Kearny Co church

Revelations was easy enough
for him to understand
the abundance of sagebrush
which is closer to wormwood
than the culinary sage, always
reminded him of the starry angel
who would make its presence
known at the end of the world

and the endless horizon on such
spacious stretched homeland
gave him a sense of the world's end
for couldn't he fall into eternity
just beyond the shifting sandhills
couldn't the world turn upside down
and he drift into the enormous
blue bowl always held overhead
couldn't the relentless winds fill
his sails to carry him into the bright
summer night sky filled with dying lights

all these revelations were better
written on his flesh in life-inflicted
scars, in debilitating trauma that
causes him to pause at different moments
to ponder the wonder of what's next

Dawn on Cliff Ave

dim light on the cracked pavement
a dismal reflection
of the faded pastels
in warm hues spreading
across the sky above
burning tree remnants collect
along the dark iron tracks
and concrete walls
still more warm contrast
against stark cold
of early frosty hours
the gray may cloud the day
and hide away
the light once known
yet among these
numbing and
detrimental prospects
hope rises
on the horizon still
and life pushes forward

Bodhi

the woman who wears weathered bark
drew a line down my face
to split me in two
and crack me open like
the egg in a forgotten nest by the waters
I spilled out of my shell
and onto her feet with ravenous tongues
she buried me in her flesh
to remind me I had had enough
yet I had still to learn
what enough meant
an what sufficed my appetite
for as I watched the world in its ways
it seemed to always want more
whether to consume or create
but the woman with the weathered bark dress
kept me in her solitude
to empty me of myself
and everything
until I was reminded
I always had had enough


- for Alfred

Mask basking

those days when the mask
was a tool for love
but that love
wore a mask too
it was so easy
to fall in love with a stranger
and the ignorance
served the best kiss
with its naive lips
those cheapest moments
of hormonal highs like
an addict in an alley
so little to spend and
even less could afford
when all that was wanted
was more and more
always seeking the thrill
denying the heart's will
sucking down another pill
in anticipation that someone
somewhere would still
want to rip off the mask
and kiss what was underneath

A warlock's musings

spells were always more
efficacious than prayers
to this tidal pool heart of mine
whatever the world rained
down on my doorstep
would fill my vessel full
until it emptied again by
the small sliver of a crack at the bottom
thus the river of time flowed
through my soul carrying
away any ideas of solidity
it echoed the barren land
the winds entertained in my childhood
which were the first forces
I discovered with incantations
but how could I ever cast
for my heart's desire when
it always had a new visitor
knocking at it's weathered door
I had to look beyond this
form, this self on this earth
taking this breath, sipping this drink
I had to pull at the roots
to shake the lofty crown
to release the burden of wants
and surrender to the will of it all
letting the river of time
the ocean of existence
drown me in its tides
so the saturation of enchantment
made magic as free as
opening my eyes and waking up

Know or not

the fight is not between
good and evil
for those are murky waters
that have bled into each other
eons ago
the fight is that between
the two races of the world
those who worship the mystery
and those who dissect it
there's no side to choose
no winning or losing
for not all ignorance is bliss
and not all discoveries
are for the best
but there is a reason for both
in their granted times
and always good sense
in learning more
and ever fodder for the soul
to bask in the glory of the unknown

Fog lost

wandering through the fog locked woods
where the boundaries move
with the density of the mist
each trunk with each branch
with each twig with each leaf
all start with each unseen root
these pasts that give rise
to direct a choice and
branch into the existence of its own decision
and perhaps imagination is
only the DNA of the alternate
all those other possibilities blooming
on their own just out of view
as the roots go unseen and forgotten
so the alternate leaves the path
before us and settles beyond the fog
beyond the boundaries
of the density of the missed

The three "Rs"

still the knocking
remains
the slight thud
on a wooden door
in inexhaustible
persistence
faint, the taps
at first
mere figments
dancing in the ears
easily tossed into
a box of explanations
yet it was the repetition
which served as the key
to a gate leading
to its own hell
and how it cast
its devious spell
a light, almost gentle
but most haunting
resounding tap
echoing in the
mental corridors
the way children's
laughter carried
through the halls
of the ancient family estate
a once lively sight
reduced to the foreboding
facade that now remains
drained of both children
and laughter and light
and life
the wet gray stones
don't even hold moss
or lichens, just bareness
as a woman would weep
at the news
so the tapping pours
like tears from that devastation
a constant reminder
that what was locked away
in one of the many attic chambers
remains and remembers
and is relentless

Weather women

the four weather women
always fight over
whose time it is
the hems of their dresses
impede on each other
as they gather
in an endless circle
they chatter and bicker
to coerce the sun dial
to shine on them
they shove each other
in their disheveled silks and threads
as their hair flows like the tides
tangles, knots and releases
one cries... one burns...
one leaves... one is still
all take and all give
yet in their own times
they all shine
as the stars that
hold their fate

Gray day

the gray is a spell
summoned by
winter herself
it is the blanket
being spread out
for the time of rest
and as children fight
their parents when
they're told it's bedtime
the trees rebel
with defiant colors
but they too will soon
spread their own blanket
upon nodding rose and fern
succumbing to
the frozen wonder
of frost's first kiss

The burden of socks

the dryer signals
the clothes are done
she opens the door
to unload and
hundreds of socks
pour out on the floor

she hasn't a basket
it was left upstairs
she hasn't a shirt
she wasn't born with one

she burdens her arms
with the task of socks
that have walked
all over her

she holds the mass
while attempting to
shut the dryer door
as she needn't anymore
and only finds herself
stooping over to
pick up the next
sock that won't stay
within her arms

Of dust

twisted tangled serpents
of the dark pierce
the broken facade
penetrating deeply
into the solid abyss
reaching for the earthly
hearth from where
mountains give birth
pouring fourth the
ageless glaze
a burning crust destined
to crack and wear
to dust
from where forests rise
and prairies graze on
the remains of that
ageless glaze
for death and worms
and countless turns of the globe
give birth to earth
the womb that nature pays
to seed with remnants
of that ageless glaze
for more twisted tangled
serpents of the dark
to pierce the broken facade

The you pool

you were saturated
in its baptism of your body
and it dissolved your soul
into the hearts that still
drip with the loss of you

now you rest in its depths
riding each tide that brings
you so close and carries
you away so far

its trickles are your
hands cupping the cheeks
of those you touched

its drips your lips
kissing away the pain

its showers your giant
embrace still warm
amidst the numbing cold
and empty silence

you are now the pool
so many bathe in
in remembering you

Celestial dragon

first cry ignition
the spark that set
the ember aflame
to awaken what
had grown cold and
shattered into
gleaming dust eons ago
now sparkles within
the pupil
what burns is only
what is lost
as the fire
from the celestial dragon
is within all
it dances within all
connects all
cloud to ground
planet to orbit
lover to lover
child to mother
its heat melts
away all insignificance
until we remain

Thair

you carved me with
time and persistence
being brutal and gentle
in bestowing me with
both strength and humility
you're slapped me
across the face
with stinging grains
of sand and beads of rain
exhausted me in
ravenous zephyrs of hellfire
and frozen me to my core
with screaming arctic gales
you've tickle me with
April breezes in
the warm May sun
and entertained me
with autumn dervishes
of dancing hues of leaves
you've give me breath
and have taken it away
and though I've never seen you
you are thair

His waltz

he bleeds black in
moon light full
his heart emptied
his veins spill
his soul into
the dark sea of night
he forsakes his voice
and makes his choice
to dance with those
demons he had fought
those he often had sought
never being able to choose
of his favorites
slots or sluts or booze
how could he choose
and had had his fill
until tonight
when his veins spill
his soul into the night
he grabs the shoulder
of Beelzebub to
balance his stance
for he's not quite
ready to fall
though he can
barely resist the flies
persistent call
and the dark grows
darker as the abyss
blooms before him
his step, one, two, three
one waltz too many

Heart words

it's always on the tip
of my tongue
I can almost
recall it all
and blurt it out
in an empty theater
for the audience
had dinners to
attend before I
could remember...
remember...
the lines ran
down the ditch
power-line shadows
that ebbed and
flowed with the
bus driver's foot
on the accelerator
running quietly
and swiftly along
the morning...
morning...
rays of sun
were what blinded
me and caused
me to cross the road
unknowing of the traffic
and the woman behind
the wheel behind the
hood that I landed
on and the windshield
I shattered and the
asphalt road I was
flung upon to
escape for just
a little while so I
could peek at my script
and remember...
remember...
that I take 24 to
81 to 92 to 29
to 41st to 35th
to Marion to find you
but I couldn't
and was only a
street away from
where I had left you
in the dark and cold
where my heart wanted
to say more but I
had forgotten its words
they are there though
right on the tip
of my tongue

Sabbath

the green is growing
darker in the blades
as I walk this manicure
of my backyard's span
two copper canines
chase the floating blips
in the sticky evening air
as I pass by the blush
of lilies being kissed by
moths mimicking birds
I rush the engine spinning
blades through vegetation
as dimmer grows the light
hoping to be done with deed
before tomorrow's rain
hoping to give into the idea
to have a full day of rest

The red carpet

the true despair
is believing
the red carpet
illusion has rolled
out in front
of the world
in believing
the castes are
the haves
and haven'ts
and their dice
has fallen
in believing
wealth is all
what gold will
put in your
miserable pocket
for these momentary
brief breaths
in believing
wealth is all
the time in
the world when
the clock ticks out
just the same for
the roofing man baking
in the July sun
as it does for the
retired woman under
that very same roof
in believing the goal
is to have any of this
or to hold anyone
we meet along the way
for everything
and everyone
and everywhere belongs
to it all that both
the past and future
continually fight over
while the present
blankly stares into
the mirror

As of late

the days are met
to find glory
resting within the
cages that once
housed hearts
and those cages
buried beneath
stones ever
reaching for
eternity
yet they too
must succumb
must surrender
to the audacious
advances of
inevitability
never will that
hand be slapped
away
never to escape
that creeping
presence
that slight of
hand played
out on daily
mirrors before
careless eyes
the days are met
not to question
whom has
created the dust
but rather
whom was the
dust created from

From night

toes glide through
grass wet with dew
perspiring after the
flight of night with
the rising of dawn

something was left
in the shadow of dark
something remains
within the unspoken
faces of the stars
and the silent tongue
of the blind lunar eye

something was given
to the revelry in
nocturnal mockery
of the given reality
under warm solar rays

something was lost
to the oblivion found
in late stupors sipped
from chalices of
porcelain moon flowers

something lingers
within the very dew
caressing bare toes
that glide quietly
through the green grass
carrying their owner
out of concealed hope
and into revealed regret

Flora's whores

iridescent hues
drip in the evening sun
spilling over
soft gem laden cups
who serenade
feminine stripes
and sails of stained glass
their sweet words
those of sirens
they learned long ago
in almost every tongue
of almost every
pair of lips

iridescent hues
swirling in stirring
breath of zephyrs
once remembered
on burning pavement
underfoot
bare skin meeting
the caress of solar want
of delicate breezes lost
to the haughty wind
of silken dress
engulfing thirsty appetites
to suckle those
who stop to visit
to stay awhile
within the evening sun

Reinventing

can we do it
over again
is that why
we sleep
so we can
so we can
feel we aren't
always falling
that our mess
of mind matter
can stall
while the world
whirls round
once more
so we can
remember
to apologize
so we can
take the blame
and bare it
when others can't
so we can laugh
with each other
more than we
curse the wind
and bay at the moon
can we do it
over again
so I can wake up
and see you
instead of
just your picture
feel your breath
on my hand
instead of the cold air
of a winter
that just won't leave
can we do it
over again
so three words
can replace all
the others
we never meant
can we

Possession

on the jagged pavement
the metal men encircled me

as laid out in old pagan altars

and the rush of movement

I had been in was replaced

entirely by an intense silence

I rose in my tattered clothing

and torn flesh feel the trickle

of my blood and tears on my skin

a sudden sound of unearthly horns

bellowed forth from within

the towering hall I was thrown into

the still soldiers sharply parted

creating an avenue towards

the chilling source of the trumpeting

I was instantly seized by both arms

and carried forward against

the will of my legs or feet

lifting my head I peered 

to the walls on each side

and found them teeming

with monstrosities of every

sort a mind of utmost depravity

could devise of and vomit forth

each of these hellish beings

were focused on my proceeding

to the other end of this damned chamber

and the mass seemed to ooze

the anxious excitement a wolf

may hold in its heart before

tearing into the throat of its prey

the beastly soldier grips tightened

pinning my arms in their vicious vice

as I grew weaker with every step...

Seizure

gray flesh surrounded
a thick suffocating cloud
the throng enveloped me
an applause filled my ears
of the flapping wings
beating the foul air
destroying the still
yet apprehensive twilight
this hideous cloud
had descended from
the obscure green glow
high above claw like
stone turrets rising
from the dark peaks
of the enormous fortress
that was to be my end
bony gnarled fingers
jabbed and grasped
at my shaking appendages
fumbling to take hold of me
and drag me to the hell
they stormed out of
my feet left the ground
as these ceaseless beasts
took flight with me in hand
horrifying speed and cruel
caress of the cold tore tears
from my clenching eyes
the miserable mess of wings
began their descent into
a large jagged gaping mouth
that was the fortress gate
past columns of emerald flames
and dark souls clad in even
darker metal armor suits
suddenly the pressure from
the bony gnarled fingers ceased
and I was thrown to the stone floor...

Replacement

cranked,

this automatron

sits, ready

to spill all

its flesh is

an old newspaper

that's been read

by everyone

its gears 

carved from

the chattering teeth

of those who

know nothing

about doing

not a thing

its brain

well... that

was an old

goose egg that

grew wings

and flew the

cranial coop

long ago

but yet it sits

at the ready

to rise and go getty

to replace one 

more action

some one's willing

to surrender

The night

it lingers
what has past
between our lives
will remain
worn stone statues
in a garden of loss
catching a glimpse
off in the shadow
of a forgotten tree
inhaling the scent
that has evolved
over time on clothes
left purposely still
in the back of a closet
awaking to waves
singing the eternal
lullaby to ashes of
souls set free
and their wings
found in the pulse
in this loop
that caged them well
in this chest
that holds the heart
in this skin
that lingers here

Sooner or lunar

comfort in the warm
lunar glow
his face its own
celestial being
passing through
the night sky
yellow candlelight
holds the frame
of his grin and
the shadow of
his brow as his
eyes peer out
the twinkling
of twin stars

grey dances
with blue under
the bare silver arms
of restless trees
in the cold of
the dark air
he disappears
down the barely
seen road holding
what little the
moon could spare
to pay his way

Locked doors

these are just locked doors
that I have no keys for
you're always
on the other side
I can hear you knocking
in every beat in my chest
the storms in the night
you arrive on
send lightning
through me
I bear these holes
trying to stitch them
together with what
lingers of you
during the day
you and I came
so close this time
and are closer still
for the fact our
fingers never touched
each others lips to
silence their cries
and wipe away
their tears
but I am left adrift
each night still
on these tears that
fill my soul
rushing to each locked door
that fill the corridors
of my dreams of you

Early days of May

these lily stems
raise from their
winter beds as
serpents kings
in threatening gaze
here in these
early days of May
while a child's
smile is seen in
the hues spilling
from a tulip cup
and daffodil frills
and anemone rays
here in these
early days of May
what tiny wings
have thawed for
stained glass
flutters in silk
and yellow velvet
striped demand
to seek out sweet
surrender nectar bays
here in these
early days of May
and eggs are laid
and eggs are hatched
and cries are heard
for beaks of worms
in nests of twigs
and mother feathers
for nurture blooms
in nature and all
her motherly ways
here in these
early days of May

Sky punch

splattering on
pavement
liquid colliding
with solid
fluidity ceased
suddenly
releasing its
final breath
to the humid air
all the emotions
burn and sting
from the cold rain
on the sun soaked
concrete walk
its cracks collect
the storm's rage
the restless pools
beg for the time
of saturated soil
to become thirsty
once more
as washed away
colonies of ants
begin to rebuild
small ships of
green leaves
sail away down
sewer drains
into the unknown
while lightning
leaps off to lick
distant horizons

Starstruck

dark bridges
lost paths to
somewhere
that some call
nowhere
but to others
they are every
where for
weary travelers
of the night sky

smoke ascends
carrying messages
to the gods
that no longer
burn but continue
to shine down
giving hope to
those holding hope
for what's been

this blanket
holds crystalline
dust around us
the dust in
any amount
gives it name
shows it form
in life and death
and rebirth and
consumption of
the stars

April rains

awoken too late
in what solar sleeves
have drifted across
the pale numb skin
bare to earth
and wind
and wet kiss
from lecherous clouds
which couldn't remain
in the gray, cold sky
this body stolen
from spinning
earthly eyes
in league with
sun filled lips
to whisper the
secrets of melting drips
the tears of missed ships
to sail across
the eternities lost
but waited for
in hardened shell
in bitter hell
for seconds seen
as pure diamonds
slipping through their
grasping fingers
uniting hands pull
arms within chests
hearts within souls
and rhythmic melodies
sing from the thawed soil
in April rains

Bodies

some days
many days
I think it's broken
defective
but I don't know
who to contact
for a return label
as if they'd take
it back
let alone
issue a refund
for what won't bend
what will give out
when it shouldn't
what will tighten
what won't stretch
what will dry out
what's too moist
what will grow
way too much
what doesn't grow
enough
and enough
I know
for they all are
this way in one
way or another
and what's funny
when we insult them
we insult ourselves
which isn't funny
after all
and they always
tend to be the last
on the list
until they tell
us otherwise.

Ashes to ashes

in those ashes
do they see forests
do they see
drowning oceans
the rivers flooded
with discarded shit
it seems we just
can't get enough of

in those ashes
do they see irony
do they see
karma collecting
on an overdue debt
the screams of others
that weren't like them
that surrendered to
the flames

in those ashes
do they see hunger
do they see
the plight of poverty
the true nature of
what was lost
and the calling of it
to raise up one another
before they raise
that cathedral once more

July nights

rain used to
play the rooftop
like a piano
and we fell
asleep to
that same ole
tune on those
hot July nights
when the storm
had broken the
heat with its
mere presence
we would open
the windows
and the wind
resuscitated
the air in the
stale warm house
we were each
others covers
until the cold
settled in
but with each
drop on the roof
we drifted out
of our skins
and into the
sirenic storm
overhead

Vultures

seven circling

feathers tethered

to some sort of

sustenance

below

hark

a carved out

carcass

below

for the darkly clad

seven to descend

from heaven

and fuss and

feast on 

the mess

below

Waiting

uncertain whether

it’s the teeth vibrating

or whether it’s the gums

the gaze out the window

hypnotizes, pulls the patient

down further, a weight

not a lift in this waiting

chemical cocktails waltz

through the veins, these

grand corridors of a

historic and worn house

the sun lends little aid

to keep heavy eyelids

awake and open to

consume the days left,

remaining in this waiting

no-vacancy must be lit

on the light at the door

no visitors stop and sit

and talk about nothing

which would be everything

as what once was years

are mere hours now

ticking in this waiting

The banquet

the libations were
waterfalls flowing
from crystal decanters
onto ravenous lips

checkered tiles
caught each drop
of dancing hoof
as the goats furiously
strummed strings
in tenor with the
pulse of the hall

embers danced
in the dark cloud
of locks encasing
his darkly obscure face

the motive of this
unseelie host was
an amorous spell
laced with tears of
the pale lady who
calls to her lunar lover

yet his liquid
bribery never passed
these lips

thus a column of
whispering wind
bellowed forth in
tenor with the eased
temper in the humming
chords of strings

the words laid their
tongue in these lobes
their whisper the
slightest caress
of this neck

this unseelie host
advanced with his
enveloping speech

to his stunned prey
he reached forward
while his stretched out
fingers soon vanished
within this chest
and his eyes revealed
themselves within
his darkly obscure face

all was lost to
those eternal eyes
as a clutching
took control from
within this rib cage
a withering of what
once was or even
of what will be

those eternal eyes
ever moved closer
eclipsing everything

the banquet was served

Dinnertime

at the table
let us remember
we are here
to consume each
other and ourselves
we will eat and
eat the days away
sometimes savoring
sweet seconds
other times gobbling
up years like there's
no tomorrow
and there won't be
with our appetites
for we can never
have our fill of
ever tasty time
yet the chef has
only cooked so
much for us
so sit with me
at the table now
let's dine on
this moment
in time

Melatonin

rushing through veins
little bubbles
that carry nocturnal serum
the stuff that dreams
are made of man
that's plucked from
moonlight plumage
stolen from bogeymen's
satchels and ground
into what only
the Sandman can
interpret on blank
parchment peeled
off the inner eyelids
of slumber, surrender
to swift optical dancing
in between worlds
of dark and light
of obscene existence
and lucid sight
now rest, they say
but what wicked ways
we have all weaved
for the dreams dreamt
have all deceived
and rest flies out
on some whim
escaping this soul
its bones and skin

Elevator thoughts

the elevator snapped
suddenly
a loud crack in the
ceiling
thought maybe it's
you
a practical joke of
yours
like when you call
and
then only make me
guess
you are on the other
end
by revealing one of
your
codes seconds there
after
but I wanted to fall
when
I heard the snap in
the
elevator ceiling that
woke
me up from these
foggy
days, I wanted to
collapse
into the thought of
you
into the blurry image
of
a memory of you that
shone
in the unpolished metal
door
I desperately wanted to
keep
falling until I could see
the
you that once was mine

Hold on

hold this moment
he told me
before he hung up
his coat and walked
out the door into
the dark night air
I couldn't hold
the light, it fell
through my fingers
and onto the worn
boards of the floor
I couldn't hold
the time, it floated
too high near the
rafters where I
couldn't reach
I couldn't hold
his hand, he had
taken it with him
along with his
breath I couldn't
keep and his heart
that always made
mine skip a beat
but I could hold
this moment as
he told me to
that was the only
thing I could do

Crow puddles

a crow piddles
with a puddle of
flattened remnants
so preoccupied
the crow almost
becomes a puddle
itself to trickle down
the city street drain
into the sewage
stomach that vomits
its vile bile Nile
into the lower wetlands
where crows dress
in formal black and
call for banquets
of puddles to piddle with

Morning steps

red light

of the previous night

gives way

to light of a new day

each step towards

each station

each office and room

is a heartbeat

to keep beating

a breath

to keep breathing

a wound

to keep healing

a hope

to keep feeling

whatever the worry

that's carried

each step

is the lifting 

of those burdens

the comforting

of fears

the relief of tears

each step

is an opening door

a chance for more

a calling that

can't be ignored

and though some

heartbeats stop

and are called home

each step is never

taken alone

To breathe

you can't claim
what isn't yours
but what isn't
you are the descendant
of stars
that died for you
their light still lingers
in your soul
even when tides
ebb and flow
from your eyes
the ancient glow
escapes your flesh
and remembers how
it was tears of gods
falling in the emptiness
and colliding with
the dark
how each tear shattered
and was thrown to
the infinite edges of existence
by love's gravity
and how memories
often become dreams
and how you dream
of deserts far from your tears
how you dream of letting go
of painful wants and fears
but most of all
of how to remember your
very first choice
in the here and now...

to breathe

Collection loss

his glasses on
the nightstand
under his window
to the world
his wife was
still alive
when they
were new
and he swears
her image still
swims in the lens
now and then
but he doesn't
wish to look back
in his departure
he knows he has
gathered all his
life in a tightly knitted
though worn out rug
on the floor
of his mind
he's sat there often
enjoying the varied hues
and intricate pattern
when the nurses
only saw
a despondent patient
sitting in silence
he knew that the rug
would have to go
and had started already
with its unraveling threads
and the swimming image
of his wife in the lens
of his glasses
well that would also go
he would become
her new sea to swim
until one by one
each of his drops
would rise into the clouds
of all those before
he was ready to unravel
ready to evaporate
and rain down once more
and like his window
to the world
he was ready to shatter
in a late July storm

The theft

the lane was lined
with empty houses
draped in time

the night lightly
blanketed the air
as we passed by there

the lane ended at
the ledge of a broken bridge
where I dared to tarry

but you pulled me back
under the shadows
of the towering time-
wrapped homes
lining the lane

your eyes told me
I had nothing to
worry about anymore

your touch asked me
if I wanted to stay
as my bowing head
replied to your chest, "Yes!"

we ended up at some
corner store where you
knew the owner and
told her you would
pay for what I had stolen

your embrace reminded
me I didn't have anything
to worry about this night
as your lips said,
"Besides, stealing isn't nice"

Lastly

and lastly is
the swishing of
the bristles of brooms
of those who clear
the rooms
of all the tears
either fallen
to the floor
or sunken
deep into the
stomach

lastly the hand
drags away
from the shoulder
feet carrying it off
to something and
to somewhere else
while grief lingers
to keep company

lastly the barren
earth bares its soul
to let one escape
for time is just
a mask and its
passing a joke
and grass grows
fast enough for some

Modifly

the streets are her
threads in this

whether they're
smiles lasting
like linen
drugs as synthetic
as polyester
or criminals
as smooth as silk
they are the making
of the masking
while her seed
germinates
while her bud
unfurls its petals
on a cold rainy day
and her tears still
outnumber
the raindrops

it's when he loses
her and she strips
off his clothes
so they both can run
free as themselves

when puddles
in the cracked pavement
shine bright with
the right reflection
after caterpillars
take flight


-for Jamie Lee

Tethered

these remnants
tethered here
tied up in
spaghetti knots
lost in the back
of a closet
or dark corner
of any room
rolled under
the sofa
to collect lint
and dust

you're still
tethered here
not by
the phone
headset you
used at your job
or the MP3
you always
had in your
pants pocket
or the contact
lenses still
floating in
the saline

you're still
tethered here
by the saline
tears shed for
your passing

you're still
tethered here
by the laughter
shared when
reminiscing
about your smile
by the home
you had for
so many in
your enormous
heart

you're still
tethered here
though your
wings have
carried you away

CLOSED

a line jumps
in rhythmic
procession
as the machine
chirps in
the silent room
she lays
on life support
as her children
sit and wait
and watch
Nero play
chess with
Caligula
the beat
keeps beating
under looming
starvation
while the
OPEN sign
remains off

Inheritance

orange plastic cylinder
is fumbled with
by his fingers
her name is printed
on its label
as if it belonged
to her
but she rather
belonged to it
so he thinks
when he whispers
his mother's name
yes she was
generous and
a giving spirit
he mumbles
as the sounds
retreat into his
psyche and
"PSYCHO"
thunders through
his inner corridors
that's my inheritance
he says to himself
she passes away
and passes the baton
of insanity to me
not any other
not sister nor brother
sole heir when
it comes to that
to that end
when all who
are left wished
only to see
those good days
she had
those times when
the sun cracked
open the clouds
and her soul
shone with her smile
he recedes back
into the clouds
as his anger thunders
in the distance
her body is lowered
as tears fall from the sky
yet his cheeks are dry