Moon tears

the widowed moon
revealed herself
through her
melancholic
veil of fog
her frozen
tears floated
in the air
to kiss
the cheeks
of oblivious
passengers
in the night
those kisses
the only
offering of comfort
she could afford
as the world
passed the
threshold of
autumn

Obit

sainthood is
like history
only agreed upon
by liars
love is like
blood
the river that
flows out of the heart
anyone can die
and everyone does
but anyone can
fuck up
so don't act like
everyone doesn't
just because
they die

Requiem

on a throne
of bones
she waits
her beheaded
love leans
in her lap
trickling down
her stone legs
faded petals
of her glory days
the bitter wind
licking her feet
and tossing
those old glories
out into the street
her abandoned
children wander
beyond the
wilderness of words
to be their own
ball and chains
for what all
the blood was shed
can no longer
be said
the words have
been trodden
into the mud
and her tears
tear the skies
from their
somber gray
into darkened night
away from sanity
away from her
heart of liberty
away from
her radiant light

Religion

I wake up
I piss and shower
and dress
I let the dogs out
I pack a lunch
and I eat
I drive
I check the blind spot
in traffic and
pull a muscle
I work and play
and try not to mix
the two, unsuccessfully
I clean and 
pull a muscle
I turn on the TV
I watch and learn
what life is not
I stand up
and pull a muscle
I eat and eat
and eat, probably some more
I write what won't
be read
I then paint instead
I cook, then clean
some more
and pull a muscle
I put my barefoot
on the bare ground
I complain about hating
I love to complain
and I live to love
I lay down with
my husband
We pray then kiss
I pet our dogs
I watch TV
knowing what life is not
I fall asleep, eventually

Face space

faces spilled out
on counter tops
from glasses too
full of liquids
or clumsy hands
faces pool in
the liquid lineage
held by distance
on that expanse
they unfurl in
wrinkled napkins
or paper towels
gazing upon the
world before them
this recognition
in an unrealized
divination

The fluff dreams are made of

my dreams choose
caskets as places
to lay their heads
and slumber soundly
leaving me in the night
I wonder what they
are dreaming of
when they've left me
out in the cold night
do they take flight
as I enjoy so much to do
deep in REM
do they fall off
giant cliffs only
to be suddenly shaken
awake with racing hearts
do they try to run
only to find the more
they try the less they can
or maybe they don't at all
dream that is
when they slumber
leaving me in the night
to row my boat
down a stream
as we were taught
for life is but a dream

The thin line

we'll climb
the thin line
of smoke
that rises
from out
of the waves
it will lead
us into the
starry dark
where distance
has forgotten
both speed
and distance
so we can
peer into
the past

we'll climb
the thin line
of smoke
that rises
from out
of the waters
which have
given us this
chance to find
ourselves and
each other
when we
have collided
with the matter
in hands
that have held us
beaten us
and led us
to ourselves and
each other

we'll climb
the thin line
of smoke
that rises
from our
burning bodies
the fires
that have
quenched
the ocean's
salty thirst
our blood
that has
dowsed the
warring flames
within stampeding
hearts and souls

Magissa

she walks columned lands
listening to the brittle fingers
of her friends snap and break
under the weight of her feet

the cold touches not her skin
as it has already embraced
the faint beating of her heart

her hair is a continuous current
with the bitter breezes of night
when she lifts from the earth
to soar through the dark air

the cold touches not her face
as it has already taken hold of
the faint memories of her mind

they come to her for help
when their prayers are empty
they bar her with iron chains
when their guilt is thirsty

the flame touches not her bones
as she is a stream in the woods
the tears from an infant's eye



- for Dixie

The chest

these things were taken
by unseen hands
they always mention
what was given up
an offering
the sacrifice
but these things
were taken
and they'll never
be again
the memory of
sound sleeping
and sane thinking
and being pleased
by being at ease
no more
someone has
slammed shut
that door
as all reasoning
has flowed away
all peace sits in rot
logic in ruin and decay
images can't be unseen
knowledge is always known
and what is kept locked
in the chest in the room
at the end of the hall
up the stairs of the house
at the end of the road
no one travels any longer
should have always
stayed locked in the chest
in the room in the house
at the end of the road
no one travels any longer