a song from the wild
feathered notes

sings for joy
from its perch

a Sycamore branch
wind swaying

such a big song
from such a small voice.

moving within the silence
a whispered prayer

candle flame
smoke of incense

deep within the heart
a manifestation of love

spiritual company
in a world of solitude.

always happy, always in bloom,
always one step away from becoming
just a collection of parts;
her head still smiling and pretty
rolling across the floor.
sorry, did i break the illusion too soon?
not so beautiful now that you know
what it feels like to be her.
makes you wish the flashes would stop,
makes you want to scream
"can't you see she's already done enough?"
why can't they set her free?
but alas,
she must always be happy,
always in bloom,
always one breath away from becoming
just a collection of parts.

~
faded mauve
butterflies
fluttering along
defeated
selenitic walks
the sound of
abandoned ship bells
in the far
parlor north
but the guilt of
wind is silent
like Venetian whispers
from motionless lips

us, then
inward and upward
one step too far
a house of strangers
tipping like boats
seaworthy as sleep
oars divide
the ocean
but framed pictures
and love letters
unite the walls
to this unstable floor
then, us
always, us
~

Imagine bringing your dead hamsters back to life over and over again

To keep their wheels spinning,

And telling them they’d better love you-

Or else.

I don’t want anymore strength for trudging in circles.

I want to see this cycle so gloriously broken.

To see my last corpse crumble beneath me, and make my last ascent through the prison air

To disregard the summoned guard posing as Jesus and Krishna and all who would guilt me into coming back one more very last time.

I want to shield my eyes from that tunnel of light long enough to see another way out,

To see the stars for who they are

And if in that moment, in turn my hopes crumble beneath me,

No crack to be found in the firmament,

Inner-self-destruction a last false prophet,

What then…

No chance of burning up or burning down,
Just forever burnt out…

Hamsters so quickly, gloriously enough, chew their way out of those ****** plastic cages.