A salivating sun
licks a sailboat lost from harbor.
What do I know about submission?
All steel and no magnolia.
Eloquence runs from me.
From my rib you can take a war.
What nation can be fed by my falling eyelashes
that this fluid angel warps around my form?
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.
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.
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.
There is an impossible blue countess
leching in my fear mongering back yard.
See the heartbroken morning writhe in chains.
Noon is a brutal master.
Lovers are knives,
moan low in noon light.
Cold is curious-
Travels everywhere
Like this royal blue nobility of consciousness
pontificating on cold betrayal.
Quiet girl
Still girl
Ballerina pink
Queen Frostine white
That sparkling pristine face
and those clear eye stars
a doll heartbreakingly perfect
Welcome to the Life Center,
with sparkly resources to help you warm winter.
Are you a cartwheel?
A suspicious glance?
A still wind?
We can help you get back to work.
We offer many courses:
Earth Spinning
Bone Knitting
Light Painting –
and certifications in
Prebirth Fantasy,
Pain Sculpture
Freeway Fashion.
Visit us today in the Building of Roses,
at the corner of Air and Fire.
An envelope locked out of sight.
Buttercups giggling in the fields.
A pink fog rolls over the view.
It is all so dreamy.
Don’t bring a mirror here.
The children salivate when they see me,
a mother,
and dream of their own.
This is the exploratorium, she tells me.
The room is filled with grinning toys.
and the dolls go ignored because it is hard to play a mom
when you can’t reach yours.
Sweet fire chills in my bedroom
cool and
collecting dust.
The jealous window watches me,
tantalized by the molten heat.
Glass in love with fire,
melting in shame and desire.
It happens every day.
I stoke the fire.
Between panes the glass drools.
Miniature Moon 