i must admit,
i enjoyed it less,
dizzy in my head from making sure you did.
Dr.P says i'm transferring

taking all that doesn't belong to me
and swallowing it backwards
 but I can't help it,

it was born in me this way(
&
that Huge time when
mymotherleftmyfathersad,
                           it was etched there
f o r e v e r 
)

,the need to make
everyone Else
better 
&
First,

or tumble apart,
like a rolling spool
            too fast
                 for
                    catching

windowsill

It still hurts. Like it shouldn't.
At night/
and while driving/
when a red truck passes/whistle blows/face shows
or it flashes...

Sometimes I wonder if the restoration
was on too Old of Bones.

There are all these promises I know,
about You
and time and how things
leave

but these daffodils stand Deathless still
In an already broken windowsill
Please
won't You squeeze
it
out/shut?

Delta

From up here

The cities are
a circuit board
the factories,
just thimbles,
and life
      is
      pinch-able

Pure
Thick
Cream
erupts from
fields of mesh
into
   white    whipped   cloud    oceans

Subtle
lavender layers,
with a glittery ear
undulate over

birthmark ponds,
river scribbles,
freckled
wrinkle-hills

Proportions warping from
Me to Wonder.
As my  3 x 5 world
rockets glimpses
of You.

Just tell me
so I can unwind myself
Where the next cut will be
And I can remind myself
(maybe)
To burn the drawbridge
All the way

You said
That he said
That he knew
That there was nothing
and then something happened
All over again
And just like always

And I don't have enough prayers left
for another sequel
I don't have enough soul left
For the next reprise

Watching you on
A black carousel
is a drill
That digs too deep

You've got to keep
Your carnival

Off. My. Street.
(I think I mean it this time)

BPD

I read about you.
Not sure what type of species could detach like that,
I studied you.
Desirous of an explanation
to account for this mutation
in our Knobby
wounded Tree.

But nothing fit in boxes
and there was no black & white to shuffle a conviction toward.
Just a steady stream of
toxic milk
and fingers smashed
beneath the silk
and yellow nails
while glasses shine
and running out of
space for lines
and trashy phrases masked with lies,
discovered texts and alibis
And yet my memory
dares defy
the only place left not to cry
(againagainagainagainagainagainagain)

So you go on with Purple crayons
sketching all your made up plans
that broke your boy
and killed my heart

and when you're done
Just
press

RESTART.

Listen closely

though daily chaos-cotton muffles
         
          Night's a silent jack hammer to
 tortoise shells
          of tasks-
          and-
          to-
          dos

Peel your eyes
and beneath the layers, find,

     the fragile blue canary
   
     Limping.

Hear now
         how she breathes,
        
          the Thick cream
         of memories

         Restless.
         Waiting.

     Reach now slowly
into her feathers
 
Feel them hunger
    
after Yellow
    or perhaps
    a chance
             to
                 Die.

         Haunting.

the new big

the spiral bothers her now,
how neat and clean it seems
while Life is messy.
She likes to tear things up and glue them on.
Keep the beauty free of fancy.

It occurred to her
At the cabin/
Around the Flying Pig/
In the garden/
that Small
      is big
and the people,
their nuances and charms,
are worth
knowing.

Suddenly it's strange, how
achieving used to be her food
but now
it's

Just

Breathing~

the milky lavender of an unexpected iris,
the porch swing,
letters on handmade papers,
expressions on faces,
the words
marching
swaying
singing
           across tables and warm space,
the fluidity of ink&brushes.

She has Decided now

that

slowing down
Does Not mean
stopping...

             It only means

Starting
over
Smarter,

Letting wrinkled edges Win.

and she finally put words to it.
the song
that broke her soul and never knew itself.
she could suddenly
articulate.

enunciate
the pain
so all
ideas
accumulate,

collection floating
in a bubble overhead
trying to suffocate,

but now she hears inside,
and
recognizes
this
is just the sound of lies

that lived so long
without
her
knowing it

she reaches deep into the
sky
and grasps the needle of Your
honesty
and Fragments,
fall
from clouds
quite frantically.

And now the bough
is broken,
cradles gone

and darkness
can no longer
carry on.

Providence

                                                                                   On the road
                                                                              full of thorns
                                                                           i am finding
                                                                        patches
                                                                       of grass
                                                                         and barefeet
                                                                            strumming
                                                                                next to you

           next to You

       and accepting
      that
        this road
               will not
                be carved
              by me
      yet I am free 
                                                                                    to lift my head,
                                                                                  Unabashed,
                                                                                     Move ahead,
                                                                                        and embrace
                                                                                           t he way
                                                                                            You've got it
                                                                                            jotted
                                                                                          down,
                                                                                                   
                                                                                                 (instead)

the lines will never be yellow again
forever stained
black and red
by the touch of
this
neverending nightmare

without name

Little one,
I did
have dreams for you.
Memories now
of things
forever
Unhappened.

Missing
photos, squirms,
the
black and white
sketch,
and yet,

I watched myself
cradle you
     pinkandblue
and fight
with daddy to keep you close at night.

And Still,

I saw myself
crouched low,
tying your shoe,
and teaching you how to,
the way I've taught
so many
others

           that were never mine.

I won't see that clearly again.
When the stars are out,
             
          I will know the clouds now.

And how
You
could never
belong
to
Me.


 

Life Support

how could i forget
the way you looked at me then?
happy for the happiness that brought you fear

and then when the fears actualized,
how,
in the hospital beside me,
allsixfeetfourinchesofyou
was smashed into the chair
where you sat for hours
stroking my hair
and trying to pull the sadness out of me

"I have never loved you more"

and standing and demanding
that they care as much as you did.

And in the days to follow
your needs went unremembered,
so that you could eat my tears
and bring me flowers
and promise all I'd ever want
would arrive
"on a silver platter"
if I just said the word.

In the evening I reflect on it.
How
Your love
was
My Only Oxygen
for days.


 

Perdiendo

on Sunday
there was a blue stick
and
green paper
with ink fears and promises
on it
and knees squeezed between
chapel chairs
and prayers,

On Monday
there was singing and
and trembling
and wonder
and Imperial Chicken
and layers of gold
glowing 'round her head,

On Tuesday
there was a clanging
in the clock tower
and time stood still for days
while well meaning
friends summoned hope
that could only betray,

On Thursday,
late into night,
the porcelain dream took flight,
leaving
almost at once,
(except for the screaming
and hours of blood)
and she was left
empty
in places
that she
now longed to
never be full again.

eh

last night you broke through again,
as so often you do,

a forceful finger that is
Always Pressing

into

it(
So fragile already)
the yawn
and the eyelash.

What tiny effort you must exude
to intrude,

with burst
into the delicate soap bubble
of the midnight
mind.

Do you not know by now

how unwanted is your silhouette
within the ally,
how painfully unpleasant
that your essence has become?

if it weren't for prayers
and all twelve stairs
the stolen flutters
may have opened shutters
that would
have
swallowed
more than
hope.