video stores, coffee shops, birkenstocks,
catherine keener.  i want to live there.

i've cut myself on
your keen tongue too many times

*but the blood dries quick

Two women.  A dove.
Barren trees.  A winter kiss.
Iced wings thaw in spring.

gratitude montage
crisis jesters love to death
passage of legend

a moment.  wordless.
lake ripples.  pastel sunrise.
ashes drift.  goodbye.

to be a star is
to be a lonely sparkle
crowded by darkness

your breath
over my shoulder

your voice
behind my back

these potions
bubble

these colors
run

your touch
whispers

your steps
murmur

these old eyes
can't see you

anymore

plain bar, plain white dress
     turn, turn;  can i see your eyes?
anything but plain

i think i'm going for something that is:

generally personal
and
monochromatically colorful
but
unaffectedly pretentious
yet
apathetically emotional
plus
elegantly ******
or
tastefully gaudy
despite
     being
crudely delicate,
idealistically realistic,
and
revoltingly beautiful.

red-and-white polka dots
float, twirl and fade across the floor
like glimpses of apples
through the falling snow

there was no full moon tonight. clouds covered
the stars and the only thing she could see
through the back door window was her own pale
reflection.  the red lipstick she wore looked
smudged in the contours of the glass. her son
was sound asleep upstairs and her husband
wasn't home yet. she was hungry and thought
she would sneak out for a bite.  it would be
quick, easy. a perfect dark for hunting.
she could change at will.  who needs a full moon.

clean light and sharp air
hills cloaked in brown, gold and rust
autumn in england

a walk in the dark
reveals the flowers that bloom
underneath the moon

sand flows
between my toes

i bury them deep
and lie back

let
the surging surf
close around me

feel
the sun's caress

taste
the salt

breathe

i am new
again

lovers between the rocks
on a remote part of the shore
with sand in their locks
and pain to explore

their skin changes hue
pink and then gold
before they vanish into
night's twinkling threshold

breathe in the colors of the city and
exhale into a steel morning.  taste warm
sprinkles of sun dust on your tongue as dawn
plays a flaming concerto.  the shrieks of
winter like a newborn's howl sail
above the frosted sands of an empty
coast as a vision of blackbird sirens
in formation, rippling like ebony
keys on a player piano.  this is
what it feels like to start over as the
longest song's final notes brush past your ears.

Floating gold
Blank skin

Electric wound
Air ablaze

Ashes in your eyes
Tears in your hands

The ship disappears
Beyond

Bob thought a therapy of regression
would cure his nasty habit of aggression.

He unearthed many childhood traumas,
repressed memories of unsavory family dramas.

The therapy worked, to some degree.
His demeanor was more pleasant, most would agree.

But he was never sure if it was all true
and changed the reality he once knew.

So one day he could take no more.
He regressed into a puddle on the bathroom floor.

and so it remains:
a child's gift left at the fence
ignored, unopened

i met a girl in the grocery store parking lot
i could tell she liked me an awful lot
i felt like a real winner
when she invited me for dinner
but now my toes are boiling in her ***

a brand new ceiling fan was installed in
my bedroom with an apartment upgrade
and as its hum whispers me to sleep, i
wonder if my dreams drift up and get pushed
around the room and out the slightly cracked
window and carried by the summer night
breeze into another open window,
only to melt inside the sleeping brain
of someone else, filling it with faces
and places otherwise unknown to them.
and then i wondered if my fan pulls dreams
in the cracked window, so i pushed it closed.

snow globes on a shelf
one for every emotion
which one do i shake?

Clifford was having a tough year
money was tight, couldn't get in the clear

by the time it was autumn
he'd reached rock bottom

nowhere else to turn
and nothing left to learn

he decided to consult
a man of the occult

who sent him on a quest
to help him manifest

the riches he desired
but it all backfired

now there's demons in control
asking for his soul

all because he messed up the spell
and opened up a back door to Hell

your hands are doorways to my home.  take a
look inside.  dawn spills into the hall, onto
the wall, splashing across pictures filled with
yesterdays and naked space left over
for tomorrows.  time pulls and pulls, stretching
and stretching until the shadows are so
long they cover everything and all light
has surrendered and retreated in shame.

she said she didn't want to get old as
she danced in her red and white striped sweater.
i thought, "your eyes are young" as i looked down
and tried to keep the beat as the music
erased the seconds from our minds until
they passed like secret, unspoken whispers.

looking in the mirror he thought
when he wore his checkered suit
he resembled an unfinished skyscraper.

after the disastrous meeting on the 61st floor
he skipped the elevator
and took the stairs all the way down
until he was huffing and puffing his way
onto the sidewalk.

he took off his gray checkered jacket
and let the rain sculpt his brow
and carve through his fingers.

thoughts grew lighter
with each slash of watery wind across his cheeks.

soaked on the curb,
he knew he must seem pathetic
to the sinking eyes of passersby,
but he was calm.

content to be
a soul

under construction.

winter dreams of spring
dreams of summer dreams of fall
dreams of winter sleep

a walk in the colorless city
shadowed by charcoal clouds

a dahlia hangs over the sidewalk
loose petals tumble with the rain
littering scarlet spots
into the black-and-white air

as the feel of your fingertips
cascades softly through
   my memory

music fills a room
like a heart fills up a chest

listen.  breathe.  listen.

he left the floor first
and she danced on, until her
final note was played

looking at the trees through a hole in the
ceiling as i feel a breath of air from
a dream i had where your skin was warm and
was it really a memory i don't
know because it felt real in dusk's half-light
before sleep pulled me away from time and
into a bed of leaves where there is a hole
in the floor that i'm afraid to look through

dead leaves in the pool
half-floating crumples of rust
waving, waving, wav-

a desert wind blows over waves of sand,
carving new shapes and shadows.  and you don't
look at me with the same eyes anymore.

the sound of a distant hymn sails to me
and brushes my ears, weaving between a
rush of wind at my back and a splash of
stream at my feet.  it's late afternoon and
the sun is long, a sprawl of passionate
gold sheltering the ripples of grass.  i
don't know where the church is.  i can't see it
from here but maybe it is a small white
one with fresh paint shaded by a giant
oak that adorns the roof in red and brown
as the light of summer fades into fall.

drowning in the leaves of summer
when past loves are like attic ghosts
conjured from blood and sunlight

air sticks to your tongue
and the moon rises late

then the night breeze blows in
and flutters the sheets
as you flow downstream

under the leaves

A dream box key
In the captain's desk

The piper's mutiny
A locked door

The lifeboats burn
Orange dots on black velvet

Listing
Listing

Pressure groan
He sits

Door bulge
Spray

In the drawer
In the drawer

Exploding torrent
The dream box opens

colors come in waves
moonlight steel drum reflections
*** lips.  fade away

behind her tear-soaked eyes,
a fresh memory as she slipped off to sleep:

with pink hues in the clouds,
she stood before the mouth of the night
there wasn't much time
before the swallowing of the light

so she ran to the waves
dragging her buddy, tracks in the sand
a chill and a splash as
the ocean leapt up and emptied her hand

he was ratty and ragged, but
stitched to her heart and stolen beyond reach
a lesson in letting go
on her first day at the beach

everything's fiction
everything is non-fiction
everything's fiction

eyeglasses nestled in the fluffy snow
frosted, with a single crack
bouncing winter sun off my tarnished window
a glint of hidden history from below
it sent me on a journey way, way back

a memory of reflected light
off a tree lined lake where i swam as a child
all day until the moon gave birth to night
and the sky was black with pinholes of white
a remembrance long ago filed

delivered back to me by a frozen emissary
whose lenses are no longer fit for eyes
whose rounded frames are a bit ordinary
but found one final way to be visionary
as a door unlocked by a cold, powdery sunrise

we are good as friends
probably bad as lovers
but i want you still

clicking tap shoe echoes
through a hall of mirrored stages
a million miles of sold out shows
fill his worn out pages

the book is near complete
the curtain is descending
his ears know no defeat
for the applause goes on, unending.

grizzled sentries pierce
curved blue ceilings, watching a
blooming floor of souls

Black dress drags
Through the mist

My hair sticks
My cheeks sag

My hands quiver
My legs groan

Soft eyes
Inside

Dew drops
Stained skin

I miss you forever

from the nothing place
spontaneous combustion
but was it random?

i started the morning like a champ by
spilling grape nuts all over my kitchen
and i don't know if you've ever done that
but i wouldn't wish it on my very
worst enemy because apparently
loose grape nuts are indistinguishable
from shattered glass when you step on them with
bare feet and i know no matter how good
a job i do cleaning it up there will
always be a random grape nut around
and that made me think about whoever
lives in this apartment next will wonder
where the grape nuts came from and that puts a
smile on my face so i guess that means there
is in fact balance to the universe

gust in the hollow
february breath
snatched

he woke up, put on his mask and costume,
and left for the halloween party.  it's
very big, you see.  everyone is there.
every single day.  no one misses it.

her purse had a large gold clasp
sweaty knuckles, she gripped it so tight
keeping the key to her heart's hasp
in a blackened place, away from the light

self-defense was her way of life
that no one else could really know
for emotion is the invisible knife
that can cut with the simplest "Hello".

old phone receiver
cord curling from the damp ground
a scratchy voice:  "help"