I once heard someone say
when discussing life’s troubles

“Don’t worry, God is flipping
the big pancakes”

I thought
“It’s a good thing somebody is”

even the little silver dollar ones
come out burned on one side
gooey on the other
and stuck to the wall
when I try

midnight dark
is my true love’s kiss
of clove and citrus scented

cradled in the subtle
woven voices
of the conspiratorial night wind

soft as the silver-blue
edges of light
cast from nocturnal lanterns

sharing in silent thunder
secrets held in coffers
of crimson jade

blazing with the vibrance
of constellations
blown before celestial storms

full as skyward Luna
rounded and buxom
heavy with desire

veiling my worldly sight
so her truth can pierce me

blinding me
that I may see

aboard the aircraft metaphorical
bearing those employed
by companies large and small

a moment arrives when the cryptic
overhead lights instruct
that the time to leave has come

passengers are led to the open door
at the rear of the fuselage
where they will leap into the mist

the happy few will be strapped
into a designer backpack
filled with a carefully packaged parachute
of luminous gold

others are handed
a sturdy bundle which holds a
lifesaving paraglider of shining silver

a group somewhat more numerous
gratefully accept their sustaining dome
of spun silk and exit with confidence

the greatest number will be in a line
leading past a toilet paper dispenser
each individual to be ejected will be allotted
a single sheet

the one ply tissue will be printed as follows
“Grasp tissue firmly on opposite sides
hold tissue above head parallel with ground”

a hearty cry of “Good luck!” follows them
as they are assisted through the door
by a well placed boot

the bells peal
toneless
in the hollow place
of the night

and the moon is
the cold light
of tenuous dreams
seen through
the strained fabric of
a threadbare sky

shadows of midnight words
pulled long and thin
by the weight
of expectation
sit by the road
waiting for redemption
that never comes

pallid night flowers bloom
in hidden places
adorned by a feeble glow
without scent
in their ragged flesh

words whispered by
constrained throats
are consumed

devoured by the ravening silence
blasting down
from oblivion

wind shuffles
through the long grass

seeded heads
drowsy
in the percolating afternoon

broiled air
heavy and lethargic
laboriously ascends
its unseen ladder
into the barren sky

Arcady sings
from a place
of unimaginable height

the song
is a whisper
at the precipice

I am the wing
that awaits your breath
to take flight

her feet touched lightly
as she walked across the carpet
almost floating
and her voice was
like all the sad songs
sung by romeo s
from under street corner
shadows

claire had soft eyes
gentle blue eyes
dancing
that hid her wicked smile
and sharp teeth  

and his lover could touch places
too painful inside of him
and whenever she cried
he cried
too

he loved her
like the mad hatter
loves alice

yes
he loves her so

and claire had a pit bull/mastif mix
130 pounds
gentle and sweet
so she had him fixed
and then kept him in a cage

she had beautiful blue eyes
and when she smiled
her eyes grew wide
like a cat staring into a canary's cage

and when a body is finally found
in the east river
the coroner
grabs the body by the collar bone
so that what once was a man
dosen't come apart
in his hands

she had
soft
and gentle eyes
and her blue eyes
put an imaginary dog collar on jim
and she is dancing on his tombstone...

People come and goes
But I thought you would stay
Yeah, you stayed as a scar in my heart
A scar that never heals
And hurts in every once in a while
To make me remember that day
The day you broke my heart

Just for a few minutes...
I forgot who I am
And crossed the line you drew
I'm sorry that I overreacted
I just forgot who I am to you...

Since we were born...
We lived a life,
To others' expectations...
But when will we have a time
To be ourselves?