I

She exits herself on the
Sofa. Blanket, dog, and bits
Of a poem on a pad of paper

On the table, like a half-eaten
Piece of homework.
Shades of wine on her sleeping

Lips. Exits herself; space-walks
Outside that frame of mind she's
Been expected to hang herself

On the wall within; she knows
There is more.
There has to be more.

II

She has to be more.
Like so many writers, she falls
Asleep working. Sometimes

Works to fall asleep.
Digging her way through
Herself, mining for words,

Hacking away at painful pasts,
Gathering emerald experiences.  
Diamond doubts and ruby

Regrets all fuel her poetry.
And she reads, spotlight kissed;  
Audience adored,

Goosebump summoning; hairs
On arms and necks stand up as
She whispers directly to me.

About me. Because of me.
In front of everybody.
To music, and I've brought a box

Of pins, and between each of her
Every word, I drop one. And I
Swear to the gods, you can hear

Them all. Like the unsteady
Ticking of a clock too cool to
Care.

III

Poetry jewelry; set with stones
From her innermost. Chips of
Gold from her heart melted

Down to a key pendant she
Holds in her hand; chain dangling,
Eyes closed, forehead resting

Against a door she knows it is
Time to open. Key in one hand,
Pen in the other,

She
Enters
Herself.

I'll dance, but only to the rhythm
Of a true pulse.

The most interesting souls I've
Met were the ones least

Interested in being seen as
One.

I have the nose of a poet; can
Smell fakeness from a

Heartbeat
Away.

Children lie.
The rest don't even care to.

You used to lose me in the rose garden
in the misty maze of paths we knew by heart
I'd look for you down by the waterfall
on the bench by the oaken arbor

I hope you'll find me there again one day
peeking out from behind the tangled thorns
intoxicated by aroma's perfect rosary
dance a ring-a-rosy with you once more

some people
are just
not very smart.

i'm talking adults.

they just don't have the
it, the
thing
that all the smarties
seem to have.
but they do seem
to talk a good game.

a key component is missing.
things don't add up.

and it's a
strange thing to witness,
to come to terms with,
to accept.

but let me tell you
the strangest thing
the most maddening of things:

observing other people
who you otherwise know
as smart people
fall prey
to one of the dummies.
the liars.
the snakes in the grass.

observing you
in this state of
sickness
and dementia
and delusion
is unreal.

you don't seem to be aware
that you are sick at all.

and in watching the
contortions you will make
for this fraud,
i see that stance
you have taken
on me.

She is too wide a world
To carry only
A bright side.

She is the hole in my
Roof. And the stars I get
To watch through it.

Raindrops on a train window.
So early it's late.
Eyes narrow with deep sleep
Unhad, mouth still bitter
From medicine breakfast.

Carousel of Everyday.
Not staying home is like
Being released into prison.
Dizzy fatigue, city chaos.
Some of us belong in the

Woods; look the
Most familiar from afar in
The mist.
I'll find bonfire comfort
With my temple against her

Collarbone.
Wilderness skies in her eyes.
Sometimes her skin is such
An opposite to cold concrete,
I cry in comfort.

Eyes narrow with warm
Familiarity. My
Tears on her tattoos like
Raindrops on a train
Window.

Silent strings are stronger still
than many, strong with each other.
True to itself, if true at all
or but the echo of a mother:

An echo, an echo but higher.
An echo, not embers but fire.
A thunderstorm in June at sea
to petrify and admire.

Single strings sing higher pitches
undestracted and unaccompanied.
Shining their own sun sincerely,
unfettered, let loose and freed:

Alone, alone but living.
Alone, unheard but singing.
A hidden diamond in the dirt;
competing not but winning.

The little angel sits in silence
drops pebbles into the well.
Contemplating what state now
will befall both Heaven and Hell.

Little angel toes touch gently
water fresh and freezing
as a gentle southern breeze
brush her neck, kind and pleasing

The war is raging, she knows
a moment she knew would come.
She blesses in peace her sanctuary
where she can be alone.

Far away, the noise of battle
where fiends of carnage dwell.
Five jagged arrows she pulls from her body
then drops into the well.