Wednesday, July 31, 2013

in the rushed sunset of withering summer

She sits and watches the last of sunset
Hopes to find her reflection in the blushing sky
When did the red rush in?
How can she slow it down?
The sky, patchwork like the cat in her favorite book
Gorgeous and purring
When did she stop reading that story?
It's been in broken boxes
With the poems of broken hearts
Patchwork dreams and pieces of Christmastime
She sits unwithered in the withering hues of the ripened season
She finds her reflection in the eyes of a warrior
When did sun start to dip?
How can she slow it down?
The patchwork of her youth and catty loves
Dip away, Leaving her
Gorgeous and purring
She takes her rushed heart out of the broken boxes

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Transmitter, Receptor.

It's not just all in my head.
We could float in the same space
For a lifetime.
So close we could touch,
So close we could laugh-
For a while.
We could float along
But we could never bond.
I could tie my arms,
You could hide your legs
But the fit would always be wrong.
Mixed signals...
Fragmented sequences...
Deteriorated communication...
leads to chemical imbalance
And broken hearts.
Two wrong shapes can share space
But always be apart.

Friday, July 19, 2013

body language

I am somewhere inside the flame of a lakeside campfire
Swaying and burning beneath the stars
I am moving toward the center, glowing brighter
Cracking and sparking beside the water
And I am brighter than the night
Flooding into the deepest pockets
My eyes are spotlights shining
Into the shadowed unknown
Blue and lucid
I am the reflection of the comets
That tail streaking light across the smile of the moon
A child of the northern guide
I grace the lost with illumination
When the shadows steal their vision
A camp, the North Star, my fingers
I am somewhere
Between the light of dawn
And the turbidity of midnight
Swaying and burning beneath the Great

unrequited fool

here she is
terrified and ragged.
but now,
she's not at your door
not under your sheets
not under your skin
she's shedding
she's gone
onto the machine
into the gears
she's a shaken doll
missing a few buttons
missing a few hairs
missing you.
but now,
you let her go
you let her cry
you just let her.
you think she'll beg
unkept and hollow.
but now,
she's emptier than that
a vase without flowers
a doll without hair
and now she's just a fool.