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My River runs to thee—
Blue Sea! Wilt welcome me?
My River wait reply—
Oh Sea—look graciously—
I’ll fetch thee Brooks
From spotted nooks—
Say—Sea—Take Me!

You don't get it,
pen pal nonsense and all that
is a dead end road, with fifty foot cliffs on each side.
You're on the inside, and I'm on the outside.
The grubs, and needy feelies need you.
You cannot be alone,
and I am a loner.
Is it recognition of your quality that you desire,
well, I thought I gave that.
Or, perhaps its a companion, to stay with you
through the long and lonesome nights,
a lover for your life and nothing more...
Well, it ain't me babe.
I have, do, and will love you,
but, I cannot climb the wall anymore,
I don't like what has become of the inside.
So, do the right thing.
Look around you,
pick your poison,
and drink it.
Because I nearly died climbing over that wall.
And, I will not do it again.


But, If I pass by the place, in the hollow hours,
I will whisper through the cracks,
and stick my fingers through the holes.
And, if your not busy, and your hands aren't tied,
we can hold hands at the gate.
Until the guards drive me off,
and drag you back to your cell.

Little dull birdies  .  .  .
Love own songs by mirror pond,
  .  .  .  Graceful swan sails by.


Hello Poetry  .  .  .
Rube lords with simple vainness,                                                        ­              
Watch him crown himself.


Hello Poetry  .  .  .
Day sullies night, bright vanity
  .  .  .  Rube is a poser.


Hello poetry  .  .  .
Even vain rube's bio drains,
Spews self promotion.


Here is Pantheon  .  .  .
Dabblers, self aggrandizers,
  .  .  .  What a hollow hall.

my head was split open
a mustard seed
a newborn still wet with afterbirth
there were things I needed
from your words
from your mind
but you fed me fallacies

my body was slight in stature
a girl of eight years
they wanted to bleach my skin
dilute me in the holy waters
so I could become
more hallowed than human
yet saved by human mercy

when she comes to me
water-born and slick with life
I will not use love or fear
to teach her those things
she will know truth
and prowess,
loveliness, and loneliness
of the most vital

I am surrounded by voices-
my loved ones, my demons,
my own rational thoughts.
They swell and ebb like the tide,

A perfect chaos which drives me on,
drives me forward or drives me mad,
echoing in the chasms of my mind
like the voices in the dark night.

The things I know to be true,
to be real and honest and fair,
my anchors, my ports in the storm,
the stubborn rope which ties me
to a mortal coil I've so often tried to escape.

They are undermined by that call,
that desire, the siren song which
drags me back to the blackness,
which promises that numbess is better,
less painful, less terrifying than living.

All my life I've heard the call,
denied its lure or thrown myself,
desperate and thoughtless,
into its depths.

I ignored the destruction I wraught
in its name, the quiet lipped,
cold eyed terror of those around me,
the frantic trembling of my own soul.

The slow death of the drowned.

Sirens do not starve or bleed or die,
gasping for air and choking down screams,
cold water closes over their heads,
freezes their bones and invades their lungs.

I am no siren. I am warm blood
and flesh annd love and passion.
I will not dampen my fire for fear
of what it may release any longer.

I will not drift, forgotten, along the sea bed.