I had a boyfriend.
His name was - well, I can't tell you.
He came into poverty of spirit - like the rest of us.

Jesus!  Who left us here!
We looked around.
Didn't recognize a thing,
which was why
we congregated, delicate souls together,
following one another around.
We recognized each other,
our sense of loss,
what was meant to be.

Like a dutiful pup
returning a dry stick,
we tried to make a go of it,
struggling against all hope
to navigate our way through
unfamiliar
hostile
landscape.

In the end,
it was not enough.
So sad.
Little did we know --
it was all just a game
and we were the pawns.

Far, far beyond the universe
could be heard tittering
teacup laughter.
Massive,
caliginous clouds
bowed to the sound, and
scattered,
foiling
their resolve
to wreak havoc.
In their wake,
a breath of dampness escaped,
a blessing.

The dry stick
has been planted.
Tiny outstretched
green buds
beg to be noticed,
nurtured.
Maybe we can make this our home
after all.

you just sit in
the bottom of my heart
like you belong there
leaning against the
hollow cave
one leg thrown over the other
hands locked behind your head
relaxed
whistling an airy tune
just like it was
your living room
and i was your house
i carry you around like this
all day
every day
and you
smugly
refuse to leave

I got dumped
by you
the only guy who I ever believed
really loved me -
how ironic.

I got talked into you
by you
despite my reluctance
despite my misgivings
despite all of my contrived logic.

We rode together
in carriages
and walked
snow-lined streets
in nineteenth century
New York City.

Resistance evaporated,
like steamy breath
from horses' nostrils
on a wintry night.

Despite the cold,
beads of sweat
settled on my arms and legs,
so sweet they were,
I licked them off
myself.

My troubled vision
transformed
into knowing
and there was nothing left
to banter about
to and fro
yes and no
up and down.

But just before the titillating ******
could occur
. . .
you dumped me.

I took that carriage ride alone
back to my former self.
I tipped the driver generously
for returning me
to the abrasiveness
of words
and the sense
of duality.
They became my comfort now.

He said he couldn't leave his wife
alone that night
even though
I propositioned him
handsomely.
Clearly he was tempted.

How deluded we mortals be.

Tight-****** chest
thinks it's protecting itself
from the evening thunder
and all that it portends.

Unaware of its dilemma,
the distant sound
of a faint rainfall
gently persuades itself into its grip,
loosening it.

The blessing occurs.
The tears fall.

She came into my life
a karmic explosion
over a pristine
midnight blue
upstate New York
lake,
its breath
damp and warm
and sweet.

Gasping,
labored efforts
expelled a preganant breath,
a prelude to
life.

Blackflies engaged in rutualistic seance.
Lethagic mosquitos emerged
from the evening's sweet mist.
But then raged into frantic spirals,
squealing out futile messages.

Timid pines,
guardians of the ancient site,
loosed their rigid stance,
Prickly spines shivered to the ground.
Anxiously, they awaited rumors
that would quell the fetal dread
that flowed through veins,
invading their bliss.

A bulky mass stirred from somnolent state
in that mud-lined basin,
releasing brown ribbons of agitation,
and inciting a ravenous hunger.

Friendly galaxies,
former guides in his dream state,
abandoned his cause,
flickering a vague adieu.

Having cradled him for so long,
the slick muddy floor now sent him flailing to and fro,
an ungainly dance,
embarassing to watch.

Where once he thrived,
he now gasped for air.

Crusty old lion
sits atop the fence,
a transient from the endless circus,
eyeing a prickly pear cactus flower.

Meditating upon its ephemeral beauty,
he asks the eternal question:
Fleeting flower of yellow and pink,
is the will to charm still there?

My son, how could I not
be charmed by your
exquisite roar, followed by
the delicate blooming of your innocence?

Then remember me that I
may remember our predicament!

- collaboration with Brian Oarr