who even are you that I write
you're certainly not him, not with his lazy attitude and familiar habit of storming through my mind..
no, you're of some other kind of disaster
a figment of my imagination run far too wild, for too long
perhaps an earthquake, bringing the world down around me, leaving my feet on solid ground
if only to watch me fall when you open up your maw from beneath me, listening to my ragged breathing
I see you, slipping around inside my head, leaving cracks behind you, leaving them to prove that you were there
I can not ignore the ground shaking under me, though I try
a figment of my imagination run far too wild, a tale told many times
but who are you, a lowly hitchhiker lost within my mind
and maybe your grumbling is suppose to be a sign, of wanting to be free of me, same as I
but if you stopped ripping me to shreds we could work together,
but if you stopped, how would that impact the weather
I hated the storms, hate them more than you
so.. what if you stayed instead, let you wreck you havoc in my head, if only I wont have to taste the rain

In my accidental garden
There's a eucalyptus tree
I had to chop it down
Then it grew again for me.

There are pieces of it's body
Standing all around
They have a sort of beauty
I don't sit on the ground.

There's wisteria in flower
Twisted round the climbing frame
By the door a bright red acer
Trimmed to stop the drips of rain

Honeysuckle rambles
I confess there's brambles too
Dock and nettle with the roses
Rosemary and Feverfew

There's a dish of cat food
For the feline friends who come
But the dish is empty
And for cats alas there's none

Fearless Robin first to find it
Shared some time with me
Then Mrs Blackbird came
And her husband warily.

I sit on the unformed wood
Beneath the shady trees
With birds all unafraid
And I wonder

Look at the sky and remember who you are.
It's positive and natural to be down,
how else could you know what up is?

I became a criminal when I fell in love.
Before that I was a waitress.

I didn't want to go to Chicago with you.
I wanted to marry you, I wanted
Your wife to suffer.

I wanted her life to be like a play
In which all the parts are sad parts.

Does a good person
Think this way? I deserve

Credit for my courage--

I sat in the dark on your front porch.
Everything was clear to me:
If your wife wouldn't let you go
That proved she didn't love you.
If she loved you
Wouldn't she want you to be happy?

I think now
If I felt less I would be
A better person. I was
A good waitress.
I could carry eight drinks.

I used to tell you my dreams.
Last night I saw a woman sitting in a dark bus--
In the dream, she's weeping, the bus she's on
Is moving away. With one hand
She's waving; the other strokes
An egg carton full of babies.

The dream doesn't rescue the maiden.