the feeling when you
  s
    t
      u
        m
          ble
                 somewhere
                          you
     shouldn't, sweet-gum
                  letters
          gathered for a solitary
        rendezvous
                        then casual
              destruction
                             glimpsed from                                                                                                                    afar

everyone wants the shoes to
fit, but
    I've worn those and
                          many others in my time
and the heels always
blister

Among the fires, distance
once insurmountable wishing
memory into loving proximity

(1)

a soft fall, a cool glance and
stars from the sky taking
root in our hearts,
fanning out warmth

(+)

two hands of the clock
blinking past like sweet lash
and streaming like veins in
the arms of a forest

(1)

you say it feels off, floating
down from our heights and
it burns like a last but it can't
be, not yet, with years
more to find

(=)

I politely refuse to
give way, the
key to my heart resting
firmly in your pocket

(2)

and a smile from you
kindly seared into me

These berries are bruises
Fading birthmarks I have still
Fresh from that morning you opened my curtains
Rolled down your window
Promised me honey and a candy-colored life.

These berries are bruises
You made me breakfast in bed.

Too early you lifted my tent,
brought a full spread:
Fruit, toast and black coffee--
But when I tilted my lips
You drunk first of my womanly cup.

Pouring out hot, bitter slick
My lips swelled blue blister
I stiffened under your dead weight,
I killed my tongue.

I tried to keep dreaming of
Hands to knead me
And butter the softness of these
Blueberry scone hips,  

But instead you picked all the berries out
Your greed a mouthful,
The growing woman inside me leavened--
Watching you stain my girlhood,
Popping one fruit bead after another
******* the seeds from my teeth.

When I was young
I had a body made of rubber
And elastic bands
That mother tightened
So I would sit up straight
But she grew slack with age.

When I was young
I was pliant
I had too many ballons in my ears
So mother pulled them, but I disappeared-
Tucking my head into my collar
And my hands into my armpits
To escape.

I was reminded of this yesterday,
Driving by one of those street advertisements
Car dealerships, Verizon wireless
Where they communicate to get your attention
Balloons growing
To the dance of wind inside an empty sleeve.

velvet stains, sawgrass breath of junebugs over again

Dear heart

stop taking things so
seriously,

I have three fourths a
mind that likes how you're around and
a stuck twenty five bent on
shutting you down before
inside (and I'm trying) out loud with
count to two, one is familiar but
(water thinks) so are you after the
rain comes and white-washes us
clean

but white isn't neat, who says red isn't
true and the two next-best colors aren't
yellow and blue? It appears as though
wisdom (seen through a blank lens) is
only now starting to shift shades and
blend in the hues of the thoughts of the
heart's hidden song

to think some folks can't find
a place to belong!