snow fallen from cloud:
creamy steel and silver shreds
melting, boiled soft again

i am

i am a crack in plaster
a ripple
in two hundred dollar paper

a glisten
falling down a newly porcelained
cheek

stormy puppet
with knotted strings
umbilical scarf

born purple as plum
i hang myself

i am disgrace
bottled
for ease of consumption

the face for radio
in a television world

i am that ruin
that moves everything away
from perfect

i want to be your parasite
forever

Most Times When You See Me

i am
waiting
wishing
killing all my dreams
slowly, one by one
i smash them like

grubs, i hold them first
palm them, pet them
soothe them, i whisper
tell them what they can become
kiss them softly, wondering
can they feel my desperate love

bodies fat and squirming,
they glow bright like jelly moons
hanging from my neck

even a fly's wings are beautiful
like oil slicks
with etchings of iron

my dreams have lived a maggot's life,

i let one go, each day
each day, i let one go

i watch it walk away
and crawl, i
wait i
wait

i am too small to pull me out
i am too weak to pull me out
can't you hear me calling you
my voice a string of pearls let loose
i wait and wait, i wait

and my moon fades
crawling calmly on
through blackened dirt
it's back to me, it never knows
my fist
the last it feels

my youth has
no moonlight
still waiting for your ghost

Breathe

Breathe, and

a lung swells
reaches past heart
beats and rib cage,

draws into vena cava
the essence of what is, what was,
what will come;

Breathe, and you get
the echo of souls,
that which has touched everything
since the beginning of everything.

A rush passes through
nostrils and trachea,

swallowed, it swells lungs
absorbs into tissues
dances in darkness
embraces my presence

and is gone, a free slut
recycled
to another
available to all who wants.

What is this thing, this desire
for breath?

Without, I
dissolve
into swirling dust,
a particle party to which
I can’t be uninvited.

You can reject me, you think.
My body, my spirit,
my nature.

But I am breathing,
securing my place in echo
lending haunting ground to ghosts
my imprint stands,

And you, breathing thing that you are,
can only reject me so much,

I am dancing in your membranes,

Eventually, you will all
swallow me down.

Walls

Walls have been forever,
first buried in solo chunks
throughout earth and sea,

waiting for gathering hands
to puzzle them together
in zippered tracks.

And some, impatient
for their exhumation,
rise from the depths

in grand protuberance,
determined as gravestone.

There is something so proud
about a well-built wall,

the caulk and pitch
sealing cracks and fissures,

the proud cast
of silhouette and shroud,

a dare to enter,
shield of stone,

the landscape scar,
war stitch,
monument to loneliness.

How carefully
I’ve placed my rocks,
my dirt clogged

hands testament to
those left buried,
those plucked from hiding,
even those crawling uninvited

like slugs from blackened soil
to enlist in my defense.

My glorious manifesto
shadows grounds
littered with arrows
broken spears

traces of thwarted attack.

The cupid army cometh,
will you place your arrow
in my hand
or in my heart?

prodigal

blue striped shirted man
sits next to
red shirted girl. she

sits next to
orange shirted man

with hands. four altogether-
two on each side.

red shirted girl drunk, she
kisses blue striped shirted man.
girl drunk, she kisses blue

while orange calmly inches
fingers up between her legs.

who'syourdaddywho'syourdaddy

two thoughts altogether
one on each side.

A Story in the Style of Gertrude Stein

She was lonely. The world was black and gray. No green trees. No blue skies. She could feel the sun, but it was gray. She could see smiling faces but not feel their warmth.

She went to work. She went to school. She worked hard and wanted to get somewhere in life. She filled her life with things and people that she liked. She wanted challenge. She wanted strength. But she did not want to be alone.

She saw other girls that were never alone. She saw they were different than her. In a field of flowers she had refused to saw off her thorns. Because although she wanted to be loved, she wanted to be loved completely as she was. She did not want to change herself to fit. She was a square in a circle peg.

But one day it happened. He happened. He met her. He liked her. He loved her. He loved her thorns. And she loved him. His smile was warm. The sun was in his smile. The sun shed its gray coat and melted over the world in buttery gold. The light reflected and things became beautiful. Trees, which were always beautiful, became more than photography. The sky was only gray with rain. It threw ribbons across the horizon.

Love was color. Love was warm. Love was not alone.

For quite some time she had the new world. In the morning was a deep clean breath. In the evening was a comforting sigh. He was the new world to her. He was the gate keeper. He was the key.

But a terrible thing happened. She worked so hard. She forgot that the world was not always color and warm. She forgot the gray and lonliness. She remembered work. She remembered success. She wanted to see more of the universe. She wanted to share it with him. She wanted him to share it with her.

Her back became tired. Her body was tired. Her mind was tired. Her heart, tired.

He loved her with his native language. He loved her but it was foreign to her. She misunderstood the words. She could not hear his love. And slowly the ribbons across the horizon began to unravel. The green of the trees faded into pale. The sun, saddened, hid behind clouds of storm. The world was dying. It was diseased. It was gray. She looked at the cracked soil and felt alone.

They did love. They did love but it could not cure their world. The disease was too deep. It was growing, hatching, spawning, too rapidly for them. They had to get out. They had to abandon. They had to shake hands. They had to go down separate paths. They wanted to save themselves.

She was scared to go. Her thorns grew. She ached. She felt tired. She had failed. He had grown wings, she thought. He had flown into the disappearing spot of blue in the heavens. He had moved on. She was alone and the world became dark again. It was cold winter. It was stormy. She was desparate. She missed the color. She missed the buttery goldness. She missed warm smiles.

She worked. She needed things and people she liked. She wanted shelter. Where could she find it? She worked hard. Her body was tired. Her mind was tired. Her heart was trying so hard not to give up.

She found one. Another he. The lights turned on so brightly, they turned on so rapidly they blinded her. The colors were washed out. The gray was gone. But no green, no blue. The warmth baked. The heat was hard. But no cold. It was hot white. Her heart was electrocuted. It pumped rapidly. The energy was a drug. She worked still. She had new strength. She had new drive. The road stretched far and white. The sun was blinding. She was not alone. She still had thorns. For the first time she softened them. She covered the tips with cotton. She became muffled. The only muffled thing in her intense new world.

The world was an asteroid. It was a reckless world. It could not maintain life. The trees were ripped out by the roots. The clouds blew away. The sun had no haze, only a burning brassy ball bearing down. It dried the earth. The sky was orange. She was dying. The disease had returned. The sickness wanted out of her. It pressed against her ribs. It bulged against her chest. She pushed it down. She swallowed it. She tensed.

He felt the sickness too. They shook hands and he escaped. He flew away to the coolness. He flew back to the color. He did not look back to see that she had collapsed. She had ingested too much of the disease. She was lead. She was too heavy to fly. She was too heavy to work.

It was her heart. It was a sponge of sickness. Of sadness. It could remember the color universe. It could remember the green trees and blue sky with ribbons. It pressed and bulged and pricked her. The thorns were angry. They resented her for covering them. They inverted upon her skin. The pain was too much. The beating against her chest was too intense. She did not want it. She did not want the burning hot white world.

She raised her hand against her chest. The pulse cried out to her. She dug in slowly. The first layer came off easily. It was burnt and crisp from the brass sun. She dug in again and again until the soft flesh was stripping away underneath her fingernails. She dug with fury. She dug until the red flowed. It ran down her wrists, it ran down her stomach, it ran down her legs. It clogged up under her claws. She wiped them off in her hair. She mingled blood with tears. She pawed until the heart beat openly against air. She took a deep breath. She clasped the diseased, beating, remembering thing, slimy, wet, in her hands. She pulled. It resisted. It did not want to go. It pleaded, aching and swelling in her chest. It pumped.

"See what I do for you!" It screamed. "See what you experienced from me!" It pumped. She pulled. The veins stretched like clinging ivy. She hated her heart. She hated the cruel worlds that the disease had killed. She pulled and cried until at last the faintly beating thing was free in her hands. It looked at her, pathetic, defeated. A slow gasp, the parasite had been freed of its host.

She had turned the world red. The river had run and stained the dried earth. The sun had run away and night glistened off the pools that surrounded her. The hole in her chest heaved. It was free. It was vacant. The fists wrenched the heart. They squeezed and mangled. It flopped down like an airless balloon.

She dropped on two knees and again dug. The earth was soft with blood. It came up easily like poisoned food. It gave way until a gaping hole echoed the newly carved wound in her chest. She took a deep breath. She looked at her defeated heart...

She was lonely. The world was black and gray. No green trees. No blue skies. She could feel the sun, but it was gray. She could see smiling faces but not feel their warmth.

She went to work. She went to school. She worked hard and wanted to get somewhere in life. She filled her life with things and people that she liked. She wanted challenge. She wanted strength. But she did not want to be alone.