Sleep don't visit, so I choke on sun
And the days blur into one
And the backs of my eyes hum with things I've never done

Sheets are swaying from an old clothesline
Like a row of captured ghosts over old dead grass
Was never much but we made the most
Welcome home

Ships are launching from my chest
Some have names but most do not
If you find one, please let me know what piece I've lost

Heal the scars from off my back
I don't need them anymore
You can throw them out or keep them in your mason jars
I've come home

Here, beneath my lungs, I feel your thumbs press into my skin again 

nobody knows

and nobody knows how loud your heart gets 

from this far, 
but me

some nights all i want is to hear

I'm coming home.

and it's all a dream, he said

i swear i'll wake up one morning

to find your arms around me again

turn on the lights when I leave

cause you have everything you'll ever need

without me there pushing.

your eyes can still see me in the dark but

finally we are no one, together.

bookends fallen as the dust,

it gathers and rises with the smoke

of dreams.

the pages are turning too fast to read and

who i am is old and screaming.

nobody knows 

how loud and 

how endless.

Big

Across the table
my grandfather speaks of war,
nostalgic iced over streets
so symbolic in their
liberating treachery.
I feel you here,
feel your endless listening
Longing to wrap my body
along your Big
Bear
(bare)Warmth
Make you cry out with
the truth
of your own
Greatness.
So many times, days
I did really not see you
and now I have released you
from a prison
you could not perceive.
The longing makes no difference
means nothing
in the cold rain of Today,
promises of solidarity form
cold webs of walls between
while simultaneously
shattering
the frosty walls
entrapping your Big
Heavy
heart.

Reach across the Waters
and I'll finally give permission
to scream
I'll throw myself into that gaping
Perfect
Mouth
and crawl into your heart
to die
so that it may be reborn
from my ashes.

Always

What is a song

without a melody?

What is life 

without knowing that 

Death, she always comes?

Always the words,

words they swallow and 

drag me 

into the floodwaters, always

Yours.

But these words, so plentiful

can't, don't warm

your spine

these nights

They don't pour your wine

or 

chase down the

memories of light in

your hair. 

Forget what's behind, 

they say we must live for 

the Aliveness of now,

of what the future carries

But I carry you with me

never good at listening,

I'll take the past as strong a gift

as the Present into

always.

I am american Dream

To feel the sweep

of Yesterday

Such a bright day when

you laid your head against

Love, without fear.

Maybe disquiet is where

stillness breeds her 

succulent offspring, but

My womb is cold, 

I am a childless mother

of mindful infinite

Smallness.

bones

At last true Winter sets in.

the end of the world

or something more Eternal

crushed beneath the soles of a fine line

called surrender.

walk the taut-pulled wire with

your eyes, both of them,

to the quiet fury of the moon

beneath the sun, often forgotten

her begrudged magic whispers of 

the reasons which you brand 

nonexistent.

destruction is simply but another

artwork, alive, 

the prize of Love

Love, you need not spit on

nor understand the shadows of 

Surrender to the death,

the purity of emptiness 

the knowing that we are all cages

housing the light 

of Nothing, everything 

rolled up in bags of bones.

there is no closure, here, in the marrow

suck out the crystallized cells,

tongue and teeth no pity,

feed on the essence of bereavement and

warm the skeleton that dances and cries so boldly

if only you'll allow it 

the bliss of Winter. 

Water

I awake to the sound of rain and the taste of dream lingering on my tongue,

Visions of leaping headfirst, breasts bared, into water

Submerging myself until I wash away the dehydration.

I am so thirsty, so hungry, so aching

and these mornings still

Finding myself digging my toes into the earth, 

Hoping to grow roots that crawl down to core

Steaming tea in hand, breathing the not so distant echo

of autumn's call to arms.

I am craving less deficiency in change, the shift to readiness, to feel

The water

Slide across each crevice of skin and into the deepest call of my being. 

Look back to see forward

Go out Wildly and Alone.

Eat figs slowly because each bite is more like Sex.

Getting older is a trick of fate, but being succulent is dancing in the face of danger; savoring the rain (sans clothing); do not fear throwing your head back and sending your voice through the wind. Tonight I walked through the trees and watched the crickets grow. Hold your own hand and remain bold despite the growing emptiness of the corners.

Faces of Intimacy.

Nobody tells us as little girls that we may fall in love and have moments of hating our beloved.

We build many walls in our goals of self-protection, but ultimately the walls create isolation. Break the walls down. Start simple --hug people more. Reach out when you need support -- don't be afraid to ask for more, or to appreciate what you have. Stop looking in the wrong places for fullness. Let people teach you about yourself; live the questions instead of screaming for answers.


Erotic Robot.

This is a woman unconsciously in search of herself.
This woman has sexual encounters because
(1) it is easier than saying no
(2) she is fulfilling someone's fantasies at the expense of her own
(3) to be polite
(4) get it over with so the man will just leave
(5) it gives her a false sense of satisfaction, of power - being desired is desirable

True succulence comes when the sensuous woman replaces the erotic robot.

 Succulence comes amongst spring rains and tree branches weighed heavily by wild pears, these plane rides and wedding kisses and fear shedding and un-brushed hair and sincere plunges in the river after shared fruit and joined laughter, barefoot exploration. In the early creep of sexy summer, there is succulence like charged violet skies electric with heat, with newness and necessity.

Marcello: Live positive vibrations, always.
Start with a cup of tea and end with remembering --
remembering a loved one now passed, a favorite primal smell, a holiday well-spent, an art brought to life, the odd power of a storm, what it's like to be most comfortable naked.

Fire welding

Temper me with your wilderness,
mold me into your hands
Speak loudly, forge and anvil
so that I may understand
 The ways which build your fires
when all eyes are turned away
So few loves could burn as brightly
nor compare
To such silent art you make.

A Puerh meditation

He only gets better with each pour,
fragrant and more flavor as the leaves steep
deeper, longer,
cultivated like no other,
such silken dogma
falls upon my eager tongue each time
I dare tip the cup.
With an intensity
and illumination
that increases the concentration of
delicacy,
nutrient-rich within the bold depths,
the medicinal nature of
Such surprising softness,
enlightened gaze, soft touch, 
Easy masculinity or
rugged sentimentality as the
illusive steam of lore invades my senses
slides into my dark depths
and fulfills,
builds a cell-woven golden age
I long to return to
day upon day.

Each of us takes tomorrow for granted. We visit the days and hours as if they are a luxury hotel, neglecting to soak up the brilliance of the earth and the opulence of the love that surrounds us, squeezing the orange for more juice until it bursts in our hands. We forget what it means to be full, because we tell ourselves we need something more, something better; as we strive to get by we forget that we are alive, we are enough, in this moment. 

the first firework spark i felt
brought you straight to mind,
hot and poignant, real yet fleeting.
a burst of something powerful yet delicate:
the commodity of beauty should be
a prerequisite to all things.

when recovery means washing yourself of
the grease of humanity or
collapsing inward into sleep
suddenly different lines of life become
very clear...
 drawn upon ragged scratch paper
and all starting from the same form of source -
 a point, a pinprick -
yet it is not light we are born from, but
darkness
and a familiar darkness to which
we will all return.

are we are so busy hunting for something we pretend to understand
streamlining the same stark landscape
that we rarely see one another
with the fire of clarity?
we rarely stop to scan the scenery
for soft bits of peeling birch,
snapshots of powdered moss and crumbled pebbles
so artful in
their decaying, vibrant splendor.

i can't seem to clear my throat of the madness
the sickness of yesteryear,
and in the wee early am on January 1st
i scrub off my makeup rough enough
to raw my cheeks -
rubbing 2011 from my face
and ignoring the endless ache of cold
creaking in my old bones beneath
the sparkle of celebratory war paint.
i have turned on the closet light for
the new months spilled ahead
but i have yet to give in and lick my fingers clean,
scoring the mess of months that pervade
my garden of organs and cells.

i cannot promise you the wholeness
of Eden because
i am not made of light,
but to me you remain a bright spark
of something real in this duplicity of time
when each hour is a knock on death's door
and we're all smashing down the walls attempting to
bare some lightweight joy
and make a clean free break.
the water in me will forgive the crevices their
flaws,
you only must unfold and open
your invisible cities with sincerity.

let emptiness be your cure and not
your ailment.
let wayward streets be damned by the
gorgeous dark wilderness of you contrasted to
the light of one smile,
your smile is the sun
and fallen folks like me, we need the sun.

one morning i will wake up
to your face planted right against my own,
and another morning i wake up
with another shot at life
is another good day indeed.

The days, they start sometimes with a smile and a fresh steaming cup of something hot for fall, sloshing around in the cup holder of the car on the way to see family all bundled up in layers of fabric like onion skin, healing in layers. Healing in layers, supposedly, that's what they say. And then sometimes, the days that start in smiles end in tears and whiskey alone, they end in music that drowns out the endless stretch of seconds ticking, sliding down the drain with the rotten herbs you boiled to try and soothe the stomach gurgling from stress and a sadness you can't understand, or something dark like that. You watch the sun creep down and be swallowed by the horizon, down down slow below the line of trees, trees that watch you cower on the minuscule plant-covered balcony in a desperate attempt to be alone, rocking rocking back and forth for soft comfort, curled on the hard metal and wondering where the hell to find a piece of substance when trivial pursuit is the only board game you keep coming back to, dusty gold medals and all. And sometimes you reach out, you reach out to those eyes in the night and hope for a stirring, but the backs turn away and the words thrown at you hold no love, you accept the inevitable, you accept your unhappiness as a lack of gratitude but deep down mostly you just accept your punishment, having tried to be good and pure and make good decisions that suit everyone, having tried to be true to yourself and who you believe yourself to be and then failed, start as trying and end up tired, having failed at fitting the puzzle pieces into their rightful positions, all lined up to be marched to war. Your tongue is lined with fur. Your heart is etched stone, only you can't make out the graffiti....all gibberish and smart-ass obscurity, beautiful and damaged like a photo you once saw on Reddit. Funny enough to not laugh. You blame it on capitalism, blame it on the Illuminati, or your possibly nonexistent gluten intolerance, blame it on these hot November summer days that make you feel an alien in your own dry taut skin, hell blame it on your Father, no matter so long as at the end of the day you stand up and be a man...because none of us will ever be the heroes we want to be. Just a man, a haggard-faced man maybe with tits or dry hands that takes responsibility for his actions, be they tears or smiles or silence or raging fury or fear or cowardice or a much-needed self-slap to the face.

You can hold me tight
sleep next to me at night
but you can't protect me
from myself,

You can't put out the fire.

The following was brought to you by
self-imposed solitude during
my healing journey in Panama.
(This was while staying with the beloved
Mercedes, a purely Spanish-speaking "cuandera," or,
a healer who has been practicing natural medicine for
over 4 decades. I was mostly alone there, studying,
healing, learning, growing for almost two weeks.)



The rain came steady, finally,
(Lluvia despacia)
and
In the wet thicket
I can taste my natural soul
like warm herbs and fresh
papaya,
A burning woman-child
cries out in need
as
I paint myself,
The strokes of completion
Of happy alone, alive
Of healing, at last.
I understand everything so suddenly
as in the distance
The chorus of voices
echoes out
[The familiar peace of foreign chanting]
In unison
and the night, still young,
is coated with the
Twittering and chepping of
a harmony of
Creatures,
A cacophony of life.
In me, I have found the mother
My Earth
has turned her soil over
to expose the
Roots 
of a tree planted before
I was separated from the
umbilical cord
And deep inside,
the water flows raw and makes new again.

Is strength really the purity of love,
the courage of living
or
the love of letting go?

You have to fight your way to the earth, where your tears will feed life and the ground will eat your pain -- all real human beings must do this or be ill for not doing so.

And in the meantime, I'm throwing wild parties in a treehouse -- on a limb in your heart.


The more empty I am,
the more full I feel.
Do not stand at  my grave and cry,
I am not there,
I did not die. 

I have so many burning, aching
Words
in me
Begging
to be dug out
with the shovels of
Your mouth.

The need, it breaks across
My skin
like the fire
of
Mysterious mistakes
and
Autumn,
she is wreaking havoc
on my veins,
whispering
Slow burn
Scream loud
Fuck hard.
Come find me in the night
those pearlized white crescents
beaming into my smoldering complexion,
Our medicine soothing the unquenchable
hunger shrieking through our savage cells
until my moon-sticken complexion is only the
striking reflection of your own expression.
Separate we are soulless,
Together we soar.

Night Train

I remember waking to a comatose leg,
numbed by the sudden onslaught of
cold mountain draft,
Swiss alp snowy dawn,
my eyes nearly crusted shut by
the crackling stiff train air,
tight enough for breath to get
Caught in.
I was confused by the frigid ozone --
after all, when I had drifted to sleep
in the train car (rattling like old bones)
on our overnight journey from Czech land
through Switzerland to
Tuscany,
it had been stifling sticky unbearably hot,
air thick enough to slice with a
blunt butter knife in summer...
And now, shivering,
I have to stumble over my sleeping roommate
to rummage for my jacket in the
Dark.
Still numb, back in my seat nest,
I dare to slowly peel
the window shade up, inch by slight
Inch,
Unbearably curious as to what
lies beyond the icy window border
in that ghostly foreign Abyss.
Winding and rumbling through the rolling mounds of
Trees
and thin suspended bridges
Above sparkling ethereal towns
painted into the wooded peak crevices,
I remember thinking
This can't possibly be real
I've woken up in an ISpy book
And the night train just howled and
Clattered,
Like an old metal teapot
tossed upon a campsite fire to
Burn and steam and smoke until
sparking its own demise.


And every October
since that glittering train reckoning,
that late night early morning awakening,
Each October
This memory creeps up to me as
I lie sleeping in my sloppy unconscious
Golden tower of disarray --
Surveying the wreckage of summer
(messy nymphet of
scattered light and
fallen leaves)
This memory jabs itself into my
Broken skin,
Injecting me with wild pyre
Get up, it says
Wake up
and open those wide eyes
Remember how alive you were,
that night?

When everything appears unreal and the
movement of time is
too mercurial
even for a Gemini,
Breathe it all in
Doesn't matter if you keep up or
Slow down
Just clutch the beauty
to your heaving chest
And run with it as fast
as your heart can hold out,
Until your skin peels off,
leaving nothing but a rattling skeleton
Night train of bones,
rumbling into the darkness
climbing through the mountains
surrounding the miniature sparkling
ISpy towns
Covered in a glistening blanket of
surreal Swiss snow.

Life is too short, too fleeting
to miss one second
from behind sleeping eyes,
It's all a waking dream,
anyway
And these memories are what keep us
Breathing
(along the neck of October).

Sweet September: the Things I Remember


scribbled on a cocktail napkin on September 8th

The dogs are digging for field mice and 
My tongue
is made of warm, salted caramel
I'm breathing a healthy mix of fear 
and contentment 
Like heavy-weighted chocolate,
A dark and dangerous sweetness 
Thickly filling my chest cavity, my mouth 
And spilling from my Midwest lips.


These quaint tragedies we invent,
They're crawling along my veins 
Like the cool breeze that's serenading 
My feverish skin, and
The symbolism of the wind -- 
No longer bearing fire and 
Destruction (breeds creation) -- 
Suddenly, is viciously striking...
(That invisibly sweeping movement fanning the
Carnage of heat)
Oh yes, fall is decidedly nearly here 
At last,
I'm streamlining these wispy, dreamlike 
Castle-house neighborhoods, these haunting streets,
Cradling nostalgia like a newborn and
Craving everything unspeakable.




Mutual catharsis


I remember your eyes across the tin table etchings,
the smooth burn of adulterated tea and sidecars
Lining my throat with confessions
I had yet to understand, 
Roughly loving
Together we are strangers enamored
Or
the burn of unfulfilled real potential
Maybe the scream of whiskey hills with
Head plugged into chest, 
Heartbeat rumbling like
A distant train in the 
Hawkish, sticky night.


I remember thinking,
I would wrinkle my nose for you always,
Climb you like my favorite tree
Mold my lap into a bassinet for your
Weary, well-traveled head.


With every soft-spoken "hi"
I couldn't help thinking
"I like us together",
like
Perfect home-fries with homemade
ketchup Or 
Flawless omelets with
Provincial veggies,
Like making intuitive sense,
the sensory delight of
Fat fresh-baked biscuits and 
fig-mint-gin preserves.


I remember wondering if you noticed
Me noticing
that in the midst of our reflective
Loving gazes
You would close your eyes for the
Briefest
of moments 
as if you couldn't 
adequately maneuver the 
Wide Breadth of your affection.


And the deflated mattress reminded me
That nothing supportive
Lasts without frequent maintenance, 
But perfection and expectation are
Overrated and 
Pale in comparison to the 
Tangible ferocity of 
Two body-beings pressed together like
Mutual catharsis. 


Do you remember?
The thick sex of dust and that 
indescribably spellbinding smell,
Cottonwoods or maybe Hickory
Some kind of mysterious burning leaves, 
Unseen --
And Me, pitching into your frame like
A lean-to battered by the rain,
Your shelter wrapping tight and
Filling me quietly like 
Whispered bleacher reticence.

I remember: Unspoken sharing,
Our matched longing for a stone-cabin with 
Climbing walls and a smoking chimney,
Some kind of ghostly private nest 
For a pair of bluebirds
Taking in the city lights from pre-pubescent
Hilltops. 






Wobbly


Aspens fall in the forest with a delicate
Sound that awakens me 
Each night, without fail.


I remember everything,
I remember you the most.

And where are you in this mess,

Where are you now?

Are you fighting to hold on,

as long as you are able

Until I fall away, merely

A tree dream?

Are you lacking coordination or

Nursing the remembrance, 

That unwavering Elegant Universe

The heaving breasts of our 

Sweaty Affection?

Do you see me

Watching you 

over shared coffee (with cinnamon),

Wanting to be
yours always,

something atypical but overly sweet

with a kick, like

Lover's delight or chai

with soy and malted eyes?

Where are you now?

the last ferry out


Who knows what tomorrow may bring
Maybe sunshine and maybe rain
Maybe I'll see you again and
Again we'll find whole
Or we'll start all over
Maybe spring will break open and the
winter won't take hold or
have left us broken
Maybe
Someday this old machine will
feel no pain

But tonight your thoughts evade me
I'm crawling and holding
my hands out, but you
You are walled away
Another state....of mind
Arms and chest and touch, faded
from me as skeletons
Some supposedly necessitated form of
sensory deprivation
So far and stretching longer
They say distance makes the heart grow...
stronger.
"Time heals everything"
But only love can cry and buckle, like this
Distance wrings me out and
Dries my eyes with this
Strange stiff remoteness
between us.
Skeleton me.

Seems like a long time since I've
been above you, known and loved you
You're folding need like laundry
and dodging bullets or
Keeping a safe, (close) distance like
a Ghostwriter
Playing the cards just right
Coloring inside the lines
like you promised
Half-heartedly tending the fire
Aces and evasion of solitude but
Fuck,
I know you feel beneath this
The aching bones underneath
The blood firing bullets
Waiting for some passionate
words to shatter skin and spill over
My blue translucent flesh
You must see through me,
See my need and hear me
Read my words and remember
Surely,
you must..

Still be full
of those
Surprise shooting stars,
watched in tandem
From the safety of a
sentimental trampoline,
From the wild spinning of
an oddly calming
Carousel.

Our tangled limbs,
they wrestle daily struggle
Crushing unspoken into
carpet burn
But I will not allow these sparks
to be smothered and
Fuck,
I know this was my idea but
All I want in this moment
is to be alone with you,
To climb you and clamber inside
Soften your thudding heart
and feel your pleasure tearing along my skin
like shredded scrapbooks
Or something equally meaningless
in the light of growing up and
moving on.


You've ruined me now.

Ruined, skeleton me
Flightless bird
With a wretched hopeless
heart of scalded gold.
Sell it in the pawnshop and
We'll call it a Fold,
call it
a night.

Into the muck, together
Feel free to listen
Feel free to
to stay around,
To wait it out or
Fuck,
feel free to hurdle this fence and
Take the last ferry out.