i lay down
at your feet
and roll
over
like a
cowed
dog

anything you
want to take
from me is
already gone

when it hurts
it stings all
over

and i cry
because
i wish it
could start
hurting again

i can’t tell when
i’m being kicked
down

i can’t tell
anyone
how i feel

there is no magic
in waiting

there is no magic
in leaving

i sit at the door
in hopes that
someone will
walk through
and save
me.

Drunk as a Hummingberd
Beak-deep in Hibiscus

Imbibing your aroma through
Every pore and Feathered follicle

After many near misses
sweet thunderbolt kisses
explode upon my lips
heady molten sips
which burn me
turn me to matchwood
incendiary splinters
ashes of desire
a willing victim of flame and fire

In 1992 a major storm tore
the rented beach finger,

ten foot whitecaps yawning
in a horizon of clenched tar.

I walked with mom
through clews of wind

& saw conches strewn
on down the dying strand:

bleached comma fragments
among the bolting towel skins.

The sea was standing there
on foaming legs, fully awake now,

green glass tongues hissing,
a death myth of muscle,

smiles and grimaces
& lolls and swallows,

all at once, synchronous.
More alive than any god.

The external spills in.
A visage of the outside materializes on my reflective psyche.
And through the mirror,
The external reaches into me and forces me to tremble
And wail in unison with it.

Could I bend and manipulate the projected image?
Could I make it beautiful and weak
So that it cannot take hold of me and exploit this marionette body?
Or should I simply sever my strings?
So the impression cannot control me,
But only beg for my compliance.

And what if my will aligns with that of the terrible specter's?
I fear I may be too willing
To do the harm it bids me.