Peering beyond the understory:
a Victorian *******
of square topiaries
white pavement
marbled fringe,
the visionary leaps
into the crisp chlorine
freezing in an iceblock
if she remains til she is grey.

But she crawls out
of this boxed madness,
emotional baggage
forcefully drilled into Her womb.
She emerges from a pond
in a wooded world remote
yet available to all who seek it.
An unsure path
to the cottage
where the witch works her wondrous magic
bringing birds and butterflies
to aid in potion incantations
She mows no lawns.
She knows the name of every leaf and berry.
She sows them in her sleep

When I speak,
my eyebrows tell their own story,
filling in the details.
Even when I try my hand
at tact, striving for
porcelain politeness,
my eyebrows loiter in dark corners,
gossiping.

Living with two feral beasts
on one’s face
requires discipline
just short of a chainsaw.

In private I must
chisel & furrow,
for these miniature sculptures,
these Michelangelo topiaries.

This isn’t vanity.
This is protecting a pious public
from a lecherous, libidinous wolf.

For me, leaving the house and
participating in pleasantries,
daily interactions, is enough of a
Leviathan leech loading my back
without seditionist caterpillars
millimeters from munching my eyes out.

It’s for me that I tweeze,
for one only PLUCKS chickens,
that row of hair
which runs the length of my brow.
For me, for my comfort in
social negotiations.

I also do it for you,
if only to keep you from
flinching in fear
as my eyebrows defy
my utmost efforts
at not offending you.

Silence,
gifted in a synthetic quiver,
placed at the marble steps,
dead of dawn delivery,
horse drawn and cloaked,
shaded in black ash
and mortuary mosaics

A hazy mist clings
to porch lights and railings
as thunder roars in the distance
while street cars find *** holes
to be louder than the
steam engines out of sync
with creaking metal tracks

Air raid sirens tested,
weekly since the last great war
forty years ago, just in case
causing hairline fractures in
alabaster pillars standing tall,
hand carved and stamped,
fingerprint adorned
by a cranky neighbor’s kid
singing sesame street
at the top of his lungs

Wiping his nose on his sleeve,
his hands on his pants (and pillars)
peanut butter and maple syrup,
tossing rocks at the goldfish,
making the dog bark,
pestering the gardener
trimming topiaries,
chasing gophers and
killing aphids
with soapy water
left over from last Thursday’s mess

***** dishes,
banging pots and pans,
slamming cabinet doors,
dropping silverware and the like,
shear madness for a flower man
with two shadows
and many unruly hedges
demanding his attention
as the owner sleeps just above
enjoying his gift of
silence

Torn between the summer and the fall,
Between body and soul
The river flows with ease and sway
While I flow the other way
But my flow is uneasy and falling apart,
Self inflicted enmity pouring from my heart
Is this river the one of life
Or death
For me

Broken chairs and broken windows
Losing all stability and all avenues of escape
Trapped in this empty room with river in my eyes
Confused
Whispered nothings in rooms that can never be spoken of
Screamed everythings that I dare not speak of
To you
Dancing around a maze
Jovial topiaries laugh at my plight
Fish in the river smile at my pain
Dragging me down until I’m drowning in the stream

I come up for air, and breathe a soft breath again
Saved from the flood and the heat and the pain
Not quite torn, but changed
And I stumble off into the spring

.

*I opened the rusted iron gateway
bound in chain and wire, to find a landing
caked in muddied footprints, scattered about like roaches
Magpie shadows course the rain soaked streets
and puddle patterns reflect temptation as light flickers
from second floor moan filled parlors, painted nails scratching

Navigating the fog entrenched alley, garbage bins fallen
create a maze of skinned shins and bloodied lips
when I come to an arched opening, only hinges remain
The staircase up is dark, creaking under my weight
I count the holes collected in plaster walls yawning,
prior frustrations showing no mercy

The stench of tar and factory waste wallows,
catching me stumbling through the opening to the roof,
gasping in the ever thinning air
Dark clouds retaliate for earlier lost days
when stale bread pudding was a treat
served to those of less fortunate standing

What life is this to lead anyway, empty pockets
and hand me down promises, watching shadows below
taking chances and knocking up opportunities
Red door, black door, be careful which you choose,
for one color leads to the lower city,
the underground where ***** flows like crazed sewage

The other holds within ****** fantasies
and red lipstick smudges,
but beware when jiggling those tarnished handles
with your best foolish grin,
the cost is what you can't afford to lose

Swine roam the busy square freely,
splurging on last night’s tossed garbage,
grunting approval in an off key symphony
of stringless digestion, slobering regurgitation
beyond the blinded eyes of the others
lost indefinitely within themselves

Street lamps spit hot oil through fractured glass
dripping onto the formal evening wear
and diamond brooches worn by the elite,
making their way to the opera house where marble steps
are lined with evergreen topiaries
losing needles to the addicts of the night

A carriage passes, glazed eyes peer from lace curtains,
hidden hands roam freely the velvet seats and occupants,
as painted wheels follow ruts in the worn cobblestone
Smoke spews from stained brick chimneys and cracking mortar
discoloring the moon and choking stars
with a filth to be reckoned with

I sit on this rooftop alone, looking down,
scarred legs dangling over the edge four flights up,
wondering if anyone would care if I jumped
When startled by a noise behind me, footsteps perhaps
I turn to see the beautiful silhouette of a woman, flowing hair,
hand extended, "I would," she whispers...