Friday, November 12, 2010

Life's Blood

You are a fine pointed needle pricking and sticking me.
You poke and and jab with the finesse of a magician
So delicately you make tiny holes invisible to the naked eye
As if you want to take what's left of my flesh
And turn it into a masterpiece of pointillism
So lazy is this torture I don't even realize
I begin to deflate
I try to find who I once believed I was
Alas it is too late
I'm a lobster on low flame
Finally the flame is extinguished
I am the one to blame
I allowed you to make these craters and chasms in me
I allowed myself to go unseen
My fluids begin to drain out
Flowing onto the floor, and I worry not of the pain
But that it will stain
Draining slowly out of the hundreds of unseen holes
They widen and become gaping gashes
My insides become my outsides
As they burst out of my skin
We all look the same on the inside
Turns out after all that I did fit in.

Sunday, September 26, 2010


The shadows in grayish form cast along the wall.
Catching on the baggage you carry underneath your eyes.
They softly tease and play there, before retreating back under your lids.
I touch your hand and it shimmies back into its coat sleeve.
Hissing, a retreating snake.
You pull at my hat, successfully releasing a few unruly curls.
I tuck them back.
Cheek to cheek I feel the craggy lines life has marched in a redcoat tempo across your face.
This close you can see my freckled flaws and the crookedness of my smile.
Stepping away moving to the side we dance with these words.


If I take a breath, move an inch, back up a step;
I wil surely fall.
So I will just dig in my toes and not move at all.
If I look up I'm apt to take off in a run.
I'm a kite struggling to break its strings.
I'm a hummingbird beating her wings,
Flapping them so fast you can't see.
Ripples down in the water of my soul
Heart slamming and screaming so quietly down low.
I'm standing still so you won't feel me drifting away.
Unable to remain here for too long.
I cannot stay very long.
Causing so much noise with my silence your ears began to bleed.
Shutting the curtains over my eyes so you won't see my need.
The wanderlust whetting my tongue.
Longing to quench this thirst with a glass of freedom.
I can't stay very long.
Please do not ask me "How come?"


Don't speak to me of future for it has a foreign sound.
Don't speak to me in rhythm for my heart will climb these mountains, then plummet to the hard ground.
Don't look me straight in the eye, nor touch the freckle above my lip.
This heart of mine swings in a hammock, and I don't know if these ties will stick.
It sways back and forth, twisting a trapped fish in a net.
Heart pumping faster and faster, then dying out as the sun sets.
So if it's a fisherman's song you sing, or a hunters tune you hum....
Don't stalk this prey my friend
For the story always has a unsatisfying end.
If you catch me in your nets, or pierce me with your lead,
You will have to snap a picture and throw me back in instead.


I sit and watch from afar as you gather to weep pray and laugh.
Gaze at this hazy aftermath.
Various emotions peel from each of you like slices of orange.
Some sting, you purse your lips in gratefully when you strike an easy spot.
As you bite, the juices burst like tears in your mouth.
You struggle to valiantly swallow.

I am sorry to be your unripe orange today.
I didn't want you to wear all black.
Parts of my world were dark, forbidden, unknown.
But much of it was streams of color flowing from my paint brush.
Reds greens and golds.
I didn't have the strength to finish my canvass.
The one I so eagerly began.
I knew not how to complete these blue prints, carry out all these laid plans.

You are so angry with me, I have caused you so much pain.
You want to strike me but I'm not there.
Don't peel away to nothing, bite those bittersweet slices together.
Know that you won't feel this way forever.


She stands, holding cherry blossoms in her trembling hands.
Lavender dreams of faerie lands dance through her tilted head.
The drum beats of life pump through her veins, quickening as she spots him
He steps off his ship, feet tumbling over each other he's so eager to touch her waiting cheeks.
They meet halfway and as he inhales her blossom scent she is home to him.
Running one hand through her black hair, he holds out his gift of oranges in the other.
Smiling in their scented union, they walk away.

Smattering of Thoughts

We lay with his head fitting into the nook of my shoulder
Fingers and feel all intertwined.
The only light seeping through the black curtain of darkness
Was the shine of his eyes as they met mine.

You'd never know she'd been
But for the few ghostly notes, and jasmine floating in the air.
Like never seeing the vastness of the ocean, yet somehow knowing
That crashing in and rolling back out it is there.

I am refusing your offer, with all of its clauses and fine print at the bottom.
I'll never sign a contract stating that I am more or less than I am.
If you don't want to come with me the exit signs are lit and in clear view from all directions.
Strange that you wanted me to pack all of these holes full of sugar.
Sickly sweet in their pretending.

I step timidly onto the stage of your eyes.
Curtsey to my audience, then slowly turn to face my fear.
I twirl round and round these circles of dysfunction become my dance.
I tiptoe sidestepping any cumbersome romance.
My dancing shoes will never come off.


The aroma swam through the thick heat, and up our nostrils.
We ran, Jessica and I, wearing flowered skirts free flowing in the wind.
Our tangled curls.
Hers fine and golden as the Arizona heat that beat upon our heads.
Mine black as the velvet desert midnight.
Whipping back from our sunbaked cheeks.
Our laughter stepped up the bars of the branches and climbed the clouds like notes dancing a scale.
Lemons, limes oranges.
The fragrance of innocence, youth, and summer rolled into perfect globes of
Orange green and yellow.
The orchards called our names, and we ran to answer.

Needles and Threads

Do you have in your hand the needle to thread this torn fabric that makes up my insides?
Will you become the sower of my soul?
Are you the magic tailor that will piece these rags together?
Do you hold the precious needle, that will patch up all these holes?
Can you turn rips into smooth lines and folds?
Will your gentle hands be so kind.
A peaceful wholeness will I ever find?
I am a crazy quilt of schemes and dreams.
Can you cut out all of the mistakes without using sharp scissors?
Can you decipher this mess of me, and create new seams?
I'm telling you right now, I come with neither a pattern nor a plan.
I don't know how many new renditions you will be steady enough to stand.
Will you be my magic tailor, and sew up all these rips.
Do you hold the needle in your hand, and the thread in your lips?


Do you think you can unwrap me,
Put me into your mouth and chew away all my newness?
Take away all my flavor,
And leave nothing for others to savor?
Spit me upon the concrete after the freshness is gone.
Then begin with your unfeeling feet.
Do you think I'm just a piece of gum that you can walk on?
That I'll just stick to the bottom of your shoe,
Collecting the pieces of dirt and sharp stones along the way.
Think I want to blow bubbles and play?
Am I simply an object to be used to your advantage?
Stepped on and forgotten, until I become so drained of my juices
I'm no longer recognizable.
Stomped on and prodded with the sharp stick of your selfishness,
Until I become fragmented and cease to exist.
I have news for you; it may dent the sphere of yourself you abide in.
I am not gum, and this isn't fun.
In fact it should have never even begun.
I don't want to make your mouth "Winterfresh" and I will not "Last a little longer."
After being chewed so many times I have become stronger.


She was bundled up
Layer upon layer
A virtual rainbow onion of patterns and textures
All that was showing was her eyebrows and a bit of freckled nose
She sat upon the subway examining her fellow man
Wondering what would happen if they came upon a blip
An underground wrinkle in time on the endless tracks
Shooting them into another era of this world
Glancing up at the ceramic street names on the tunnel walls
Seeing her stop she jumped up to beat the mashing of boots, bags, and strollers
Stepping off the subway, gazing after it as it zooms away
She flicked a bit of her giant pretzel at the rats
Scampering and scurrying along the tracks
Trudging up the stairs polka dotted with flattened gum, yellow blue pink
"Step on a crack, break your momma's back"
Hop skip and into the semi-dusk she hovers under the giants of finance lining the street
Maneuvering through the throngs like a baffled sheep going the wrong direction
Humming to her ipods latest mix
Stopping suddenly against the crowd because she sees the light reflect off of his glasses
Smiling as mittens join, she pulls out a sticky valentine salt crumbling off of it
as she fishes it from her purse
In that wrinkle of time the world stood still.


Soft peach baby flesh
Dimpled fingers grasp my own
Wet smacking kisses

The phone hit the floor
We are moving my mom said
Thursday much too soon

He had already
Left but his smell lingered in
My empty blue room

The hummingbird flew
Leaving its nest all alone
Eggs like little jewels


The acoustics slam and his fingers pull the melody out and grab at my veins.
Blood pumping bright blue in his hands darkening to purple as his inspiration mixes with her pure sweet voice.
My mouth hangs open slightly as I concentrate on their song.
The tulips I planted bright green and patient.
Reaching toward the sun even in the velvety midnight.
Not budding yet, waiting for their time.
The pride I feel when I look at my humble little home.
Oh how my soul is quiet and still in this place.
How my jumpy tapping feet are at rest.
The world rages its wars around me, stray bullets fly as carelessly as bumble bees.
But here in this moment I sit happy.
This is my peace, this is my moment before I decide to spring out and try to defy the sun in all his brilliance.
This spot of time is mine.


I look at my brother's cheeks, wonder where the dimples went.
They once dove so deep.
I look in the mirror, when did my eyes grow so stark,
why am I always searching for a fresh start?
I glance at my mom, so many silver threads I don't remember.
Peek at my father, the anger lines so hungry and unforgiving.
I stare at my lover, will he give me a reason for living?
I'm gasping in, and blowing it back out.
This breath wrought with smoke, laughter, and pieces of bitter.
My spirit bending, twisting, trying to untangle.
I sit here and breathe.
Watching, trying to sort our the knots, fingers all mangled in this mess of me.
These bright strings I want to weave and patch, hem it all into my dreams.


As the liquor slithered lazily into his blood, his mind began to open.
Slowly... creaking like a rusty ancient bear trap.
"Shoulda worked harder and bought her a new stove" he thought.
Then brushed the stray observation away with a swipe of his hand through thinning hair.
"Shoulda done a lot of things there's no fucking point now."
Kicking a cupboard in with a booted foot, he finishes his glass and pours another.
Just to take the edge off he reassures himself.
And then another.
This one goes down easier, swallowing it with a slice of guilt and a twist of bitter.
His hand shakes as he yanks open the fridge.
Muttering he glances at the smiling snapshots of his wife and son splattered like spaghetti sauce all over the freezer door.
Dropping the ice tray he stoops to pick up the stray cubes skating and streaking across the filthy linoleum.
Pouring his sixth vodka, propped up agains the reproachful stove, he takes in the contrast of the bright smiling faces in the photos, and the neglected kitchen.
This kitchen was her pride and joy.
Scavenging through the fridge and pantry like a frantic squirrel, alas he finds no more poison.
Raising his hand and grinning manically at his reflection in the stove door, he says
"Hi, my name is Frank and I'm an alcoholic."
Then falling sideways he finally sleeps the sleep of a drunkard only to be haunted by the screams of his wife and boy.
Sirens, twisted metal, flashing lights.