slipping away
passages of time
slips away
down through the canyon rock
where the forever makes it yawning gait
and the weight of the fossils
forces down upon the lightless tunnels
where the urchins and sea shells
learned to sing
in their petrified state,

where the smooth stone kiss
where waters were once a rushing estate
and eyeless fish swim
not knowing the difference
of light and dark in the deep lake
echoing fathers, weeping widows
silence endangers the sanity
echoed into a beating soul
forget not the smooth takeaway winds
nor the shoreless wager of nighttime gin
a mammoth cavern performing unspoken
hollowed out by all that is forgotten

Of all the things I am
I am not insane.

The reservoir is rising
And I'm sweating in my
Dress and white sneakers
And the sky is turning gray.

At least there are breezes
By the lake, although
I had a breakdown in the car
When Henry wasn't real.

Lele left me for Larry
And I'm struggling to write
Your prose as my own
Poem thoughts.

If it rains on the
Water I will never
Forgive the person who built
The glass cafe.

All the plastic communion cups in my purse
Cracked.

Prop my feet up on the dash
Make another societal
Faux pas and take one last sip of
Chandelier staircase filmstrips.

This kayak of mine
Has tipped.

I’ve come to realise
That I find Lake Klinwel boring;
Ignoring the skies,
The flight of birds
And their curving dives.
This lake, drowned by eyes,
Instead choosing to reflect static towers
That are monuments to Machiavelli,
Where the financially ambitious
And their crisp paper voices spend
Their days, evenings.
Money in the bank for tomorrow
Plan ahead, plan ahead,
That what the lake said
When I visited.

What freedom
Such a wonder of nature
Has to manipulate and
Reinterpret the harshness
In lines that ascend until they
Scrape the sky,
That tears, simple as tissue.

And all the while,
Cigarette butts,
In an abstract delinquency,
Revise community buildings and council offices
Where surely they dream of hole punch
And green lights and confirmation and deadline for appeal
Whilst bureaucrats administer more paper cuts to the teal-blooded sky and Risk Assessments have given a score to death—
Awarding it a number five.

The lake can surely stay awake
Just long enough to show me ripples
And normality when I drop in a stone,
Just a sound that
Confirms this mind is still my own,
That the waking world is known to me,
Dreams are dreams alone,
They are the ripples reaching the sea
From my daring stone.
To be beside a lake, lyrically alone,
Brings a pain that is most obvious and physical
And so I ask once more for the
Most minute of tides for my sore, tired eyes—
Just a ripple of two to the other side
Where I see a figure,
Where I see blue eyes,
Where I see extravagant dress and
Hair so shapely they say and yet
I couldn't care less.
It could be a wig
But the wind tells me it is not,
And her nose sits among a gang of features,
Knowing surely it turns heads—
Growing heavier with each turned.

The lake spat on my shoe and continued
To reflect the tall commercial towers
Whilst this green space is vast,
Boasting bowers where I sit with a pencil
And I see the birds of paradise
Impressively dancing and dancing impressively.
Sublime in fact!
But I think they are trespassers
We should kindly send them back
Their hearts are excessively small
And no longer in paradise,
Not close to it at all.

I’m done with you, lake!
Lake Klinwell, lazy deceptive mirror!
Are you depressed?
Disenchanted?
Do I notice how you are growing ever thinner?

I heard news that our
Town is crumpling in certain corners,
It’s folding in two like a map closing.
People are dreaming with recurring themes
And the flowers bow their heads
Just in case.

Oh, you are a soft, sensitive lake,
Let me dip my feet.
Do not fear for the town we share,
Do not quake, dear lake,
And enjoy your daylit hours
In the company of the trees and flowers.

I beg you though:
One day,
When I need it most,
Reflect for me a memory:

Diana and I on the corrugated coast,
Careless on the rocks,
I failed to enjoy it at the time through fear
but she leapt, crossed a gap to get to me.
She landed with a kiss.

And if you could add a sunset,
The weather was terrible.

A small gust of air
and then a flash of rainbow
A dragonfly
My thoughts wander
Why are they compared
To  majestic
Creatures of lore
When they are no longer
Than my shortest finger?
I shake my head
It is hard to stay focused
In this hot muggy air.
My fishing rod hangs limply
Over the unnervingly
Clear pond
My eyes drift over
To a patch of water lilies
Their petals droop
in the hot muggy air
I see their roots
And recall how easy it is
to pull one up and out
Stirring up the pond floor
In a flurry of mud
I sigh and lean back,
The old dock creaking
Taking special care
To avoid splinters
From the brittle wood
My feet-
Are the only cool part of me.
A drop of sweat
Snakes down my leg
And with a soft sound
Drops down
To join the rest of the water.
I am growing impatient.
The fish and I
Have something in common
We are lazy in the heat.

im a burning lake surrounded
by witches and demons warming themselves up, while smoking cannibas and dmt conversing about nebula rings and time traveling.

Your words of tender, mellow slur
are furls and wisps of thin, streaming clouds;
       dancing ecstatic,
       swaying hypnotic,
       sailing on the somber oceans of the wind--
then nestling as mist
   at the doors of these still lake lips of mine,
   hankering to swallow and wallow the low-resting, quiet, ambrosial fog.

You cannot go without noticing her
in a room full of strangers
she always stands out
poised and dignified
she wears beauty of the nine lights
her body soft like fine silk
her heart is that of a child
loving and warm
she speaks for the voiceless
and acts for the weak and vulnerable
when you meet her you will notice
she wears a scarf of three colors
black, red, green
the colors of her nation
nothing more captivating this duchess
the Malawian duchess
when you meet her say your hellos
I'll answer you back
for I am her
a young Malawian duchess
the first and last of my kind