Tag: poet

Desires

Surprisingly, Death’s door is butter yellow with a pink butterfly wreath. My alter ego is drunk in my neighbor’s garden, touching her pansies in the most unbecoming way. When I cross Death’s threshold tonight in the lingerie I bought at the discount department store, the fraying rayon pulling taut over my eagerness, all my menstrual blood will gush out of the house. My terror will be the breeze on your back as you stand on my grave and say, “Where did you put my satisfaction?”

I Will Never Get What I Want

Irregular dreams snag on the rough edges of my mind. Fortune favors the invited. At the gold boundaries of my name, the breath of my lover moistens me like a valley. One dream is moldy. Another is antiquated. Still another dream is dripping with purple amoebas. But all of them collect on my edges, and I begin to crumble from desire. I will never get what I want. My wishes party like reprobates on the front lawn of Destiny, and they didn’t invite me.

Inspiration- or Crime and Punishment

The raindrops watch me furtively, avoiding my thirsty skin as they fall. The elevator will go down and down until the dead are dancing on you. The resin ballerina at the old wrought iron gate at the precipice of punishment resonates with me. Please commute my sentence or send me to the joy mines. Elegance and Grace get drunk off old rose at my great pearl table.  In the yard with the whip cream colored unicorns, lightning licks little Lisa with bolts of genius like bolts of fabric to stretch over the folds of her cerebrum.  Rainbows croon in every euphoric hue.





The Future Comes to Collect

The future comes to collect minutes from my aging face. Mitosis carries out in every cell to the rhythm of Bailamos. The code corrupts like a politician. The future wears a blue gown and a crimson pelerine. Minutes vacuumed off the edge of my life now will make daisies grow in the future.  I tell her to take them. My bones walked off the job, and I’ve been melting into new days. From the back of my telepathic woods, the past comes to compete for my guilt and my telomeres.

Succulent Batteries

China chips at a touch in this no woman’s land of despicable hungers. In the parlor, Good and Evil spurning their tools of trade. This text is a flashlight in a dark, resentful woods. This text is  a bridge between the two factions of my consciousness. This text is an apology to the blue underside of memory. On the river, the dead decay loudly. But here in the house I give birth to baby’s breath. Good smokes pungent herbs on my back porch telling stories of his youth in New England. Evil sucks the juice from my most succulent batteries. Everywhere satisfaction is missing.

Lucid

I am quietly lucid.

I don’t say this to brag.

They say the only thing

A person can best the Devil in

Is humility.

Humility,

That soft yellow sheath

Over my glowing hot skin.

But sometimes my mind

Makes memories without me.

Other times she sneaks into my soul

And my prayers come out as cotton,

My hallelujahs thorned and unprepared

For the lustful day.

My mind plays,

Swinging between despair

And ecstasy.

Despair reeks of old fire

And dust storms.

Ecstasy writes my name

In pink pen all over Virginia.

I wish my mind was still enough

To watch children grow up.

They grow like bitterness between

The berry bushes,

Poking into the canopy

Like vines looking for something to strangle

So that they may survive.

I love all of them,

Though they chose mothers elsewhere.

Lucid Lisa loves lemon lime

Laser lights,

And she dances

(Hold on while she climbs

Back into her I)

I dance as though my feet

Were in love with the soil.

A sordid, sultry affair

Between earth

And her resident looney.

God has granted me a vision

Of aprons and crude stars

And I smoke my dreams

On my neighbor’s porch

While he mines for lobotomized diamonds

Crisp and certain.

Water

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.