The walls keep making that sound,
As if something is trying to escape,
It's a dove
That flies down,
Circling this building.
It's majestic,
With ***** wings
Perfect flying,
Down the other
Buildings,
Smaller are my dreams
Equally *****
Majestic.
It disappears
Behind the bushes
Flapping as it comes near the roof
Past a tree in the middle of a courtyard,
I cannot see.
I won't see until I'm a dove myself,
A ***** city dove
Looking for a home
Between the roof and the ceiling,
Behind a tree,
Among the dirt.

In the summer,
Hands in soil,
Bodies covered in dirt,
Running barefoot,
Camping in grass,
Rolling in mud,
Smoke in our hair,
Dust in our socks,
Tasting the Earth,
Juice dripping down chins,
Flowers in hands,
Rolling down hills,
Resting in roots.
In the fall,
Rain in our hair,
Rain in our clothes,
Rain on our skin,
Rain carries filthy rivulets
To the drain.

When I look into his eyes I see the eyes of the devil staring back at me.

But they're not his.
Just a reflection of the past.

I went from dirt to a queen.

Can I be a queen covered in mud?

The potted plants on the deck are all dead,
and you are not sure which slip-up to blame:
Ignorance of botany or neglect. 
One *** contained a plant you did not know.
You were not surprised when the orchid died; 
but how did the pine tree drop to dust? 
Now there, you have three pots of dead plant dirt:
crumpled leaves, wilted stems, and dried debris–
of living things conceived, grown, and scattered.
 
You failed
but you can dare 
this dirt 
to start again.

An impulse from the gut
I am mentally driving and screaming to the desert plains
                          like a mental coyote,

Dry mouth, sour tongue
I'm begging for some relief
And all I get is this ******* conventional life
And rules.

I want the wind, the drought, the sun
                                                     the stars
                                                     the dirt
                                                     the road
                                                     the sweat
                                                     the ***
                                                     the steaming muscles
                                                     the burning skin
Or just the night,

And its yellow moon to bloom in me
And ******* away.
(That's all I ask.)