Sep 06

Three Legged Beast

I stumbled into being, a three legged beast
My hands outstretched like tentacles to
Comfort, correct, caress
I fell with a reverberating thump into the dust
Ringing through by ribs 
Small men with ropes greatening my burden
Holding me down
Until I stumbled
A three legged beast 

All alone

In the dust


Through my vast ribs
Sep 06

To Go, To Go, To Go

I went to sleep with a tooth in my mouth,
And woke up with it out
The world was warm and fuzzy,
And my family sat around
They said it was almost time
To go, to go, to go,
And I sat up from the day
To start the night above
Aug 11


Aug 11


Bright lines
On slate grey
Plaster crunches under
No ones feet.
Walls proclaim
In red, blue, yellow
Words that mean a lot
To a person out there
Or maybe just
A name.
Awfully cheery
Thinks bedframe
In the next room.
Some words,
Most, really,
Are illegible.
Some one
Just thought it would be cool
To know their mark
Yells from the wall
The fallen shelf
Just wants
Aug 11

The Grass-Dancers

The grass-dancers only know each other
Their music is translated through the soles of their feet
And the tips of their fingers
And everyone else is old news
The only thing left undiscovered
Is how hair can bounce and legs can
Turn and
Eyes and cheeks and mouths and whole faces
Can smile.
Jan 31

Writer's Daughter

Jan 24

Land and Sky

Go; ready thy horses
By the time dawn strikes like a
Shattered star falling onto sullen
We will be far from
The earth that stretches from our feet;
We will be freeing ourselves from the wounds
That hold us and fleeing to lands
That our horses can’t take us.
Trust me,
I know,
And though I clutch my pearls at death I can’t be
Fearful now, there is nothing to stop,
No one --no thing-- to defeat:
Just the land and sky.
Dec 12


On my way through the rain

I saw a glow-in-the-dark star on the street-like path.

It was trapped in the sealing fluid in a

Crease in the cement

Put there by a hot day

That melted the ground

Out from under it.
Dec 05

un lon au revoir

I couldn’t tell that your eyes were gray from where I stood,

But I knew they were stormlike

The tension itself could’ve had a mental breakdown

But I wasn’t about to

Our eye contact wasn’t conveying anything, nor was there a reason for it

But neither would be the first to end it

And we stayed there, in that moment

Until the bus pulled away
Nov 13

Rain Days

It wasn’t actually raining.

You tended to lie.

When I questioned you, you said you didn’t mean it like that;
“It’s just one of those days that're made out of good rain. A rain day.”
I thought I knew what you meant by “those days”;
“Ones that are done cooking and smell of clay”, as my grandmother had always said
I still didn’t understand those days, but we were content
I thought
I thought we were sometimes content
I usually was
I now know that you were not.
“We’re all made out of rain, but I’m made out of bad rain.” You claimed.

You tended to lie.

Only on rain days were you content, it seems
“Rain days are a treat.” You’d said, and you were angry that day.
The day you left, you said it was a rain day.

You tended to lie.

It may have been raining that day, but it was not good rain.