UntitledNothing There was once a man who lived in a grey city.He was quiet,And no one noticed him.He lived alone,In a large houseThat could have easily fit two.The hallways were always full,Filled with the mournful colours,That bled from crayon tips. Everyday this man went to work,Then returned as the sky turned black.Everyday this man was greeted by nothing,Smiling, until the man trudged away.Nothing was nothing after all.It was always the same routine.Every day for the longest time.But the man never changes. The same.No matter how hard anyone tries to make the man realize,That there is Something.That it is yearning for his attention,That all it cares for is him,He will always blind himself from these things.Besides, it wouldn’t matter.Nothing would move on.It would forget. So many years.You left me alone,But why?Did you fear me?Did you hate me?Did I make you feel guilty?I still loved you anyway.
A New CatOur neighborhood stray is dead. I know thisbecause there is a black cat here I've never seen.This cat is not the black splotch covered canvas straythat clawed up and down my arm last winterwhen I mistakenly tried to wrap it in a blanketfor warmth. This cat does not have the mattedfur that the stray did, does not deliberately stretchout in front of my car tires the way the stray didright before I had to leave for work, does notchase lizards in the grass like the stray. This is notthe stray that aggressively meowed at mewhen he wanted affection, nor is it the straythat climbed our fence to try catching birds.I'm certain this new cat must be lost, or elselooking for that same blotched canvas straythat had become part of his family, too.
Once Bitten, Twice ShyWhen you kissed me, I believed,for a splinter of a moment, I did.When you snapped your teeth shutaround my tongue,when you tugged your head backand rammed my shoulderswith the heels of your hands to jolt us apartwhen you clickedthose crimson stubs closed againover the vulnerable chunk of meatI'd foolishly granted you access to -when you did all of thisbiting through tendon and taste budsuntil finally you got what I wanted in the first place,me spilling my heart to you,all over your precious white rug,but I knew, before my heart crackedtrying to pump air to my disorientated thoughts,I knew I shouldn't have said anything at all.
DownfallAnd in this dark harvest of seasonMy life has completely lost reason,For which or against to decide.All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tideIn sadness and in kindnessIn light and in darkness.In a boat made of hopeI shall sail to tomorrow,In a winding hurricaneMade of treachery and sorrow.There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...Piercing, slashing though my head.Starting somewhere in heaven,Ending somewhere in hell.Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.Are the armies within.In my head they are all thrashing.On the heaven's and hell's whim.To be light or to be darkness.A perpetual array.It's not merely my choice,But the choice of the way.It's an option of the voice,It's a thin line of gray.Is it a choice forced by fate,Is it a pre-set time and date?Or a choice to which I myself sway?But here's our story anyway
."Nothing that I do will matter.As all things will merely shatter!"All my hopes thus darkness scatter,As it shoves me a decree.As it si
Not My Kind of Fairy TaleDon't give me the KnightWhose armor shines so bright.Give me the Knight,Whose armor is dull and broken.Whose horse is weary,Whose heart is heavy.Give me the Knight who looks at the dragon with pity,For that dragon has done nothing,And is just as imprisoned as the princess he guards.Don't give me a princess who only wishes to be saved,By that Knight whose armor shines so bright.Give me the princess who wishes to escape yes,But wants to free the dragon,Who does not wish to marry her savior--Nay, give me the princess who wants to explore,Who wants to live and to learn.For the years of imprisonment only made her yearn,Not for the Knight whose armor shines bright,But to see the world and live in the light.Do not give me the evil dragon,Whose soul purpose is to give that bright Knight something to fight.No, give me the dragon who is weary,Who longs for the freedom of the sky,Whose leg is burdened with chains,And whose heart aches for the princess he must guard,Lest h
SeeingClosed eyesCan see the UniverseOpened eyesCan't see a thing
MotherShe keeps magic in her pocketstied to the strings of red woolen mittensand hidden deep in tiny shells -polished like sea glassthe soft burr of color closing over her eyesas she gazes out at the dawncreeping coral and rose over the garden gatewhile the curl of fragrant tea steeps the morning into something ripe.She is a trickster and spins goldout of your bad dreamsand secrets she keeps for youhidden in a garden that only blooms at midnightwhere she tells you stories of dragonsand feeds you oranges and chocolatelaid out on lace, and china platescollected from sandmen and angelswho got caught in the rain and lost their waycoming home from the stars.She gathers your wishes in her apronand stores them in a cedar chest -wood fragrant from smoke and rainthe heady scent of lingering autumn -worn in the soft hollow over her heart,knowing their worth is more than kingdomsor legends invented by princes and seers,tracing your childhood on their fragile edges.
I think of youAs suns set afar and mountains flameAnd eagles, turning, turn to fireAsh cold, alone I lieAnd think of you.
me, mirror, me, Betweenthere, mirror,legs, arms, two red eyeson the chest.curves like tea.the limbo between attractive, real,both,possiblely lacuna. who knows?the mirror does.you can watch time and languagego backwards in its obedient gaze,watch your hair flip to the other side.egofall. confidence rise.adolescent nudity is less about supersexand more freedom. when a crystal is there,in front of darting eyes,gazing at your identity,take it, make it something elsethan privacy in bathroom.empowerment does not consist of tiles,ratherweight. length. height.personality cubed.strange how eyes defineyour intrinsic symbolism.definition is inadequate,arbitrary, becausewhat athighgod,what aangelwaist,what ahumanuniversethis-is-i-am.hold your breath.harness comfortable dedication,drip notethanolfrom the cobbleroad that appearson your chest, faithplateua, thorax,make honey,stream wine instead.Dionysus deserves a breakfor fermenting Me.watch the ice in frontmelt to potentialake.
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead. It isn’t true. It’s said the stench of hell infects the earthand healths of heated blood are downed. But Hamlet lied. The dead know nothing, the living less. There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.
There was an old clock in the hallThere was an old clock in the hall,Whose gears had been broken and stalled. Then ticking ensued, And it filled all the rooms,Though it wasn't the old clock at all.