She's in the kitchen
(close the door)
just mixin' up some metaphor;
a true conundrum
through and through
and through to me and thus to you.

Her humble hunger
(forest's slumber)
thunders 'neath a wilting tune;
tuned to too many
to count without
a thought within.

She must profess
(but shall confess)
to any who will listen;
closely she holds
a tragic history
mostly mystery to most.

She solves my soul
(I deny that hole)
which she still fills;
overflowing always
with such unrelenting joy
that is My Love.

Like the child who blew dandelions
Into the wind,
Like the child who drew faces
Upon the car window

I am Bear Lady
and you are Toucan Man —
Fur and feathered backs
against a striped tent.
Cut-off like tickets,
crowds melting Dali-like
in the distance
from crystalline eyes,
frozen in time…

Wings graze skin and
fur can’t compete.
The electricity of
our eccentricity
is freakish,
yet with every touch,
I feel less like a freak.
My history
of hoop jumping
tightrope walking,
and captivity
dissolve transparently
as I search deep,
                deep,
            deep,
into supernova eyes —
they outshine
this circus life,
this love for applause,
the performance inside.

As I gaze into
frozen pools,
the broken chords
of carny music
da da da-da-da-da drown.
The morning quiet,
muddled coffee grinds
are sensitive and silent,
chilling me to the soul.
Earth, a peripheral,
to pupils that absorb
mine full-force,
until I can’t see
this galaxy anymore,
save green starbursts,
my light source.

And in that moment
As it hits my side,
I realize
It's always been there

She is beautiful.
Lives in the eye of the beholder.
She is stunning.
Shunned by society.
Her skin is thickened.
It has to be.
Face to face daily with adversity.
She is a motherless child.
Grown up now.
Mother's still there.
A childless mother.
She is a lady unlike any other.
As such she will thrive.
She's staying alive.
Living and breathing.
Taking five.
Gasping and striving.
Making a living.
The power of the voice.
A choice.
Only she can make.
(C) LIVVI MMXV