today i saw myself as a crepe myrtle blossom

bursting magenta, dripping with life

so full and juicy and lotus-eating

demanding of attention

not only for an earthly beauty,
but for the allure of aliveness

how could i ever feel contempt for a body like this?

so i promise myself-
next time the comparison monsters of my mind try to take control

i will remember myself as a crepe myrtle blossom

I guess I've given up my pride, in you I confide.
Before you, an avalanche,
broke every branch,
on its way down.

He couldn't see the human in me,
the vulnerability.
My heart was afraid, in the snow
where I laid, looking at the mess I made.

I guess I've lost my sense of doubt, with you about.
When you're near, I find dry land,
you seem to understand,
my wide-eyed heart.

You can see the human in me,
the vulnerability.
My heart had been swayed, in the sand
where we laid, steeping in the love we made.

I know you will be my home, wherever we go.
Together, we will climb,
the tallest of pines,
just to see the sky.

I can see the human in me,
the vulnerability.
My heart I will share, unconditional and bare
relishing in a love so rare.

Which way's up
which way's down
what to do with this new Love I've found-
but not that pound-pound heart kind of love
it's just gotta be that sense of
it's gonna be alright
the sun's ashining and I think I just might...

spread these lips into an undeniable grin
radiating the sincerity within
true, we've long been stretched thin
but we're young, we're risky
and the happiest we've ever been

Our father liked to play a game.
He would count each hawk
preying, circling above veiny tree lines
graying like shadows of industry.

There’s a redtail, he would say, look
at its proud chest and talons of mastery. Our
eyes searched for the creature, noses
pressed to cool glass and 65MPH speed.

Sometimes we’d catch the bird with two eyes, one eye
or none. Meanwhile, our father never took his eyes
off the road, fixed on painted yellow lines stretching
to heartlands down New York’s I-90 West.

With age my eyes became engaged, detecting
the slightest movement peripherally. Rods
in retinas distinguished plump plumes from leaflet
tufts, razor beaks from thorny stags, white breast from

billowing plastic bags. My sideways scan
of leafy fringe is an artifact of habit
when traveling down state roads of this infra-structured
nation. I search for evidence of its natural relation,

beyond all that is manufactured by the jelly-
spine of convenience, beyond wheels spinning
at deafening speed, beyond the grubby hands of greed.
Still, our connection to place is still here and Earthly,

coexisting in delicacy, like the hawk’s nested-blend
of twig and trash. I trust there is a chance for us yet,
despite cloudy puddles of progress, despite integrity
lost in capital gain, despite a forgotten native name.

my hair is smoked with diner eggs and bacon
because I was lucky enough to eat this morning
using the change I found in my pocket.

I have plenty of change on me
some of which I used to purchase
beautifying products
to conceal my blemishes-
imperfections that seem so trivial now

I am ashamed
passing by the Cherry Street Coin Begger
eyes casted in different directions, sitting upon a thrifted walker

it seems my compassion is faltering,
maybe it is these salt stained streets or self diagnoses or
layers of grime surfacing under melted snow

but her and I are no different,
trying to avoid the same soot puddles
like land mines hidden
under sidewalks of putty

It was a pleasure to burn
standing over smoldering ash, watching
his face crisp on a glossy 4x6 print

I spit into a heap of blackened memories

I promised myself that this would be
the last piece of me
he would ever consume.
I swore to anyone who would listen, I was through with his twists and ties of lies.  

Yet, I was still tangled in
his grip; beset with spite, my mind muddled
through dark daydreams of revenge. A sudden flash
regained my consciousness as the barn’s worn wooden beam erupted into flames.

I knew I had to split
before I too, crisped into cinders.

I find the idea of you quite ticklish
like woolen mittens, itchy wrists
a poke, a ****
a reminder tireless.

I find simplicity to be at fault
for fiddling fantasies, like bad dreams
dizzy and liquified
not so, as it seems.

And through months of fleshly illness, in denial of feminine prowess,
I was held under a rock
by a love so callused:

I was smitten in the smog of your smile.