I'm the wronger

a wooden soul
destined to stoke for eternity

I better start smoking again
maybe the harder stuff  

to get my soul used to breathing in ash
my lungs will be black and caked full


chugging deer blood and bull
to erase
the feeling of me

you tell me I'm an un-thinker
superfluous thoughts of a prosthetic heart

I had a dream once
I was peeling
never ending oranges

pulling the skin from the sweet juicy
flesh
drops of tang slipping from my fingers

but never sinking my teeth into

orange suggests so many contrary things
trees indicate life
prosperity

but eating an orange means separation
illness

tie me down
batter me

I think it unwise
you chasing me

to the un-pearly gates
those burning barriers
you circumnavigate

while I will smell of citrus
for eternity

peach fuzz caught on the curved back
of my little curled creature.

carved in clay
chirped from the dust

timid sculpture
weathered crisp

at the cusp of your
organics

drool dews the downy where dreams dip
and dare brews of white lullabies
into static

your wet balmy breath drags and plucks my
rhythmic drum


a beat so wild
my little angel one
winnowed away
from heaven

gasping mud
the soul
came from

With iron and honey I glaze both cheeks
while two bees bumble up each cascade


pressing curvy pumping abdomens
with points plying as they scrape

each presses into a cheekbone producing
blossoms of irritated wine and grape


pixilated with  pyrexia I collapse in a
webbed hammock perplexed


and wait and wait


my mouth blazing I gaze up and despise


the puffy diluted masses in  fields of blue
my cheeks dilated threatening to thunder

and then a pause as sweat brings honey
tumbling uncontrolled  


out from within

My high

       beams reflect on the violently

fluttering wings of a moth

       right before my engine consumes its life

and I wonder as I drive

       towards your captivating light

blinding

      what possesses me


That night I dreamt

      bay leaves flew out of my mouth

I  remember playing them like cards

     stacking them in brittle piles


I dealt them out


later all crusted over and awake

     you and I looked in the dream book

bay leaves: considered a symbol of prophecy

     We laugh

I was once many women

     over and over

from chrysalis to flying form


but once your brightness found me

    I saw you illuminated me


I inhale sweet abandonment

     and exhale vulnerability

I am different

     but proverbial

in your rays of white