i'm not a master,
i'm no man.
snot drips from the nostril,
the sizzle grips the saucepan.
static head in the negative degree,
below freezing weather, i do believe.
stone cold stare at the fire ablaze,
blood boil, bubble bath and turmoil,
death to the royals.
potbellies to the gifted,
flight or fight feelings for the lesser.
lack of passion, slow moving action.
caught in the eye of abstraction,
I lost my bond with reality.
sneeze out the cake batter,
dimmed lights-
I'm in in my corner.
the last in line,
a faster pace raced in my mind.
blurred vision,
motionless mission.
still, the snot drips as
time slips through my
failed finger tips.

Pro-******,

absolute identity.

Absentminded,

******, insanity.

Black on white,

white on black.

Coffee stained *****,

my lips are far from pure.

I’ve come to see my morals have change,

and I would not want it any other way.

I rode to the cemetery,
this Sunday morning.
I chained my bike to
the last log of the labyrinth.
I danced softly in the
center.

I walked up that hill,
while cars passed for
a burial service.
I wondered if I was rude,
not dressed like everyone
else, dressed in black.
I was afraid they could
tell, that I was looking
for names.

I hated feeling watched.
Even earlier when
I sat at the bar
of a diner for breakfast.

I kept to myself,
smiled to strangers,
so they knew that I
was friendly.

Could they tell that
I was hurting?
Could they sense
my quench of
thirst?

As I look too see,
and raise my head,
the corn rows are
to the right.

To the left,
a distant barn pillar.

The last time I felt
this way was six months
ago, or so.

In the month of April,
the Spring breeze
was there the ease my head.
I slept in the sunshine at
the top of the graveyard hill.
There next to me, a gentle,
wandering soul.

As I look to my right again,
barbed-wires keep
me from the corn.

This bench that I rest my body on,
engraved where my langley-legs
drape the edge,
"KEEP SEARCHING FOR A HEART OF GOLD."
In a handwriting that was too
familiar.

This shoots my compass magnet
North, South, East, and West.
19 years later, an Autumn
Breeze sways my way.

Sometimes the sun sets
when I am restless.
Other times, I will not rest
until the sun rises.

When I saw the name Ripley,
to the right was Bliss.
Behind the bush of pink flowers,
a rose bush I could only hope,
I did see the name Shannon.

I saw Melvin near Cahill.
I saw Hutchins, Tobin, and
Soloman.
I saw Thomas, Owen, Jones,
Donahue, and Roberts.

I searched for the names
that called to me.
They thanked me, they
apologized, and I did
likewise.

I searched for a name
like mine, and then
fell in love with the name I
was given.

As the burial service continued,
I followed the bits of grass-path
and gravel road, back towards
the labyrinth.

I am fire,
here to shine,
here to give warmth
to those who need it.
And one day, I too,
shall burn to ashes.

If they must, they might
try to simmer the flame.

Colorado forest fires
are a natural way to give
the Rockies a chance
to resurface.

And yes, my eyes have traveled
from stars to soil,
and now my eyes are set towards the
Himalayan, East.

I toss and turn,
I sleep no more.
Yawns widened,
my eyes drip
the tired cries.
Wrists crack,
body exhausted from
staying still for so long.

All the sheep inside my head,
could never amount to all of
those bottles on the wall.

There were days that I learned
how to sit still.
These days moved fast,
yet slow.

Time told me to be on
his side, so counted
all the steps it took
me to get into this bed.

Death metal blasted
from passer-bys
on slick roads.
Sign reads,
"Drive Slow."

Shocked to see a shadow,
too soon sunken in velour.

the trailer
nights were black
and cold.

hot breath
showed as it blew
through me, but
it wasn't enough
to keep me warm.

raw and real,
just as the elk standing
out in the frosted mist,
I could not help but be
reminded of how I have
been missed.

the faucet leaks,
there are missing tiles in the floors,
and the spiders crawl the peak
of my laundry mountain.

the space heater was the best
addition to my trailer life,
that is until the circuit blew.

tried and true,
I still want to believe in you.

and it makes me smile,
makes me hurt -
and all the while
you beat the death metal
drum inside of my heart.

Leafless trees hover the the sidewalks,
leading to places that I should,
and should not be.
Between you and me,
you see me much easier,
than I seem to see you.

I can play the part,
when I choose to.
But can you not tell,
I would prefer to climb these
tree limbs, rather than walk
beneath.

I reckon you would choose,
to bequeath to me the ability,
to walk tall, when I feel so childish,
and so small.

As fruit flies flood my bedroom,
I flee the scene, hoping not to be
seen.

I am afraid I live in a town,
that I am far too unfamiliar with.
I'm running out of hiding places.

I know this feeling must be temporary,
but is this just a test?
For now, I suppose I am meant to
just digress.

Oh, but how pretty the autumn is,
how exiting it is to see the sky change
from clear to night.
I choose to wait.
Let my fate find me,
because you cannot,
and trust me when I say,
CANNOT,
fight fate,
my dear.

I can run, and I can hide.
Try to find me, you may
get lucky.
Knock on my door,
that is where you will
find me.

And when boredom strikes my mind,
I will look out the window.
Don't think I never saw you there,
you knew exactly where I was.
I'm sure it wasn't hard to spot a
naked gal front & center of a dimly lit
bedroom of a well-known building.

You spied with your little eyes,
and I fled the scene.
Too bad you couldn't wait,
just a moment longer.
You would have seen me,
standing there.

I swear, if time passes
and turns into a year,
what the hell do you want
from me?

In all honesty,
I've made amends to all
the men from my past.
Well, except for one.
My biological father.
but he doesn't matter,
anyway.

But can you not tell?
Can you not see?
My heart is bleeding blue.
True, deep, dark,
blue.
I promise I will
never **** the life
from you.

Hot cross buns,
one a penny,
two a penny,
darling, please.

You can't knock it,
no, not ever!
Not until you try it!
Treat me like a lady,
kiss me on my hand.

For now, I glance out every
secret window
of this spooky
ghost town.
I suppose I will learn
to settle.
But I beg,
find me hiding.
One of these nights, I'll be
somewhere similar to a sanctuary.

I was never an artist,

I was the athlete-

so said my mother and sister.

This meant I ran faster,

kicked harder,

ran away but came home

only to find you

hanging that noose.

I was 9 years old

and I saw you in the dusted

garage.

I saw you standing on that

stool.

Is that what you wanted?

Were you trying to prove

a ******* thing?

Did you want nothing

to do with your

two precious daughters?

Did you want your cheating

husband to turn around

and beg for forgiveness

and tell you that he loved you?

yeah, I was 9 and

I opened that door and

saw that noose around  your neck.

I screamed ****** ******

and fell to my knees.

Please mama! No!

She cried and stepped

down.

She ran to her bedroom

and I followed screaming.

All I remember from that night

was daddy leaving us all behind

one of many times.

"as if I were hiding something,"
you repeated minutes later
aloud after me.

the buzzing turned to hissing,
and I know that you told
me this all once before.

and I didn't have the chance to
tell you that I was not ready,
but you wasted no time,
and ignored my request to
move slowly.

at the stoplight
colored red, I screamed
and got out of the car.
Waiting and hiding
in the corner store.

the time that I realized that
you were stronger than me,
and I couldn't get you
off me for all that I tried.

heart races, neck held
against the wall.
she walks to school
with a black eye.
and I laugh, because
otherwise I'd cry.

a body at rest will stay at rest,
and a body in motion, will
live on in motion.

bored brain,
so I stretch.
must not forget
this body that
lives to be.

so many phases,
**** the moon,
I'm talking about
my soul!

another sunrise,
I drive home through
the snow drifts.

I see you in my fever dreams,
and too soon
sunlight ****.

behind closed doors

and cinder block walls

your drunk face spits

words you cannot take back

tomorrow you deny

that you could ever

be such a fool

and say such things.

i remember the boy who called me

his daisy

and i remember another who would call me

tiger lily.

in my mother’s eyes,

i am her petunia.

I continue to hide

to be disguised.

I silently choke

on the poison

in your cup.

for the first time in a long time,
i saw the difference in the
color green.

trees stretched further
than I could tell,
fresh crisp rain,
that woke me from
my fog.

from the green mountains,
to the evergreens,
and all that runs between.

cloudy nights drive
the morning light.

I was always told to carry on, don't look behind at your past.
But you also told me to watch my back.
I can't help but be teased by my past, when I'm constantly watching my back.

A few told me to not question, "why?"
and well, again I repeat myself, but, why?
why is what gave me the answer to whom my real father is.
why is the demon that lives within the five Ws.
Who? What? Where? When? Why?
or so it seems that some teachers and ivy league schools would like replace "Why" with "How."

oh, wretched fools.
you can not erase this word from the world that I live in.
not today, not tomorrow, never.
and let us remember, it is the fool that sleeps.
and although I adore my precious slumber,
where I dream like no other,
wake me. shake me. shatter and break me.
free me from my dreamland prison.

watch me strike. hear me scream. you call me crazy?
well it's true, I haven't gotten much sleep these days.
send me to my room, send me to bed,
rest your weary head.
and when so scared, I will run to the safest place,
I know.

I'm sorry,
but am I?

Deep down, you can't tell me you do not
feel it. And I was not kidding when I said
that I am Mother Nature's child,
looking for comfort from the sun.

Uncle Mike always said it, "You're not as stupid as you look."
and to this day, you both ask me why I say this.
you ask me why I am so insecure, was it the divorce?
was it the attempted kid nap? was it the ten different Father figures in my life?

The wolves in Holland, the wolves in hell.
Like a child who played the lion attacking
Daniel in the Den.
It was my sister who was playing Daniel.
The star singer at Readington Reformed Church.

If only every memory didn't trigger
every bit of trauma, that I've been trying to hide.
So I ran from why, I hid from why, I spat in the eyes of why.

However now, I love to meet and greet why with
a firm handshake.
I do this because I love why, and why loves me.
For why and I are similar and we both can play
this game of life together.

And at times when we add fuel to the fire,
we will remember, that fire is warm,
and fire protects.
But we must watch each other,
and remember that fire does burn.

Baby, the fire in my heart,
it burns and yearns for years to come.
and no, I can't say I'm sorry if it ever does burn out.
My secret fire never burns out when I am alone.

watching and staring,
I can barely see anything at all.
thoughts cascading,
a triple spiral
mountain run-off.

fever dreams flashing,
I'm sick, I'm sick.
entrance stone turns to sand.

cars are hissing,
tractor trailers are roaring.
something holy lives here,
three realms.
land, sea, sky.

if I could lock my doors,
close the blinds,
and simmer the sunlight,
I'd get lost in the darkness
and write poems that
play hide and seek
with my other half.
still, this mist sits,
and I shy away from opening
my eyes completely all the way.
hiding my face in the palms of
my hands, and trying not
to understand.
until then, wasted.

now I lay me down to sleep,
I hoped for snow, the refrigerator
hums, I am buried.
rain mists spits
and I am over this.
wake me in the moonlight,
close my  eyes and I am there.
walk with me, we're on the moon.
it's chilly but we're too busy dancing.
I wish you didn't see me twisted,
but  I know you do.
It's alright, it's sorta true.
I knit knots in my belly,
it's turning me blue
and it's heavy.
shake me just a little,
hold me till midnight.
laaadeee daaaa dee

occupy the body, I am waiting
for challenge, for a shift, until
the dress just fits.
but I lay, I am lying,
looking in the mirror,
trying too hard, again.
trying harder than ever
to walk with my head held
high, higher than my ego.
Spring, wake unto me,
my spirit needs shaking.
eyes glazed, passing by,
the elephant in the living room.

I read the writing,
30 years old, or older.
My Grandmother wrote,
left handed,
after a stroke.
Funny how,
it read just like
mine.
Now, what was written,
was a copy.
But 5 pages deep,
I was deeply
impressed.
What a woman.
Pictures only show
me who you used to be.
Your husband used
to call me his girlfriend,
even on his deathbed.

I wanted to quit smoking,
in honor of you.
I cried a bit
at the library,
and just for an hour
I was taken away.

To touch the same paper
you put your pen to,
it truly was an honor.

Reality hits,
your daughter is
here, to collect me.
Because that is all
I am.
It's rough,
it bites,
it truly ***** me
dry.

And when I look at your
pretty pill bottle,
and try to make sense
of a cancer that made you
ill, how to glorify
a gust of sickly
pills, I am confused
by the nurse,
the doctor,
the pastor,
the preacher,
the passer-by
and the master.

I wish your subtle
messages could
be a bit more clear.
I'm confused by the
new neighbors,
and saddened to see
myself to be just so
naive. Some tell me
that I'm 20,
a birthday tells me
I'm 19.
Who bears the truth,
the truth within,
is you.
So please,
come out and say
hello, born to die,
don't you hide,
my hair is growing
old lengths once
again-
it's a sign.

did i forget to tell you?!
the mountains and the sea!
rolling and roaring
off the shores of new jersey
i call your name
and you splash me
I CAN'T SEE
I CAN'T See.
No more, I am free.
Can you hear me?
I am screaming,
the mountains and the sea!
You are all, you are one
summer sea foam.
it's humble, it's numbing
you're laughing and soaring
and watching me run.

for quite some time, i’ve been trying to decode her.

as I slip through these days, I only figure her out more and more,

and it’s simple why she likes to keep her distance.

she likes to give love to those who haven’t felt it,

she likes to play and melt away under your skin.

she only wants to drain the ***** water from your sink,

give you pain to make you think.

i’ve heard her say sweet things in the dark before,

little whispers, soft legs, and blistered feet.

she’s always played the part like some sort of baby broken bear,

but maybe she’s known what she’s been doing all along.

i hear her sing her songs,

i see her cry her tears.

a genuine jewel and a colored gem,

a diamond with many facets.

a sleepy tiger lily,

and a leaning weeping willow.

days to weeks, weeks to months, and months to years.

every second spent daydreaming in that vacant house,

full of tainted and painful memories,

made her mind wander and let her head bloom.

no explanation.

no mix or match of any words, music, or memories

could touch her.

except, the sense of knowing

she was there, alive in that corner of time in the world.

but, it was everything.

everything that spoke to her, every song she heard,

every feeling she felt

moved her, broke her, bathed her,

remade her.

Laying in the dark,
I feel the spring breeze
blow through the pine trees,
as the dogs bark.
The coyotes sing their
songs to the moon.

This moment wants
to keep me from the morning
waking hours.

Humid May,
humor me more.

I speak less,
and drown within the hustle.
Hide behind every other
person as possible.
Distant.

Sweet baby,
split-pea soup.
croissant carbs,
sliced tomato,
onion crisp, and
spinach greens-
ooh avocado,
please!

look out the
kitchen window,
my dog's head in
the compost pit!
"LIBBBBBYY!"
homemade soup on the back-burner

******, scratch it,
there ain't even any
tomatos or onion to
throw on this french
bread!
ohh, but mama,
let's get real,
since when was
there ever any
money for all these
S.Pellegrinos!?

I'm not complaining,
and I know ain't
isn't a word,
but for Christ Sake!
Being home is always
wild.

To sit by the fire,
or to be a free-running
child?

I can't even make lunch
without getting excited,
and documenting my odd
life.

Could have made that Bumble-Bee-
solid white albacore,
or Skippy,
squeeze that Skippy-
it's the skippy you squeeze!
Figured I'd go a little
more home-made today.

How long will it be
'till Mama starts asking
for rent?

All those Doctor bills,
wild insurance-
you slay me!
Mental health,
Hunterdon and Rutland,
you really did me deep.
And to keep paying those
Doctor's with those degrees,
sheesh!

Rode my bike to the TDBank,
to take out the last of what I
had, for Mama.
Talk about hell on two wheels!

So now my choices can be narrowed-
Do I hit the restaurants and do
the night shifts, waitressing in
that filthy grease?
Do I get a portfolio and try to model,
without Mama's approval?
I sure do have one impressive
resume, but this state wants to
take my license away.

My student loans are
in over my head, here
at least there's a futon
and a warm bed.
Chicago means an air mattress and
Vegas screams something I can't really
be too sure about.

I guess it's true, home
is where the heart is.
Home is where my toes
are warm and where my lunch date,
Libby, never leaves my side.

This U-turn situation,
it's not so bad. Yeah, sure,
I was supposed to be in Utah,
canyoneering. And this New Year's,
I would have, should be, could have been
backpacking through Nepal-
a dream.
Sometime I just get a little sad.

So I'll read some books,
watch some films,
give Libby her beef-flavored
pain-killer pills,
and pray for a pretty little
white-christmas miracle.

Only a few days after you pass,
reminds me of time,
how like sand it slips
through an hour glass.
it has been long since
I have laid my head back
and listened to the flow of jazz.
how it unwinds and unravels,
carefully, each moment to the next.
sometimes, wildly,
it dances upon a rhythm chasing
a fleeing feeling.
as if it were creating a story
with a ******,
where until reached,
keeps you wanting more.
no amount of pain inflicted
could numb me,
the free sound of jazz.
no other sound could ease
or tender any better
than the sweet sound
that sent my senses
bringing them to the heavens

sloppy-copy,

this wasn’t at all what I had

in my mind.

floppy disk,

explain to me only the gist.

and I beg of you,

please hear me out.

swear to you that I meant that.