A rosary blooms in my headboard,
pink and full and soft.
Lord I know no prayers and my tongue
is mute with want.
Desire, must I die to you?
Decadence, I know you wait to overtake me.
Duty, fill my spirit.
Two paths diverge in a white wilderness.
Lord, show me your hidden way.
Obese clouds
in shades of sweat pant gray and
office tile white
promise rain to my dry, dry Earth.
The ants have been doing their rain dance for days,
twigs like tiny stilts the building blocks to their effigies.
I have been wrapping rainbows around my wrists,
sculpting the scavenging ground into beautiful lakes to
attract the clouds,
tell them there is room enough on this gregarious field
for earth and water.
I wait every night for the sea to spit my husband out,
undigested and handsome.
I like to straddle the dry lake bed,
the navy sea,
and wait for gifts from ether and water.
A shining ribbon of steel
slashes the Flatland in half.
See the numbers rush
through the fields of chaff.
Metamorphosis,
the 2 to 4,
the 4 to 8,
my heart,
buried deep in the chocolate brown soil,
into a seed.
Next harvest,
there will be wheat.
The winter comes again,
Staying in my corner, you change his plagues.
There are times when people are afraid.
I can not invite him in.
I build a summer house and he is not compatible.
He screams and hail falls upon me,
shrill and sharp.
The doctor takes an x-ray
of a balloon,
finds bone tumors.
Illness permeates the party.
I dance in a bird cage.
The door is open,
but I can’t get out.
Depictions of parrots on the wall,
the sordid light on repeat.
Masses of bodies,
shivering to a twisted music.
I give my teeth to a nun.
Salvation waits in the curvature
of this cornerless room.
My breathing wet,
I wring out my words.
Lost,
broken,
Brave,
malfeasance,
mirror.
In my golden cage I know nothing,
dream of silver silence.
Day divided into meters.
The world is darkened,
So my life is a thing of life.
I work as a wife.
The dry river enmeshes with my daughter’s birth day.
My body goes to sleep,
my mind enters,
deep integration.
Sinking cloud
hovering over the mudslide.
See my plastic body
construct bridges.
Look through my chest
and see the omnipotent azure stone.
Grind corn.
Grind your hips.
Get to the tangled root of everything.
These legs are long lairs of want,
These eye planes are like stars of tourism,
the ecosystems of aquariums where the fish are crazy.
My integration will kill you.
Like a bad phoenix I’ll rise up
from my ashes,
pink.
My elation is straying.
Irenic,
My eyes close.
The man behind the curtain is hollow,
and the curtain has thousands
of loathsome love letters pinned to it.
My rabbit opines on my snowing skills.
The cold,
a little caustic,
Agrees.
In the refurbished grass
a wild warren dines.
I walk over,
pale as a breeze,
to feast.
Speckled woman,
a zing in the sun,
outshining everyone.
In the crumbling marsh,
the fairy of lights
is raging through the reeds.
But inside the sprinkled, speckled, freckled woman light,
there is a darkness drawing the empty city ever closer.
Miniature Moon 