I'm a soldier in the nightlight revolution
I'm fighting the nightmares that haunt your dreams
The monsters in your closet
And the Boogeyman under your bed
One outlet at a time
I'm a silent alarm that vibrates your covers
When older brothers come in after bed time
To cover your face in shaving cream
Dip your hands in popcorn bowls of warm water
Or just slap you in the face
Sometimes they're not that subtle
I know when there is a tooth under your bed
Or reindeer on your roof
I've got a motion detector to keep step fathers at bay
While your mother's asleep
I'm his grave digger and his crypt keeper
Taking his skeletons out of the closet
And laying them in the middle of the floor
That man won't call on you anymore
I'm a hug when all you need is a handshake
And a hold-you-all-night when all you need is a kiss on the cheek
I don't do half-***
When things go bump in the night I bump back
Never fear to close both eyes when you sleep
Dream of fairy tales, Prince Charming
Dream of Maid Marions
Waiting for your touch
Don't fear the reaper he fears me
I am a soldier in the nightlight revolution
Armed with so much more than illumination
I crawl through the cracks in the closet door
Make their shadows cast pictures of rainbows on your wall
The Boogey Man runs from Chuck Norris
Chuck Norris runs from me
Please rest easy
Let the night take you for all it has to offer
Through star lit skies and rain filled clouds on magic carpets rides
Ocean floors and clown fish in little yellow submarines
Rain forests with koalas and parrots and panda bears
Son never fear for what the night brings near
The nightlight revolution is here
Throw your dream catcher away I will hand craft each one
Take the lavender out of the window sill
Don't leave the door cracked
You've got me
I'm here
We're all here
Soldiers of the nightlight revolution
And we will not sleep til you're awake

Nightlight is waiting, deadly quiet,
Waiting for you to see,
Nightlight is heavy, rich, aromatic,
And pulling you closer to me.

Bright points scattered on velvet sky,
Each one a burning star,
We see the same lights, you and I,
Whether we’re near or we’re far.

We’ll share Cassiopeia,
As she follows her path round,
Never getting closer, but never farther,
Round and round, in silent sound.

What does a nightlight do?
What is it?
Not the children's kind
No
The person
A light in the night
The warm lamp in the dark room
The one who hugs you when all seems lost
The one who, when lost, cannot seem to find themselves
So the darkness needs to unite
We need to unite
To rekindle the nightlight's bright

I need to whisper sweet somethings to nothing of importance,

Spell out rose petal kisses up the arms of Morticia Adams,

I need to take  a romantic walk through a graveyard,

Sit in the dark and think of white,

I could always fall up a hill and roll to the top,

The elevator down eventually hits the basement and that’s what I’m counting on,

Pinky finger through thumb, I’m counting.

Other thumb through pinky finger, I’m counting.

Sometimes you have to eat your Johnny Walker and drink your dinner.

Today, cigarettes… tomorrow, the world.

The convenient thing about tomorrow is it still can occur 2 years after yesterday.

Don’t count on it.

Tomorrow, the world… Friday, a whole wheat bagel and coffee.

I think I might garner a relationship with vampires, built on trust.

Turn off the t.v.

Love is a nightlight.

Love is a nightlight…

The room was dark
Except for my little nightlight
That depicted some kind of children's Bible story
That I no longer remember
But it glowed and reflected against my face
And when he looked into my eyes
I swear he saw an endless sea to explore
Greedy and only searching for a treasure
And it didn't take long for him to find one
A chest he stole and emptied into his hands
Shaking out every piece of worth
Until nothing remained but a shell
His hands oxidized the gold -
Shattered the gemstones -
And took away all that belonged to me
Leaving me in my bed
Staring at the nightlight,  
Until my eyes got heavy and my hand reached forward
It didn't look like mine anymore
It looked like a child's: small and innocent
That wasn't me now - he had taken that, too
I flipped the switch so I didn't have to look

singing goes on all night
the birds down the shore;
their notes clear as the nightlight
which is daylight encroaching

I started having to sleep with a nightlight on again. It just gets too dark at night now that I don't get to see your face anymore. The artificial brightness that is absolutely nothing in comparison to you makes it a little harder to fall asleep but maybe that's the point because the nightmares that play when I do fall under are getting unbearable. I spent $14 on a dream catcher that does nothing to protect me from having to see your god ****** eyes every time I shut mine. And I guess the light makes it better when I wake up from another dream where it almost feels like we are dancing around your kitchen together again, but you of all people should know that I only like to cry in the dark.

You are the beautiful field I'm walking through
I'm loving everything, especially this carolina sky, it's extremely blue
I didn't pick any flowers, I know you didn't want me to
so I took dozens of pictures and sent them to you
You are the sky that amazes me at night
I love the stars, and yours are bright
when I lay in the grass, you are my nightlight
now, you are the moon below the horizon line
in my mind but out of sight
When you're not here, and I know you're asleep
I wonder, is your body comfortable, are you having dreams?
does the shade over you window block out the streetlight beam?
and is everyone else quiet so you don't hear a peep?
I want you to sleep as sound as I do
knowing you are as fond of me as I am of you

Clearly               I AM
  it must          not I
   be             who knows

your truth
  so why seek
     approval
outside of
       perfection
          for such things
                        that creek
                   in the dark
      beyond the reach
of your nightlight

As the shape all sun
tore up the curtain
of blood and ululation,
everything in Tunisia,
as stricken by a wand,
came to a standstill,
and slipped away
from the senses -
Even rivers stopped.

Medjerda* froze
halfway
through the descent
to his destination,
as he realized
he’d been making a fatal error:
pouring forth all his passion
into the ocean.

So he stopped,
retracted his course,
re-collected himself,
and started flowing backward,
toward
the source
in the Atlas
that had bidden him
farewell.

In his spear head
there was a design:
start a new chaos
in the valley,
in which there would be
a sweet-water lake
and sailors drunk
with sunbeams, sweat
and pleasure.
Butterflies would flutter
around the scent of mint
and bluegreen rosemary.
Sweet Moon to Sweet Lake
would come, unannounced,
In the rays of the nightlight
of the fluttering night
to watch her self
shoot
the scene
of representation.

The river, now swimming
in his own water,  
carried the sky on his shoulder,
while an ant and a grasshopper,
holding a basket together,
watched the new scene.

As the figure all sun appeared ,
reason melted;
imagination
her hazel eyes opened.

*Medjerda is the most important river in Tunisia. Length, 460 km; basin area, 22,000 sq km. It flows out of the Atlas mountains into the Gulf of Tunis.
© LazharBouazzi, June 16, 2016

I wonder how bright my tears shimmered
Refracting your flickering light,
I wonder what thoughts had filtered,
Through your changing mind that night.
Your smile builds me upright,
Until it quivers and I fall
To pieces under nightlights
Until morning sooths and calms.
But nothing feels quite as right
As crying in your arms,
While laughing at our fears
Pretending nothings wrong,
Pretending that you would stay forever,
Until the day you’ve gone.
Every night without your light
Just seems to dark and long.

Moon is our nightlight
when the day turns to dark
it soon becomes night
take a walk in the park.
The stars are sparkling white
skies are dark blue
we're in each other's sight
stuck together like glue.
We'll make this night last
make do what it's worth
never forget the past
and what our love is worth.
Our love we have to give
we share every day
for every day we live
love is here to stay.
Love was meant to be
when we first made eyes
future for us to see
knowing where our love lies.
BY SCOTTY BRUNER

I've been feeling like I'm home alone,
but there are these projections of memories
that are haunting me like ghosts.

It hurts to know that someone might love you,
but there's nothing you can do to make them admit it,
and while you wait you grow more and more apathetic.

I'm not trying to tell the future,
but there's always room for me to try and read your mind,
even if you're afraid to understand how you feel.

If I kept screaming in your face you might listen,
but there are too many things I need to translate for you,
and I'm tired of being somewhere that no one wants me.

sometimes getting out of bed feels more like a climbing
and some mornings waking up can be a triathlon of effort
I have completed many

sometimes I am all muscle
sometimes I am all skin
sometimes I am the long lost cousin of regret
sometimes I am the farthest thing from human

some days I am a Saturday
some days I am more Monday
some days I am both
it does not matter which day it actually is
it does matter if I can't remember

I get lost often
in poetry
in the process of writing
in movies
and moments of comfort

I don't think about the future a lot
but occasionally I'll wonder what it would be like to live happily in it
Now and then I'll draw people into mine and imagine how they'd fit

I take things day by day but tomorrow still excites me nonetheless

I was fifteen when I got my nose pierced
sixteen when I switched the stud for a ring
seventeen when I got my driver's license
and at eighteen I finally stopped sleeping with a nightlight

I am terrified of the dark
but I will never admit it

I am terrified of losing things
but I will hold onto my pride like it's my sole source of surviving

I will not always be smiling
know that if I am not, it’s not your fault
know that if I am, it is

it took me years to correctly pronounce ptsd
it took me a few, two exactly
to admit that I have it

know there will be days when the storm is too heavy to fight off alone
the winds too strong to fend off with just these arms
I will not ask for your help
I will think that I don't need it
I will

know that your laugh will never become secondary
your happiness, always a priority
I have loved too much for far too long to not do so consistently

I'm a hopeless romantic
but often times I will just be hopeless
this
is when I will need you most
when the loud of my vocality has turned itself quiet
when I can blame only tired for my weakness
this
is when I will need to be reminded
of that tomorrow that excites me so greatly
tell me
about all the times the stars were told they wouldn't glow bright and center
tell me about all those instances of defiance
tell me about the moments where the sun refused to let the clouds block her bravery
how she still manages to make herself known in the midst of chaos
tell me
is there anything more worth it
than being unabashed in your awareness?
to know that this is what I am
and it is all I have to offer
?

the thing is
I don't have a lot to offer you
only poorly composed sonnets and a good 99% of my affection
the other one percent
I'm saving for myself to have on a rainy day

the thing is
I don't have a lot to give
but I do have words I am willing to tie into stanzas
I will wrap them up and call them gifts
I've got a body,
not perfect but it's mine
and I'd love for you to know it

the thing is
there are a lot of things you should know about me
before you love me
but the truth is
a lot of them you really won't find out
until you do
and that alone
is the best part
about it

"fingerprint tracking technology"
articles are so foolish.
They can seek my fingerprints,
all they like
but it's my footprints
along the ashphalt by the shore-
it is those which will never fade.

They'll lead you to my place,
through my visceral dreams
and to the darkest places on earth.

And if you'll walk my path tonight,
you may also see the sea
looking black.
And if you've the right sorta soul,
At dark ocean waves
it'll wave back.

The sky yields no stars
but don't fret;
this was never to be a poem of beauty.
No, just of darkness,
and stars
that a midnight sky lacks.

I am less than honorable
My intent less than clean.
And the canker of my life?
Greater than you've ever seen!

Virtues; I have none.
Morals; I have none.
Light: I have one.
It's in the nightlight of her heart.

She follows me around
like a sweet haunting ghost.
Sometimes, i forget she is there
watching me, without thought.
I am a blank space to her;
For her.
A blank space to stare into.

I was her greatest gift, she once said.
I remember the way she said it,
All the words tender
and running together.
Yes; and with no voice. Only
the movement of lips
into silent sleeptalking mumbles
in my sleepwalking hours.

So my nightlight,
won't you come with me
and haunt me beside the shores once more?
My darling, remind me of how worthless I am
And let me rot in your arms.
(without fingerprints or footprints,
i could never touch your heart.)
Always, in her arms.

My mind thrives in the night.

It takes to it like an empty canvas,
Forming infinite meaning of words,
  Creating pictures that hold more sound than color

And with each shifting moment,
the words change to an adverse
meaning unlike reality.

Creating a new world of glass,
Catching many reflections,
and Casting them with a jumble of meanings that hold more truth than I am capable of comprehending

Throwing thoughts in every direction,
Making me stumble in my sleepless sleep.

My mind thrives in the night.

And in the whitest dark I
Ask for only that
To keep
Me there, for just the span of
Your snowglobe smile
That aftershock nightlight in the
Afternoon heat
Wait for me there
With your bayonet heart
Hands
Shoulders
Beneath the powerline
Wire, asleep but for me
Awake but for
The rest
And doze after
Half-light dreams and
Headrush spotlights that
Blur and
Mar my
Little love frame
Bright night air, fill
Every niche
Till whole is all
And all is this

Open your mind
Open your eyes
Your heart
Now arise

Wake up Moonchild
The dawn is drawing near
Rub the crust from the crevices of your eyes

The world won’t wait
Not for you

Don’t let it’s turning make you sick

This is your wakeup call

Your gonging alarm clock
Sitting beside your bed head

The race is about to begin!
Ready…set…GO!
There are no winners

There are no losers
Take your time

But run well

All in stride

All in time

There’s no finish line

You’re done when you wish

the tides are impossible these days
moving in and out of focus,
leaning and falling back from shore
clawing the ground as they're pulled.
they sift through the rocks
like a child looking for shells
or burying his feet
as deep as he can in the gravel's warmness
before the cold comes for his ankles.
the water moves faster than before--
now that the moon's in an ice chest
shedding dust and gravity
somewhere in a ship far from shore--
and the men who caught it
have hopelessly lost their way,
victims of an all-too-sudden high tide
and violent, rushing winds.

it turns out it didn't take much
to take the silvered old rock down.
moonlight is spun like a web
down in pillars to the ground and water,
sticking to sea spray and the clouds,
suspending in the air.
a couple of fishermen caught it
while filled half-and-half
with sleep and moonshine.
they said it wandered near the edge
of the cliff where night meets the day
and when they threw the net up
the moon's web got twisted, tangled in rope
and pulled it right down with them.

some light floats on.
broken strands of silk take to the air,
still attached to the ground and water,
though the connection's cut at the other end.
they're waving away today, in the sky,
like a luminous greeting:
hello, or goodbye.
people watching onshore say it's pretty
to see the moonlight like this--
they say it looks like a field of tall grass
pushed sideways and whirling,
carrying fireflies and ladybugs away
from the overgrown--
and they feel like the insects
buried deep in their own glowing forest,
talking to the sea and moonlight with waves.

I know where I am.
Yet I am no where to find.
I know where I stand.
Yet I don't see a light.
In the mits of the dark, I expect non.
But here in the sun, light does belong.
And so I go, and leave my stand,
to see if the light, is somewhere to find.
And as I mark my steps, into the sand,
and leave my trace, for another friend,
I can see the light so bright,
somehwhere up there,
behind the night.

when i was a teenager i fancied myself an adult
even when i was younger than a teenager
11, 12, 13 years old, barely not a little girl,
i thought i was a grown up
because functionally i was an adult
i came home to empty house and cooked for myself, cleaned up after myself, did the dishes while i was still afraid of all the knives, did the laundry when i was barely tall enough to reach the bottom of the washer

And at the time, i thought this was a good thing
i talked about how mature i was, how together i was
in high school i was all about how well prepared i was for life because i already knew how to cook and clean for myself
i already knew how to care for myself

and then i went away to college
and at first i was fine, i was right, i could look after myself
i got good grades, i cleaned my dorm room, i cooked myself dinner
i was functionally and legally an adult
and then my mom got cancer
i was 400 miles from home and my mom got cancer and i didn't want to be an adult anymore

suddenly i was nine years old crying alone in my bed
except i couldn't cry alone in my bed because i had roommates
so it was one am and i sobbed on the porch being careful not to cry out too loudly because i was afraid of what the neighbors would think

when i started going to therapy one of the first things she said was that i was a parentalized child
that's someone who, as a child, was forced to act as their own or someone else's parent
a psychiatric diagnosis of 'she just grew up too fast'

i grew up too fast and now i'm twenty one years old and trying to remember how to be a child again
but i can't remember something i never was
i feel like i'm trying to hold onto water

there's a part of me that's young and scared and a part of me that's old and fakes being well adjusted
and for a long time they coexisted
not in harmony, just in separate parts of my brain where they couldn't see or speak to each other
but now someone's gone and introduced them and they won't stop fighting
the screaming in my head is loud and never ceases and i'm never sure which one of them is winning

i have to learn how to be a child and be okay with crying and asking for help with things i should know how to do
and i have to be an adult and be responsible and wake up on time
and i don't know how to do all those things at once
because as much as i like that shel silverstein poem, our ages are not pennies in a bandaid box
i can't be seven or twenty one based on when it suits me
i do not know how to reconcile the warring parts of me

my mother lived through cancer
and i haven't spoken to my father in almost two years
but i am still dealing with the shrapnel that's taken the place of the blood in my veins
and if anyone tells you that growing up quickly is a good thing
that it will make you well prepared for living alone
don't listen to them

i listened to them and now i'm twenty one years old and i can't go to the doctor without bringing a teddy bear
and i can't sleep without a nightlight
and sometimes i even drink from sippy cups because i find the familiarity soothing
because the little girl inside of me never learned to be an adult
and the adult that made itself my skin can't remember how to be a child because they never were one
i am two separate halves that cannot figure out how to be whole together

your life is a building with a hundred stories and no elevator
you have to go to each floor before you can reach the top
if you skip too many stairs you might just fall down to the bottom
and i promise
there is no shortcut worth dying for

When I sleep in my room alone in my bed,
I lay with my back to the wall,
because an inch out is the edge, and be it hardwood
floors or knotted cedar trees the dark
permeates the room.  
There's nothing there, but I can never bring myself to
put my back to the unknown blindness beyond
my bed.
But when you sleep next to me in our twin bed, your feet warm next
to mine and more than half the blanket bunched under-
neath your chest;
when your drooling wets the pillow we share and
your warm breath tickles my nose,
I face the wall. I face you.

The lone eagle makes its
solo journey over the vast horizon

I can see my flag in
the setting sun
as the lemon halo of fire
becomes a vivid pomegranate red,
the turquoise sky darkening
into a sea of navy blue
and wispy, white clouds  
are hovering over us like
spirits in the universe

Lady Liberty,
overlooking the evening
of the New York Harbor,
displays her lit up torch like a
cosmic nightlight
She forever sheds light over
weary Americans
to remind us to
still dream the American dream
but that vision often seems
so out of our common reach

Uncle Sam has put on his nightcap,
a tuckered, old man is he
The crickets are chirping,
singing to me their strange lullabye
as I think I'll call it a night

*Goodnight, America, Goodnight

This delight,
To inhale twilight.
Ride the nightlight to the stars.

To kiss a breath within
each moment
Free from introspection,
doubt and regrets.
It is here, I yearn to dwell.

No fear of neglect.
No fear of offense.
No fear of fear.

Yet, ever vigil,
to a slight variance of mood.
Of circumstance.
Of changes that determine
outcomes and future.

Fear of loss.
Fear of rejection.
Fear of fear.

I succomb to this perception.
Live in accordance
within the rules and structure
that appear to maintain order  
to each of my days

Yet I await, with anticipation...
To kiss a breath within
each moment

This delight.
To inhale twilight.
Ride the nightlight to the stars

In a strange mood - see/write art



in a strange way, disorganized but straight on,
light tinted magenta, issuing, in frothy large pours, from my mouth,
knowing what to say, and the meaning too,
I can more than walk, can write, on water,
where all can read weeping, Mary-miracles of seeing, living words,
themselves, on light waves lapping in a
shifting rotunda vision, color reorienting spatial senses.^

in a strange, strange stitch, seasonal spirits and witches,
Chagall, Baez, Dylan Thomas, Donovan, Richie Havens
doing their knitting in my brain, from Montmartre to the Midwest to Monterey,
painters and poets in lockstep head-messing with me,
imperfect clarity but still one voice,
see/write art,
so went and caught the wind, going gently into night
to banish the hodgepodge of uncertainty from inside out.

knowing well you don't understand fully, but jumbling tumbling
verses are sliding off my rusted tongue as fiddlers fly above,
roughened words, hewn from a paper cup, spilling diamonds uncut, imported from Sarajevo, Montparnasse, the Lower East Side.
wretched me, in the hour I first believed, this amalgamated conception conceded,
seceded from my mind into your palate for a tasting,
tho neither drugged, nor deaf and dumb, just slammed poetical-like, this write is
all I have to portend is your affections, your attentions, to yours, am beholden.

a *****, well respected man in daylight,
the hidden references accuse,
woke up to see Wednes-day Caesarian born,
askance glanced at the prior passages of the night before,
when my palate clefted,
when eyes chose not to distinguish
between right and lefted,
in the nightlight,
a ***** man disrespects language convection/convention,
and lays before you activating stanzas and his mind, prone,
but always the truth, speaking,
the visions, leaking, mind to eye,
recombinant, into our minds eye.




^ http://www.guggenheim.org/new-york/exhibitions/on-view/james-turrell


Rather than write extensive notes on the many references, inspirations in this poem, if there is a line that intrigues, ask me

I used to send you goodnight poems,
Each and every night.
And you would post them on Snapchat,
To serve as a nightlight.
But now you have forsaken me,
I cry my life away.
I miss and hate and still love you,
Though you threw me away.

This is a friendly reminder to watch the calendar and mark the days
Times flies faster than you realize and some things are worth remembering
This is a friendly reminder to take some time for yourself
Listen to your thoughts and learn to understand whats going on in your own head
This is a friendly reminder that your parents aren’t stupid
Sometimes they really do know what they’re talking about
This is a friendly reminder to not judge a book by its cover
Smiles can hide pain and anyone can look beautiful for a day
This is a friendly reminder to write your paper during the day
Don’t lose sleep over things you could easily put to rest
This is a friendly reminder that every story is a coin
There are always two sides and someone is always getting richer
This is a friendly reminder that rainy days are made for lovers
So hold her close and love her while the sun looks away
This is a friendly reminder that sometimes your eyes hear better than your ears
Liars deceive with their mouths not their hands
This is a friendly reminder that distance is only as far as you make it out to be
Someday you will be together and thats all that matters
This is a friendly reminder to do good things
Not to be remembered but because the world needs it
This is a friendly reminder that some people look up to you
The next generation will always be a product of the generation before
This is a friendly reminder that love is not about possession
She does not belong to you she is her own person and thats why you love her
This is a friendly reminder to keep your gas tank full
You never know when you’ll have to leave and there isn’t always time to stop
This is a friendly reminder that skin is only meant to protect whats important
The skeleton is only a vessel to hold it all together
This is a friendly reminder to show her you love her
Even if you haven’t told her yet never make her second guess it
This is a friendly reminder that boats without anchors are useless
Even the smallest of storms will sink them with ease
This is a friendly reminder that all it takes is a nightlight
To illuminate the darkness under your bed and scare the monsters away
This is a friendly reminder that some girls only last as long as the season
They are not worth writing about or looking back on
This is a friendly reminder that even the stars burn out
If nothing lasts forever make forever last
*~W.C.

being lonely when you're not alone is a lot like being scared of the monsters under your bed in a fully lit room

I try to ask you how your day is going
but the bravery slips from my lips
and I am worried those are not the right words-
all I can muster up the courage to say is whats up?
I tip-toe around your emotions like this is minesweeper
waiting for any move I make to make you explode-
but it seems the only thing I'm sweeping is my mind
in an attempt to rack yours.
Am I yours anymore?
Because these days all seem to blend together
and I try to avoid the explosions
but they seem to come anyways
always hiding behind passive aggressions
and misread text messages
because you don't like texting
so I tend to keep quiet.
Try to stay silent as long as I possibly can
but with every good thing that happens I want to turn to you
and every bad thing, I want to run to you.
Is that a crime?
Am I a nuisance for sprinting to you with my issues
and am I naive for thinking
that you would welcome them with open arms.
I feel like this is high school again-
because I think that was the last time
I was actually scared to talk to someone..
See my heart beats out of my chest for you
but it seems everyday I am struggling
more and more to keep it beating less
because I am an anxiety ridden mess already
and not telling you about it makes it worse-
trying to make you understand makes it worse-
you not believing I can't control it makes it so much worse
and these things I wish I didn't go through
I ******* do
so why should I have to keep them from you?
BOOM.
Another bomb dropped at my feet
and all I can make out is the ringing in my ears
I'm so ******* tired of not being me..
I just warily wait in the corner for another explosion these days
and you keep telling me to talk to you
but the words come out muffled and I am flustered.
I'm not sure how to explain to you
if I can't over-explain it or make it a big deal
because these things, to me, are a big deal
I'M A ******* BIG DEAL!
I am the bomb ready to explode,
I am the snake in the grass nipping at your ankles-
I am the ******* 4am phone call crying for help.
And I am worth every single ******* star
in the entire universe because I shine just as bright
and provide you with a way out of your own darkness-
so ******* treat me as such.

when I was born, I had
nine lives left, I was bereft
of scars, delicate as fireflies
in a jam jar
(the kind I’d punch holes in the lid for,
the kind I’d bring indoors
and set on my bedroom floor as a fairy nightlight, until I got bored
and one by one they died silent as the pollination of fornicating spores.)

anyways.

9 lives left, age: 2 months
but then one day daddy looked the other way and splash!
the baby’s in the *** and the ***’s still hot
(there are witches in the air but we don’t care)
looks like soup tonight! yum yum
third degree misery etched on her body,
one life done.

And nothing to show for all of her fun
but a twisted left arm and a ***** of a sun (burn)

One life down, eight to go, you know
because she’s a fox, which (if you peek over the ledge of your punitive box)
is like a cat. And that, as we know, means
nine lives, and that’s that.

well, eight now.
if you want, I’ll tell you how she (i) is (now) down several more.
worry not little one, fate always evens out
the score.

The second was me and a boy (THE Boy, if you know what I mean)
it would seem he and I had climbed two stories high
hand over foot over hand over foot over
the parking lot right up next to the sky
and then oh-
wait.

I’m falling.

(breathe in, breathe out)

(the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout
down came reality and washed the spider out)

and there are
butterflies on the tip of my tongue and there is
a word stuck in my stomach.

he held my eyes just like I couldn’t hold
the pipe as I fell, right towards the earth between heaven and hell
now there are hot knives in my ankles and I think (I can’t tell)
I’m alive.

(stop drop and roll)

yes I fell from the roof through the sky. No I’m fine.
just one more life gone, I saw it flash before my eyes in a short space of time
that was roughly
the shape of a stop sign, or maybe a wind chime, or maybe
it was the shape of the sunshine.

Whichever way, that’s two down, seven to go;
the next one I lost when I rolled off the road.

We were going seventy and
the love of my life was sitting next to me and
his skin was beautiful in its caramel coffee complexity and
he wasn’t
paying
attention.

There is air in my lungs when I should be history
but the SUV only bruised my knees as it rolled, glass shattering
pit-pattering over the pinwheel of perfect destruction
around us.

I felt myself decide that it was okay
if this was the end.

At least I’d go with my best friend, there’s some
good stuff. That, I conceded, would be enough,
I could die young
if who I was in that moment
could be the freeze-frame of my song,
the thing that’s left
after I’m gone.

Three lives gone, only five left-
the next one is casually snipped like a price tag
after a theft when I fell
(again)
from the banyan tree and flipped my pancake
(click-clack) like a jacob’s ladder
I should have broken my back.

As I fell I yelled in my head
there’s nothing to fear but fear itself
(till you’re dead.)

four down, five to go Indigo.

Here we go.

(to be continued.)