A jar of night soaks stars in onyx.
like so many cotton balls in oil.
Beneath the veil of cacophony I spill my secrets
sheenful and bloody.
Inside so much glass walled noise
I struggle to find my mouth
which chokes on cottonballs,
while begging for silence,
for air.
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
Bride of comparison,
you have found me
Living through lacy love letters
to the glowing voice of the world.
I have loved and lived
and lavished
like a euphoric angel,
all over the world.
See how North America quakes beneath my hands?
Hear the tender whispers of my name from Europe.
I am tired of molds and braces and boxes
What They have is not better than what I have.
Always They come with a capital T and claws.
They possess than,
But I hold hands with Then,
And waltz over the sea.
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.
Gloomy, graceful ghosts
lounge under a beach umbrella.
They are nudists.
They are as frosted glass.
No sunburns will befall them
as they get drunk.
And carouse on the beach where they
washed ashore
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.
Murmur to me.
Amuse me with your fondest memories
of things that never happened to you.
Mellow ghosts hover high in the heat
drugged on what they stole from my secret box.
Honest textures undulate
in this valley of embarrassment.
Your face is plane.
Eyes unending.
Why did I loose my secrets on a world of cold mirth,
of casual scorn?
Miniature Moon 