You don’t think the day you are going to get diagnosed with cancer is going to be a beautiful one. One that makes you want to sprint across the sand and dive under crystal water. You think maybe, as the sun envelopes your room, that you don’t have to go to the hospital today, everything’s perfect. That is until you stand up and nausea forces you to the floor and soon you are folded up into a car and shipped off to a giant white building with white doctors and white walls and white floors and white instruments. You don’t think you can be diagnosed with cancer, not today.

A recorder?
Or a flute?
A lover?
Or a lute?
A phantom?
Or a trick?
It could be anything
*I created it

It's a humbling feeling
Discovering that the girl you avoided in elementary school
Got asked to homecoming
When you didn't

I found it today
as I sifted through my malice
mix this liquid called intent
rub it deep into the callous

Came across the finish square
so long ago, I felt the flame
rolled the dice once more but backwards
I couldn’t quit the game

I found it today
as descriptions beg for air
I nailed it to the stilling floor
convinced one day I’d care

Came across the final need
’twas years ago I saw the fear
rolled the dice once more but backwards
love couldn’t interfere

I found it today
as the moment shrieked delight
in the mists of intermediance
shroud the horror of my plight

Came across the mirrored quest
centuries of bleeding feet
rolled the dice once more forever
I couldn’t find a seat

~Shea

it’s a new morning
I sit in the new chair
wrapped in the old red blanket
listening to new jazz
touching new words to paper
pushing old thoughts out into
the new light of day

darkness is receding – fleeing
that is why I like this time
because it is as if light
is coming after the darkness
with a f**king frying pan
in its hand
and darkness is running like hell

it is a new morning
and if I keep watch in it
there will be new moments
for me to live

I was appearing
On a back porch in front of the world
I didn't have a song to sing
I didn't have a title a degree
An office an oracle

I did have a handbag
Full of failures
Of misunderstandings
Of hopes from love

I stood unsure of myself in the yellow spotlight
And I asked my first question

I am not the first to have asked it
-standing in front of the world-
And it wasn't even my first time
I asked it

Indeed the words laid
Out in front of me
Like a worn dirt trail across the campus green
Like an obvious horizon

The horizon is somewhat different when
You expect the world is flat
Destinations are no longer a fuzzy objective
But a vast emptiness
Which the bravest turn from

Its no wonder under this plastic light
That clarity and compassionate
collusion against the fall
Appear in fact to be waiting patiently
For no one to arrive

Some no longer ask the question
And that alone neatly divides us
Much more than our varied answers

With that line drawn I stand
Stand over here
On my knees unsure of the answer
But unwilling to stop asking…
A blind man swinging against darkness

in my revenge daydream
You write an essay to the teacher about how wrong it is to be wrong and how doubly wrong it is to wrong someone like me and for your third point you challenge Buddha to be more enlightened than you are since you learned you were wrong

in my revenge daydream
You have crumpled to your knees on the far edge of the field you were fleeing across to be free of the look in my eyes - there is grass in your hair and a growing pool of mud beneath your eyes

in my revenge daydream
I had a fist cocked and a boot in tow just so I could hurt you and oh how I wanted to until a far away scream caused us both to be the same

All used cups – 99 cents
and there is one well-used
A bit delicate
A sharp lip
The floral design fading into china white
She drank her coffee black
I conclude with a tipping look
or perhaps a single sugar cube but certainly
this cup lived its life favorited

It has rested beside many morning papers
and accompanied many fresh tea-biscuits
here it is - sad - lonely
its friends saucer and spoon lost
at the bottom of a box in back

All these other stranger cups surrounding
most haven’t a clue how to be a favorite cup
You must meet her lips just so
for what you contain is both
a delight and dangerous

You must shape into her hands lovingly on cold mornings
and balance perfectly from her aging fingers
when her mind is engaged elsewhere
Your morning greetings should be bright and hopeful
reminding her daily of all she is likely to forget
- There is beauty in the world to savor today
- There is goodness in every drop of life
- There is truth to be stirred by even now

It is not an easy thing to be a favorite cup
you must endure many more scrubbings
than the visitors cups
and the thoughtful-gift cups
the ones which say “Worlds Greatest Grandma”
the ones loved but unused
You are far more likely to be dropped and chipped
so you must be stronger than the rest
and more than any other dish in the cupboard
you become part of who she is
until the day she dies
and when
she does
the plates and bowls and holiday mugs
will always find a new home
you never will

Leaves dim against the sky
Focus makes a shift into blue
That moment arrives
and I treasure it
plunge my fingers into it
And even as I wrap my body around it
it is leaving me…
don’t go…
goodbye

Another comes playful on its heels
but I have a fork in my mouth
so it wanders into a corner
to console the dust left there

One of its friends stops by
(it has many friends)
I consider more will be about later
so I remain unmoved
– unmomented

I wish I hadn't justified
Justfied
My actions
I wish I hadn't justified
I wish I'd stood my ground