Wednesday, November 11, 2015

After Midnight

I need you awake
more than you know
more than the salt
melts the snow
more than the gas
in the tank overflows
I need you to know

there’s bits of me lying about

I need you to stem
a bloodless cascade
when did these hands
cradle such doubt
I need you to sort
the mysterious out
I need you to help

the best of me trying to fade

I need you unharmed
ready to love
I need you to be
the field that we’ve farmed
become my Imam
my pastor my shepherd
I want to be your beloved

what you have never heard of

until there was Paris
until there was us
until nothing scared us
until we refused
until there were marvelous
cracks in between
I wanted your gentle
I wanted your mean

I need you awake
in our ongoing dream
when we slay dragons
when we crawl beneath
what scares us what tears us
the impenetrable seam
in canyons ageless

I love you, unseen.

Thursday, October 8, 2015

becoming me can happen any time
in the girls locker room or 
walking the blind
sometimes it’s there
when a person needs dinner
it becomes me as much
as a loser as winner
becoming me is black and blue
on a bicycle meant
to ride one not two
left to sob over love unrequited
years become insults soon righted
becoming me has a map
of its own
becoming me has a special crown
of thorns or roses
of invaluable losses
and swings in my own time
from shadows I know
becoming me takes a while
becoming me is non GMO grow
underfoot lies my story
those fabulous creatures
musical notes to a suicide
change the meaning
and direction
like the death tarot card
it’s new this insurrection
it’s new this request
that a creature so tender
still honors the beast
yet black and blue
says she bets you are rad
in the great brief remembered
and I take it and seal it
and make it less tender
becoming me is a fonder renewal
becoming me is junk food
and jewel

Thursday, October 1, 2015

you are my walking stick
you are my magic trick
you are the ace of spades
in our full deck
my sunrise asks your permission
of your sunset to make a deal
the day in between
is not callous or mean
but filled with the love of the real
you are my walking stick
you are my magic trick
you are the ace of spades
in our full deck
here comes delirious admission
all this haggling has turned into song
words under the eaves
still radiate heat
and love is to never be wronged
you are my walking stick
you are my magic trick
you are the ace of spades
in our full deck
unaware of the windows behind me
here comes the tide in a fashion
the light is pure gold
we shall never grow old
when we bow together remind me
you are my walking stick
you are my magic trick
you are the ace of spades
in our full deck
you are my walking stick

Thursday, September 17, 2015

The Grand Gesture

fish swim
lions roar
flowers bloom
where have I heard this before
runners win
still the poor
migrants need room
where have I heard this before
when I fall in love with a song line
simpler than the rest
when I flex my arms
when I pass the test
birds fly
muscles ache
actors regroup
where have I seen this before
Christians sin
in Black comedy
laughter turns rancid
after awhile
like cream in the sun
like an abandoned child
where have I felt this before
at the seaside
in a wild ride
in a boat that has no room
for them or for me
when I seek to redress
when I plead for this mess
to be fixed in an ordinary way
that humans evolve
can I shout out loud
fix this shit
once and for all
fix this shit
here and now

Saturday, August 15, 2015


when I was a child
I heard them talk about war
I heard them talk about jobs
and the breadlines
and the poor
they never offered an answer
to my childlike insistence
I made them mad
to make them consistent

I held sparklers once
on the fourth of July”
saluted the flag
with my wide-eyed dolly
and ignored the lies
because I was ignorant
and a child to boot
because I was everywhere
because I was youth

my father never talked
about the war or marriage
only common sense
when he wasn’t enraged
on a coast guard cutter
he radioed intent
happily aboard what was just another
escape from the life
of flaming undercover
he was gay he had a lover
he laughed in a photograph
meant to slip off the tongue
found by me when I was young
he sailed away from the
family of prying
he had no fear of death
he only feared lying

don’t leave your front door
without a pocket full of change
not the coins, not the money
though it spreads a little honey
make a footprint with anger
make  a chapter unholy
pull up the boots
get them used to walking
the war is far off
the explosions are sulking
fireworks limp like I knew they would
share this distress
with the misunderstood

when I was a child
the world was my oyster
the sand not the pearl
the impending disaster
I knew it was mine
this leftover answer
I am not my father
in fearful shadows
I am a grown woman
asking what do I do now

Wednesday, August 5, 2015


For Jo

I felt a lonely crawling up
the road that is my spine
a quest went full and furred with love
became an angry whine
gravel raked my feet in sandals
in graveyards meant for those
whose spines were laid to rest and then
where groundhogs presuppose
a human bends to nature
in the land of spirits gone
a traveler in such tourist’s garb
kneels at a child’s head stone
she has no cause to reminisce
a babe she has not known
dead beneath a worn out stone
I felt a knowing part of her
was somehow as confused as I
by artists dead beneath the fame

by heat and coins and fire
and wandering lonely from
the crowd past graves of them
that once were loud
I felt a lonely crawling up
the road that is my spine
I stopped and took the offer from
my friend who knew I tried
we drank the water
carried on
across the solemn dead
and blistered, tired, map in hand
we forged on ahead

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

I brought her my plan
on a seasoned plate
it arrived lukewarm
and out of date
to her, that is
to me it was fate
fully roasted and turned
in a way meant to divulge
in a way unperturbed
by the sins it was charged
some things leave me
weathered from youth even now
these things I remember
I said some things
on some things I acted
it was the moon, she said
and the clouds that distracted
and I pulled the cork
on a bottle of red
better off silent
better off wed to
the heat of the night
to the sweet dense air

when I wake from this
I will still be here
hung over maybe but
free of resistance
it’s a walk in the park
under the moon
it’s a song of a lark
it is mine, this fortune
it is mine this dark
it is mine this ruin