Another piece of wood stabbed in my heart
Another sharp pain
Tarring me apart
Another piece wedge to deep
Another nightmare when I go to sleep
Another obstacle to keep me together
Another piece of wood, just another splinter

Stretching into the cool
gray morning I am
sentient to the smooth warmth
of companionship long missed -
her smile is faint.

a murmur of affection
mutual from sleep-milky throats
snags in the trammels of her loosely curled hair
as I turn my head against her neck

fingers wide,
her palm travels a
single-minded caress over
hip and belly to the sharp ledge
below a shadow-casting ribcage
and we both hum comfort
greeting the morning
from pomegranate stained lips
and earthen thighs.

A sunny serenade of Cyan Skies

On a Strangely soothing Sunday afternoon

In the south wing



The White Rabbit tells me about

Beautiful Butterflies batting their wings

To the beat of a bohemian movement

and I blush at the gesture

And

The Mad Hatter tells me about

The Kevorkian crawdads clawing at each other

Under the crystal clear stream

Bent like a Candy Cane

And I cry for the dead.



I hear her, I hear her

But I also hear the

Marsh Hare

And

The Marsh Hare tells me about

The analytical anarchists armed with arms

Marching around the inner atrium screaming

"All hail Anarchy!", "All hail Anti-Society!"

Aiming for the heart

And I amaze myself



I hear her, I hear her

And because of her I hear

The chains and restraints



The Queen of Hearts tells me about

My fantasies of White Rabbits

My dreams of Mad Hatters

My imaginings of Marsh Hares

And how only she is real



The straps are too tight

The clothes too thin

The walls too thick



And she stabs me

With a Red Rose

All in white, The Queen of Hearts Says


Wake Up Alice


And now I can see

My sunny afternoon is shady

And

I am barred from my butterflies.

The whispers I hear in the light
Are worse than the ones I hear at night.
Panic takes over and I can't breathe.
Anger continues to build as my blood seethes.
Friends are my enemies and enemies are my friend.
I realize this as over my knees I bend.
I may not be a saint but they aren't martyrs.
Behing my back or in front of my face.
They constantly make me hate this place.
Constant glares and ***** looks
Making my temper boil and cooks
Like the meat on the grill
And then make it freeze and stand still.
Wishing my temper were my heart
Killing me is like a work of art.
The whispers grow and grow and grow
But I know they will never leave and go.

Knowledge is here
And knowledge is there.
Together it all appears.
Together we make it shine.
Knowledge is mine,
And knowledge is yours.
But some comes with time
Expect us to know all
Is a tremendous crime.
It’s like having a pup
Collect all your hunting kills
In the coming years
I’ll have all the skills.
Just as the pup
Grows and learns to ****.

Better* now, right?
To end like this, and
Have never known how much we
Loved each other.
And don’t say you just
Lost yourself along the way.  If that’s the case
Then find yourself,
Never let yourself lose yourself. I
Loved yourself. Especially
At the point in time when I lost it
All.

He skimmed and slipped over
Your skin, which he wished
Was his to touch; he stitched
His hand to yours and gripped

So hard you felt your bones,
Crush, curdle, you plead, don't let go
But he did, he tore away
Two weaved hands, they bled that day

Raw, afraid, with dread you felt
Your way through the darkness in which you dwelt
The hand it scarred, it left its marks
On the walls you scraped, bled, dried and marred

Never let them push you down
for being less than they are.
Never let them judge
for being the person you are.
Never let them plant
ideas of happiness.
Never let them control
who you want to be.

Never let them say
that I have a problem.
Never let them fight
for control of your life

Never let them think I gave in
Never let them think I gave in.

the theme is green
and there are stars in your eyes
as you vindictively plot restlessness

there are eyes in your stars
as you contemplate
the heavenly spread of deceased dust

hey small thing, you’re shedding
and all these dropped DNA samples
will clutter a multiverse
that has already forgotten
what toothpaste you use
where you slept
or that you slept
when you slept
if you slept

the theme is a clock
in your grandmother’s house
ticking like a bomb in the desert

and all the sun from all the days
of chlorine-drenched reminiscences
is wiped away by a single stroke of time

a moment slides home stretched
like the cover over an over-fluffed pillow
and this is unquantifiable reverie
an array of star-soaked ideals
things you will never grow up to be
knowing you will never grow up
even once you grow up
and even after

double-spaced reports on
summer vacation and tax returns
are geologically arranged

the theme is maybe
and it is cumbersome to think
that the stars in your eyes
are made of something much older
than purple