The dandelion don’t make wishes The leaves shudder like rattlesnakes The clouds shape is anything but Does the river move forward or backward?
Addicted to this, hazy dream– tension across the too, quick tempered glass. My little buckled heels, chips a little off the surface. Oh, the gingerly placed steps hold tenderly the blush glass. ‘It’s alright, it’s alright,’ she tremors, but the cracks are a little, wider She shut her eyes. Oh, she shut her eyes over…
On I wander.
I will be wandering lands long before I reach the hem of grace I will be wandering lush meadows and arid deserts careening on a rowing boat in tempest waves scraping between the wreckage of time and rhythms long before I reach the hem of grace but reach I shall and so, on I wander…
Nothing that mimics
nothing, empty, I thought how odd it is thateveryone else has smiles, tears, and something called cares, except I. My little self sat there mimicking the upturned and downturned corners of the lips, mimicked their sound of laughter their arms in kindness and meanness, mimicked their strides, their speech, the silent and the stresses, their…
The birth of Voice.
Bricks loose like pulled teeth, yellow chipped paint with a whole white daisy. Pale sky heaving through caved wooden ribs. Hunched shadows hunting– shadows behind keening walls marred in soot. Whimpering cries, harried shushing silence screams ringing in the ears breath coming out fast–faster, sharp intake, pause– ‘whuu…’ soft whistle blow a humming tune, picked…
Take the embrace.
So little yet so much to put a soft curve, a dip on that– horizon that tumbles downhill giddy on wheels leaping off– lifted by the wind skin toasty in the sun, leaves aflutter on branches like eyelashes batting just for you O! the cool sea breeze on your sharp collar bones puppy waves frothing…
to the window I have looked through, aged, longing longing for the scene to bloom into roses but the petals remain fallen not a sigh, not a riffle a carpet of clot red seeping in red seeping through the white wooden sill curling into the clear teardrops. I say my goodbye. …Goodbye and gently, gently,…
Fire that glares.
Fistful of blackness I swallow, swallow with an insatiable need I’m afraid the rage, the fire that glares at the ink Defiant has me crackling under the skin. How I laugh at my audacity, yet here I am Here I am swallowing fistful of blackness to my own fiery demise… …embers sparks jagged tongue What…
My soul leaks through the gullet of my eyes I fear my place has scattered across time, washing up on unlikely shores that plaintively call for a place beyond place And I, the unheard cry
Cloak of mire.
The sun in the palm of a hand power The moon in the palm of the other beauty A cloak of mire adorns the child… Oh! All that is ever coveted right beneath the muck a hands breath away all that needs do is dive underground believing death is the foe . . .