Wrens build subdivisions in the sky blue earth lid
A mirror to my own gridlock of houses,
land with sharp corners.
To be free to be freewheeling,
with nothing to fear but sharper teeth and
gravity
is a life I do not wish for.
Day: May 11, 2017
I Was a Rock Star
Lights are scarlet away and foamy.
We have a vast space in the night.
Do you remember how my feet
burned with happiness,
my bones black with jealousy?
I was a rock star on the asphalt.
Night Road
Scarlet lights chase away the foamy,
ebony space of night.
Does the road remember my feet,
their burning wide imprints hunting for homeopathic
happiness?
There was such a searing black pain in my bones,
glittering and sharp like the starry rocks in asphalt.
I hauled pain with me like water in those
uncivil days.
Impaired
You always box
Always time.
He is a jazz concert
Do bunny slippers.
Together you the river
The dam was still missing
The flowmeter memory
And jargon like foam.
Open your mouth
And as a family to come
Enter Me Bleeding
God weaves seasons in rotation.
In soft, silky, silver skeins.
Prosperity is a blanket of grass.
The verdant scenes of fear.
He longs for us,
Price my sorrow and enter me bleeding.
God Like a Spider
The devil is in the trees feeding off
birds and butterflies,
his grim business shattering in silver teeth.
God is in the trees spinning webs
Soft, silky, and verdant like a blanket of grass.
Spiders fear him.
He longs to draw me to Him,
to slip his gentle fangs in my hurt and anesthetize me,
suck out my misery and take it into Him
bleeding for me.
Blue Highlighter
Blue highlighter paradise –
words seen through to in a haze of Prussian and cerulean.
I write notes on dinosaur bones
Shocking all the paleontologists eating my lunch money
in a backyard I wish was mine.
Highlight them in dream blue –
Just the important points.
how to soak January in fire.
how to carry my weight in tears.
Just survival tactics.
I highlight heaven,
hoping I can find it again
so blue and true
A Tree in a Bubble
A tree growing gnarled
inside an intrepid bubble
floating up toward a windmill made of tulips.
How Dutch my dreams are these days
And I always go Dutch with them.
I will pay for my own lead and bread
if dreams will pay for theirs.
What happens to me when I float without roots,
a microcosm of germs and stardust rising toward
my personal zenith?
Butterflies
I am paralyzed
by her black black sewing
stitching me carefully in a case of
artificial sunlight and sodium.
Needles pierce me.
I used to fly.
I used to breathe.
Now I am hollow
and my blood flows somewhere else,
in a distant desert with babies
floating down my ruby stream in baskets.
See how butterflies here bring Dawn,
a wondrously big woman with her hands on her hips?
Cottonballs
A jar of night soaks stars in onyx.
like so many cotton balls in oil.
Beneath the veil of cacophony I spill my secrets
sheenful and bloody.
Inside so much glass walled noise
I struggle to find my mouth
which chokes on cottonballs,
while begging for silence,
for air.
Miniature Moon 