scoop your old coffee mug
into the sunrise
fill two-thirds
with steaming pink and yellow brew
and one-third
with crisp cool breeze

mix in a few crystals
of shimmering sunlight
from the drowsy trees

pinch a few strands
of silver cotton candy
from the bellies of the clouds
stir until dissolved

close your eyes
and sip slowly

I.
hair in luxurious brown ringlets
            stiff with hairspray
arm bent down my back
            elbow in my face
            fingers contort
                        jump and spin
grab the zipper and
zip up my dress in front of
                        the mirror
            bejeweled bodice weighs me down
                        bright blue drowns
                                    me out
let the reflection of my own
            two hazel brown eyes
                        hypnotize me
            fingers absentmindedly re-twist my curls
                        then
                              ­      snap
            out of it
plop onto the floor and strap
on my heels
            practice walking
            calves and ankles clench to
                        keep from falling over

II.
picture-perfect makeup
            dates in pressed tuxedoes
find your friends
elegant silver jewelry
            sequins sparkles and flowing colors
                        blur together
hold hands
            pose here
you have an eyelash
            fix that one button there
careful don't trip
            you look beautiful
                        quick one more
smile
            
III.
bass pounding
            pulsing in the walls
                        and behind my eyes
dizzying rainbow lights
crowd jumping
                                    blind and deaf
                        screaming
            curls fall out
                        makeup melts
            fists make dents in the humid air
                        ties loosen
            heels ripped off sore feet

IV.
stumble outside
            soft cool twilight
bass still rattling the floor
but someone's prom date
            is a poet too
pure thoughts about
            art and
                        constellations and
                        calculus
            silence the mob inside
hours fly
            sky darkens
stars
            reflect like glowing freckles
            onto smiling cheeks

V.
put your shoes back on
            "get his number!"
because you think I won't
            be satisfied until I
                        kiss him?
we spent a night
            under the stars
            together
our minds together
            crafted thoughts that
                        penetrated the cosmos
            and will float among the stars for
                                    eternity
we were in each other's lives
            for as long as we needed to be
                        created infinity together
                        and
            now –
                        we
carry out
our life sentences
alone

You know those
long days—
not the easy fleeting ones
that drift by more smoothly
than swift pencil dashes
marking
the path of a waxy crayon butterfly—

Not even the ones that chug
slowly
along the creaking moaning train tracks
burnt red with gravel and rust—

No––
They are the ones
you have wrap tightly with
heavy chains
sizzling from lying out in the grueling sun
to drag them along
yourself—
the hard metal digging divots
into your back
as you
P
U
S
H
onward
teeth clenched
sweat oozing from underneath your hair

but still
you
stake
your tiny
inconsequential
dusty sneaker
into the
ground
again
and
PULL

HARDER

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--
And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

every part of her
is in
          flames
even the tiny beads of sweat
glistening on her forehead
          emanate pure
                    pulsating
                    passion
it­ is an entity
          tightens around the muscles
in her wrist
her delicately fierce fingers
          weave scarlet stories
                    in the stuffy air that
          SNAP shut
stiffer than the wood of her stage
          sharper than blades

the fire escapes
          in sparks
          through the bottoms of her shoes
tapping
          clicking
          pounding
             ­       madly
the frills on her vibrant red dress
          trembling
          with every step
the colors fly
          golden scarves
          red and black lace
          dim green lights

the guitar throws his crimson and amber chords
                    into the air
they sparkle in flight
and land softly in her
          thick hair
like jet black
smoke

my Poems are not about me
if I were sunshine
            my poetry shines brighter
if I were thunder
            my poetry rumbles louder
if I were rain
            my poetry weaves into thin films of gossamer
                        and glistens around my edges

my Poems are not about me
when I write
            I separate a sparkly heartstring
                        from the rest
            thread it carefully into my needle
and hurry to weave a story embroidered with colored confetti
            and shimmering sequins

before the glitter
            like snow
            drifts
and sticks
            to the remainder
of my dull
honest
heart.