There is a missing boy
I knew him years ago
His picture drenches the socials
His family pleads

It's been about a fortnight
His story on the news
Disappeared under suspicious circumstances
Search parties gather

His ID, found along the highway
The apartment showed signs of struggle
His pictures plaster
This boy is loved

1 person of interest, at large
1 ex in custody, questioned
Watching from the shadows
I'm largely unaffected
vaguely sad

Until this morning
Lost boy

You walked down the bookstore aisle
Behind your Aunt
From the history section to YA
Leaning on crutches and grinning warmth
You were younger, the boy I recall

We embraced, I told you how glad I was you were safe, you were home
Rejoice
I can tell the immediate world to call off the search
So much relief I felt, all was well again on this crazy planet

...then I woke up.

I long to tell your sister, your mom, all your friends, the countless volunteers who have shared photos, posts, walked the streets & forests
Searching for you

About the way my dreams come true
Not all
But certain ones are somehow realer than reality itself
A premonition
You come home

But in the twilight mists between wake and slumber
I keep these thoughts to myself
No happy alarm bells ring out
Because my sight is only Astral
Fleeting
A glimpse of other worlds I inhabit
Briefly, before I'm torn back

I don't tell a soul about my good symbolic omen of the missing boy


Because I know that sometimes
in my dreams
I also walk
with the dead

Walked down the road to Weird tonight
Haven't been there in a while
A wired jaw smiles not
Now my bones are in a pile

I used to hold myself this same way
Wound tight Fibonacci shell
Frozen cold in the flames of my self given hell
Grip the blankets, ask for comfort
Plead for warmth
The same tape inserted in the slot
But maybe the player has changed
Worn out story
Thoughts repeat, lose some of their beauty
I won't dream of endless yous and mes and theys
Loosen the muscles, glow higher
Tonight I'll dream of that cathedral again
Endless, colors we're not meant to see, no roof to limit
Beautiful, yet a better word

It's never just hives
It's the way he doesn't look at you anymore
It's the crushing weight of always covering the shift
And losing your religion
Losing your humanity
Your neck, right above the thin ACDF scar,
Splotches of angry crimson
Pay no mind
This will pass your usual, painful way
Slow as time
till the lessons burst through
Cursed with color, and too much flaming self-reflection
Not enough benydrl for all this
It's the figuring it all out as you go
till it explodes without you
Come back, I say.

Live this life or better days

It's never just hives

There he was
in all his loner glory
as we drove down through the mountains
South towards L.A.

The heron isn't solid and stable
like these ancient arching stones
He, of course, reminded me of you
Full on airy dreams, other places to be

And just like you
He'd soon spread those
fine feathered wings
and be gone on his way

A small girl with braids steals snapshots out a squoval window
Every soul, each object in the long cabin
is overcast with a sheen of sleepy,
jet fueled jet lag
But daylight, pure and natural
shines through on the small wanderer, basting her in possibility

The plane interior is pale, cool gray
with sky blue accents
Matching this, the child-woman wears comfy, muted 3 day sweats {luggage lost}
and the snow capped Rockies she gazes upon tie it all together:
Silvers, grays, whites, and
A Touch of the Blues

She'll get somewhere soon
but for now she'll just
be

Fievel goes West
Picture me
A wee mouse
lofting my parcels
in a handkerchief
tied to a walking stick
Bringing so little
and gaining so much
I can't wait to lay
eyes on my anchor
of stars
Across these states
In a new place
so novel, so far

Explosion in funky beats
Dreams in the key of acid
The Ascension of Coltrane himself
Nothing more Nothing less
Bliss in raging fevers
The exact color of exquisite
Heartbeats in lime and bubbles
with a dash of salt
Help you remember how it feels
to feel

It's finally beautiful outside
Evening fell gently
In love again

Playing with fire outside
Making a meal
The Lumineers crooning
in the background
makes me feel romantic
nostalgia
Something in the way
the coals smolder

Stars are out
Hopes are high
In love again
and it's lovely
lovely
lovely

But.

i miss you
i miss you
i miss you

Why do we write?

Because every poem we create
is another drop in the antidote
to man's affliction with war

So much comfort
in the giving and the taking

Dolce   Sweetly

My music man
Quiet now, and still
I turn to you, resting

Watch me initiate
Feel my touch take you over
Smooth and connected
Tender love and powerful electricity
The fire in my eyes
holds you captive
You won't know what hit you

Did you know I dabble in witchcraft
All the power of a woman
My long hair brushes your belly
Candied kisses, sweet with soul
You can't play me
like you strum your strings
when your hands are pinned above your head

I'm only Goddess; Wild, Free, Animal, Determined
Tempo meets Vibrato
I know you appreciate
when I take what is mine

Suddenly sprinting,
time on the line
As fast as possible, Prestissimo
It ends together, us,
for the first time

Morendo

I don't ask much
A blank sheet of a body
on which to compose

You pay me back
in small sighs
and stolen moans

Papa passed away in June
By January the farm was gone
Somber soundtrack of a weekend
in Athens
Blowing through my brain
Blitzkrieg
Unannounced, Uninvited
Blazing bright blue
Like your pleading eyes
On your deathbed
Like the sky,
Above the farm
Over the tallest evergreens
Playing melodies of grief

He called me love.
But I don't think of him
I don't think about the smile in his eyes
or the way our thoughts used to play
without moving our mouths
I don't think about us tongue-tied and shy
or how hard we tried.

Because thinking about him makes the muscles in my face hurt from tension. Less emotion and memory and more physical pain
A blatant, stubborn refusal
to let myself go back to that place...

He called me Love
and I think we had a love affair
but I was only
halfway there

Now he's nothing
but
the echo of a ghost
on quiet, rainy, nights
like this