I am a bee
Hiding in the hard skin of a wasp
Living like a lying ghost
Among the ascensions, the decensions
Of their paper nest.

Born in a honeycomb
I wonder when life became
Less like honey and
More like venom
To me -
I was designed to fail
The moment my wings grew
Too small for my furry, fat body -
Maybe it's just Mother Nature
Telling me what I'm meant to be.

Had I tear ducts I'd weep
Alas I can only pretend morning dew
Is my sadness collected on a blade of grass,
For I fear these angry, swarming creatures
Will notice I am not like them
And then will prey upon me
Until they rip me open
And my dust will spill out
Until I am nothing
But sinking motes of yellow and black.

Mother Nature, in her infinite compassion,
Laughs.

Mercury beading
Like a silver bracelet on
On my dripping wrist

Had I been human
Maybe I'd cry instead of
Slice my metal skin

A bundle of wire
In place of a beating heart
Can't be made of iron

It has to prevent
Itself from rusting away
Like everything else

Dear God,
Dear Alpha and Omega,
Dear Lord,

I'd like to say I'm too smart
To believe in you,
But the truth is
I'm confused enough to talk to you,
Even though I know you're deaf.
I suppose I should have learned sign language,
But how hard can it be to press my palms
Into a flesh cathedral
And whisper my silly questions
Like prayers
Inbetween my fingers,
Webbed with stained glass profiles
Of your wife and mother?

Apparently I need a rosary,
But I've never been too keen on jewelry,
Or water said to be holy,
It looks pretty **** smooth to me.
You wrote a book, at least that's what
I've been told; best seller, millions sold
But how much does the editor change around
Until your ideas are stripped to their skeletons?
Just pretending you were listening
Was enough for me,
Whose as blind as you are deaf.

Your silence doesn't cut it now,
Now that I'm old enough to tell
The difference between
Someone who can't hear and
Someone who can't listen.  
I know which one you are, sir,
And I'm unimpressed -
But still I talk to you,
My words slick with shame.

Superman is more reliable than you,
And everyone seems to agree
He's the idealized fiction,
And you're our savior -
But what kind of savior treats us like
Kitty Genovese, screaming for help
Only to have her salvation listen to her die
Behind closed doors?
I hope you know what you're doing,
Because we're made in your image,
And I sure as hell don't.

I guess, out of all the questions pooling
At the tip of my tongue,
I'd ask you to answer only one:  
Why do I insist on wasting my breath?

Sometimes I fear,
When looking up
At the leaves of my family tree
If I'll be just like them
As time unfurls me.

I wouldn't mind so much
If I was like my father,
A dry, cracked sun
Barely there but still attached,
Staying long after the strongest gusts.

My mother fell off
And was raked up,
So I'm not sure what kind she is.

My new mother is an oak branch
Grafted to a birch tree -
It's not always easy
To support what she gives, wants -
We aren't people of substance,
But with her we might just be.

I'm scared I'm like my sisters,
Full of holes and layered in eggs,
Shiny maggot pearls waiting to devour them
Until they are nothing more than outlines
Of something once green.

I was my brother once,
A bud adored by those who see him,
And unnoticed by the bees.

Walking in the damp wood
I see forests of families.
None like mine, yet I can't tell any apart;
For all have broken branches, buds,
Green, golden, dead leaves.  

Yet I know the shadow enveloping me
Has been cast by my own family tree.

People always ask
“What color am I?”  
But what they don’t know
Is that they don’t really
Understand
What it is they are asking.  

Color isn’t a word
Or a notch
Spinning on a wheel.  
It’s an experience
That leaves your
Lungs useless.  

Pale sunlight
Swimming through late morning
Dust dances,
Beams of wheat rays
Enveloping everything
And nothing.  
A robin sings
And the yellow
Black-Eyed Susan’s sway,
Their smell twining with fresh daylight.  

This is nothing
But a moment
Unnoticed by most,
And cherished by the rest.    

Leaves fluorescent
Against the sky –
An expanse of crème,
Thick and white,
Fringed with grey –
Quiver in the harsh breeze.  
A bee droops in flight,
Landing in a dull, red poppy,
While petrichor drips from the clouds.  

This is nothing
But a moment
Unnoticed by most,
And cherished by the rest.    


Empty shadows,
Dancing on damp brick walls,
**** up soft lamp light,
Which highlights the rain –
Dark, indigo prisms of opal –
Shattering against the uneven sidewalk.
Baths for ducklings grow,
But  they are used only by busy shoes,
Black and polished,
Slueshing right through time.

This is nothing
But a moment
Unnoticed by most,
And cherished by the rest.    

If you were
A color
You would be
Pale sunlight,
Fluorescent leaves,
Empty shadows,
Because you are far
Too complex,
Too beautiful,
To be constrained
By a rainbow.  

You render
My lungs, my heart, my head
Pointless.

People always ask
“What color am I?”  
But what they don’t know
Is that they don’t really
Understand
What it is they are asking.  

Color isn’t a word
Or a notch
Spinning on a wheel.  
It’s an experience
That leaves your
Lungs useless.  

Pale sunlight
Swimming through late morning
Dust dances,
Beams of wheat rays
Enveloping everything
And nothing.  
A robin sings
And the yellow
Black-Eyed Susan’s sway,
Their smell twining with fresh daylight.  

This is nothing
But a moment
Unnoticed by most,
And cherished by the rest.    

Leaves fluorescent
Against the sky –
An expanse of crème,
Thick and white,
Fringed with grey –
Quiver in the harsh breeze.  
A bee droops in flight,
Landing in a dull, red poppy,
While petrichor drips from the clouds.  

This is nothing
But a moment
Unnoticed by most,
And cherished by the rest.    


Empty shadows,
Dancing on damp brick walls,
**** up soft lamp light,
Which highlights the rain –
Dark, indigo prisms of opal –
Shattering against the uneven sidewalk.
Baths for ducklings grow,
But  they are used only by busy shoes,
Black and polished,
Slueshing right through time.

This is nothing
But a moment
Unnoticed by most,
And cherished by the rest.    

If you were
A color
You would be
Pale sunlight,
Fluorescent leaves,
Empty shadows,
Because you are far
Too complex,
Too beautiful,
To be constrained
By a rainbow.  

You render
My lungs, my heart, my head
Pointless.