my life, mired by tragedy,
defined by triumph, lived
as best as i can muster,
which is pretty good lately

i feel myself unfolding into
who i want to be, but still
there are points where the
transformation is nearly
unbearable, the height of
the discomfort that comes
hand-in-hand with change

i find myself proud, exhausted,
lost, sure, alone, but the
point is that i find myself,
a gentle reminder that i'm
doing alright simply by being

With your bottom resting on me
you roam the world of poetry
display spectrum of your poetic mood
ever bothered about this piece of wood?

I hold your frame over day and night
weight of your spirit soaring to height
your struggle to find in all only good
ever bothered about this piece of wood?

I rest your arms on my armrest
for your comfort I do my best
see you don't fall when in deep brood
ever bothered about this piece of wood?

For years my touch has kept you at peace
carried you safe seated with ease
when empty yawns the space I stood
is it then you would realize worth of my wood?

Burgundy, the color of a dress I’ve never worn
to an occasion that never occurred

Velvet lined
coffin
Where lies the violin
There lies its song

The heart of fiddle strings
that bare of arms
That heart that sings, speaks, no, yells
to the hands that can’t respond!
to a mind that can’t remember
I was drowning in some future
not a violinist’s

“Alive with Pleasure”
read the billboard slogan for cigarettes
behind the happy couple
running out into their future

Forcing the hand of marriage
Waving goodbye to my life
from a rooftop in Scranton
as the wind hauled my laundry three city blocks
dumping my unders on Saint Luke’s sills
sailing my sheets up Wyoming Avenue

I lay on the tar and pebble roof
watching pigeons swirl
listening to traffic pass on the street below
The moment you know you’ve made the mistake
you can’t return from....

Wherever my towels have blown?
I wish them well....

Here at the end
of the continent
everyday the same
sea and sky elemental
endless blue planes
interrupted only
by a wayward bird
a flash of white
like a gull
lost out in the null
as September wanes
into Autumn's moon
breaking like a spell
casting my shadow
like a sundial
measuring my footprints
away and alone
on these wind(s)wept
bare lonely dunes.

We cross our bridges
When we come to them.
We burn our bridges behind us.
Why don't we just
Burn our **** bridges
When we get there?
Saves & lot of wear & tear,
*Non c'est pas?

With eyes, like owls - great horned or a night cat's
his arms, tree branched, heavy laden, strong
with legs, sturdy pillars for mountains climbed
hair of silken silver brushed upon my skin
his essence, forged by nights and wildfire pines
his reddened lips, softly melting into mine.