Last night I dreamed again.
I tripped the soul right out of me.
Danced dashed against the moon.
I dove through the night.
Skinned through it to get to you.
Slipped flitted out of my body.
Just slunk over to you.
I screamed my rage at you!
Tore out my heart for you.
If sleep is the little death,
Then I'll see you again tonight.

cc1210

I keep my answers small and keep them near;
Big questions bruised my mind but still I let
Small answers be a bulwark to my fear.

The huge abstractions I keep from the light;
Small things I handled and caressed and loved.
I let the stars assume the whole of night.

But the big answers clamoured to be moved
Into my life. Their great audacity
Shouted to be acknowledged and believed.

Even when all small answers build up to
Protection of my spirit, I still hear
Big answers striving for their overthrow

And all the great conclusions coming near.

Staring at a pole that reminds me of you.
And panic attacks. Her.
With your hand on her bare thigh.
My heartbeat quickening, eyes burning wet.
Escape. Tiny. White. Numb. Calm.
You don't see.
You don't know.
You're killing me.
That should be me.
Walk away, in silence.
Hurting. Alone.
It's over.
Months ago.
Let go.

You and your touch
I used to think that it was
all I needed to get me by
Now your long fingers touch me in this way that laughs at my pain says you can never be angery with me I know you so well you make me quiver and I need it more and more this power this drug you are you know I want freedom from this and I continue to live for you're touch and this rush of exotic that you make me want more and I still think you are all I need to get by

there are no good mirrors
mirrors are full
of morality and preconceived notions

mirrors induce nausea
mirrors take what is true
and turn it around

and around
and around
and around

the more mirrors
the merry-go-round

the kids who get their heads stuck
spinning in time
with turnaround mirrors

there are no good mirrors
leave them behind
with the roundabout children
breaking turnaway faces
to wear the new ones
they've taken
newly born to turn-of-phrase places
all made of glass

all walking a thread
hauling D-I-Y lies
every give-it-up day

there are no good mirrors
only bad-for-you windows

Death, ever present
In the gifts hidden away
Untouched and unwrapped;

crying mothers,
Christmas mourning,
gifts unloved by Sandy Hook.