I wish I could be a book
I could send myself to you
in envelops and postcards
over a laconic lifetime
rungs of ladder climbed
waded through like the push
of legs in the water, over sand
chewing on the words you sent.

We, are a family now,
some privileged in the boundaries
of grandiloquent bags and pouches,
some forgotten in the drawers
before relocations,
versions of a person’s state of mind
over time, we make history books
capturing people in the making
of an indistinct next moment

sometimes we carry our own praises
outsourced by the wits of our writers
like love they did find not in the other
but their own selves, blind still.

Does your reader pause too?
basks in the glory of an empty wall
staring at nothing in particular?
I wish we had will and means
to write ourselves on ourselves
so that we could reach other and do that.

Instead like our creators, we are
dilapidated ruins of yellow bodies,
left to live and die on dirt and air
once they are gone, aren’t you scared
of death?

Seeking Reply
Letter A

Orsemas Caldwell
was a curious old man
who lived deep
within Elderwood forest.
Everyday he'd gather
branches and boughs
to cook his dinner
and warm himself
inside the drafty,
dusty cabin
he called his home.

I clearly remember
the night he invited
my wife and I over
for biscuits and tea.
We left our car
at the entrance
of the single-file
footpaths that led
into the darkened
shroud and stillness
of his forest.

We sat at an ancient
wooden table covered
with the inscriptions
of hundreds of writings
from decades past.
I remember his wrinkled
trembling hands as they
set down the tea
he had dried for us,
I believe it was chamomile
with a hint of lavender.

We talked about a great
many things, but nothing
made his eyes light up
like when he told us
about his wife, Percilla.
They were ministers
at the old baptist church
until they retired to their cabin
in Elderwood forest.
Young lovers again, they'd
lay under the trees and laugh.

He showed us her picture
and smiled remembering.
I could hear in his voice
the sweetness of their love
and a longing for reunion.
I don't remember much more
than his words that echoed
in my head as we drove
back to our modern day
amenities, holding
one another's hands:

'Don't let one thing
come between you.
You are one flesh,
you are not two.
Don't let children,
or money, ambition,
or your vocation
come between you
and the one God gave you.'
This is the memory of
Orsemas Caldwell.

wake up its all the same , I guess I have to leave , and then it all changed , when I had a dream

(Lucifer) : you tired of this **** ? I know that life's a *****, start off with the razor , slit your ****** wrist

blood everywhere , looking in the mirror, I see now how things are , my visions getting clearer

Lucifer: Say goodbye , it's now time to die
They never cared for you you were a waste of time

One last cut , made sure the blade was deep ,no more of the pain, I'll have eternal sleep..

The day we roared with infinite jest the
larder packed tight with provisions burst.
So much canned meats, tinned, pemmican
hardtack we had stored knowing our
journey north would be sufficiently trying
that sustenance would prove difficult.

The slog.  The slacking day when you rolled
off the sled, creviced.  Your voice booming blue
crystalline as we see, no escape.  Trapped and
the cans I hurl into the hole.

Hours I read to you lipped, curled into a
snail, a shell, a crocus of yellow
a dread of
finishing the story and saying to you there is
no
more.  So you cannot tell, when the pages have ended
I make up confabulate truth and fiction
embellish.  
Pretend the story line marches
forward decades and we are in the Amazon;
You’ve discovered
that the water
that seemed
guileless is crocodile filled.
They bite hard and
you can imagine.

All primary colors on the
floes, all glacial movement, slow to melt, fast to burn through
the colors of our arctic rainbow.
I had primed the lamp the last night, before that dawn, before
the ride in which you fell.  
The wick trimmed and each
consequential action of the day I placed
hanks of hair
neatly side by side into banks of snow.  
Under my cracked tongue is
a bump that rolls
mole like cyst.  

Partner of my travels to this cold realm, your self shelved.
Below:  Did you hear me whisper?  Asking why today
have I become.  
The whispered promise of holding
upright against the dark.  I thought.
It would be magnificent.  

Not even fanfare.  Or aurora borealis.  Or flight.
Yes dreams of flying.  
Yes dreams of ahah so it is after all.
I thought I would recognize the moment of unleashing.  
What makes the special now?
If I whisper Abandon I might hear you echo in the ice.  I might see your
boot, attached to.  A glove alone, unpaired.

The story they lived, the story they tell is one of each husky,
one by one, no longer.  Starvation and then there are none.
But we are in the Amazon, and it is a scorching hot day and there is
much to be explored until you fall into the river and get bit.

I take it all back.  
You laugh because I add flying monkeys which is
us pretending that we’ve explored
this terrain which looks like a bed
in a room and a chart.  
They cannot
stop your bleed, and so we begin again.

In the land of books and make believe
A story unwritten with the power to make you cry
The modern day Orpheus looks to the sky
For the answer
The answer to why.

See everywhere there are answers
But love doesn't follow through
With Reflected mirrors it doesn't respond to you
See the path may be long and prince must be strong
But endurance was never his strong point
Disjointed he always disappoints
The princess whom he favours

A thousand years to savour in the eye of the storm
Nothing can touch him
But if that's true why was he born?
In feeling pain of loves sweet kiss withdrawn
Hand that held her hand now is worn
Getting older and older each day
He prays to time to make it ok
But time is a trickster and it will take itself away

He is the night to her day
But somewhere a dead man is calling for his crown
Was their love only a noun
A name for something that lies underground
The prince's heart still beats
And while it beats he will not retreat
But he must give up all he has gained
Or be maimed
By the wisdom that all despise
The temple of a thousand eyes
The tangled web
That tethers us all together


See he must fight himself and die
Or be caught up in his own lies
For if love be eternal
Can it stop the fires of hell that be infernal
And maybe all can be saved
Through union

But royalty must break
And be severed
One must yield
For the madman must be revealed
Or he must return his hostage
The other mind
To break the curse to finally be free
His love must bear responsibility




The white rabbit prince goes to war

Monsters gather underneath my bed
Like fallen angels
My beaten heart
Unyielding




The white rabbit prince goes to war part2

The door stands unlocked
A war for salvation
Must be fought
With the broad sword
That comes out of his mouth
You may think what you like
His is the heaven age,  begetting a new age
People may think they can get to him
They never will
**** his words


The princess dies

She is overwhelmed by the dark
He cannot save her
Demons grow out of her heart
Terrible to behold
A heart made cold
Her bloodline ends with her son with him
Now her heart flickers dim
She devours tragedy
Avidly
Her eyes rage against him
Her words cut through his mind
They run him through
Like the madness that grew and grew
Carnivorous eyes
Stare from the palace
That used to be holy
She is a woman scorned
Sets him up for a fall
As their love hits the wall
She can never forgive him
Only her soul remains
With raging fire
Against him
All he has is nightmares about her now.

that night
that dress.
the way when
i turned just
right, my
breast appeared.
and you, pride?
but a scolding
while you sought
candy all night.
nothing underneath,
and i was flushed,
hopeful, always.
you didn't see me
though.
you never
did

I love villains in fiction
The ones that captivate you
From the moment they strut onto the scene
Who drives the plot better than the hero
The type of villain that can turn the story on its head
And shamelessly hurl it into chaos

Villains who are smarter deadlier yet somehow
More charming than the main character
Making you feel guilty for loving them
Their electricity surges through you  
Their presence echoes long after the story has left them
Searing your memory and leaving you begging for their return