Uncompromising clocks are miserly with me.
Mondays are not miserable at all.
Monday is a week in infancy,
Filled with promise.
By Saturday there is so much regret.
I am chest deep in the wet of Wednesday,
My breath black smog.
The afternoon is another language.
I do not speak.
I was sewn for Sundays.
Category: Uncategorized
Dance Lost in Translation
The dance is lost in translation.
My feet are visionaries,
The floor a diary poorly kept.
To the right,
A sprinkle of justice.
To the left a topographic map of indecency.
Give me all your semicolons.
My story is not finished.
Give me shoes of air.
I wish to dance in my own language.
Baby Search Engine
The baby search engine crawls on my floor
Eating cheerios and spitting out good advice
He will never understand.
To remove a hate stain from cotton,
Whitewash in bleach.
How do I know the little search engine is male?
The way he references his own expertise.
Black Sex
Black sex sings like a siren against my white sheets.
What quilted questions can I answer,
With my tongue lodged in your pink lips,
While the sadomasochistic sunlight slinks slowly
Through blue blinds?
Untitled
Deaf electromagnetic angels
cobble shoes on my front porch,
My porch overgrown with frogs.
I will walk across the whispering world in these shoes,
My soul protected by the soles,
My salvation stored in my pinky toe –
The heart I stub so often it broke.
Sense of Self
Burn a midnight scented candle,
Lavish me with words.
Pro rate me,
Because my selfhood is missing.
I feel so steeply blue,
So incalcuably unfit.
My Little Yellow Cottage
Little yellow cottage on the brink of forever,
Brimming with solar powered daffodils
And sharp sharing,
You are a nest from heaven
For this feral human who always keeps
Her mouth pressed
To the sky
Gluttony
Today, when I got home from taking Angelica to speech and visiting with my mother, I was in the mood for cake. And I had some cake left over. Well one frosting covered by led to another and pretty soon I had eaten all that was left of the cake.
I’ve always struggled to understand why gluttony was a sin and today I think I figured it out. Any time something comes between you and the Lord It’s a Sin. After eating all that cake I tried to study my devotionals and read my Bible, but I was in such a sugar coma and felt so lethargic that I couldn’t focus to study the Word. I had eaten too much and it was preventing me from drawing closer to God.
Being fat is not a sin. Having soda or cake or ice cream, even frequently, is not a sin. It is only when eating comes between you and God or between you and fulfilling your God given responsibilities that eating becomes a sin.
Of course gluttony isn’t limited to eating. It can include anything from shopping to crafting to drinking, to anything really. Anything you indulge in too much at the expense of your relationship with the Lord falls into the category of gluttony.
Armed with this conviction, I am determined to never over eat again. I’m not going to give a song-and-dance number about how I’m going to go to healthy eating habits, because I love sugar. I’m not doing this to lose weight so I’m not going to make any goals in number of pounds. I simply don’t want to eat until I am overfilled ever again. This control will be good for my spiritual growth.
The Narrator
The narrator is mopping the floor with my tears,
Which for him fall like rain through a hole
In the roof.
What promise this day had,
Born at the height of the malleable moon.
What now,
Since favor and faith and fancy have
Disinintegrated?
The narrator begins with an article
That will barely clothe me from the cold.
Outsonnetted
I have been outsonneted by a suction cup,
Clinging to my window like a starfish to the sea.
Lately my similes get away from me,
Dogs always unearthing hideous bones in
My backyard.
The curious climate of my moist mind
Is most conducive to marigolds, azaleas,
The pancreas.
My face is all sugar,
My tongue a cola.
See the stained glass the suction cup holds?
Memorabilia from an unremembered saint.
Miniature Moon 