You
Cannot
Take
Away
The
Rights
Of
Those
Who
Have
Nothing
Left

loving this **** ghost
who will never be alive
like drinking poison

only your essence
to haunt me every day
never the true thing

I want to feel warmth
not the absence of real love
paranormal dreams

i.


monet's passion written in
whispering tears.
the still lake smoulders
in ripples, all shadows and smoke.

a dragonfly presses the air
into whir, memories in my
pocket saddled to fire.


ii.


the air murmurs with death-shouts.

is this to sink, deep in a dungeon
of opulent blue

or to shimmer, iridescent
like a moon-lamp, empress
of ocean green and river blue
beyond the stilling light.


iii.


this is a bed of decadence
drowned moment of golden fire
in the sipped leaves that trumpet
to the clouds, that this is their day to
die.


iv.


water lily, white light of the pond
following the drowning dark,
flower of drifting quiet,
flower of dream.


v.


root treading past
the stillness of dusk,
utter existence,
daughter of the moon,
daughter of the silence.

i’m broken
the way every writer is
broken and the words fall
out of the cracks.

this is the moon's
quiet rose, the unfolding
of the clouds, tranquility
resting her head,
the beautiful sea.

I'm a prisoner
In ma own abandoned bodye.
I want someone to bite da chain's away.

the thunder of
a small bird.

a poem grows shadows
and moonscapes,

the moon,
withered sapphires,
undone,
her open windows
a thread of bright
light.

walls of smoke          
ghost girl
floating

the small hours
dance to the song of
the moon

placed on a
wooden coat hanger
the satin clouds of the dark.