I heated it
I let it run

I climbed in
I slid down

until I was
covered

I held my breath
I opened my eyes

I released a
little air

I watched the
bubbles rise

I let it all go
until I was

light enough
to be a bubble

she plays with
the word knife

makes it a girl

makes it cut
the others words

straight cuts
clean cuts

makes them bleed
their ink

down the paper

changes their
meaning

so they make
no sense

so she is the
only word you

can recognize

I’m sorry.

I

can’t
can’t
can’t

get it out of my head,
the dread locks in place
and will never release me.

It has somehow become
a piece of the puzzle
and fits together perfectly;
neatly nestled into
that special place
in my brain
like a bear in his cave

waiting out the darkest days
waiting for that signal to awaken him
waiting for that spring to release

a body
collapsed

into

one shade
of white

every limb
is loose

folding into
itself

she cannot
fly

she will not
swim

she sinks
beyond

my sight
and sound

I see the future.
I create the future.

my mind is a knife. and.
the world is clay.

I hold the first tool.
I create the sound.

that sets world.
in motion.

I speak and it is.

my words pop!
faster than rain drops.

it is spring
and green

is here
it dominates

the atmosphere

feeling itself
the majestic

color

it does not
conceive of time

it thinks it is

the first
the last
the always

but we know
better so we

enjoy it while
we can

I knew my dreams were
dark
even when I believed

rage
is
a
disappearance
of
reason

I
cannot
stop

until
he
leaves
me

and afterwards
I
only
remember
feeling
cold

like there
was space
exposed

a window
cracked

a door
ajar

we wear our masks.  hide our shame.  we don’t lie.  we just don’t tell.  the truth.  our smile is radiant.  like the sun.  we never look.  directly.  at each other.

minds are fragile.  we aren’t marked.  handle with care.  but we should be.

they say.  the earth quakes.  I say.  our soul shakes.  when we approach.  the truth.  in these days.  of isolation.  do we feel safer.  at least.  safe enough.

to remove.  our masks.  and see the truth.  even if.  we can’t share it.  with others.

I tried to
catch a leaf

as it fell
floating

in the coolness
I always

wanted to be
changing

directions
adapting

to the push
and the pull

always in
the perfect

position to
land so easily

smoke then ashes
what is left behind

after I disappear
memories are made

of soft putty
meant to be

manufactured by
our minds

we are all sculptors
or perhaps

magicians or
better yet

manipulators
trying to mold

the past with
a future

into something
we can live with

at least for a moment

I would not cry

my heart would
continue
beating
steadily

mornings would come
and go
time would pass

more slowly
perhaps

I would notice
less; details
would disappear

and gray would become
my favorite color

a whimper would
be the closest I could
come to a scream

and I would
forget the words
to my
favorite songs

eventually
just as angels
living day-to-day
I would not notice
that anything
was missing

and when they asked
me “how are you”
I would say
“fine”

just fine

my lips are

scissors or
swords or
scythes

whatever is
needed to

cut through
all the crap

spreading
through the

electric waves

thinking for
yourself is

the lost art

this is not
what they

meant when
they taught

us to share

in this dream
I am drifting

my body is light
floating above

everything with
weight

nothing can pull
me down

there is no
such thing as

pressure

I have nowhere
and nothing

to be

a candle just
beginning to

melt

slow drips
burn and

the smell of
sweet cinnamon

intoxicates

stronger than
strong drink and

I cannot think
or breathe or

think about
breathing

when I am

drowning in
love

the tongue of
a magician

entering your
imagination

teasing your
little neurons

free from
their connections

form a
crooked line

and follow

the tongue
anywhere

it leads to
a new set

of beliefs

hold my hands
for just a bit

pay me a bit
of attention

let me feel
a bit of your

warmth

even if it is
the last bit

you share with me

some words
don’t exist

they are phantoms

teasing our
tongues

invading our
souls

spreading through
our veins

making us believe
in them

so we will share
them with others

that is the only
way they

can live
because they

don’t exist as
anything else

we are all puzzles
wanting to be solved

but we are always
missing pieces

that can’t be found

frustrating each other
because we can never

actually be completed

I wish
I could be
porcelain

delicate
protected

I wish
I could be
breakable
liquid

a snow globe
a tear frozen
in glass

I wish there
was a line
I should never
cross

and you showed
it to me
and it was
clear

and if I ever crossed it

I would
fall off
the edge

but you
would
catch me

and put
me back
in my

protected
place

she never spoke

sat on the floor
and played

with silver stones
made them dance

in circles

sparkling under
the lights

her voice was
a melody

of soft sounds

she never needed
words

to make sense of
everything around her

and everyone around
her understood

I like small words
because they can
mean so many things

I am a child
with a head

living

two flights above
everyone else
in the room

we speak the
same words

but we don’t mean
the same thing

so I stop speaking
my words

and speak their words
and it was there

in the house
of my first memory

that I learned
how to live alone

I like small words
because they can
mean so many things

I share my words
with others

whatever they
may be

and if you
were to

question me
about my words

if I was
to tell you

about my words
I would say

I dip my heart
in a stew of

sadness and
hope

and serve
whatever

comes out

he promised me
I could be the
smallest word
that I could hide
in his book of
mysteries and
everyone would
see me but
no one would
ever find me
and he tried to
keep his promise
but he never
saw you coming
the clever girl
who could read
between the lines
and understand
the smallest word

and I wish blood
was not so thick
and sticky

so it would not
pull me back

and it could be
easily drained
from my skin

and replaced
by something clean

and I wish the
past was not
so close

and familiar

and with time
and space
I could lose it

and I wish I could
float away from here

toward something
shiny and new

something that
reminded me

of nothing

her eyes

framed
with thick
outlines

sweat and tears
make them bleed
black

she leans
her body
forward

a *******

her arms bent
her fingers
extended

stroking
provoking
the ivories

she disappears

searching
for a key

to express
her voice

she lives
for that
moment
of silence

when everything
in her has been

expressed

every day

when the loud
sounds came

I thought the rain
into existence

creating a puddle
I could fall into

so I could disappear

I was less than
all the other integers

they could nap
in this room with others

lying next to them

but I would lie there
hearing the loud sounds

thinking the rain
into existence

before awareness
life was a ******* wound

chaos and dark stars

and when the quiet child
finally spoke

each word was a butterfly
in his mind

he was reluctant
to release them until

they were ready
he did not want them to die

too quickly

they were so beautiful
in his quiet mind

he thought they could heal
his broken world

if they could live just
a little longer

sometimes girls
are soft

not weak

they are awake
to the earth

with no need
to speak

they move
as one

controlling
space

transcending
time

I missed you yesterday
something soft was missing

the air changed its formula

the room was not as vulnerable
the room was not as breakable

there was not the gentleness

of yellow butterflies flying
to their quiet death

there was not the gentleness

of ***** dandelions spreading
from a quiet breath

I missed you yesterday
something soft was missing

watching you curl yourself
into a medicine ball
in the chair with two arms

squeezing your inches
together tightly

looking like you either
want to swallow yourself

or are preparing to be swallowed
by something else

tonight my mind
is running in place

in a desert
I am a boiling

brain

there are no
words to express

or there is
nothing to feel

I am raw but I
want to be naked

exposed to my
demons

I hear
the black bird

screech I watch
it descend

I want it to
enter me

I splay my arms
display my soul

I want it to rip out
all my elements

so I can start over

he was cold
the kind that gets
deep inside your body
only you know it’s there
a slight sensation
of emptiness that
starts to grow like
something is slowly
removing you
from yourself
you start to shake
you can’t seem to
stop yourself
nothing gives you warmth
still no one notices
his presence
but you
and you can’t
explain him to anyone
and he won’t
leave you alone
or maybe he did

The girl slips into darkness.  Her eyes swallow night. She seeks a crowd to be alone. She dances to electrons, rubbing against tight boys who could never matter.

She needs a night of empty.

She is trying to escape the nights of mourning the recently departed. The lonely boy in the tight black pants walks into the bar alone.

He is the sound of electricity escaping from the wires. Suddenly, the touch of the vulture’s claws on her pale thighs makes her sick. She loses herself in the white night. He floats above it all; the only pill to cure a night like this. She is incapable of swallowing.

When he whispers the name of another all she hears is a bird in a cage asked to sing quietly because the neighbors might complain. She disappears into the crowd to be alone.

for a few years
I had a mom

I wish it was
a few years

more

I stare into my acrylic breakfast bowl
to identify the distorted shapes
floating in white powdered milk
and spell out words never before spoken.

They are creatures
of the deep and dark
imagination
escaped from the dreams
of children;
we are all dreams
of children

who will one day
awake.

tears are the
first to go

my heart is
marble

a bust of you
before you left

in quiet days
I am an implosion

little voice
inside my head

talk me through
tonight

whisper me to sleep

say a prayer
like you believe

in me

the net catches
everything and

releases nothing

there is a reason
we forget

but the net
never forgets

can you really
call something
that doesn’t forget

a memory?

I cannot call them
“attacks”
they are smaller than that

they are subtler than that.

They pose as friends.

They are thoughts
turned on themselves

not unlike

“What did she just say about me?”

I cannot call it pain
it is smaller than that

…a pressure

…a regret.

It is the coming to know that
only a loved one
can truly say something that
feels unloving.

almost pain
not quite

a dull longing

the untouched
linger

in a train
of thoughts

holding
something in

squeezing tight
to a piece

of light

they believe
lives on

the other side

We traveled in a capsule
to a distant galaxy,
to a far out land,
man.

We hovered above the jagged rocks
staring at undefined colors;
bouncing off crystalline images
of gods and goddesses frolicking in the island
mist.

The sun, oh the freaking sun,
it was an orange lollipop.
Tiny woodland creatures
played maypole around the stick,
a steady stream of warm water
cooled their furless skin.

We landed gently on the soft terrain;
exploring each other in a world hidden beneath
a blade of tall grass;
sunflowers dripped honey dew onto our tongues.

We played with headless creatures,
they were unburdened by
their brains
which floated in the space
above them.

Their brains were nothing more than
empty thought bubbles.
We used our bobby pins
to burst each and every one of them;

further unburdening the headless creatures.

As the headless creatures shed
their lifeless skin revealing candy hearts
with messages like “I love you” and “You’re sweet”

we ascended into the space
no longer preoccupied.

I find myself half past.
Painting images of you with red wine.

I wander through the garden again.
Weeding out memories of you.
Rubbing poison on my lips.

I thought the shape of your face was one more piece
of the unfinished puzzle.

I thought the color of your eyes was the color of my heart, pale
and fading blue.

I thought about you yesterday.
At least it wasn’t all day.

There was that moment
when a bee stung me.  Then flew away to die.

we dream
we are fallen
angels

falling through
the puffiest clouds

landing in
different parts
of the planet

destined to
learn faith

through the
faith of those
we meet

so we can
redeem ourselves

and find
each other

in our
final and
forever form

she is beautiful
she is partial

this work in progress
she is parts discarded

a long sleek
metal pipe spine
sending signals

thin flexible
wire ribs
protecting

a wood basket
collapsed and spread
to create the muscles
of a back

her brain is
a series of dense
connections

with no apparent source

(I can hear her)

as she speaks
with analog voices
recorded

(I can understand her)

as she thinks
with history
the ideas
we tried to bury or burn or hide

the cone-shapes
of what will become
her *******
are naked

she wears only
a loose skirt made of
colored strips of material

I watch her
waiting for her
to form herself

maybe she is will
maybe she is want

I know she has not yet been alone

because she has yet to
get herself together

I would never ask her
to finish

I only ever ask her
to be true

it was one of
those days

and I needed
no one to know

so I opened my
mouth wide

and created
no sound

it was my
inside scream

letting go of
everything

letting everything
penetrate me

the vibrations
breaking ribs

I was caving in

in life we
can lose things

important things

things that make us
human

things that make
us whole

in life we
can lose things

important things

so we cannot
speak our voice

so we cannot
see our true selves

so we cannot
hear the cries
of others

in life
we must grow
back these

important things

these things
that make us

human

we must grow back
our ears

so we can
save the birds

she is a feather pillow
now I can rest

she laughs and
makes me light

lifts the veil from
everything I hide

and makes me light

but tonight she is
rolled up in a tear

a soft little ball
of water and salt

I turn myself
into a container

I let her fall
into me

I make sure
she is safe

because she is
my feather pillow

and she lets me rest

***** angels
break open
their veins

spilling out
sugar dreams
into liquid fire

the sky is
dissolving

sight turns
inward

revealing
the emptiness
in everything

I only want to
love being human

vulnerable
imperfect
ugly
beautiful
freak

so many of us attack
our own beings

wanting to be
others

animals
machines
gods

am I really
that bad?

I think

there must be
something living

in me
a source

of all I have
to say and

I wonder

if I was to
find that seed

would I dig it out
to understand it

or leave it buried
and let it

continue to grow

a sound wakes me

I don’t know if the
sound was real

or in a dream

I have no one to ask so
it will remain a mystery

my mind is
soft and simple

it leaks and

is easily lost
in details

approach it
with care

it scares easily
and may

attack when
cornered

but it means
no harm

it just doesn’t
want to be

harmed again
it has baby scars

that still
need to heal

you predict
this end

for the
gentle boy

perhaps

his story could
have ended

as you say
if he met

Jesus
of Nazareth

or even

St. Thomas
of  Aquinas

where the
intellect is

challenged

but if he met
Paul of Tarsus

or

any of
the zealots

he

would have
run back

to his cave
and talked

to Plato