never
can
or would I
let them
or
will.

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.

it started
as a crumb
a shining
thorn in the
side of my finger
and grew
til abruptly,
on the bus
I looked around
unable to
breath.
startled
because
the memory of
you had suddenly
lifted heavily
away
from my
shoulders.

A string of diamonds-
it's not mine,
for I am a thief
plucking the jewels of Time

they rest on webs of cob
and grass
and trickle upon
the winter glass

but I need no gold,
nor silver spun
because I gild that which I touch
with the kiss of the sun.

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?

Dear Lord,

Please give strength to the failing, support to the unsure, rise up behind the legs of those who threaten to topple, and be the barrier between us and the wind. Grant us the courage to wake and to sleep, to breathe in and out, and to ask for help. Give us too, the courage to accept it.
Protect us from ourselves and help us reach out to others. Let us not cast judgment and be blind to our  faults, but let us look past them.
Help us to be present and help put us back together, so we can continue our work to put back together the world for You.

Amen

Sometimes I feel like a walking calamity.

sort of unfinished-
like a painting missing just that last daub.
Like a sketch instead of a snapshot.

I'm clothes that don't totally fit.

I feel ungrateful- often.
Smarmy and altruistic.
A vain liar.

the princess ideal is not for me
nor is the martyr

but lately I feel I wear both the dress, the cross and the crown.

Invisible stigmatas staining my palms.

Bearing everyone's burdens but my own.
When did I decide that was my job?

Who chose to put me in this role?

If I am in charge of my own destiny, why did I choose such a lousy one?


in the final fight,
I won't walk to the light. I'll brandish my umbrella for the storm cloud.

I've painted on the silver lining for others. They've eaten my words.
But this is something I cannot swallow.

Oh life- you bitter pill.

Am I a wanderer?
You would think
surmise
muse that
after twenty five
years with
myself I
would know

All I have
determined is
that sometimes
I lay awake
Like an alien
In my own bed
And feel the holes
worn in my feet
by shoes standing
too long
in one place

Maybe that's
my answer
or Maybe it
just scares
me to remain
where the
ground can
keep tabs
on me.

Because if
I do, then
Life can
Catch Up
long enough
to shake her
Finger at
Me til I
Cry.

She lives in

the shaky in-between-place.
the sigil behind walls.
the cracks through which
daisies spring,
where the
cold sunlight falls.

at night it's
the hardest
I turn to
your side and
trace the dent your
form would have made
sleeping here for
weeks, your hand
so sweet and heavy
on my hip
chest rising and
falling all
fluttering eyes and
dark hair.

at night it's
the quietest
the fan slowly whirring
as the dark deepens
and I can't
hold out any
longer and fade
only to wake up
confused because
you're still
not
here.

Eat your
words-
when no one
is around to
witness.
devour them
whole.
swallow your
soliloquy.
digest your
righteousness.
descend from
the lofty steed
and See
Spot Run.

6th period ends, and
my heart is full and hurting-
the honey ache
of knowledge departed
accidentally
but at the same
time-
Entirely Intentional.

The epitome of a New Teacher in an
Old Trap-
Blind, yet
leading the blindfolded.
distinguishing their candles,
then, Extinguishing them,
allowing them to walk in the dark
giving them permission to
feel the way.

In "Treatment",
Truth is found-
In the falsity
of the environment.
A globe as small as an egg
cradeling the daggers
of one entire county
Shaken, not stirred.

To dump, re-mingle, mainstream.
will they ever?
should they?
can they?
It requires more research-
Now-please turn to page 3 and read aloud.

Pain Perdu-
that's what they call it
Lost Bread.

Am I, the lone
pastry loaf,
stranded here,
among Raisins?

Hard to say...still.
may I have more
Coffee?

two sugars,
please.

don't go to bed angry
don't go to bed scared

go to bed strong
because the world's not fair.

The World: an enormous
place where nobody quite
fits.

as  I walked in white
in the gilded summer night

foot steps following
one heel, one heel
down the street
downtrodden
floating
detached
lost

a call came from
a wind maker on the street
a stirrer of emotions
a sorcerer whose only game
was that of creation

I watched the draw and pull
of the strangers into his
gravitational field

tendrils of invisible allure
wrapping around shoulders
ankles of passersby
as they froze
captivated by his moth-and-spider web
of alien, archaic sound.

in the aftermath
of my escape
from his forcefield

I sat on a bench
carefully attempting
to tuck the edges of my
being back
inside my body

so to join
the rest of the anonymous
collective fleeing
from  the ancient
difficult feelings
he had stirred
from the greater
universal melting ***

no longer recognized
in this
Cold Age of Chrome and LCD screens.

ring around my finger
your kiss it lingers

in your eyes and on my hand
watching me leave your land

standing out by the trees
cold autumn-threaded breeze

so far I'll miss you
I risk even this too

living apart now
trust our lives
to our art

when the toll's paid
groundwork, road laid

I'll walk the bargainer's path
we'll make it there,
and last.

I struggle against myself
folding and unfolding within my
skin
fighting my knuckles
kneading frantically against my
own bones.

fleeing from the reflection, inside
out.
harsh, harsher
underneath the lights,
and in my echoey head.

skin,  invisibly splitting with concern
swollen with responsibility
quivering against attack.

wet, rounded eyes-
sharp, sad, and big.
my face exploding in
the lines.
worry, hesitance, caution.

age old forehead.
teenage ankles.
baby soul.
Infant heart

so...
I catalogued it-

You asked-
sorry...Assigned.
here's the sheet.

name an event, puzzle through your own
tumbling thoughts and
show me the reason.

right here, line three
it was a bad day.

line four shows my
neurosis.

will laying it
all out be
the cure

the fixer?

I've made lists,
but no matter how many I make
for you

for me
the

writing is still
on the wall.

when I go
I will pull the shades down
fill the moat
with the requisite
piranhas
I will put on my
Alone
stare
and cup our little
glowing moth
in my palm
and whisper
to it
whenever
I'm sad.

too much on
my face I
want to look
beautiful
for strangers
but the
view in
the subway window
mirror is of
nothing but
sad eyes
just more
defined
by the paint
of loneliness

dead birds in my ceiling
tiny imbedded wings
they know who's laughing
and who refuses to sing

their beaks are listless
no longer in need of their eyes
their ears are long gone, past
so they don't hear the future's lies

dead birds in my ceiling
tiny imbedded wings
they see when I struggle
they see
everything.

it's cold

having tested the
boundaries of this
knowledge
my nose retreats
rough brushed felt
the most likely home
hidden behind the buttons of my jacket
and scarf
jam red, spilling
up over the collar
into the morning grey.

I squint up
the road past The
Rooster, down to the
bus hutch, barely containing
the  Asian nanny
with pink-hatted Precious

this bus is not for me
nor the next

I glance down at
the slip of paper
crumpled, dwarfed by
my mittens,
I thumb the coffee stain kissing
the blue of the ball point pen scrawl.

42.
was I even sure that
was a route?
the price?

no change chilling
in the pockets against my jeans
a bent fingernail against denim
reveals I've also
lost my pass.

8:58 now

maybe best to just walk.

what was I expecting?
that the meaning of life
would really cover my fare
on the next bus? the
self loathing brought on
only by subzero, interrupted by


the scratch of metal
on the concrete at
my boot tips

golden.
flat.
I have won.

that's more like it.
I'd rather travel by
glass elevator anyway.
If we're splitting hairs..

you can't tell
me anything, Universe.
I ask you
I ask you
I press the
fate button.
and you shut
your coy little
lips and say
no no
don't look
no peeking-
I'll just be
behind this tree
trust me, you'll
like it-
just take another
step forward.
yep, keep going.
But see, How?
how do I know
you didn't paint
a trompe- l'oeil
of a pit
just beneath my
toe tips
how do I know
whether I'll fall
into a cave
or wind up in
an office?
Just open
that door.
I want to
look into the hall
maybe peer at
your houseplants
the radiators
and doorknobs of
the future.
just some
spoilers.
then I'll
leave you
alone, I swear
I'll turn off
the lights, tuck
in and just
keep
walking on til
the end.

stay up with
me until
tonight is tomorrow
moon fading into a
sliver of
ice

opals on your
cheeks and cold
stars warm
from my hands

lie out under
the sky
keeping our
dreams safe in
whispers

the grass is
ours
and our outlines
can last forever if

we let them.