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and through an open window
tiny red eyes and little feet
roam the 4 corners of my prison  
where the dice roll
but never fall.

hang on st Christopher
former saint
taken off the calendar
with no wings to take flight

aspirations
like the shadows casted
by the corner boys
as sunset approaches
i'll follow you down

into the tall grass
where the lions wait for  
shattered dreamers

I sit and pray
wondering if the barbed wire
faces in or out and

standing I push the toilet handle down
watch the water swirl and go down

st Cristopher
don't leave me here
we were poor
but not deluded

and when
van morrisson's
"brown eyed girl"
comes on the radio on
that worn
old
brown rug
my brother and I
started tapping our feet
shaking our heads
to the music and
our sisters are smiling
at us and
our mother is laughing
at us

and all we needed was
laughter and love
a prayer and a song

turn up the radio
the average cost of a funeral is
$8,515

death is unaffordable for me

put me in  big oblong cardboard box

2 feet by 3 feet by 6 feet

packing list enclosed

fragile (not really)
      please handle with care

keep upright

       or

supine

send me to the
grande vide

postage due
She walks like heat before the summer's storm

With waves of motion
that envy the oceans

She speaks in flocks of rising birds in unison

Leaving little to wonder
in the commotion of perfection

Her absorption of all internal leaves you exhausted but forgiven

For her meekness has inherited my world

And I who was once last will be a first in her heart

Listen . . . the thunder rolls announcing the coming of summer rain

And she walks like heat before the summer's storm
5 turkey vultures in a tree top

what do they see?

why are
they looking
at me?????
the red glow of her cigarette.
the fingers of her left hand
yellow  with nicotine
clutching dying flowers

"buy a rose for your lover," she says,
"buy one for your wife. buy 2."

"the flowers are wilted."

"maybe it's your eyes that are wilted.

she had black hair
black as the night
the violent night
and gray eyes
the shade of ***** ice

"you must love
someone,
some of the time, no?
put a rose on
your father s grave, then"

"love is like lost pennies
falling from a broken jar"

she smooths her hair with one pale,
long fingered hand, "you re crazy,"

"my mom says so."

i was born to
have adventure

I followed her up the steps

i was born to chase the night
through the forest
of dead roses
across the log
as graceful as a dancer...


rising out of the water
jeans and blue t-shirt
like a weighted blanket

muddied and wet
the girl of the lake
delighting in the fall

the playful eyes
that wild in her smile                               

(I too
knew that smile
intimately
once
and dreams were plentiful
as the songs
that kept me alive

but the wind walks
a singular path
through the tall grass
surrounding lakes

a thief tip-toeing into another day)
comes across the hill

a bluebird singing
the red ribbon in her hair

in the pale moonlight
hold me

softly In the pale moonlight
                                                       ­ 
sweet summer breeze
a fire in her heart

gentle summer breeze
and the ribbon comes undone

there is a love
that waits  in pale moonlight
Pages turn,
chapters end,
books are finished.
With resolution, and head
held high, I'll
fly away to somewhere
safer, where there's
less pain.
I try to love you,
but you just
push me away.
The heart is a
silly dreamer.
It sees life as it
should be...could be,
and not as it
really is.
The head sees what
the heart doesn't.
Emotions can be as
treacherous as a
rabid dog or a
razor blade.
I wish I were a
redwood or a rosebush,
or even a dandelion
just
swaying in the
breeze.
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