"where love is the petal of a rose"

i wondered where death took life and
life took death. life threw itself into  
the daylight forgot the petticoats of the day
and her ambers burnt to the greys of the sun.  
i couldn't melt before her or she before me
but she ran and i loved to run with her.
death was life without the ghosts of sorrow
and life was death in its impenetrable dreams,
i was swallowed up by the arrival of summer and
i died at her feet, i died
and i lived, i fell and i stood up and life was a
thirst to survive and death was the blue ghost
and the oblivious rose. death was something
i would know tomorrow and life something i
could feel today, not sorry and not sad,
not empty or harnessed, free in its freedoms
open hearted, rain-scented. i opened my eyes
to the stars and fell at their feet,
i opened my eyes and the poetry flew
away like a sky-hungry bird.

After everything
didn’t you learn anything?

You were supposed
to be healing by now,
reflecting on the mistakes,
on the love you gave
that was never solid—
only wind.

It was not true,
even if you are certain it was.
It wasn’t, love.
It was emptiness,
a hunger for affection.

If you had stopped,
just for a moment,
to think about it,
you would have known too.

You shouldn’t be writing
about us,
about our love,
our undone plans.

You should be writing
about your traumas.

I remember marble that wanted heels,
clip-clop echo of women who belonged.
I wore slip-ons with socks,
easier for those of us who come to scrub
other people’s lives.

The elevator was a box of mirrors,
infinite versions of me-
I bent my head to escape them.

His office door ajar,
his voice stretched thin across a phone.
The girlfriend cooks,
spicy food,
place a *******, he said.
I had seen much worse-
houses where mold clung to the ceiling,
where grief leaked through the wallpaper.

The vacuum hummed its G-note spiritual.
I worked the nozzle into the skirting boards,
let my mind braid song and ritual,
a drop of lavender for closets,
labels straightened like soldiers on parade.
No one asked for these offerings-
I gave them anyway.

But he winked at me
while telling her love you, babe,
mouth syrupy with lies.
A twenty left on the hall table-
a tip that branded my palm.

Later, the bin bag tore,
Madras red bleeding into cream carpet,
pears bruised soft in their sweating wrap.
The stain spread like a hand
that gripped too long,
that would not release.
I cursed the ceiling,
the word **** echoing like prayer.

was only twenty,
scrubbing strangers’ luxury
to keep myself alive.
That day I left more than lavender-
a fragment of myself,
pressed into the carpet,
silent as the stain.

"what was the Maltese Falcon?" the boy asks.

his father replies, "The stuff that dreams are made of."


the world is loud:
sirens,
headlines,
grief, love, fear,
heartbreak and flames.

life is a rat race
and the rats are winning

so throw confetti at the funeral.

we name our ghosts
and call them love.
we chase the falcon
of black painted lead,
light candles in an empty room
and call it faith.

where do we go from here?

walk against the parade
through costumes,
floats and marching bands?

the night runs through us all
while the world politely burns.

we call it sanity...this quiet compliance.

but clarity assumes rebellion.
take the straight line
through the storm.

throw confetti at our funeral.
(sadness wears confetti, well.)


every moment the soul screams
we tread closer to the razor's edge.

I wonder if he can see me salivate..

Eyes locked in with my hungry heart..

Desperate to tastes the depths of you..

I yearn for your ultimate consumption.

I care not
for the age I am

Too much sand has past through the hourglass
gram after gram

. . . . . . .

Wishing that I could
turn it around
But time has the chapters of the book
locked-strapped down

. . . . . .

Then after I fell
from the tree and
hard-thumped the ground

I stood up and I looked sheeplessly around

"Egad" ! I said with a reluctant scowl
I care not
for this moment wiping the pain off my brow

. . . . . . . .


Now that the salt has
turned blue steel to rust

It leaves me with thoughts that I find just disgust

. . . . . . .

The temple crowns . . .
snow white in disguise

The truth is affirmed
inside reside all of the lies

. . . . . . .

So many things
I care not for . . .

Seems like the list aquires
daily
more after more

. . . . . . . . .

The burden's great that holds me down

The elementals of time
have shackled me to the roots in the ground

. . . . . . .

Yet I set sail to sea
with one set of sure-sails

knowing there's hurricane force winds
and tempestuous gales

. . . . . . .

Just one more thing I care not for  👇

"I'm just another mouse that wants to hear itself roar"