no new is good news
just as long as I'm lying here with you,
and though we're fools,
still I went just to hold you.

in my mind are these rolling hills,
and these green green fields,
the fog is everywhere
and I'll always remember
because you were there.

terra-cotta woman
my celtic queen,
you work with clay
giving form its birth.
to shape this day
you have turned to the earth.
terra-cotta woman,
my celtic queen.

and when I get home,
I want to unplug the phone,
turn the lamp down low.
because no new is good news
just as long as I am staying here with you.
and though we're fools,
still I want to hold you.

terra-cotta woman
my celtic queen,
you work with clay
giving form its bearth.
to shape this day,
you have turned to the earth.
terra- cotta woman
my celtic queen.

© copyright 2000

rolling and holding
onto a used to be,
always unfolding
across a jealous sea.

your Father's scolding is
whipped waves roaring,
a howling wind that tore
the sound from
Hell's aching bell.

your Father's smile, bliss,
graceful, gentle, wide.
when it falls down
you can't hide.

rolling and holding
onto a used to be,
always unfolding
across a jealous sea.

© 1998

All Rights Reserved

I am making a desicion
to clean my body of
your hollow whispered bruises
cracks in my diaphragm
your words left sizzling there
like acid that dripped from your lips
I forgot the deception that swam from your eyes
I have never been stupid
enough to believe
that you were only one
when there were three.
But we stood and watched that house burn
never feeling colder,
than we did that night.
Im sorry your brother died and took
your parents with you.
So you are an orphan that
demonstrated car crashes
in the mere rhythm of your hands
or melody of your speech.
But I find myself drawn to angry cobalt blue eyes
too often enough to know that
I cannot grapple out of your choke-hold
and frozen fingers will bruise me every shade of your
roaring ocean-like blue.
I can only admire the sapphire in your soul from a distance
and hope the red ruby rage turns to wine and not blood.
I have left my marks on too many wooden floorboards, pleaded with too many icy aquamarine eyes;
from boys with steel in their voices but a fury in their hearts.
Too many fingernails stuck between infinite spaces somewhere in houses
where the silence reminded me of the stillness of a teal lake in spring
your eyes are reminiscent of a grey morning I do not wish to remember
I will leave a mark here.

I know someone who finds solace in ballet shoes
                A boy who strums his secrets to guitar strings
Someone that spends his waking moments with glazed red eyes
             As if facing this world cold turkey
                       Isn’t even an option.

For boys whose fingertips shake
                Like the burning end of a cigarette
And girls whose smiles resemble
Car crashes waiting to happen
A cacophony of shattered noises
             And those of us who feel guilty for the
                     mere act
                           Inhaling air
                        And exhaling poison
So we spend lifetimes holding our breaths

   Until we burn our lungs out trying
            To warm our hearts
            With something other than the fire
           That burns out in a smoky haze

Until our eyes become rivers,
flowing oceans
That cry out a thousand melted glaciers

Our tongues speak ruined languages
We read everything backwards
Curse in Latin
Make oaths in Russian
So whatever we say sounds beautiful.

So that our hands wont have to learn permanence,
affection
consolation.