Between the trees there lay a path
messy and strewn, overgrowth hid the tracks
it went deep into the forrest, twisting and spontaneous
I told the lady on the bus, but spoke mostly to her back

Midday moved to night moved to daybreak
I hear a voice drift from somewhere near
"You are free to own nothing"
it echoed. far off a clock was punched. I walked on, leaving behind a distant jeer

If you stand on your head, will the questions become answers?
If you oppress the oppressor, will you then control fate?
When faced with flashing truths, will you stare into light?
I don't need ******* stories, I make my own bait

What do I know? Water boils on the stove and rain cakes mud to the edge of my new boots.
All I can say is sometimes I get lucky and follow trails I've never seen wearing a hat I found the other day with a note saying, "Take me if you need it."

Take a moment to consider
the exact person
you think you are
at this very moment
                                                Are you able to sum it up in a sentence
                                                or does it continue down the page
                                                building a story
                                                you couldn't confidently claim
                                                or really recognize

Are you left with the feeling of a missing phrase
caught, perhaps, in a familiar yet unapproachable silence
pondering the forgotten areas of your past, forced to realize where you've been
and
where you've yet to go
                                                There is a shift, of course
                                                in your posture as you re-read the words
                                                regretting the ink, the inability to erase
                                                nodding with your past self
                                                there was no other way to learn
If there is anything left to fear
it is doing yourself the disservice
of allowing a broken opinion to define
what it means
to be the exact person
you think you are
in any moment
                                                I observed an answer
                                                in a place willingly abandoned long ago
                                                that the reality of what matters
                                                of. what. matters.
                                                is so extraordinarily simple and clear
                                                once we let go
                                                of a script
                                             written by anonymous, rehearsed by everyone
                                                the answer is purely
                                                to live unapologetically
Yet when said aloud
we cringe, clutching our script
always secretly relieved
that the burden of defining ourselves
is on someone else's shoulders
                                 There is joy in the unshackled, undefined road ahead
                                 When you read my story you will know
                                 that not only is it mine
                                 it is a promise that we are more
                                 more than anyone else
                                 could possibly imagine

I look out
hoping to be calmed
by an evening in transition
forcibly removed from the experience
stuck behind the shingles of a barrier that compels me to
return indoors
unfulfilled and indifferent

In my chair I am denied
the presence of movement, the echo of life beyond my own
it sits until replaced
by boredom or misuse

I fear it's not the only product
removed and unfazed
putting weeks on the shelves
passing poison for purity, choosing machines not maturity, selling fact from obscurity
striving to straighten the imperfect wild
pointing fingers, avoiding blame

I know how it feels to walk a path
forged by pines and ranting rain
there -- as I move forward
gone -- as I turn back

I look out
hoping to still want to see past
the view the deceives me
the view I've been told repeatedly
is what life's all about

It was soft at first
the sound of cotton, pulled
across cedar floor. Sacred.
Fragile words we whisper
mostly so we no longer have the
burden of sheltering them ourselves.
It was, the petals of parsley--
just before the setting of summer
dips below the horizon. A breeze
will send them away.
For the time being.


It grew louder.
I knew not how long it had been increasing.
No longer careful, no longer respectful
of the night. It ached. In suspense it gazed--
through the screens in our speech
through the bend of our knuckles
through the curve of our sight
It ached.
I knew not how long it had been increasing.
Only that I had been there all the while


Over time
the paint on the walls remained
gently the clock was reminded of the hour
drops sizzled and slipped through
hairlines in humidity
the bed frame celebrated 2 decades
Not once did the door open in surprise
Over time, it was like it didn't exist at all.


At last
the age of guessing was at a close
cool tiles against the jaw. low. heavy in
the steamed aftermath of dawn. Forgiving.
The release of tape from the roll--keeping it all together
A hiss from the nose, crunched by the swift turn on the heels. Endless.
Reckless. Reverberating around the space of your lawn, bending
the blades, breaking the stems of weeds.
At last.
It had nothing to do with listening close enough
and everything to do with experiencing it.

its not all bad
sometimes I'm lost in the fog
trapped in the endless stream of blur
the hope seeps out with the reason

still darling I seek the edges
where clarity leaks into view
bringing with it the possibility of
real freedom and simplicity

I know the world beyond
full of prayer, relentless confession
I catch myself wishing to stay undefined
I catch myself wishing

Have you ever set foot across
lines set for the point in life when it all
comes together. I wave over my shoulder
there 's always something left behind

shifts in the wind keep
the trails an impulse, thump thump
we are leftover wisps
sipping on the dream that one day
we won't have to float away to fly

it isn't as soft as you would imagine
the pull of fabric, the simple hums
yet it does separate me from
the fantasy

the fantasy is always deep
repeatedly warm, protective against the open room
it keeps me together, even when
you don't

you don't always see
when I hide in the pillows, I promise to stay
I regularly wonder, would you do
the same

the same rocks pour from your mouth
a bitter shot of memory and hard places
I swear once I caught a glimpse of
the better you

the better you exists in my hands
when I run them through your hair
nuzzle down.down.down.downright hard to get
up again

up again at the crack of dawn
I know you work hard for your bills
just remember the cup
won't lie

won't lie?
I wouldn't say that, have you ever...
strangely I trust you, even when it seems
I shouldn't

I shouldn't doubt your hand in mine
yet it's much too disappointing
when I reach for some assurance and you
fall short

fall short of the finish line and
nothing really happens, you just go home
of course you gave it your
best shot

best shot, neat knot, limp plot
barely caught, never taught, simply thought
surely ought, fully wrought, sadly got
dizzy ***

dizzy *** I will one day know
how to stand up to you and
what it is and what
it isn't

it isn't as soft as you would imagine
the pull of fabric, the simple hums
yet it does separate me from
the fantasy

imagine me swimming, in a lake oh so fine
whenever I'm in it, I lose all sense of time
deeper I traveled, further I went
I could feel myself changing, twisted and bent

Later I fell, from space to the clouds
so much to see, so many sounds
oh the inspiring delectable sight
I never thought falling would be such a delight

I took my place, in a log touched by flame
the sweet soft embers, knew all it could claim
always I burned, in a night cloaked in fire
alone in cold air, hot with desire

the mornings were busy, I awoke with no ease
my mind was a plague, of unwanted disease
I looked to the window, to quiet the words
yet I only heard humming, of the bright early birds

I began to soon wonder, at the dark ticking hour
Since when did its reminder seem so dreadfully sour?
I stared at its face, concerned and confused
why did each second leave a deep searing bruise?

the weight of the moment, with its tender warm touches
slept quiet in memory, looking more like worn crutches
I was promised such joy, but when and by who?
I swear at one point, this was something I knew

I stepped from the garden, to dusty dirt roads
I have been here before, always burdened with loads
Will it lead me to safety? Will my path have no end?
how I miss the red roses, how I miss my sweet friend

I'll imagine I'm swimming, in a lake oh so fine
that whenever I'm in it, I'll lose all sense of time
higher ill travel, to land I will go
I can feel myself changing, a new garden will grow

give me your cure
and the top shelf blue velvet
its mine
and I'm not well

I know the feel
of bikes
balance ; focus
I notice I ride
in circles

I hide in sweet sonnets
a toothache for charm
a rush behind my eyes
raw sugar

penpal promises
sealed late in the night
I told God He could have me
if He paid for the stamps

hands crossed my eyes
in a desperate attempt
to keep me away
from the truth

I never peaked
not to stare not to know
I'd rather walk the line
blind

what are you thinking
at this very moment
.........
no really
..........
.........
.......
..
.
I wanted to know....

I can tell you anything
ok no I can't
something keeps me
from treating you like I treat my best friend
don't get me wrong
you're my best friend
but not like that
I would do absolutely anything in the world
for the best friend who knows me

I know I know
the same goes for you
but there are times
when I feel you tug up on the zipper
so I close it tight
sensing it just wouldn't be right
to spill

I want to
just throw it all at you
but your responses confuse me
throw me way off the track
you don't laugh you don't grin
and I know
I'm overflowing with sunny demeanor
into your half empty bowl

You said yourself you aren't happy
not long ago
and I let my oceans flow
while you said
more unimaginables
into my stained shoulder
from the back as you
let me walk out the door
carving canyons
on the way to my car
you were confident then
and I stood--a drained puddle

Do you know
that I think of you
every sun as it rises
every coffee and lunch
every blink every sneeze
every moon as it shines

the summer brings out
my pensive nature
and I want to explore
people's mouths
dip n dots
little bursts of tasteful
words and creation
it happens all the time
but especially in the summer
when my thoughts are the only thing
that could turn cold

They freeze often
too much to thaw
back to body temperature
while I shiver
I always think about glass

and how you put it between you lips
and breathe
how the jungle in your closet
paves the way to the bank
so you can spend less time
in the Subway
I feel sick to my heart
knowing you know
that I hate it

it wouldn't be that way
if it were nothing
but I see it in my sleep
brush it off my skin
wash it in my hair
taste it in my mouth
we both know
its something

I want to marry you
well
not right now
whoa that came out
kinda fast
don't run away I didn't mean it
but actually
[I did]
[I do?]
wait
did you hear me?
oh nothing

See I watch all my friends
twirl in true love
and I am truly in love
but I can't
twirl
if you don't move
with me

hey
what are you thinking
just say it
anything
that chair looks uncomfortable why do we chew gum today I had tea
I work too much my knees hurt I sit too much I hate bees
anything
anything
I love you too and I'm more than a motion I feel and think I feel and think and, well. what was I saying?
anything
anything


what are you thinking
don't hold back
I'm here and I want you
I want you to be my best friend
the one you aren't yet
........
you can tell me
..............
..............
I'm listening
...........
............
.............
........
....
.
okay

Unhealthy things crave a cure
no, I doubt you need to involve needles
or extreme measures, like shocks and straps
probably just a fan in a cool room to
calm the sweat

I'm sweating up a storm
downright unbearable, this heat
heavy on my neck. I know there's a breeze, I can
see it in the curtains. All these shakes and
itches. I need a Trip away

Doctors always exaggerate, right?
Assuming what they said about you, being
addicted and all. I see them as having lied
before. They've scratched at bug bites, can't they
notice his arms took the price of red relief, that's all

I hate skin and I hate the color white
I hate the way people's nose curve at
the tip, like a snag a crook a flashlight
I hate the small amount of hiding places
and I hate that I can't crawl into the disposal

I think it's because he fell off a ladder
at the age of six-cried a puddle and no
one said he'd be okay. That little boy just
cried and cried and realized he could only fix it
by wiping the snot off  and shutting up like daddy said

There was a light I loved and loved said
I would take care of it never forget how I felt
never never walk away beauty always toward but
the light was high I was low I kept digging a hole
further I went and further I went

No I'm not a relative, but I knew him
once. Decided to stop by, it's been years. When
I saw him face down I thought I'd bring him here,
never imagined he would get this bad. He used to
call me his light. I had to leave, don't you see why?

*The wind will take me and
away I'll float
to the sea to the moon
where no one is there

no one is there

What is it that makesmefeel alive
                                                      Could­ it be the way you touch my face
                                                            ­                          sometimes
                             ­                                                      in sweet hesitation
                                                      ­          or
                                                    ­                               embarrassed confusion
                                                       ­         or
                                                     ­                            I actually don't know most of the time

The ground invites me everywhere, makesmefeel endless. But only if my heels sink into the soggy paths
                                                           ­  Unlimited in any direction
                                                  →   ↑    ↓    ←               the only requirement is to ask [where]....

Icanfeel myself merging
into the planes above, drawn to the only man in the sky strong enough for the extra weight
I haven't prepared at all, for what might happen
if it rained
and my grip slipped (along with GODs tears)
returning to the place I thought I flew away from
                                           "flew"
right on ↑ with the smoke from your ears, the last exhale of Tink's fairy dust
no one imagined lighting it on fire and sending only their minds, NeverNever to Land again

>>>>>
Hair mademefeel like a doll
          MADE OF ROCKS AND BLOCKS AND HARD PLACES
       .........remember? dolls are breakable and I don't like glass so I found tough stuff
      // But hair //
I could swing it all day and create sound waves → Always wondered if anyone heard the same tune. I cut it, the pitch was too flat and now its High and Mighty
                    
                           I promised the part that [makesmefeel]
that     s   l   o   w     is the way to go
                                                              ­                                                              so I drove on the right side
                                                            ­                                   looked both ways and would you believe it!
                            I crashed
                            but just my car
and the ♥'s of my life said things can be replaced and $$$ isn't everything
so I smiled and sprinkled more dust and let the hurt of guilt strip down to its naked truth
I'll keep trying to make sure my heart
doesn't stop and we can all
carry on

for see, while sometimes
what  [makesmefeel] can get confused,
it's happy
                                                           ­        ---loaded with images and dinners for two and promises
                                                        ­             my friends make to each other and a glamorous glowing
most of all its nervous about the long run
I've never ventured without shoes
and it's all so rocky-not like the yachts on a bad day
but the way rapids plan their jogging trials

and all the sights all the sounds
all the finger ****** and cotton
the cheats and final laps
ribbons and red pens
all the gentle brushstrokes and chafing
                                                                ­               that's what   makesmefeel    alive

“I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.”
― Langston Hughes*



We've all seen you lament, at some point.
The last was with your revised Florida Orange Juice, tiring
your right hand, knocking the empty bottle against each joint.
Muddled in slow jams the knees in your strict jeans leaned  into the motion,
helplessly receding feebly proceeding possibly misleading-
drip drip dripping through the deck you drowned, and I was left to sway in your arid ocean.
There are pieces of camera equipment buried into overflowing sock drawers,
to remind the lovers that your still here, and the others that you don't care
They were sold to the men on Main- doesn't matter if they are yours
I promised to keep your head above water-corrected each struggle, each flail
soaked whispered confessions, panicked treading legs, desperate flooded eyes
I watched you wade into the water, and I knew I would fail

I was about to cut away the bruises
until I saw their charm

Reaping the trees
I snagged the deepening black scrapes
it said to me in its way
that I was all remaining hope

I'll hold you in my basket
sweetie
in the kitchen you'll humiliate the others
with your colors

soft to the touch, you squish inward
hardly able to stand up for yourself
splotchy red with shame
warped straight face staring

can you breathe
through those holes?
I was about to cut away the bruises
until I saw their charm
a struggling artist in the fields

you were different with rot
distorted, grieving skin
keeping only the brown of the stem
the way it's usually seen

I only took a bite
to relish the unfamiliar
                                             I'll realize later
                                             I want better

There are orca whales in my ears
but only when it rains
ill swallow the gnats to feed
the bellies and the growing fears
I never know how to greet it

I took the nail filer and carved
two perfect holes directly above my big toes
you can never be too careful
I wanted to make sure my feet knew that sometimes
things happen

I promised my umbrella that if
it could wait another couple weeks
I wouldn't rip it to shreds myself
why is there patience for quitters and
people who hate thunderstorms?

There are orca whales in my ears
but only when it rains
Gave into the cooped clouds,
let them smear cleaner through my roots
swaying instead to dodge the drip
and heaving sighs

Her fingers were covered in corn.
the corn after chewing, broken
pierced, churned- it could spread as butter
thick on stale toast, if needed
"it's fine, don't you worry, we'll get you all cleaned up"
she stared indifferently

Strings dangled from her mouth, unswept
full of necessary greens ---"mhm there there, this will give
you so much energy" --- drags of breath,
half inhale half choke. nothing to look forward to,
not the next soaking glob, not the cursing woman
in the bathroom, not the spill of light to her eyes

Where are the ladles, Did you check on it? The key? Just moved, most the suitcases aren't there yet. Remember to bring the Did you check on it? pay attention. Have you seen my grand kids?
who are you?

Sunday's are for the active ones
The games down the hall are  too far. Why worry with legs, if she could just adjust to the left
the world could sag into an ongoing dream- No demands, no games, no movement.

The nurses hair net had more presence than the splotch of gray against her peeling itchy scalp. Drool leaked from leather lips, dampening the collar of her two month sticky blouse.  Arms curled and locked,displaying under the wax skin cranberry patches-
she never wiped them off. Always the soft murmer of
a snore, always the smell of unbrushed teeth and hampers.

"Did you touch those where don't touch me scott scott scott leave my things alone thevenin I need a stop lying I want to go scott, scott? scott.     I            can't              remember                       any"

I said my name four times before she heard me, knew me
I fixed her pillow and my sister marked off the day on the calendar.
We told her about school, the marching band, each word
filled with forced enthusiasm. She bobbed  her head in circles, lazily
rolling her eyes, the curtain shading the empty space. We spent 30 minutes precisely.

She was more than I realized.
I never knew she had horseback riding, violin playing days. She traveled and  hiked. We could have been close. Unraveling with the mystery, I felt the lateness of my curiosity.
It was 30 minutes precisely, always.

We acted as strangers, reciting routine and wishing each other a happy day and a quiet love you

Humming, the warmed *** of daybreak soothed the hiccups of a spoiled slumber. Yawning, sunlight sweet talk eased our puffy eyed sleep shirts back to the cushions from which they came.
Soon, impatient fingers would press firmly at 11:00, daring contentment to linger in the shadow of honey gold.

Buried in the frosting of blue and gray sheet cake, the blankets coated their chins. somewhere in their hair lay remnants of peanut butter cheesecake and blush; expected phone calls every evening at 6 and clumsy words         that littered three cherry pits              in the corners of my eyes.
                        [ I ]                                               [Love]                                                     [You]
                                                          
                                                              Blossoms, sweet fragrance ----
                                                             ¬ promises, they drift from the branch

I replay your repeat smoke rings, listening to your lukewarm, out-pour of voice. Gritty against my ears - I turn to the wall.

Your thoughts are crowded, littered paper wads and aged banana peels, tossed with Saturday's hopes and wishes. With my need to be seen, I will grow an inch each week, so that by September, eyes upon eyes brows upon brows, no longer will height save you.

Waiting for you to notice,
waiting for you to wake.
What do you see now
that you can
   look me in the eyes?

**** as the lemon drop next to the honey bun stain across the room there are 2 letters. Ordinary as ink upon paper, they mean nothing at first glance.
They will fall
unseen
through the cracks in the floor. Drifting to the place all lost things go to be forgotten.

Only by 11:30 will you notice it is morning and half the bed is made

It must be the silence.
riddles on the other line-
rise of breath, slow muted sighs
raw red ripples
what are your rhythms
to me

I whispered for bravery into swollen knots of a weeping willow
sweeping scarred strength rough on my pulse
revealing to the roots my daily face to face with
not knowing
and the belief that I can wait

as a coo soothes a napping field
rocking, deep in care free slumber-  
I feel you too
will someday brush across my cheek, careful
sending troubles with a hush
quiet as the day shy's it's gaze to the night

There will always be a pause
escalating expectations, suspended seconds
when the door heaves closed
and I'm tugged into innocence
clutching the air for a blankie, holding close
the possibility everything will be alright

I keep a wilting daisy on the floor beside my bed
dampened by the shadows, colored by my eyes
it will dry completely, defeated on the carpet
yet there will be more
and I will always fill the vase with water

Burn it.


I won't watch the flames the same way

Emerging           are
            Wishes         lured


Moving                with
             Boosting confidence

Sustained
Staggers toward a long-term
                 Fulfillment

It was the mouths fault
smacking together, flicking sticky
reality onto her collarbone.
Squishing perfectly whole beginnings into soggy afterthoughts
It could have left them alone, yet
silence is failure, and success was all it could talk about

Never reach for a door closing if you
can't handle the pain.
Pinched knuckles inflamed with blame,
stiffly folding in quiet fury
Nails are diva's
rallying strikes when ignored, scratching at patience
always needing attention
All active in the community: grabbing and giving, holding and pushing,
killing and mending, building and breaking.
Thing is, fingerprints only matter in crimes

It's losing pressure. Deflating, collapsing.
Rubbing is hopeless, exams are lazy, blinking is irritating. No focus
Look at her-
                         Can't.
Look her in the eyes-
                         Won't
No focus, no focus, ......no .....fo....
                                      {bare shoulders
                             fingers intertwined
                                              soft...­lips..
                                   broken skateboards
                                              midnigh­t bench talk
                                         sun burns
                                    you're it
                                           you're it
                                                            yo­u're}
                                                          ­                     Not.
Reading makes it worse, table charts said it would continue deteriorating. Always blurred, always squinting.
So much depending, so much waiting. so much, so much, ......so....muc
                                                 ­      {desire
                                                        ­           promises
                                                        ­    hope
                                                       backseat lounging
                                                                ­   hours of music
                                                   October coffee
                                                          ­      I'm ready
                                                           ­             I'm ready
                                                           ­                                    I'm}
                                                           ­                                                    Not.




Never. Stop.
Don't quit, don't go easy.
Committed- following through, following these vines. These promises
Don't underestimate- prove it.
Every day, every day, every.single.day.
                                 but.
                                please.
                   ­              I am,
                                     hurting
                                I trust
                                    and
                   ­             I'm failed
                           I won't let you down
                                   but.
                          Don't take me for granted
                          I am strong, I am strong, I am strong
                                   but.
                          I have moments
Mouth's lie, hand's reach, eye's fade, heart's ache.
Be more than the weakness
I am only human
           but.
I want more

Keep *Being A mouthed chord
Knuckle's Brace Acute angles, hoping to feel safe
Knots Bring Anguish to a man with no patience
Knit Better Antlers if *you want to survive in the wild
Kings Bombed Acceptance eager to heap on seconds, thirds
Knees Borrow Answers when shaved, scratched stiff
Knock Bravery Around and it will spin, dizzy and sick
Know Broken Angel's and in time jazz will sound like warm Yeager poured over January ice

getting stuck
restless in the dust
stirred by soft touches, hard to handle
flurries of hesitant spontaneity-
take flight in the heated tango of 6:17 p.m.
will the billows settle among the fabric
or will it settle for nothing, yearning for fresh winds
floating endless on breathy quotes
wisdom of ancient used shirt sleeves
I believe I have a chance
to choose

Beginning to understand the silence will mend this lost soul

camera flashes
you shook my pains
rattled my nails
and you just keep pouring
sweat

stop complaining
might get noticed
heavy on the wild stampede
but this whining
it has to go
under the hooves

and I know it's lonely
stuck under rain proof coats
static      
but why allow
the creation of looking glass
separate path's and
sink holes?

pitchfork the potholes
I know you are trembling
better to let it spill
better to let it
spill

deep breathing
the clouds will soon clear
and
move on

you don't ever notice a piece                               each passing day





                                                               missing

she sat in the corner and asks

                                                   g                            WHY am I always digging at the bottom of this red box
r                                              n         ­                                                                 ­        '   w'''
  e                                         i                                                            ­                          '''e  '                           '
   a                                  h                                                            ­                         '          e   ''       '
     c                            c                              ­                                             '        '          p''   '          '                 '
       h                     a                                                            ­                    '          '              i '                      '
          i               e                                                            ­            '          '  '           '         n    '      '
            n        r                         ­                                                 '       '           '         '            g        '
                g                        ­                                                                 ­                                               '        '        ­       '

                                                              ­                                              Begging for understanding while the claws of misleading whispers are speaking sweet nothings, pretty as raw sugar. Which is the sweetener and which is the bitter black?
                                                                ­                         YELLING
out of frustration                                                    ­   YELLING                                                     out of patience
out of disappointment                                              YEL­LING                                                          out­ of ideas

      but take me by the hand                   drape me across my bed post
      use the other to pick me up  GOD   tell me to stop crying and
                                                     come home

Forgive me
I know sorry c doesn't always
                        u
                        t
                        it

  ­                                                  WHY is it when I run to stains on the carpet You find me with even more force than the last. I never thought You were .........
                                                       ­                                          such a clean freak

                                                          ­                            I hope You know
                                                            ­                          that I keep pushing
                                                         ­                             You into last weeks trash
                    but the trash has a certain aroma
                                  [[[Corinthians 2:14]]]

sometimes Your Fabreeze winds are the only thing that
let me smile
                                                                ­     I can't thank You enough for

                                                            ­        r
                                                       ­               e
                                                ­                         a
                                                               ­             c
                                                  ­                              h
                                 ­                                                  i
                                                               ­                      n      
                                                                ­                         g
                                                               ­                                out
                                                             ­                                  letting me hear the train whistle
                                                         ­                                      imagine the cloth cubicles  
                                                      ­                                         even while I
                                                                ­                               blatantly ignore it
                                                              ­                                 and keep walking
                                                                ­                               this long road

                                                           ­                                      on my own


Stop handing me ~tickets~
I'm scared one day I'll take one
and board

My nose scrunched
                                                                ­     unsure of why my
                                                              ­       monkey bars mother slapped  
                                                       ­                        my curious nails
                                                           ­                                                                 ­         away
                                                            ­                   but I wanted,
                                                                ­                       but  just, I want
                                                            ­            to see what it looks like
                                                            ­     underneath the deep red patches
                                                         ­        it hurt when I saw the
                        ___________gro­und___________

                         ­                                       and
                                                                ­      not
                                                                ­          the
                                                   ­                            slippery
                                                        ­                                  yellow
                        ­                                                                 ­            slide
                   hitting the mulch wasn't ever
                   part of the flight instructions, those were
                   written by the kid who never stops
                                                           ­                             p   la y   i   ng  ----------          t   a g  

                               catch me but you won't know what to do once
                                                            ­    I'm   It

I'll be sent to the bench for my carelessness
reckless                                  of my attention
                   abandonment

then my nose will scrunch
when the centimeters of her ruler straight hand
slap away persistence
                                                                ­                                                     but but, just, I wanted
                                                                ­                                                                 ­     just wanted to

                                                             ­                                                            peek underneath

                                                                ­                                        at all the soft loveliness
                                                      ­                            the fresh renewal  
                      of skin that has never seen a bad day

A problem was detected in the letters of her name, there was too little a space between
the first and last letters too many mistakes in the ink, the punctuation was
closing the end of the sentence before she could remember who was crying
who was waiting for the crunching gravel who was waiting to find a fresh box of tissues
so that the gift wouldn't look like they were closing on their own,  I stood on my own I held a pose  steady in front of your eyes and watched them shake with
                                          nothing
closing from lack of sleep to keep away from the mystery of my weaknesses the mystery of why I
run but it's not to keep away but to keep in pace with the questions: yes and no
many times I have wandered into such stuffy neck collars and straight backs
they say no. sometimes I believe them sometimes I believe me. I say no
then you gather me into the right side of the room and speak about the word "it". you say yes
it is mine, I am it, but not even I can define what that means and I will say that yes sounds more like a seasick captain than the right choice in the right side of the room
I have talked about "It" and I have let my hands do the talking lazy sign language impossible to interpret impossible to not lift my head to the ceiling and beg for understanding
Don't you realize I need to feel a slip of cursive in my back pocket from when I was distracted
like you said I would  find
or perhaps a round wave of blindfolds that reveal a place of such perfection because it was
made for me
like you said I would see
There is a certain kind of happiness that resides beneath the rusting pumping veins that surround my pulse
can you feel it
no
can you find me
no
is this it
no
they are stacking up against the
tower
and your unknown middle name
I realized today that I was never found after I took a leap of faith into your arms
I arose a ghost of smiling excuses-it will be ok it will be ok it will
close
one day, out of business
out of chances- your board broke the trick tricked us both
the two halves, will you hand one to me? I want to stare at the ragged edge  
how will you write about it
miss the charm? or will it rant about the unlucky
hand dealt. there is always the next game and i'll bet on you
and your poker face
I can serve the table and you will have the split second of eye contact before returning to your
"oh so successful life"
and I will grab my coat and
walk home

I didn't like the smog
so I curled up deeper into
the corner of your pocket

when you reach for chapstick
to fight off the dry
there might be lint
there might be
paper leftovers from the cut outs
holding hands
there is still some white
under my nails

I hope you didn't see

I fell out of the hole
along with the coins
singed my sleeve with surprise
I had to avert my eyes when the
check came

I hope you didn't see

put your head higher
toward the sun and you
could be blind and deaf
everything is pretty
when you just don't realize
what you're missing

I'll reside beneath the ceder
wise about what is beauty and
what is molding wood
don't call for me
when all you see is
a rotten bench

I hope you see I'm missing

The river drank gallons of ripened water-the color of aging bananas
mouth gaping wider, fishing for more of a glass half full
tired of the filthy laundry piling beneath the surface
waiting to sketch deeper into the canyon and discover
a cure for boredom

sunset: gazing at the back of the horizon
easy to notice the tiny spit of pointillism
which gave focus to the clouds
maybe there are more finer details
than a ragged pair of sneakers and
eye lashes that tickle ears

hoping that the crisp iced air would help
remind tall lagging legs that the unexpected action
would be to keep 3 extra soft layers waiting for
the dirt encrusted pink toe nails to feel the promise of
making a right choice

thinking perhaps that writing down little
snip-its of the way curls only twist closer to
each other in heat will keep the electricity in busy brains
buzzing just long enough to avoid the bills
but only if someone describes touching lace

thinking even more that there
are better ways for you and I to figure out the word
                                  we
if by midnight strawberry swirls don't melt down my arm