Cancel me to work the everyday,
gorgeous and made as if by money-
for money. My body glossing
for the lifestyle it represents
all its own.

The Curvature of my eye
shadowed behind the silk
of my hair. God
made the beautiful
for something else
than donning the same shirt and shoes
to grind another blue sky day
through to its ashy undertone.

They could call me madness
and I would rise up a dirt devil
over the scrub of the mundane-
all glimmering darkness
and suggestive dirt.

Summer comes and the crazy creeps in
driving me out
to the streets-
roads and alleys,

To madness and the barefoot listlessness
I wont keep longer than a week
I wont stay longer than a day.

My man, to survive
a second summer,
in question.

Sip. Drink. Swallow. Stare On.
At this point I'm alone
thinking maybe maybe maybe maybe.
I cool, the leaves unfurl

from the buds they were- only
weeks ago-
I was sane.
And moving forward.

Hold fast to that which is good-
sheets in clenched fists
bodies churning fast then-
minds blank as emergency room flatlines.

Render to no one, evil for evil-
spread out wide, butter on bread,
before you like a deer in headlights
humming in shared solitude.

And deliver us from debts- as we-
forgive our debtors.
Each wall collapsing as we tumble down-
down, down- a cushioned fall.

And lead us not into temptation
a jolt of the lungs- intake of air
sweet like sugar on the tip of my tongue.
Motions liquid, silky.

But deliver us from evil.
Oh God! Please save me- as hearts
pound to bones- playing nerves as harp strings.
Oh God! please save me. Save me.

Lackluster living just south of where the air will freeze you solid and bite you harder than a dog. The land here sighs in the morning and sings at sun-high. The humming comes at night. Fallen into ditches, where the breeze gets sticky as it grows slow, winding in and among them.

the part of loving someone
who doesn't love you
back.
the worst part.
the thought
on the tip
of your brain.
circling.
prying.
conceived.
he doesn't love me
back.
the worst part.

Help me see
the end of today
with my
band aid thumbs-
eyeliner and mascara.

Tell me how
the sun will rise
tomorrow,

how I
should be there
to see it.

To my mom-
I remember that day,
I was so little
The horizon went on forever
when we walked down a sidewalk
to the nearby cemetery. (not a sad place)
With grass crunchy
And a blanket picnic.
I told you about giraffes-
under the hot sun,
in the blouse you had buttoned.

Or that other time-
searching for a new house,
way far up in Maine.
Driving home on the highway
we sang and
there was nothing terrifying to tell.
The lights shone- passing cars-
that world was ignorant (bliss)
I told you simply
How joy felt. That moment.
You smiled.

There’s this dim memory
Water slapping against
The old boat’s hull,
your comfortable song-
the  lullaby.
(I sing it,
to myself now
when I can’t sleep.)

We went together-
countless doctor’s appointments.
You held my hand
and wished I was okay-
when I wasn’t

This new you,
I see it every day.
And I hope that some time
I will walk through the door
to a hug and a kiss,
and my mommy will be back.
Because I am all alone
without her here.
And I miss her
more than anything.

You had promised
To set me free.

What do fathers and daughters
talk about when out?
All the things but the most
obvious.
All the PG rated moments,
the white washed sea of friends faces,
he met in passing after work.

What do fathers think
when they don't see their daughters
for weeks on end.
Maybe they miss them,
maybe they adjust.

Beneath the rot
of every-
day grammar.
The language
curls, sick,
on the back of every
throat. Unspoken.

Garbage was meant
for cracked blacktop
expanses in the heat
of the day.
Gold keeps under
the leagues of the sea
for a reason.

Silence.
Humanity may find
all the answers.

He will love me
in the Pitch of the day-
the deep night-
in half mumbled wakefulness,

pulling me in
from an unconscious terror,
a 3AM sinking suspicion,
here he admits to loving me.

Prying through his Light
hardened skin. Numb
from the hours
and holding me from the dark.

Each trunk got treated-
the drops missing nothing,
save the sand between the roots
and the tunnels dug
beneath them.

Dry and warm-
is nothing when the air pulls
wet to your lungs,
and the woods are shiftless,
the footsteps in the sand are still.

Tides in the water
roll to slaps on the rock.
He paces through, barefoot-
feeling the quiet go on-
letting the dogs unleashed.

I suppose
too many of them are selfish-
why else would there be
so many sad songs,
blue paintings-
pictures in darkness,

reflections of faces,
and blurred
historical events.
Houses with sagging roofs-
doors that slam, and
floors that get ***** as
children get older.

I'm assuming
they are selfish-
those nameless
fuzzy- faced enemies,
stalking the innocent
bland in the street.
But, what does this
make me?

Not just today-
but a million
strung together in a
choker chain of a life.

And what's wrong with me-
faded, gone.
Love goes out slowly
Love goes by unnoticed,
like that stop sign
just before the collision.

And it's another slippery day-
some ***** to slosh down.
Maybe he will catch me,
maybe he won't notice.

No is a small word
With the emphasis
Of a rock through a window.

This window’s left broken
With glass on the floor-
Blood on the glass.

Do what you want
Say what you want
Spread me into

What you may.
No, is this baby of a word-
Shake it as you please.

Sky,
Night sky,
Cherry pop blue
With a hint of poison
Smoking through.

Dripping through
My dew dropped lungs
Held hopeful
Behind bars.

Thump
Thump
Thump.

The world
Lost on
Raging ears
Throbbing red veins
Spewing violence
On cold concrete streets.

Left dead, staring,
Mahogany tables
Corkscrewed in the room.

Mahogany wood
Chipped at the base
All the feeling goes.

Clutched in two fists
Look at this feeling,
Raving, screaming, blood.

Mahogany
On the brain
Look at all this feeling.

I opened up all the windows
Of our house tonight.

It was too painfully
Quiet you see,

Silent, without you here-
My constant variable. Shot.

And the house was
So painfully still

And crying, as if
Wood flooring cared

Whose footsteps wouldn’t
Sound anymore.

But life goes on
And the windows go up.