A pain in my third arm
searing.
Always reaching for the
blue broken lightbulb.
In a house of gold a child asks,
Why does winter love me so hard?
Origami journal,
record my private dimension
like a flag over the sparkling tundra.
Category: poetry
Seasons
Winter is back again,
sitting on my porch swing biting his nails.
The seasons are such nervous people.
I cannot invite him inside.
I have been housing summer and the two don’t get along.
He sneezes and hail falls on me.
Hope
The afternoon latches and lunches
on my milky breasts.
My chest a shelf that weighty demons sit on.
Outside in the rocky yard Good Health and Old Age fight.
My eyesight is incredibly blue
and the world is incredibly pink,
so my life is biased toward purple.
I am as executable and cuddly as a queen.
The river is dry.
No baby boys float in baskets among the reeds.
My body floats off to sleep,
my mind sinks into self,
diving deeper and deeper to the mulberry core.
Inner Life
A brittle face,
Snowy eyes
Communicate carefully the
Minute details of the storm inside.
In the hall the elevator doors part,
And my tears gush out,
A salted homage to King.
My surface life is disturbed,
Alabaster marred by freckles and nodules and
Wednesdays.
My outer life is placid, perceivable, unpersonalized.
But inside this domestic box,
Lay the most anemic dreams,
Copulating,
Breeding hopeful runts.
The World May Follow Fire
Woman Light
Embers
The Birds
The trees aim for the birds.
A cotton song sticks in my throat,
Warming me.
What a village of busted knee caps we live in.
I have not walked anywhere for days.
Over the hillocks and bluffs the sight of men marches
Naturally,
With no bodies to slow anything down.
What is there to see but birds
Skimming skeins of skyline,
Evading the green fanged death in the trees?
Female
A blue tunnel rimmed with rainbow spangled stars
Leads to a woman in a black field harvesting high heels.
She is old as winter,
Her hair violet,
Her eyes ultramarine stars flashing.
She is no one’s neighbor,
Born beneath a pile of cast stones.
Somewhere in the looming black wheat
Beneath the onyx ether
Girl children are born in red satin receiving blankets.
My Shadow’s Nation
An ocean flutters from a flagpole,
A 3×5 slate blue ocean with dolphins leaping in and out.
This is the emblem
Of the country of my shadow.
My shadow is a princess.
She warbles,
Her tax code a filing system
Of feathers.
Beneath her flag I am wet.
My vision bordered by swaths of salt.
Here in Kansas oceans are special occasions,
And many rally around her flag,
Though they cannot swim.
Miniature Moon 