The simple, timeless horrors of self awareness and awareness of others remind me to dress in my dreams. All the nude cavorting in dentists offices is uncalled for. Spiritually, I am 3 feet tall. In the pines of Georgia, sobriety coveting a sandwich eaten by a girl with an old name. Falsify your eyes and leak past the guards of this temple of industry and consumption. What velveteen briars invest in the salted soil of your skin?
Category: poetry
My Blue Heart
Daylight drains sanguine in tubes like a corpse’s emissions at the morgue. I will not be so easy for him to break, I say as I gnaw on my bespoke hands. Above the stairwell of my blue heart, a portrait of Dorian Gray, aging like archeology.
Depression
My thoughts are gridlocked.
Red travesties everywhere,
Blue regrets blurring
Into a wistfulness that tastes
Of honey and old soap.
The dark force is here again,
Its claws reaching from my
Quivering core to silence
The voice I have watered daily
For 30 anxious years.
How can I trample someone
With more arms and legs than I?
Depression as spider winding webs
All over the courtyard of my once ebullient mind.
Creativity needs me like the sun needs
Photosynthesis-
Which is to say she doesn’t,
But I need her desperately.
Peel the purposeless purple prose
From my prodigious mind.
Help me unearth truth,
Swimming as she does
Beneath us all
In the water table.
And I Wept
Circular dreams circumnavigate my life,
Forever rolling away to a lulling dreamland
Where my name makes love on the beach
To herself and my flagrant ineptitude.
Dreams are lavender fields,
The hand of God running over them,
Plucking his favorite from the crowd.
After that it’s all up up up.
God is height,
Is depth.
The stillbirth of my ambitions
Haunts me while I scrub the sand
Off the deserted desert.
Wind writes to me,
The party was fantastic!
I waltzed with Purpose.
He touched my clit
And I wept.
Caramel dreams stretch over my
Inebriated mind
With the same kind of power
A drop of water has
Eating at a rock,
Distempered Time,
Take me back to that first
Autumn morning
When Possibility held me in his arms.
Eternal and Ripe
The fog is a fixture of water’s confusion as it bleeds into and against itself. The sultry coolness like an ice cube in a lover’s mouth strokes the water. Water is eternal and ripe. The iconic fragrance of frost lingers over the fog coated world, teaching us what it means to rest and give rest. The lamentations of the marigolds can be heard as a soft velvet hum.
Thriving
The man trapped in a rain drop drowns when he tries to smell it. The letter I wrote to you last year is pinned to a ray of sun called the Exorbitant Cuddle. My letters make mayhem with the luscious cosmos. Two drinks in and the year was drunk like the Communion wine. There is no end to the sort of suffering that will pull your heart out through your crotch. Only inelegant death, thriving.
Banana Flavored Vanity
Rivers run through my names, scoffing at the idea of unified identity and advantageous silt. Along one river is a boat named the Unbearable Blue. Named for Memory’s daughter – a blue so deep it makes me ache. My heart goes spastic. Horrendous banana flavored vanity leaks out on the floor like an unsupervised ocean. Help. The sharks are here with their collection of teeth and wits.
Fridays
Frilly Fridays get friendly with Sundays, barely leaving a leave shaped hole for Saturday to breathe in. the good times don’t roll. They’re octagonal. My education was hormonal and orange. The weeks wear Friday as a fancy fascinator.
Rising Tide – Micro Memoir
In Newport, on the side of the road, my family pulled over to play by the sea. I took photos of the water with my little Instax Mini while my father in law watched my daughter. In an instant, the tide starts pouring in. I see my daughter alone on a jetty, my father in law nowhere nearby. I start calling to her to come back. She points to the water and starts to climb in to get back to me. She cannot swim. Frantic, I am sprinting toward her. The sea has claimed so much of me in my dreams. It will not take my daughter from me in what passes for real life
“Til Human Voices Wake Us and We Drown
My boat is small and rickety. It’s just me and the vast blue sea. Suddenly a violent swelling – a wave rising. At first I think the wave will be large and crash momentarily, so I brace myself for impact. But then the wave doesn’t crash down. It becomes ginormous. It looms over me, watching me. “When you look long into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you.” It boils up to a height that makes me miniscule. Then, stillness. So still. If this wave falls down on me, I will drown. But it doesn’t move. It only watches. Until the sound of voices…
Miniature Moon 