MiracleYou said Jesus knows my soul
is yellow as this road;
and the boats in the channel
keep my head clear
while I watch him
drown my sister's dog again.
He calls it baptism -
a miracle of science.
He says I do not need a calendar
or a parent's love
to find Him
on the weak and narrow
and that solace
is a good, strong bread
left in the poor box
every Sunday morning.
But I like to pretend
He keeps his Dodge 57
on my lawn,
turning up the daisies.
We can drive it
all the way to Memphis
on one tank of gas...
Cosmic Melancholic[Between my heart and my head,
there's a hole inside me,
dragging my soul down like an anchor.]
Sirens wail their swan songs,
maidens and muses that haunt me
while my hands are tied
my wrists are crying
and my eyes are bleeding
all it took was a prick to
my swollen throbbing heart
in its twilight tomb.
I long for the dawn
like a lover lost at sea
but every cynic knows
darkness drapes the shoulders of
liars and whores
before the blasted sun will ever rise
..especially for me.
In this wicked peace
-knowing I have been claimed-
I will swallow the stars
and choke on the moon,
A futile attempt to fill the void.
I will bleed starlight
until there is no more of me.
[for if I must bleed,
let it be what is beautiful].
Stick and Stones, LoveSticks and stones,
May break my bones.
But words can do much more.
I find them scribbled on notes strewn about,
And I hear your voice when I read them to myself.
They come in soft whispers,
Or thunderous shouts of anger.
They can inspire a masterpiece
Fueled by joy or pain.
They're sung sweetly in sunshine
Or bitterly in rain.
They can serve to begin or end
Something wonderful or terrible.
They are how I know you.
The bridges between our minds.
They are the art of the commoner.
You're lips, a brush, you're words, the strokes
The air is your canvas.
You paint your perception with your voice,
Giving me a portrait of what my eyes could never see.
Will you show me who you are or who you want to be?
With your words, you
Can tell the truth or fool me.
You create or destroy.
With your words,
You love or hate,
You give or you take.
Your words are your choice.
There is life and death.
In the power of your voice.
BurningHe moves like a migration over my skin,
tattoos my arms and sinks into my chest.
When he takes, I vow and when he gives,
I pray. I taste power along his lips,
and breathe out smoke from our kiss.
His mouth leaves burns as he explores;
and leaves scars along my neck.
I close my eyes because I'm afraid the fire
within my mind will set my bed aflame,
and burn us both into black ash,
reduce us both to bones and lust.
But I heard that things that are wild
should not be contained.
So I set his body on fire.
faded flowersAll the flowers lost their color when she said I couldn't see you.
The sunshine color petunias, the violet heather,
and the pastel zinnias;
every single one lost their vibrancy.
The only thing that made sense at that moment
-and the hours ahead-
was that I wanted to be with you, but couldn't.
Not today, not tomorrow, not anytime soon.
Like a butterfly on a dangling string
you've been tugging gently on my mind.
Not enough for me to cry out,
"I miss you!"
but enough to sigh dreamily
when I pass by a coffee shop,
or when I gaze at the bed where you
once laid so close to me;
even when I listen to one of the songs
I know you've been in love with
at one point or another.
I never will admit it
but you haven't left my mind
since our last embrace.
Yes, I am afraid.
Afraid and enchanted
like a moth drawn to a flame
because of the way I'm drawn to you,
how I fumble for excuses
to hear your voice and see your face.
I'm helplessly drawn to you,
and hopelessly praying
our lips wi