recycle that word
you were a 'the'
now you're a 'now'

I couldn't file away
'stop' yet
because I knew I would need it
later.

I threw out 'wait'
Yet I saved 'stop'
I guess in some ways
they are kind of the same thing

now the page is open to
'help'

what do I?


and no matter how many times I
try to shred
"wrong"
"I"
"were"
and "mistake" they
keep coming to the top
of the pile

but you're syllables
not tea leaves.

And lucky for all of us
I'm not a fortune teller.

I always just...
stop.  stop this now.

You made the hole
you took the shovel
and you made the hole.

You bought daffodils
you took your time
you dallied you
thought this day
would never come when
you would have to
grow up, face the
sun and hit the
wall.

You asked for them
to let you,
fall, thinking, hoping
that you were never
going to be the
kind of person who
tumbled.

as if you
were special, were
different from the
status quo of other
quarter century
beings lost in
a crowd of crows
picking at the
remnants of a hopeless
future,
after the crops of
university knowledge
failed.

and now, in this
coffee shop where
you wait for
tips, you remember that
you once wished for
anything but
the tracks you
were in.
the ones for your
career, that you were
so weary of.

before even
starting.

no more words
I quit
no longer saying
the right thing
the stranger who says
excuse me fix
my child
that’s it.
you do it you
solve their
problems.
file it all
lock it
up to be
checked out
by someone else’s
savior
because I’m
done with
being your
solve-the-trick
einstein florence
nightengale mother
theresa
failbot.

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 1:15
you could be asleep
so I don't want to call-
and wake you

or maybe you're lying on your side,
restless.
imagining the quiet form of your
other part
while I sit in state
and do the same

our fingers waving over
the sides of our separate beds to grasp for
the phantom warmth from a month past-

one puzzle piece in the north
another in the City.
there are holes in our existences
that we  can't seem to fill
without both our shadows pressed together

I see our future-
the promise of colours,
jokes, clasped hands
and ***** dishes
So full and ready to be picked ripe
off the tree

but on the other side of the glass
the window's not yet
primed to be broken
Impatiently you hammer
perturbed, I tap.

'Please', I pray.
let them make spider cracks
so I can just
reach you
halt this nonsense,

and be with my Love
again.

we walk alone
our heads down
our pens in meadows
that no one else
has ever explored

we look upward
eyes towards
cloud formations
only known to
giants and gods

If we cry
the water nourishes
our paper, fuels
our muse
and sprouts seedlings
from the hurt.

But when we
die, our page falls
silent.
And this is why
we must always
Keep On.

Keats,
This is For
you.

Seriously?!

I'm a ****...

Wait. No you're not. Hold on.
I can't find...
I can't find my *******. Help me look.

blankets flung.
nothing.

You're...
you're laughing right now?
How could you not?


Can you see that
we're standing in a
giant pond of
ridiculosity.

a glasses lense
popped out.
hair a nest
of invisible
rodents.

his belt
all askew worried
face pursed
lips.

shirt tails- a crumpled
facade of the pressed
summer evening shadows
outlined behind
the lawn sprinklers from
the night before.

and in the cab
to work
phone almost
dies. 37 degree damp
heat pressing
against the car
like a monroe-type
kitten from the
50s.

the morning world
bustling awake
the driver asks
'you work this
afternoon?'

shake my head 'no'
slowly working the
knots out of my
hair

brace for the last
day.

And I'm
still missing
my underwear.

what.
And then I
said...
Oh do you?
Nod, that.
sip the
tea, eyes
wide you
agree with
everything
she says-
that is
the way
you rent
your ears
to a
friend.

outside of myself
currently.
smoking a whole
cigarette in the icy night
pretending to Be.
The shell of
a woman wearing a grown up
coat doing the rules-
paying the dues of
a liar with a book,
a quill and a crown.
the liquor holds my lips
open and-
I feel hollow and full
in my head...
and I wonder where I'm
supposed to be.
and am hoping that maybe in this state
I will be able to tell
myself the answer-
since I'm telling
all,
Anyway.
My hair smells like
ash,  my fingers cold on
the filter.
The stars are too clear.
I should probably...

reality snaking in
to remind-

I'm
getting too
old for this.

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 heard your voice on the radio
Today I
Knew I really should have kept
Away it's just the memory
Of  how it cracks.
Could almost forget what the
Real you-
Lacked.

Love is a whip
and life but
a flogged target
plump cheeks rosy with
regret
Anticipation
and defiance.

fate is the grease-
and the fire

And we are feeble
wicks
thus, as the candle flame
falters and spits-

I grow afraid.

I'm at the
last train station on
the line.

the trains here,
they turn around and
go back
no matter which
track you pick
they're both going
the same direction

I wonder if
I pick the left
train,
whether my ride will be
smoother.

are the seats softer
on the right?

if they go the
same direction,
is it the same
destination?

Parallel
to  converge later
and unite?

perhaps the
one time...

in Time...

that which
fork you take
really doesn't
matter at
all.

so instead of
being a dead end,
maybe it could be
construed as

a Miracle.

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.

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

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.

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.

Cellophane sits
On the edge of my
Teeth.
Stuck, see- through and
Set.
Feel the old sludge of the
past
Try to
Forget.

I could never
write well about
the city
as if the place
completely rejects me
from the surface of
the sidewalk up
like it reaches inside
my brain and says
no you don't match
you just keep your muse out of
here.  she doesn't have the right
boots.
and to them I say
I will keep the green inside
til I can fly again
in a field
grass making
my back itch
the smell of everything
that lives in
my nose, tickling my temples
and reminding me of
where is
really
Home.

I don't want to
be her again.
She was so
lost.  
And now,
Wild like a wind,
bashing against grass.
useless like weak rain.
Without her books
without her home
and very close
to losing her
heart.

There are cycles.

My pattern.
Two and fall.

and Some.
and Days.
and Now.

Here I am.

Again

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?

you might be
'oh yeah?'
in a poem,
I said. with
the lights flashing
by, not
the cops but
a sign
proclaiming
something about
shoes changing
red, red
green, red, switch.

the things
that come out
came out of
my mouth,
I hope they
don't fly
back in.  
'cos
I just
may
want to
keep
those
golden eyes
for
a while.

miss what it wasn't,
[little dreamer]

forget how it happened,
[little liar]

focus on the Forward,
[little prophet]

but don't discount the After.
[little lover]

the speed parallel of Me-These-Days
is the blur of sun
and the slide of cold night.

and they taunt me, those stars
as they wobble on the wall
and the shadows tumble in my sight.
under my lashes, the darkness grows long

in my inside out mind
in my upside down heart
learning to love lose and forget you
is this flawed art

I have to work to remember
and struggle to stop
shutting my brain down
like a tapped out beat
cop.

I never liked
the way the puddles
felt, soaking my shoes
the icy pull on
my socks, the squelch
and the chill around
my ankles.
never trusted the
protection rubber boots
could give, because for
me they always sprung a
leak. and when spring showers
came, over the tops of
my cuffs and onto my shins
spat the water that
makes flowers weep
and bring forth more children.
but for all that rain...
my toes never sprouted
nothin' but backwards steps
into the wind.

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.

Sometimes,
I believe I can draw.
Really the
skill,  it sits
in my genes
like a bear.
Only spring
comes so rarely...
when  I have
a pen
and the page
a disguised cave
where my creativity
yawns, looks around
then goes back to sleep.
for another Season.

a thousand
invisible lines
every time we
have to speak
don't fly out
of my fingers
"how...
are you?"
"are you...
eating"
Do you sleep?
Do you miss
anything about me?
all the words
that I can't slip
into your mental
pockets
no notes
with little
stars
stick figures
of cowboys
climbing door frames
I want to ask
about the ipod
I stashed under
the coffee table
but instead I
feel this leave
my lips
"yes,  Ok. It's
fine....
goodbye."
And just
like that I
backspace my
mind, delete
the syllables
and just try and
concentrate on
writing off
the way I'm
not supposed
to be feeling
about
you.

there's something about
'****'

not scatological.
the edge.

the sacred,
bitter, hit.

deliberate.

of someone saying it,
spitting the
syllable-

while wearing a stolen
black leather jacket
and red lipstick
stubbing a cigarette
and cursing sideways at
'men and their...'
back handedness.

from an artist's mouth...
maybe a woman's...

but the taste
it's like metal

it always cuts-
just right.

Snow is falling-
covering up the memory of
Summer

bones stacked up like
soldiers
in a living grave
you removed our bullets
Please,
loosen the bandages
for our breath
still stutters,
oh Great
General.

Where will you
refuse
today?

will I find
it in your eyes?
pupils widened against
actual rejection,
wildly seeking some small
life control

in the clench of your hands
gripping your seat as your
sneakers kick out

or will I distill it in the
frantic voice-
I'll smash you with
my will if
my fists don't find
you first

in your body
I see you carrying all
the weapons you can't
toss.  an arsenal of hope
I wish life hadn't forged
but I'm not the one
that made it so.

So you take that feeble
power and just keep saying
No.

Drove my sleepy heart...

Today, all I could give you was coffee

but you've already got more than that,

when you're ready to wake up.

Things that are dead
Vegetables
Fall.
So many ants.
We give and take life so
Frivolously.
Barbaric in our uniformity.
Mob mentality
House flies are a game.
Cut flowers, Christmas trees.
Beef in cream sauce.
A culture of mundane murderers.

It's ok.
All the kids are doing it.

I ache with Alone
we are hand in hand

empty to the bones
the lines I can't leave
on the surface of my
Maybe skin.

Sorrow is the hood
with which I cloak my ears

All I do now is
wait for the Rain.

Open
Then, shut.

vital *****...
closed for
repairs until

further notice

These are my hands
not yours.

You had them on loan
and I
am taking them back.

These were never;
your lips
your heart
your soul

But those were
your words

And now,
You've taken them
back too.

up down
and sideways
she falls Alice
in the hole
but there are
no jam jars this
time
she, not
running after
a rabbit
but a little
box of treasures
a flutter of
sweet memories
he flung down
into that space
for her to
catch
only when
Alice lands
with that thump
we will
replace the dry
leaves with
spikes of
the nasty kind
carved out
of the sort
of hurtful
sayings that
you just never
can take
back.

You just can't
compete with
**** Me
boots.

The leather-clad calves
that
whisper "come to bed...
I promise so
many touches"

Cardigans merely dictate
"shoulders maybe...
You  so much as peek
at my
collarbones, and you're
done for,
Mister."

Spoken -
Maybe I would
tease...

"Try only,
to kiss
my cheek
because I'm
on the
boring bus"
(and especially
in your Chamber)

Or so you
would suppose.

But inside this
sweater, I'm
a *Butterfly.

when sinking
you make a redundant buoy
a faux bolster
the worst kind of cushion

the water boy [woman]
for a fake league
where the points don't
necessarily matter.

but even if you can't
reach the top of the
board, you still have
to accept the apple and
leave it on your desk

because christopher columbus
has started to
run out of ships
so now it's your turn
to start claiming
land

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.

I don't come here often anymore.
I can't.

I  have grown to loathe the walls.
And the paper has faded,
just like the boards-
scratched, ugly
with flourescent
and no longer soft in
twilight.

I used to love
this place inside.
the notebook cubby of
creativity.
where my pen made
me beautiful.
An ego stretched and bared like
a bathing goddess.

But now I have lost my tongue
unable to translate fabric to
dress
and show my life, standing upright,
in verse.

Lyric hubris.
the Muse taketh away

Poet's curse.

Unspeakable yet bursting on my tongue.
Keeping slow poison in my heart and knowing the map to potential misery I hold.
My feet steeling themselves for the treacherous path that I still only truly know.
[It's...]
The frozen moment before the window breaks.
[That...Knowing ...]
This jagged rock lies in my pocket--
everything that touches me feels as though it's about to shatter.
The false illusion that I can protect anyone from sadness.
I am  the eye of the storm.
An epicenter of grief.
Ripples in lava. But alas.

I have become Pompeii.
And no act of Earth
or sky can stop this.

So forward march,
And away we go.

he is four legs
sees the world
by everyone's
knees.
a soft
saliva-coated
existence,
measured in pants.
governed by rough-hewn
kibble
Not sure I
would wish
reincarnation as a
dog.

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.

I just wanted
to write a poem
that involved the
phrase
"Dive Bar"

already have
the shoes.

time to
buy the
glasses.

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.

I'm in my own
Glass house

We cast the stones
we all
Cast The Stones
spider cracks
at first.  and I
can patch those
I'm a pro

then a dent
we'll go to Windshield World they're
the
best

And when the whole thing just
shatters

you'll sneer-
Well, why didn't you build a
castle?

and I'll reply simply,

why did you cast the first
stone?