Tears linger on eyelids

without the energy

to stream down her cheek.

A dry cry is all she can muster.



A deep sigh

ripples folds in her blouse.

An unused brush filled with

dandruff flakes and uprooted hair

rests on the end-table next to her.



Calls unanswered, or worse,

echoes of beep, beep, beep.

She dials to talk to someone

about everything and nothing.



A televangelist flings his robed arms toward heaven.

and shouts from the small screen that

forgiveness is the answer.

If only she knew who to forgive.



Layers of emotion, distorted

like radio static on a stormy night

dance with images of guilt

and thoughts of dismay.



A dry cry is all she can muster.

~~~~There is turmoil in the turning,
      Breakage in the bend,
    Talks of new beginnings,
  Whispers of the end.

  Screams of silence so deafening,
    Lips that move without a sound.
      Never knowing what's happening,
        Feeling lost, fighting to be found.

        Something on the surface,
      That begs for something more.
    The meaning in the purpose,
  The dangle of the lure.

  The escaping thoughts of mind,
    Lost to the strong willed
      Caught up in the social grind,
        The way of life was once killed.

        Oh!, and ain't it a shame?
      Staying still, while life races by
    Losing this grandest of games
  Barely floating, while everyone else can fly...

  That's where some will find themselves,
    Arms down by their side.
      Standing here if nowhere else,
        This, their lot in life.

Dear Mr. Preacher
Why are you so greedy for
Everytime I see you
You ask for a dollar to feed the poor
I just want you to
Look me in the eyes
And realise 
I don't own a cent
Let alone two to create a jingle 
Money comes money goes
In my case it just goes
I owe the landlord
Tonight he's throwing me out the door
My accounts in overdraft
Saving 
What's saving
I don't know
Why must you ask and shame me for
Announce it on the speaker
20 dollars from Mrs Sparks 
One hundred from old man Williams
Thank you for being so generous
With your donation
In God's house it's become a bidding war
For thou art the holiest
And kindest 
God loves the charitable
But forgive me if I'm wrong
Did He not also speak of the boastful
Pride is a man's downfall
And if I had a dollar or two to spare
Or maybe more
I would leave it anonymously
Like the way a breeze lifts the cat flap
In the wall
The way you would find a forgotten paper bill
In an old purse

I hear Albert Einstein's eyeballs
Are packed away in a lock box
Somewhere in New York City
Under golden key and lock

I can't help but wonder
About what it is he sees
Stuffed in that darkened rectangular box
For all of eternity

Do they pull them out and dust them off
Every now and then
Let them look around without a sound
A wink without a grin

Are they kept inside a pickle jar
Or do they roll around freely
These are a few of the questions
That keep confounding me

Do they MC square as they sit there and stare
Do they soak them in Visine
They must dry out rather quickly
With no way to possibly blink

Why would they save Albert's eyeballs
What could they possibly find
Unless they just love the color
Of the brown tint in his eyes

You call me darling, but:
Darling,  
do not call me by that name,
I could not bear it if I tried.
That word is a pyre, and I—
I do not know how to burn
well enough.

Until I can swallow your absence whole
and live,
I will not lay a hand on you:
You who call me out of my trembling cloak
Of skin and muscle and bones,
Into the lissome folds of that tender night
To meet you.

Until I can meet your gaze without encountering some
small death,
I will not try to hold you:
weightless one,
Who I could never quite grasp anyway.

Until I can kiss your lips and remember
Where you end and I begin
I will not get lost in you:
Constellation of nerves and veins and sinews,
Strewn across the stars.


I have tried to love,
weightlessly,
But my heart is still heavy, my dear.

And I have tried to love you,
desperately,
Without the heaviness of desire
or the desperation of need,
But I have lost all substance on the pyre
Of self-denial, for indemnity.