Last night,
I told Jupiter
to sell me one of her
many moons.
Well, you can't have
Callisto.
How about Europa?
No.
Then can Amalthea
become my own?
There was silence
in waiting
for
what
I'd expect.
it's been quite
a while
actually,
a good many months
until I remembered
that small dot of silver
hung up in my room.
just where it
belonged
I found myself too.
I spoke with Jupiter
for an hour tonight
She asked "How is Thea?"
I said,
"She's doing all right."
How good of her
to want to know.
My moon is my anchor
and I love her so.

One day,
maybe
I'll
tell it to you
like a secret
kept
between
two
friends.
while
my
lips
move
closer
to
your
own
and you
think
what then?
.
.
you'll know.

I am no...Annie Leibovitz
weilding frames per second
in an angled lens
while you tilt your head back
to laugh at whatever it was
that I said.
It's beautiful.
The sound of your laughter
filling in-between pauses
like music,
so sweet and so dear
but I am no Henry Purcell.
The Fairy-Queen lilts like a bell.
It's all so much like magic
how tragic it is
to have your eyes see mine
and still never know I exist.
I am no Girl With A Pearl Earring
I just find you endearing
how if Sandro had found you
decades ago
You would be Venus
and I would be Picasso.
Both so different yet striking
and maybe you'd know
You are my everything.

It's peanut butter crackers
and diet coke.
A time to reflect on choices,
life, failures, economic goals.
In the background,
without sound
there's a shadow,
never stitched
nor set by adhesive.
It's simply there
like I am
on this carpet,
Indian style
wondering if
someone can see this.
This body,
this soul,
this crippling person
who flicks bits of toasted crumbs
from her lap.
Staring into an enormous oblivion
wishing to swallow her whole
until nothing remains
but the shadow.
This is depression
at it's finest.