Sunday, December 21, 2008


Emily! Sylvia! Save me from this torment. 
You have made it into art that I allow
myself to sleep the days away, rocking
in a chair and thinking deeply about

A stack of cards sits beside me, unsent
to my females that came before, sleeping
pills and wild nights, a funeral pyre in the oven, both ill-requited
loves(d); with ink and pen they wrote themselves into existence.  

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Paralyzed Parade

Oh! Loneliness! I share your tea cup. 
For parading today are last loves, see
them puff up in the street light
and we watch from our 
window, gently stirring in
the sugar sorrow, forgiveness and
the love still left ungiven.
And now He comes to our cross-section,
mid avenue. 
His bulging eyes almost 
unrecognizable, the arms
of air unable for warmth. His lips

Friday, December 19, 2008

December Nineteenth

I lay restrained in what by law, is
my childhood bed. My mother, wrapping
the gifts, intermittent tape scratches. 

Pillows without cases, wrapped
in plastic now so that they sing
when my face rubs against it
in the dark. 

My beloved there in the trees.
The leaves bearing herself, now. 
Branch. Go. Limb. Dont. 
His toes knowing just the nook
to hold to, his footsies clinging to each
natural wooden step. 

Friday, December 12, 2008

Morning Mistress Wakes You

I've run a crystal dagger dagger
through the lungs of your 
loving body. But I have barely missed
your Heart. I feel it pumping
                .                 . Feeding your 
extremities the blue they need most. 

A while ago, when I shaded
my Heart from Truth, I
could live, halfway,
eating and drinking only at dusk. 

Now I am unshrouded 
and have let your breathlessness
fully enter and uncover our shared,
shaking agony lying there like discarded,
unused pens. 

You have slept with your sadness and
learned to welcome her in the morning. 
A new mistress waiting to pluck open your
eyes to the sun. 

How she loves to see you smile 
with your eyes closed, last night's dreams
crusting them shut in the half light. Rub them
for waking while you groan to be left alone
like the dustrays on our wooden floor.
Wake up!
Wake up!

Thursday, December 4, 2008


Lite air, his eyes are tired now. 
He snuggles up to me and blinks;

He doesn't hear the keys, the way I do. 
They create a melody in my ear, and
to him, I think they are only noise. 

The tip tip tap of his paws on 
the tile, our hard house. His
restlessness, reminds me of
my own. He cannot find a 
place to rest unless I am
there, like you used to hold
dear for just me. 

He sits to guard me now, against
nightmares. It is as if I am floating
over the music and right into
your eyes, there waiting for
me like the end of a novel
or some well planned movie,
there, in the pause you wait
to catch. 

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

White Funeral

I have seen a brilliant funeral,
where they all wear white.
A garland of pale yellow carnations
adorned her neck. 

They placed her on the fire. 

Wrapped in linen, infused with oils;
you could count her transgressions
rise from the smoke of the pyre.

They took the form of the faces
on which she had trespassed; Friends,
lovers, children, Her One, parents, animals
floating from her burning body
releasing her pain into the cool summer air. 

Their faces, as they ascended, were smiling;
for they had already forgiven her 
but stayed locked inside her heart
until this very dying moment. 

Monday, December 1, 2008


My fingers are gnawed; beyond 
recognition, the bruise in the middle of
my left hand throbs through the _____
running along the blue roads. 

It is destroyed. 

If you find her limp against 
your touch (no doctor can
revive) then please know if was
all done for your stubbornness. 

The water is up to her toes
now, the yellow tint of the curtain
on her thinning skin, and with
each of your word-daggers they
take her life slowly.