How can I salamander in a river
Can I salamander
Hanging with salamanders
At the **** based farm
Salamanders are crazy
Cardboard carborators
A salamander band
Playing bad great music
Satanic salamanders
Soup and blind melons
Salamanders

I commit to poems the second that I begin writing them,
And here I am committing to this one,
My cursor on the screen
Tap tap tapping like tap-roots across it’s blue-glowing surface.
With every push of every button,
I begin seeing the blue light
As more than it is. I begin seeing it as a poem.
The blue light that illuminated the Never Sink sinkhole
Was not from a screen.
Nor was it from glowworms.
As I write on this screen though, there is that same blue light
With me still. It is
Streaming from the walls of the cavern,
Still massaging the bags of tiredness
That hang beneath my eyelids to remind me
Of where I just was, having *** with my ex-girlfriend,
And of all the places that I was before that: to remind me
Of the blue lights in Never Sink,
The sinkhole that is 120 feet wide and 170 feet deep that I
Climbed out of on a rope and in the dark,
Which was anything but dark—an unlocked lock
Sat in my driveway after I got home

From having *** with my ex-girlfriend tonight,
And there, in that lock, was a comparison to or an analogy for or a metaphor of
My climb out of Never Sink: gradual ascension
And then a moment
Of absolute awe and profundity so unlike any other profundity
That the clarity I felt absolutely throughout my body tonight
Can only really be brought into my mind with full force
Through a comparison and analogy and metaphor
To, for, and of the blue lights
That that temple provided us. Looking into that lock’s
Reflective gleam, I discovered that I felt
The way I’d felt ever since climbing out of Never Sink, which was exactly
How I’d spent the past year or so wanting to feel.

“Bring me,” I said to Duane, who went with me to Never Sink,
“To the hole in the ground
Where the blue light glows; where the glow-worms lightly blaze” and Duane
Said “okay” and he brought me there without
My ever having to say those words. And then,
In the moments after the sun went down we discovered
That the glowworms were not glowworms but
Armillaria mellea, a bioluminescent fungus.
Not glowworms but Armillaria mellea,
Which rose through and across the cave walls, coating the rock
With its skin. The whole pit was covered in that skin—the skin
Of that single individual.
As I methodically climbed out of the sinkhole on my rope, I felt that
Fungus (that individual) extending
Its black shoelace looking taproots into my lungs too,
And into my skin,
Where I was but where
I wasn’t quite yet. Where I was but
Where I couldn’t yet describe to myself without the use of glowworms—
Without the use of made-up and childish sounding words
Like Depropheria, which I wrote a book about but which
I never really understood, and I, the whole concept of which is flawed,
Feel like I could be the plant on Joe’s counter,
Which he said I already am.
Because if my “I” was in all of its molecules and its “I” was in all of my molecules
Then we would both just be exactly what we already were, Joe said, and so
By the very logic I extended in posing the question
I was and am the plant.

I could be Armillaria mellea too
But what am I if I think that I am glowworms? but really
The glowworms are fungus, and while I ****** my ex-girlfriend tonight, falling
Further into the space away from her, I was also
Scraping away at the walls of Never Sink
To see the tiny little hairs that revealed to Duane and I what really was there,
The Armillaria mellea, of course, but how could something so different
(“**** me, Daniel,” she said, “I feel you inside of me, I want you.”
“**** me,” I said
“”
“I feel myself inside of you, I”)
Be the thing that I am? I would never

Stop the car because I saw something shining on my driveway.
And I would never
Open the car door
And step out into the night with the engine running.
Step out into the night to find an
Unlocked lock
Lying there on the pavement while the song that I tried to live all year
Called In the Aeroplane Over the Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel blasts loudly
From my Buick’s speakers. Step out into the night
With that song blaring through my open car door, surely waking
My soon to be empty-nested mother from her sleep behind
That second story window
Right up ahead.

I did those things though—I
Stopped the car because I saw something shining on my driveway, and I
Did those things.
I am glow-worms.
I am, and so
I am the plant on Joe’s counter, and so
I can be a glow-worm.
I can be what I already am without knowing or comprehending that I am it.
I can be the whole universe.
I am the whole universe.
I saw over one hundred salamanders at the bottom of Never Sink.
And I saw four different species of salamanders at the bottom of Never Sink.
And I saw six different species of frogs, and I saw
Three brown rat snakes, which thankfully were not copperheads, but which
Could have been glowworms that were copperheads,
I guess. If you ask Joe, anyway. I’m not sure
I believe it fully
Even though when you strip away sentimental definitions of “I”
It’s pretty **** convincing. He was convincing.

I danced around Joe’s counter (where the plant sat, even then)
In September. At the time,
The counter was quickly becoming Alex’s counter,
Because I was becoming close friends with Alex,
And because Alex was Joe’s little sister, and because
Joe had left for the college he’d drop out of,
And during his hiatus from what he’d wanted to run from
It was just
Alex’s counter. It is Joe’s counter again now,
Because Alex has a dumb boyfriend who she likes to kiss
And doesn’t really like to ****
But who she does **** anyway and as a result
Doesn’t really like spending much time not ******* me anymore.
Anyway, I danced

Around Joe’s counter in September, when it was becoming Alex’s counter,
And I sank songs like In the Aeroplane Over the Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel
With all my new friends. I thought that I
Was living those songs
Because, if my “I” was in the molecules that vibrated when the song played,
And the “I” of those molecules was in me
Then I would be those songs and those songs would be me.
Being the songs wasn’t the same as living the songs, though.
Rising out of Never Sink I saw myself
Reflected in the blue dots of light that Armillaria mellea created.
I saw that I hadn’t been living everything
That I was; I saw that I was the blue dots then, but I also saw
That I didn’t know that the blue dots weren’t glowworms.

When I was dancing
Around Joe’s counter, I didn’t yet know the words
To In the Aeroplane Over the Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel.
But all my new friends were singing those words, and so I
Screamed out barely-syllabic nonsense
With a smile on my face,
Speaking like a baby who recognizes the existence of language
But can’t yet put it into use.

Rising out of Never Sink
The whole cave opened up, as more and more levels of the sinkhole
Were revealed to be stars and galaxies
Of blue fungus to climb through.
Rising out of Never Sink, I held in my hand
The unlocked lock which I would use later
To weight my pocket as I would sit with these bags of tiredness hanging
Writing this poem late at night on the screen illuminated
By the blue lights of Never Sink. To weight my pocket
As I would sit writing this poem, with
***** excreted thirty minutes prior still resting on my ****
Like the name I haven’t yet learned to call her—
Caterina, Caterina, why did she change it? Maria
Was so pretty, why did she change her name, it was
To get away from me, it was to get away from me like
I wanted to get away from her, it was to get away from me it was
Because she always hated the name Maria. And
To grow more confident in herself
She needed to become
Caterina. She needed to rebrand herself like she worked on rebranding
That company’s logo for her senior thesis project in high school
When I first fell in love with her because
Glowworms lit up Never Sink at night.

They were glowworms in Never Sink
Because the glowworms are fungus
And I am the glowworms.

If you ask Joe.

I want to take some time now to describe
Rising out of Never Sink
Without giving any time
To the lock I found in my drive-way this evening, or
To Joe’s counter-top and how I danced around it knowing
That it wasn’t his but that it was him,
Or to the remnants of Maria, Caterina, and I which are all I, and which
Stick to my ***** still. Never Sink is a sinkhole
That is 170 feet deep
And 120 feet wide at its top.

I went spelunking in Alamaba, Georgia, and/or Tennesse last week
Where I never knew which state or time zone I was in,
And where an annoying but charming guy named Glenn
Led me and my best friend through epic places of infinite beauty.
One of those places was Never Sink,
Which is a sinkhole that is
170 feet deep and
120 feet wide at its top. We repelled into Never Sink
Because Glenn wanted to show us the glowworms
(Which were fungus that were glowworms that were
**** it) and because my friend Duane, who is my best friend, who is
A 39 year-old factory worker who worries that he is much older than he is,
Wanted to see the glowworms too.
We found over a hundred salamanders in Never Sink
And Duane and I discovered that it wasn’t glowworms
That illuminated the pit, but Armillaria mellea, which is a fungus, and
It was very cool.
But ascending through Never Sink was more than very cool,
And it was much more than fungus,
Just as the fungus which I took into my body in August (which it
Almost is again now) after the summer music festival was more
Than just fungus. That fungus was more than just fungus because
I took it into my body right after breaking up with Maria-Caterina (who
I can’t not talk about) For Good (which was
The name of a song they sang
At Maria-Caterina’s high school graduation a year ago, after which
We made love (which was what we called it
Because we were cliché and in love
(Which is what we made.)))

It was a spiritual journey through the cosmos,
In Never Sink,
Or at least that’s how it felt,
And when I climbed out of Never Sink’s mouth, I hugged Duane
And he hugged me and we
Thought that it was beautiful.

I am the plant in Joe’s kitchen.
I am glowworms.

I wonder why the dead only
Pass through my bedroom
Goosebumping my exposed arm,
When I'm alone.

It's as if they won't disturb us, or
Know they'd startle her a lot more
Than they do me.
They're as unsensational to me as

Any gust of wind; falling stars
Leaving temporary tails on the night
Skies like salamanders escaping the
Grasp of a hungry atmosphere.

Faceless footsteps, doors opening,
Invisible tenants at times nudging  
Me awake, whispering wordlessly:
Did you blow out that last candle,

Young man?
Creaking walls, blinking lights.
I welcome them with warm
Sincerity. Dead or alive,

A fleeting mist in an old room
Or flesh and blood speaking only
Of times long gone over lukewarm
Tea; I always respect my elders.

age 6
you said “this is what friends do”
and placed a kiss on my lips

tell me how a kiss on the lips
became hands in pants
became “you can’t tell anyone”
when you saw my nervous excited scrawls about what we did in my diary

age 6
shame?
but I thought this is what friends did
I know now I’ll never tell my mother

age 7
you said you’d catch me a salamander
“okay”
I slip away a little more each time

age 8? 9?
these years are a blur
I know your brother touched me too

still never got that salamander

age 10
your fingers still ghost my skin
year to year

“i won’t bully you anymore if you be my girlfriend”
enough is enough
i slam my full body weight on those ugly hands

age 12
“I know what you did”
says your friend
I haven’t seen you in two years
yet you still come up to haunt me

age 14
“hey, you still live down the street? We should date”
how do you not realize what you’ve done

age 22
“Was he hot?” an old friend asks, probably on drugs
I show him your picture, shaking

later on I break an 8 year silence to ask you why.
“it didn’t happen again after that”
“it had a lot to do with age”
why can’t you just say sorry.

age 24
I still think about the things we did
you did
friends don’t kiss
friends don’t put their hands in each others pants
And I’ll still never tell my mother

When you speak aloud,
Fire your words as nameless bullets.
Without a face or destination,
simply burning through the air
in search of a target

On the night before spring,
All the windows were open,
Curtains billowed with february
waiting for the sound of morning
to trap itself inside

When the soil was ready,
we ran across the lawn
searching for salamanders
to catch with cages of fingers,
Gawking at the zoo in our palms
hoping that we too could bathe
in the moonlight and sleep on the stars

The following is a very powerful dream I had the night of May 15th, 2009. I don’t often have dreams because my vivid imagination means I daydream a lot. I am seeking interpretations from anyone. Can you help me discover what it means…?

I am sitting in an auditorium. I am with my father, mother and brother, Shawn. The presenters are giving away tickets, one to a Cavs game, another to Cedar Point. I chose Cedar Point.
Instantly the environment changes. I am attending a huge social event party in a large multi-level office building. I am attending with 3 nameless, faceless friends. The party features 7 themed rooms. The first was an entry way similar to the one at my middle school. The second was a cross between the Cleveland Zoo (indoor parts) and an Indian bazaar market. There were tanks with lizards, salamanders, sharks, and sting rays. All had a price sticker on them. The third was a parlor with computers. I never discovered the other 4 rooms.
At this party, I knew Lisa was attending. I also knew she had a magical crystal that split her into 2 people. However, due to the 7 rooms she was accidentally split into 7. Each of the 7 Lisa’s was a different color (clothing), each representing a different personality characteristic.
The first Lisa I ran into was the black one in the entry way. When she saw me, she exclaimed, “Oh, ****!” and ran. It was shortly after that that I realized that she and the white one were evil. They were trying to **** me. I killed the white one. I do not remember how or why. Next I started running from the black one. I was sure that it had already killed my friends and I was next. She chased me into the parlor where I confronted her. When I turned around I realized this “Black Lisa” had turned into me. I killed it by slamming its head into a laptop screen.
I ran from the parlor into a stairwell. Here I encountered the red, purple, and yellow Lisa’s. These, I was sure were the good ones. I wanted to protect these 3 Lisa’s from the other 2 (colors unknown), that I was sure were trying to hurt us. I paid most attention to the red one. It was then, that my friends returned, coming down the hall with one slung over the shoulders of the other two. All three were alive and well.
Then I woke up…



Ryan’s Interpretation

The Dark Muse Dream

The following is a very powerful dream I had the night of May 15th, 2009. I don’t often have dreams because my vivid imagination means I daydream a lot. I am seeking interpretations from anyone. Can you help me discover what it means…?

I am sitting in an auditorium. The womb or an early family home.
I am with my father, mother and brother, Shawn. This scenario represents the beginning, my childhood and early family life before Lisa.  It also portrays quiet desperation.
The presenters are giving away tickets, one to a Cavs game, another to Cedar Point. Cedar Point is circumstantial.  I was going there later that month.
I chose Cedar Point.  The choice represents the choices I had to make in my life to go from child to man.
Instantly the environment changes. The 360 my life took after I met Lisa.
I am attending a huge social event party in a large multi-level office building.  Suddenly I had a social life and friends.  I was no longer an unknown and alone.  She brought me out of my shell.  The multi level building represents the complexity of my life with Lisa.
I am attending with 3 nameless, faceless friends. The party features 7 themed rooms. The first was an entry way similar to the one at my middle school. This was the familiar.
The second was a cross between the Cleveland Zoo (indoor parts) and an Indian bazaar market. This was the bizarre, strange, and new.  These first two rooms represented the outside world.
There were tanks with lizards, salamanders, sharks, and sting rays.   These creatures represent the untouchable, i.e. slimy.
All had a price sticker on them. They are for sale.  Nothing is sacred.
The third was a parlor with computers. The parlor represents my sanctuary, calming, and relaxing.  Yet the computer was one of many causes of my divorce.  To Lisa, me on the computer meant neglect.  The parlor also represented home with Lisa, hidden from the rest of the world.  This is where all the fighting and problems occurred.
I never discovered the other 4 rooms.  
At this party, I knew Lisa was attending. I also knew she had a magical crystal that split her into 2 people. Lisa was 2 completely different people.
However, due to the 7 rooms she was accidentally split into 7.  This represents the 7 deadly sins.
Each of the 7 Lisa’s was a different color (clothing), each representing a different personality characteristic. In my world, color represents emotion.
The first Lisa I ran into was the black one in the entry way. When she saw me, she exclaimed, “Oh, ****!” and ran. She is scared of me or ashamed.
It was shortly after that that I realized that she and the white one were evil.  White means my hidden anger towards Lisa while black is my guilt.
They were trying to **** me. Both my anger and guilt are killing me from the inside out.
I killed the white one. I do not remember how or why. Next I started running from the black one. I was sure that it had already killed my friends and I was next. The “Lisas” or more accurately, me destroyed all I had left (my friends).
She chased me into the parlor where I confronted her. When I turned around I realized this “Black Lisa” had turned into me. I was really running from and angry at myself.
I killed it by slamming its head into a laptop screen.  The act of slamming the head represents the violence I am guilty of and fear I am capable of.  Breaking the computer destroyed that which destroyed my happiness.
I ran from the parlor into a stairwell. The stairwell represents the path to my new life.
Here I encountered the red, purple, and yellow Lisa’s.   The good parts of Lisa I wanted to protect.
These, I was sure were the good ones. I wanted to protect these 3 Lisa’s from the other 2 (colors unknown), that I was sure were trying to hurt us.  I have an apprehension something else out there will hurt me again.
I paid most attention to the red one. Red means love.
It was then, that my friends returned, coming down the hall with one slung over the shoulders of the other two. Slung over the shoulders means a shoulder to lean on.
All three were alive and well. They were there, surprisingly, when I thought I was alone.
Then I woke up…

I see it in her eyes!
"Guys look at so many girls," with a sigh.
Then I saw your heart was loving mine.
A being one with understanding.
A smile that caressed my shoulder.
An ease that could make me slip into sleep.
Like a beauty she slept
No heart to win
Spirit hovered over her
as if apart, yet a part of her.
I wondered what dreams she could be having,
Whose heart heaven could be sharing
I wondered how many breaths she'd ever breathed.
I wonder about the time I'm wasting
making you my center of concentration.
I wonder why you're not blacker.
Wonder why you're not whiter.
I wonder why there's no crust in your eye.
wonder why you're not more recognized
by colleges.
Then I realize the softness of your pillow.
I wonder what island you're from.
Your curls turn into a flame
of salamanders before my eyes.
I want to kiss the air you breathe.
I want to taste your makeup on your face.
I want to thank the taxpayers
for our food.
I want to thank the elements
for the extra bump off center in your chin.
I want to take away your hurt and pain.
I want you to rule over all men.
You look at me like I'm not mature.
You've found my secret
you won't tell.
I never paid any of your bills.
You said, "No, I need a man."

love is a rhythm i choose not to edit
burning serpents in syncopated tones
stolen vibrations from conquered nations
i am amazed at slavery's undertones
doomsday hypothesis
insufferable hypocrisy
is this the way we are meant to perceive
reality's final throes
perhaps a last attempt at infatuation
another insurgency toward our situation
there is music in the millipedes
1,000 feet stomping on the hot pavement
midday heat is burning the gentlest of trees
and yet saving lives of anteaters in need
grief is complete and not wasted
never jumbled by threads of frailty
insipid lipids deftly crawl upon caterpillars shoulders
starry eyed soldiers
sold to the streets in shivering brokenness
i am madness incarnate
the west is a spectacle of insubstantial lunacy
if you wish to conquer this reality

open your heart and kiss the feet of kindness
blindness is worshipped as if it was wisdom
sincere victims of another’s prison
simpler lives define simpler times
keepers of the rhythm
keepers of the rhyme
i dine on salamanders and supine slivers of the moon’s heartbeat
fault no one but yourself
gifts are wealth
i am salt and sulphur is the mother of the soul
loose cannons explode
she rode the wild shadows
and took the backroads all the way home
infinite living history
his memory serving beauty forever
for a lifetime i am looking for truth
in shattered space and respecting the face of the ancestors
self aware shades of solidarity
harvested by hands made light with clarity
is this music
is this meaning
her openness is our healing
this majesty surrounds us all
resolve to rise and your bound to fall
small instances of randomness daily
semantics are happenstance
you graduate from school with a bouquet of flowers
that rot in the morning’s splattering of paint
as garbage heaps resist *******
issues of power and surface tension
i am dreading the exceptions
give love now or move out of the way
stay awake and aware
while sadhana is beckoning to us all

Green apples at lunchtime,
You were the only friend of mine.
We played in sand and built castles from our growing imaginations while we hoped our bodies would grow just like our minds so our hands could reach the monkey bars and… maybe one day the stars.
Back then I’d wish on those and hope you’d pinky-swear right back to always have an ear out in case I called for help.
Those were the days I’d spend making cards to send to you just because you might need to know that you were worth every glued-on sequin.
We stayed outside catching fireflies until the sun escaped and those jars were the only lights to guide our way.
Those summer breaks spent chasing salamanders, our fingers, our toes, warm river mud pressed between every one of them like an unofficial glue promising to keep us together.
All our thoughts concentrated on an everlasting summer,
No more school because we felt educated enough if we could be together all day.
I guess the river washed it all away, like the current wiping the mud out from between our toes, off our fingertips, off our minds your words turned cold,
Conversations dwindled and the best thing I could hope to come out of your mouth was hello.

And now you walk the way you used to walk when you made fun of girls on pageant shows.
Your lips are stained a perfect color of rose,
But you grow thorns when you speak.
Some say you flourished.
A blossom under fluorescence but I always liked things to be under incandescence. A phenomenon of light produced from our warm bodies under a shared blanket watching the stars, sharing our hopes our fears and our scars.
But now when the temperature rises it’s because you’re not looking at me anymore.
I’m a just another flower budding on your wall,
But, please watch me blossom before I fall.

you cannot finish need.
it fiends in wretched globes of dwarf
swelling to tremendous  steam
a Bacchanal of vineyard borscht
a moonlit morsel of demolished dreams...
we serve at the pleasure of the absurd
gilding shadows with clay confetti
and the nictitating membranes of blue crocodiles.
and blank verse.

felling the Yggdrasil, by all means; you maraud the larder
in the night kitchen; nicking blackbird-pies and pinky-russet salamanders
[ the loose farthing ] and the hard liquor... all gone now
your potato sack, rakishly slung from the shoulders of an Atlas, entitled ' Promised Land; betrayed '.

a new map shrugging off old kings from dead valleys
revealing the hour of your worthless estate,
in-lieu of the boundaries of your lost holdings. unhappily -
you inherit the unripe peach
in a hound's mouth.
you slouch rough,  slowly
to your beast
of a couch:

there, to remain unholy and due South.

there, to remain unknowing
by all account.

Expatriots await the nights in Kuwait
where the dingoes and dominoes and salamanders bait
the ladies in purple to their eminent doom
of sleazies and stabbings and babies in womb.
Don't get me wrong,
I enjoy a good time, if friends are around and we got a dime
or two
and a fire for the masses and we're shaking our *****
as if we are actually aware of the outcomes of our actions.
I know we haven't the slightest clue
what a Jesus Christ is, or if it hides under our beds at night
or if it was a Jew.
What's written in books can be written by crooks,
because literacy and knowledge are ******* beautiful
but can give one more confidence than the world has to share,
and the whole theory of Relative Pride falls to pieces when one has more self-efficacy than ability
and the children with their sweet little ideas and purity are not humble but fall victim to humility.
So what's in a name?
Letters, vowels, consonants and connotations
traffic tickets, family vacations
****** and protests (though not necessarily related)
teenage boys and ***** minds and those who have masturbated.
But who hasn't?
Those without names, or faces
or honesty or hands
probably have their members ******* in steel-spiked rubber bands.
I'll see you again in retox dehibilitation
and we can converse and create
while under the crutch of sedation.

Today I want to crawl away and bleach my mind.
A balloon of Worries rises in my chest
compressing my lungs till it's hard to draw breath.
classes,tuition, taxes, fear, nothing makes sense, I don't know what to do                          
I want to crawl back into the recesses of childhood,                                    
To the smell of the house in summer, open windows, old wood,
traipse through the woods to the creek,
spend hours digging under rocks for salamanders,
When I though a quarter was a fortune,
when school was just books and friends.

Sometimes I think I just want to abandon it all,
find a sweet, simple, country boy
settle down in a tiny house,
have children, a boy and a girl.
Elias James and Elaenor Elizabeth          
I will take them down to the creek,
teach them to catch salamanders,
and crawdads without getting pinched.
Wash their muddy faces and feet
when they come in for supper.

Then I'll send them to bed, with a kiss and a story,
and my husband and I will sit on the porch,
hand in hand, staring at the stars,
talking about God and Man and all that is.

They tell me I would regret
not having a career besides that of motherhood,
but days like these sure make me think twice.

uttering that tenor growl
that only we salamanders know,
I will stir from my salamander bed,
slide from its clinging preservative oil
into the eerie orange of tonight’s hellish glow.

Then we will meet at the shore
of the black stagnant puddle our home,
like a monstrous bootprint
stamped in the mud of our forest.

We’ll slink towards the woods,
slowly gyrating our limbs over leaves twigs sticks
roots and stones five times our size;
a struggle to heave ourselves before
the looming, glowing trees.

At last the heat of the ash trees,
the entire forest swirls in flames,
crackling at our feet,
engorged by the unbothered blaze.
We’ll wait a pensive moment, then take
our first few steps into the burn.

I’ll not take your time, beyond what the need,
To relate to you a story and deed
As there’s no one else to plea this decree …
For just I survived, don’t you see.

I’m an old man, with a mind full of mist
But details of that night in my mind still exist
As vivid and clear, both sharp and exact
No, no mist there – all of it’s fact!

When I was young, and adventure routine,
With excitement and newness still unforeseen
I was eager to spread my wings to the world
And seek more adventures as those wings unfurled

Within my long travels I happened to meet
Two other men, with friendships replete
One was named Beckett, the other one Flynn
And better friends there never have been.

Beckett was tall – an athletic type
While Flynn, the scholar, more of pinstripe
Pinstripe or athlete – it mattered not
It was our essence together and that which it wrought.

Engaged were we in all daring do
High on the mountains, and under seas, too,
We crossed dry deserts, and jungles of green
And other adventures there in between.

We’d been together, t’was our sixth year,
And still our adventures made us cohere
To every madness – to every rave …
Until we decided to enter The Cave.

We discussed the encounter and planning for weeks
And assembled equipment – some new, some antiques
Until at last the day it arrived …
And our excitement?  It still there survived.

The map we used, was bought from a guide
Who told my friend, Flynn: “Don’t go inside”
When he had learned of our journey’s intent:
To enter The Cave, and begin our descent.

The guides’ words, had given us pause
We had thought: What was his reason or cause?
But … dismissed were his words of advice
We had each other … and that would suffice.

With ropes and lantern-hats and other such gear
It was into The Cave we then disappeared.
The light from our lanterns speared into the dark
We spoke very little - made no remark.

Onward, downward, in blackness we went
Placing out markers for our later ascent
The sounds of our footsteps, and scraping of walls
Reverberated ‘round us – as echoed recalls

In about six hours, or maybe ‘twas more
We encountered water upon The Cave floor
And there all around were beautiful shapes
Never were seen such gorgeous landscapes

Stalactites, stalagmites and mineral mounds
And dripping water with its’ “plopping” sounds
Pinks, violets and shades of green hues
And small salamanders made their debuts

We found a small dry spot and then we assessed
This was a place we could stop now to rest.
I turned up my lantern, and took off my hat,
When Beckett said: “Hey.  Did you just hear that?”

I moved not a muscle, and my ears went to strain.
All I could hear were the droplets, like rain.
Then from The Cave’s bowels came a loud din
I continued to listen – then heard it again.

We looked at each other, but said not a word
Confused and startled by what we’d just heard
It wasn’t a moan, it wasn’t a gasp
But more rather like a guttural rasp

One thing was certain, it wasn’t of stone
That could create sounds while standing alone
T’was our discussion, from which to derive:
The source of the sound was something … alive.

Then from The Cave’s deepened black hole
Came again sounds from a source with no soul
The sound was menacing, and one I despise,
I watched the fear grow within my friends’ eyes.

Instinctively, we three then moved as one
In that instant – our re-ascent had begun
I had been last in the line coming down
Now I’d be the first to reach the “above-ground”.

Quickly my feet in the lead, lead the way
Flynn, right behind had nothing to say
My friend Beckett, brought up the rear
And in that position had the greatest to fear

The lamp on my hat pierced through the black
And I looked for our markers to lead us back
To save our strength, nothing was said
Again - the loud sound that filled me with dread.

The sound became louder and closer it be
And I moved faster through the black before me
I could hear Flynn’s breathing, so close behind
I tried to concentrate on the markers to find

Somewhere behind me, then snarls I heard
Loud and vicious, run together and blurred
Close … so close … the beast was so near
Adrenalin rushed through me to react to my fear

T’was then I was hit with an overpowering stench
The smell caused my stomach to turn and to wrench
The odor blew past me, and I knew t’was the breath
Of the Beast of The Cave – its’ oder of death.

I was near running, but down on all fours
Sweat was streaming from all of my pores.
Then I heard those terrible screams
The ones I keep hearing in all of my dreams

It was Beckett I knew in his shocked agony
Midst the snarled snapping of jaws I can’t see
I heard bones cracking and squishing of flesh
And the fear within me gave new strength afresh

My fingers were raw from grabbing the rock
But on moving forward my mind had its’ lock
My stomach still queasy from the stench of the beast
I knew it was finishing its’ beastly feast

I knew, too, t’was only a matter of time
When the beast would return - I had to climb!
I heard Flynn say: “IT’S COMING AGAIN!”
Again was a surge of my fear deep within.

I heard once more the beast from behind
And fought the panic taking over my mind
Something heavy struck against The Cave’s walls
The kind of sounds that ghastly appalls:

A scraping of talons of heavy clawed feet
Caused my heart to double its’ beat
I had the feeling that Flynn lagged behind
I screamed my urgings loud and maligned:

“Flynn!  Flynn!  Catch up to me!”
But took not the time to look back and see
For the beasts’ crashing against The Cave’s face
Told me it neared – and was re-gaining the race

My knee hit a rock, and my balance was lost!
I fell to the ground, and then feared the cost
In losing the time in scrambling free
Again sheer panic stabbed into me.

In less than an instant, Flynn was there too,
His face in my light was of a strange hue
And as he helped me get back to my feet …
Flynn turned around – t’was The Beast there to meet.

The stench overwhelming, but the sight was much worse
There standing before us: The beastly curse
Of overlapping scales in shades of dark gray
The rest of its’ body concealed in umbrae

But its’ eyes … its’ eyes … I’ll never forget
Rheumatoid yellow, and deeply inset
Its’ reptilian lids blinked just one time
‘Fore its’ lips peeled back - revealing the slime

Glistening yellow over dagger-like teeth
Then oozed from its’ mouth to fall there beneath.
The beast reared up, then we saw its’ claws
Sharp and deadly within its’ forepaws

Towering above us, no sound the beast made
On beams of our light had his gaze stayed.
Unexpectedly Flynn then turned and faced me
… With less blinding light, the beast could again see

Why Flynn had turned I never will know
For the beast bit him in two, at his torso
And I was looking at Flynn – direct in his face
When the beasts’ bite his life did erase.

I screamed, and instantly away did I run
Away from the beast, and dead companion
Through the price of Flynn’s life, more time had been bought
To reach The Cave’s entrance – the goal that I sought

Running wildly, several times did I fall
Toppling did not my mission forestall
The beast I knew still somewhere behind
Drove me on forward with my frantic mind

I heard its’ clawed talons scraping the wall
And prayed I’d not again stumble and fall
Then, up ahead, a small opening I viewed
And I saw my chance, with hope there exude

Twelve feet … six feet … then it was three
But the beast and its’ stench was there behind me
I dove through the rock opening, scraping my head
But better that injury than ending up dead

I was elated, and about to rejoice
I then heard a scream – it was my own voice!
In my leg erupted intense blinding pain
Looking down I saw the bloodstain

My leg, through the opening, still was stuck out
There was but split-seconds, before I’d lose it no doubt
I pulled my leg back, and in but a flash
My shoe was removed by a clawed talon slash

I crawled back from the opening, then I could see
My wound was deep, from ankle to knee
Then suddenly through the opening came
A clawed talon whose aim was to maim

I quickly withdrew out of its’ reach
As claws shot through the openings’ breech
The opening too small, for continued rampage
And the beast began then to voice its’ outrage

It’s deafening roars assaulted my ears
Echoed Cave chambers and in my mind did adhere
I began attending unto my grave wound
Knowing I now was no longer marooned.

T’was another hour ‘fore I crawled out The Cave
But many days ‘fore I’d shed the shockwave
Of what had transpired, and what I had seen
And my damaged leg was lost to gangrene.

Now sleep evades me, for my horrible dreams
Show beams of light, and unearthly screams
Of Beckett and Flynn and The Cave we were in
I know tonight, I’ll re-live it again.

So, now you’ve the story, you’ve heard the deed
I swear is the truth I’ve herein decreed
And Beckett and Flynn are enslaved in their grave
And I lost my leg to the Beast of The Cave.

Facades rise in memory.
Paint peels, marble columns lean,
Rain drowns piazzas.
The bridge of sighs moans in sorrow.
Windows stare sightless into the past.
Cats remember the rustling of silk,
jeweled hands tending morsels,
magenta robes, the cloaked,
the caped, flash of daggers in starlight,
the glory on sun drenched Sundays
when church bells summoned the faithful.

Morning sun bounces off golden domes,
water shimmers a crisp mother of pearl.
Gondolieri untie boats from painted poles,
swiftly ferry their fares in narrow vessels,
pass through the shadows of bridges.
Navigate the water webbing the city,
pass slow laboring barges with overflowing loads.
White seagulls crisscross an expanse of blue.
Shouted greetings echo.

In the white palace, laced with marble columns,
painted ceilings in wood paneled rooms tell stories.
Rich and poor bow to the Republic’s justice.
Doges in pointed hats, crimson robes,
cast fate from bejeweled hands.
Ornate basilicas, simple stone chapels, ensnare sinners.
Priests give absolution behind velvet curtains
in musty confessionals reeking of secrets.
Jews marked in red hats hurry to the ghetto.

On the dock fishermen spill their iridescent catch
from hulls of brightly painted boats.
Merchants shout of silk and salamanders in markets.
Women fill woven baskets with foreign colored bounty,
peaches beckon with pink cheeks,
grapes make sweet promises, purple plums tantalize.
Sun inhales musty smells, exhales sweet scents of basil
jasmine, mint, a woman’s sweet odor of lavender lingers.
Dogs lick cobblestones, savor every rancid morsel.
Window sills host lazy eyed cats.

Goats bloated with milk make their way,
pass baying sheep herded to slaughter
by burly men in soiled leather aprons.
Top sail schooners from far away shores,
carved bare breasted mermaids at their bow,
unload treasures. Silk and spices, chained trunks,
casks of sweet wine, gold will fill coffers.

Vines dig roots deep into walls, cling in crevasses,
perfume courtyards with intoxicating smells.
A flock of small yellow birds alight from rose bushes,
drink from a tiered fountain.
Cascades of faceted crystal spills
from the mouths of carved fishes,
stone maidens’ urns. They display their charms,
smile wistfully, wish away pigeons perched on their heads.
Lovers pass, exchange furtive glances, dream of night.

Dark sweaty men push a barge with a coffin
draped in gold threaded brocade, blood red roses.
A priest at the bow, a cross encased with jewels
catches the light in a blinding reflection.
Altar boys swing shiny vessels, incense permeates the air.
High voices intone monotonous chants.
Mourners follow in gondolas, sway in a rhythm of grief.
Black silk shines. Under veils tears streak
white chalked faces, red lips know of secrets.

Celebrants toast a newly wedded couple
with sweet scented deep ruby red wine.
Boar roasts, seasoned with sage, rosemary and thyme.
Round loaves of bread crust in a brick oven.
Pairs spill into the street, dance a joyful pavane,
pounding the cobblestones to the sound of tambourines.
They freeze in a moment in silence,
watch the funeral procession,
make the sign of the cross, return to their feast.

Now canals choke in mud.
fight ruin in oil slick stagnant waters.
Palazzos put on a false-face,
prostitutes heavily painted.
Greedy currents lick at foundations,
slowly swallow remains,
**** them into hostile marshes.

The Campanile rings the hour.


Cristina Umpfenbach-Smyth     July 2010

They call it crude.

The dessicated then carboxilated, carbonified,
****** of dead Permian flesh.

This is the reason the salamanders die.
Corporeal concreted, mummified, fossilized.

This is the reason we dance.
Dirges of West Texas dirt romances.
Lost in the flares,
Caught in the gases blaring making nostrils glare.

Requiescat in pace.

All these women.
Dancing through the caliche,
Giving a reason to taste the air.
Through one breath of speechless.

The loam is never settled where boots tread and weather.
Destroying bedrock through hydrolic fracking to the earths core.

I land my toes in the sand of the Llano.
I ******* Mexicans, greasy, with cheese,
With.



Hot.
Sauce.



Dorthy never went to the fest of Oil.
But there's no place like home.
Her silver slippers or prosthesis feet placed instantaneously upon me.
Would bring me directly into a thorny,
Patch of Mesquite.

Kind pity chokes my spleen; brave scorn forbids
     Those tears to issue which swell my eyelids;
     I must not laugh, nor weep sins and be wise;
     Can railing, then, cure these worn maladies?
     Is not our mistress, fair Religion,
     As worthy of all our souls' devotion
     As virtue was in the first blinded age?
     Are not heaven's joys as valiant to assuage
     Lusts, as earth's honour was to them? Alas,
   As we do them in means, shall they surpass
   Us in the end? and shall thy father's spirit
   Meet blind philosophers in heaven, whose merit
   Of strict life may be imputed faith, and hear
   Thee, whom he taught so easy ways and near
   To follow, ****'d? Oh, if thou dar'st, fear this;
   This fear great courage and high valour is.
   Dar'st thou aid mutinous Dutch, and dar'st thou lay
   Thee in ships' wooden sepulchres, a prey
   To leaders' rage, to storms, to shot, to dearth?
   Dar'st thou dive seas, and dungeons of the earth?
   Hast thou courageous fire to thaw the ice
   Of frozen North discoveries? and thrice
   Colder than salamanders, like divine
   Children in th' oven, fires of Spain and the Line,
   Whose countries limbecs to our bodies be,
   Canst thou for gain bear? and must every he
   Which cries not, "Goddess," to thy mistress, draw
   Or eat thy poisonous words? Courage of straw!
   O desperate coward, wilt thou seem bold, and
   To thy foes and his, who made thee to stand
   Sentinel in his world's garrison, thus yield,
   And for forbidden wars leave th' appointed field?
   Know thy foes: the foul devil, whom thou
   Strivest to please, for hate, not love, would allow
   Thee fain his whole realm to be quit; and as
   The world's all parts wither away and pass,
   So the world's self, thy other lov'd foe, is
   In her decrepit wane, and thou loving this,
   Dost love a wither'd and worn strumpet; last,
   Flesh (itself's death) and joys which flesh can taste,
   Thou lovest, and thy fair goodly soul, which doth
   Give this flesh power to taste joy, thou dost loathe.
   Seek true religion. O where? Mirreus,
   Thinking her unhous'd here, and fled from us,
   Seeks her at Rome; there, because he doth know
   That she was there a thousand years ago,
   He loves her rags so, as we here obey
   The statecloth where the prince sate yesterday.
   Crantz to such brave loves will not be enthrall'd,
   But loves her only, who at Geneva is call'd
   Religion, plain, simple, sullen, young,
   Contemptuous, yet unhandsome; as among
   Lecherous humours, there is one that judges
   No wenches wholesome, but coarse country drudges.
   Graius stays still at home here, and because
   Some preachers, vile ambitious bawds, and laws,
   Still new like fashions, bid him think that she
   Which dwells with us is only perfect, he
   Embraceth her whom his godfathers will
     Tender to him, being tender, as wards still
   Take such wives as their guardians offer, or
   Pay values. Careless Phrygius doth abhor
   All, because all cannot be good, as one
   Knowing some women ******, dares marry none.
   Graccus loves all as one, and thinks that so
   As women do in divers countries go
   In divers habits, yet are still one kind,
   So doth, so is Religion; and this blind-
   ness too much light breeds; but unmoved, thou
   Of force must one, and forc'd, but one allow,
   And the right; ask thy father which is she,
   Let him ask his; though truth and falsehood be
   Near twins, yet truth a little elder is;
   Be busy to seek her; believe me this,
   He's not of none, nor worst, that seeks the best.
   To adore, or scorn an image, or protest,
   May all be bad; doubt wisely; in strange way
   To stand inquiring right, is not to stray;
   To sleep, or run wrong, is. On a huge hill,
   Cragged and steep, Truth stands, and he that will
   Reach her, about must and about must go,
   And what the hill's suddenness resists, win so.
   Yet strive so that before age, death's twilight,
   Thy soul rest, for none can work in that night.
   To will implies delay, therefore now do;
   Hard deeds, the body's pains; hard knowledge too
   The mind's endeavours reach, and mysteries
   Are like the sun, dazzling, yet plain to all eyes.
   Keep the truth which thou hast found; men do not stand
   In so ill case, that God hath with his hand
   Sign'd kings' blank charters to **** whom they hate;
   Nor are they vicars, but hangmen to fate.
   Fool and wretch, wilt thou let thy soul be tied
   To man's laws, by which she shall not be tried
   At the last day? Oh, will it then boot thee
   To say a Philip, or a Gregory,
   A Harry, or a Martin, taught thee this?
   Is not this excuse for mere contraries
   Equally strong? Cannot both sides say so?
That thou mayest rightly obey power, her bounds know;
Those past, her nature and name is chang'd; to be
Then humble to her is idolatry.
As streams are, power is; those blest flowers that dwell
At the rough stream's calm head, thrive and do well,
But having left their roots, and themselves given
To the stream's tyrannous rage, alas, are driven
Through mills, and rocks, and woods, and at last, almost
Consum'd in going, in the sea are lost.
So perish souls, which more choose men's unjust
Power from God claim'd, than God himself to trust.

As the salamander was strolling through
the hot coals beside the wall, he noted it
was made of brick.  Going around the
edge of the wall, he realized that
salamanders do not fly, yet soon he was

coasting through the air, high above the
place where the birds were flying.  It was
through the clouds.

The amphibious pile of rags, he agreed,
belonged as a stack of books leaned on
shelves against the bricks.  The birds were
hoping feathers would protect the words
from the rain.  The salamander continued
his agreement; the virtual world of the
pages was another place he could breathe
in a medium not intended for general use.

Detox needed, salt enzymes, mother Apple cannot purge
Somewhere under the soul is hidden
Deep heavy air, speleothem drips, blind salamanders fish
White light is in the mind, refresh, delete, refresh
Delete
Hardrive needing replaced, mother board comes on like a crippled play thing
Eve is there, canines sunk in the mother apple
Pages sunk in
Sun's of God
Has now refurbished and has now encoded for the next restructure

A fourth hail to the Pudding Factory
The owls' communion speaks of
Broken glass in the treehouse

Life amidst the burning bush is one of
Eating bark, like the salamanders from Labrador

Remember to bury lost socks
And build your tower of soap

For Autumn comes too quick here
And Summer speaks of the hungry bear

A fourth hail to the Pudding Factory
A fourth hail to you

Here in the capitol
of lowercase relations
your drink is holding
yard sales for you.

Among headstones is a table, a lock, a plate of cucumbers
and salamanders (which can be pickled), a bowl of raisins --
a handful -- skating the bowl's concavity,

trying to

become round.

If a condition of space travel was one could nevermore return,
how many astronauts do you think
there'd have been?

More stars in lawschool than the cosmos.

Somewhere there's a story
of Indians singing
instead of pointing and laughing
when the Pilgrims came
and the Atlantic dropped off
into the earth's crust behind them. You see

pickles can't become cucumbers again. Everyone who died
drunk driving in World War II knows that.

But still

ovens dream of one day being iceboxes,
and the ice cubes all know this
and it makes them sweat.

If you ever go to Singapore
For a jaunt
Be sure to dine in China Town
Go to my favorite ever restaurant

Coconut chicken soup with cold whole coconut drink with a straw
Will make you lovely and healthy put you in the pink plus the prettiest Chinese girls I ever saw

Funny things Asian people eat like frogs and salamanders as I ran down the street
My Chinese girlfriend would hide in my hotel room angry I ate so much herbs

She was feminine soft down to her soul, she made me harder than a telephone pole

Chinese Medicine halls cured my all
I felt teenage again she became disturbed

She got so mad punched me in the face ouch!
Then I punched her in a way she liked on the couch...

Mmm, I love Asian girl... Such a pretty oriental face...

Singapore has got to be one of the funnest of any place...

Yeah, hurray for Piggy Porkies


D. Clare

Danimal Dan was Green, reusing every hand-me-down
the dumpster offered.
stipend half our middle class allowance, so the Danimal
could get his fix in unison with ours.
slab dual twenties in his oily callous hands.

while sluggin N’ sloshin’ his cheap wine,
the Danimal returns heroic, with red lips
and pink teeth, handing us “licka” boasting new
apocalyptic theories
the sky is full of creatures,
deys plottin’ yessir, pilots
   known for years, but Big
Washington Wiggies, keep
Uhmmmm zipped, yessir
hired dem creatures, “population
control” to **** eat America
leaving only the Finest.

the Danimal’s vision flashes, giant winged
Salamanders kamakazie dive from the sky.
fat white collar Cons offer bribes as they ****
fantastic fear all over their linen pants.
some auction children as the Danimal
arrives with an army of America’s finest
staggering out of
back alley bars & soup
kitchens
they shake Salamander hands
Slurring welcome
with Bourbon breaths

I sit upon the rock of silent ages clothed with robes of scarlet white. There are golden salamanders that play at my feet while I place my true hearts intent before my master.



I have seen the bowl of reverberation where the follower’s immersed their self in the tone amplified and purified by the oneness of water.



While deep in the scarlet satin there are offerings for food and drink as well as prayer placed before the master’s feet.



Inside the rings of antiquity of a stags skill and grace was found a flower blooming as an angel’s face.  Beauties abounding within wildlife and nature as the butterflies mark the spot of the song of the earthly point of entry deep in our virtues unseen.

On a bright and sunny day
On the 18th of May
An earthquake resulted in a landslide
That unleashed a massive force brewing inside

The eruption removed the upper 1,300 feet
The magma chamber burst- rock & gas blown at supersonic speed
Within 8 miles, all was instantly wrecked
With a shockwave so big, what could one expect?

As the north ***** collapsed down
All life forms began to drown
Every tree in sight swept away
19 miles outward; a ruinous ashtray

Silence breaks as ash falls like snow
The once mature landscape now just an embryo
What had become a lifeless terrain,
Now shows us what 35 years can attain.

After the volcanic cataclysm
Biological legacies determine the pace of new ecosystems
The following colonizers proceed:
Lupines, pearly everlasting, alder shrubs, and fireweed.

The coniferous forest was replaced
The deciduous Alder trees won the race
The new forest attracts grasshoppers, birds, and ants
Larks, gophers, sparrows and deer mice take a chance

Out of 256 species alive prior to the eruption,
86 are now in production
20% of the surface is covered with grass and legumes
Struggling young trees that endeavor to bloom

Ecological gaps begin to fill
Strong ecosystems form, production is uphill.
Elk arrives to munch on grass and bark
The thick forests attract birds, like larks.

Fallen logs create nutrients and feed biofilm to the lake
Floating ecosystems now have plenty resources to take
Elevation affects the rate of recovery reports.
The higher the colder, which means the growing season is short.

The loss of trees means more room for sun
As the lake warms up, there’s increased production
More insects and bigger fish, like rainbow trout
Salamanders are scarce now, not many about.

Lupines deserve their own stanza, those purple legumes.
They help make a pumice landscape suitable for others to bloom.
Lupines create essential nutrients the pumice is low on
Other plants are thankful for the rare space to grow on.

All this information hopefully to inspire,
Life pulls through in situations most dire.
Mount Saint Helens’ destructive wake is seen clearly today,
The eruption that obliterated had also paved a way.

Long long ago                     
In a faraway land
Lived a frog named
Mr. Stikitung Grand

Near a meander
In his little mud house
In rain you could hear him Croak,
Looking for a spouse

Rains came and went
But he never got a single mate
He tried every trick a frog could
Still no one fell for his bait

He would keep
Harnessing his vocals
Polishing his webbed digits and
Perfecting his focal

While his efforts were appreciated
And some found it cute
The girls still went out
With the true frogs, the slimy smooth

With Mr. Grand being so different
All warts and moles
Others wondered how
He would ever father tadpoles

Mr. Grand with his huge eyes
And big mouth could do very little
All these hurdles made Him
Too depressed and shittle

While there were uncertainties
Looming large on his life
Fellow amphibians were betting
On his chances of getting a wife

For termites said the caecilians
Calling others to join the hoot
For worms said salamander and
For cricket said the newt.

On the fateful day Mr. Grand got fed up
And was waiting to call it a night
When he heard a hiss
Loud enough to give him a fright

Hello said the snake why are you
In such a spiritual gloom
Come let us find out someone
Who can help you groom

Frog was surprised at snake’s kindness
And overwhelmed at his warmth
While his kinds were busy ridiculing him
Snakes words soothed him like a balm

At first he was cautious and
Kept a safe distance from the snake
But the snake kept saying he was hurt
That Mr. Grand still took his efforts as fake

I have nothing to lose thought Mr. Grand
And reached out for the help
Yum thought the snake and gulped Mr. Grand
Before he could think or yelp

Salamanders, newts, all of his fellow beings
Saw this but not a single tear was shed
Guess this comes with living a life
So cold blooded

There was a crocodile, who saw it all
Hidden behind a pier
Some say he was the only one who
Did shed some tears.

this isn't about you
but it could be
I want to be lost in the woods
lost in your arms
because we forgot the time
we escaped the path
discovered hidden salamanders
ate mystery berries
and survived
all of the mushrooms
our fingers touched
electrical arch
walk the woods with me
our minds wander

She cut her finger while slicing bread,
no one gasped, or winced
with her exclamation of "****"
aimed towards the bent, saw-toothed steel.
She bloodied a kleenex,
then strangled her fingertip
with a band-aid.
She didn't mind the sight of blood.
She'd grown used to it in childhood.
From scratching the welts
left by mosquitoes till they were crimson.
She remembered accompanying her little sister
to a routine checkup
and the nurse looked down at her scarred legs
and asked if there was anything wrong
with the big one.
It was the first time
she learned to feel shame
for her scars.
In fourth grade she had a crush
on the class clown.
She liked his black hair
and blue eyes
and he made her laugh.
He ignored her.
Later, she found out
he called her pimple-face behind her back
by then, she no longer cared
what he though, feelings had faded,
but the pain of being told
you were second to last
in the classes "Beautiful" rating
(second only to the freckled girl with tiny eyes).
She learned her crooked teeth were things to be ashamed of.
Braces helped, but four years of wires
and widening her tiny jaw
with medieval, key driven devices
that prevented normal speech,
were hardly an improvement.
She learned pain was beauty,
but being able to take pain well
was not beautiful.
Being able to run swiftly,
having monkey-bar calloused hands
and strong arms,
only made her unfeminine.
She did not sit placidly on the swing-set
admiring her fingernails,
screaming,
when a fly buzzed past her ear.
She rescued frost-winged bees from being crushed,
laying them gently in the grass.
She held back tears when the asphalt stripped her palms.
She wanted to be brave.
Respected for the strength she thought she had.
That did not come till ten years later.
He called her a water nymph,
jumping from rock to rock like a small child,
though childhood had long since gone.
Laughed as she caught salamanders.
She cut her toe while they were walking together.
It began to bleed.
She said nothing, thinking it would stop,
letting the blood fill her shoe.
He panicked a little, wanted to carry her.
She refused.
But he bandaged her foot, gently,
like a morbid Cinderella,
as she washed the blood out of her sandal.
He complimented her graceful run.
Things she'd wanted noticed
for ten years.
She didn't know when she would find
another
who saw her, as he did.

The springs offer no explanation that cannot be heeded.
My feet meet the water, which absorbs those sins that have calloused my soles.

The sight of you across the bank, under the cedar
Chills me with a sharp current.
I will never know why the cold water
Surrenders me softly to the Earth,
But grips me at the heart
When you appeared below the trees among
Their fallen leaves.

There are salamanders that live in the creek,
But they are so small, and exist so profoundly in the water
That only the people who have used their lives searching-
To protect them-
Have ever seen these blind animals.

You have never noticed me at the river,
But the river knows that I'm here
To guard the stretch of Earth that keeps us at our ends.

Communication breakdown, it's always the shame, communication breakdown, these cons have got me insane! Free-range bottled catastrophe serf missiles? Long-target pre-coordinated nuclear crisis capsule complete with ****** thermometer. Caution precedes human condition, conditioning begets man, man never drops by to see what condition his condition is in. Turning into a walrus sized bunker for a cottontail, except for the 'Welcome Home' mat its a bunker much like a prison cell. Even the skiers are dry, the cities have gone dark, and everyone has stayed home from work. The conditions are more bearable on warmer days, perhaps in Half Moon Bay or closer to Dana Point. Whatever needs to be done to keep away from microwaves and fluorescent lights. The music they play is still playing a long ten years behind.

In a quiet place beyond the trammeling rays, on the precipice of yesterday, swimming in the crevasse  three or four of those giant salamanders from a docudrama in Japan. Maybe an amphibious subspecies underlooked by science and ignored by the sharks of Lake Michigan. Torrenting the minutia of their lair, ambulating with blind catfish eyes that ferocious and wet icy place someone must have mistakingly decided to call home. Not the winter of Chicago, but a place too cold to be home.

While tied to the brain, the typecast grew hot, the skin on the fingertips and wrists had all rotted. Two bruises shaped like feet, and gravity hurdling its' ugly veneer all down and back in a horseshoe of shimmering silver dust, sometimes blinding, but it was like being rained on by gray rain drops. First the frogs, then the fog, 8:21 marked at every turn. If you can't fly a plane you shouldn't be allowed in the pilot's seat. That means uncrossing your legs and keeping your calves pursed closely towards your feet. Maybe it means you broke Rule Sixty-Two, you wound yourself up more than you thought you had figured for the truth, but instead got more serious while you were losing.

Here is the tin can on an empty shelf labeled Planet #2 Earth, for $4.50 on sale, about the size of a coffee tin, but without that fresh coffee smell. Two triangles like the way pineapple juice comes.

Sharp resources are scarce when the meter drifts off to sleep, and the girl you crush on can't read any of your tweets. Then the nostrils get pierced, you get perched, on a rock, overlooking the dredging to get rid of all the dross. Sometimes I go back to sleep because I have a bed that's too soft, that even for someone who can fall asleep on concrete it's really too much. Two days, two nights, or four weeks, dozing with the hard rime collecting over my head.

I call for my mother above the rounded crescent hilltops
but she never answers,
only my Biology professor who brought me to this place
so distantly
close to my own heartland.
And my love affair
continues to blossom over every rotten log
with its residing salamanders and larvae.

My hopes is that the Beavers will teach me to saw through trees with such precision and I can then become one of the greats.