Purple is in a ghastly mood and I am tired of putting up with her crap.
She calls me crazy,
refuses to be seen with me when I step out my door in my tiara.
My eyes are diamonds and my lips are freaks, I tell her.
You will have to live with my fashions.
Purple peels right off my dress and down the road,
And suddenly I am a museum of skin
beneath the glass of a transparent dress.
I shimmy.
Blue leaves his porch and says,
You need someone who will treat you right.
Lemon lime personality.
Sharp neon shards of Me-ness taste
like candy, burst into flame
if touched by a friend.
My lips are coated with white quartz,
Multi-hued lipstick slathered on.
My personality breaks off in shards
like hundreds of tons of rock I once saw
fall from a cliff into a river,
but hopefully not hitting that hard,
crushing with unimaginable weight,
stabbing nearest and dearest with the finer points
of meager personal philosophy.
Mood like a leaf,
a falling leaf beautiful and dead.
I appreciate normalcy because it’s gone.
Quickly my neurons shudder,
power plants going cold.
Please someone find a rake,
pull me together.
Light a candle so I can see my way out of this darkness.
Global Warming
Beneath a polar pink sky,
white animal seeks ice.
Ice is life.
Southward,
the children of the Earth
row their rafters and doors,
looking for the beach.
Always now the beach moves,
Eats,
bulges.
A patch of ice so blue as to hold heaven
shrinks under the gaze of a judgmental Son.
Fat shadows hulk across the afternoon.
Frilly lines flounce in the sun.
My sweat is sick,
and change eludes me
Who are these shadow people
dragging across the hours?
Religion and faith
are best friends,
are enemies.
The law is a locket with His picture and
my neighbor’s picture inside.
I build cathedrals from beads and bubble gum.
I am a girl safe
in her Father’s arms,
dressed in silk and velvet,
diamonds at my throat.
He covers my war-torn wrists
in rubies.
Bodies so surreal
so intricately designed.
I adore bodies –
from the spare perfection of
thin bodies –
so small as to break at a harsh gaze,
to big, bountiful bodies with rolls and curves
everywhere all the time
I am consumed by the art of the body,
the elegant thin arm outstretched,
the belly a pillow to rest on.
Necks like flower stems and tree trunks –
hair brilliant, glossy petals.
Beneath sinister stars
I am attacked by sunset
stealing my hope at gunpoint.
God I am terrified of the back of my eyelids
My thoughts travel to the indigo north.
I wish I could leave this square painted room behind.
Northward is snow scented Heaven.
Simple lemons, basic limes
on the counter, light scented.
The citrus emotion of neon days
when work is a way to pass the time
and the pool begs for you in the backyard.
The evening waits to chat on the back patio,
warm sunset hues making your lemonade sweat.
Your skin tingles to the song of crickets,
your torches burning Citronella to keep
watchful mosquitos at bay.
Your skin feeling so exotic,
so free being so bare.
And even the simple fruit
freshening your kitchen and your drinks
know these are the best days of life.
Miniature Moon 