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