Apr 07

Apology For Summer's Love

Today I must apologize 
for the dry summer wind 
that carried words to you from me
In outbursts of selfish misery.
Today I must apologize 
for the lovesick river waters
that curved around your tired body 
thoughtless of your hungry belly.
Today I must apologize
for the sweet singing birds
which flited gleefully bout your head
ignorant of your heart of lead.
Tonight I must apologize 
for my weeping autumn eyes
which cried to you in fits of woe 
for all you suffered some months ago.
I beg of you forgiveness please
do not hate me for this deed
for it is you my dearest love
whom I adore more than the sun.

Mar 28

Spring Eyes

Spring tells the truths that winter hid.
Spring unearths last year's lies.
As the snow layed like sugar on the ground
red rimmed eyes were clouded with storms.
As the snow melts the clouds dissipate,
and lined in coal they see with spring eyes.
Spring sees the sorrow that winter was blind to,
and the mud holds a love that shows itself in new grass.
Feb 04


Just beneath the surface are hidden treasures.
Silver spoons stained with blood and rust,
tell a complex unguessable web of a tale. 
Imagine, two hundred year old babes 
sipping from this filthy thing you found in the forest.

Lost to my grasp, my memory, my mind,
a hundred thousand puffs of cigar smoke.
a grandfather of a hundred daughters,
lost to the ages, yearning, yet so entirely forgotten. 
Lost to the impenetrable waves of time.

Just behind the tide are hidden horrors.
Who is that maiden drowned some millenia ago,
her pockets filled with pebbles and memories.
Her dress, embroidered by a shaking hand,
was torn by a cruel one. 

Lost to my eyes, my ears, my own hand,
is her angel hair, her sunken eyes, her fluted fingers. 
is the watch she wore at her breast, given by a hundred mothers,
forgotten in a blur of tears so all encompassing. 
Jan 17


a new kind of foliage 
setting the landscape in high contrast 
and turning the floor into puddles.
which lays in flakes on your lovers eyelashes
and seeps from the sky,
each snowflake is an epiphany
each snowflake is a kiss.
is for children
who come in pink and crying
and for hands, gnarled with time,
which grumble in the morning,
wielding a shovel. 
is made of soggy mittens
and shivering bare legs, 
which refuse the pants, so well advertised
for the sake of power.
is purity,
as it languishes,
filthy and stained in the street
and clings to the underside of my car
snow is purity
stained with piss and blood and soot.
is a girl, just thirteen 
who sits at her window,
and watches it fall. 
Jan 07

The Capitol

At three o'clock he picked me up from school.
The quiet seeped through the radio,
defining his breathing,
breathing, like before you cry,
like he was on the edge of himself,
of his self control,
because he couldn't cry.
I had asked him what was wrong,
and he answered in a stuttering, red burst.
He said that there was a riot
a mob
a coup.
On the radio they call them protesters,
but I knew.
Protesters don't carry guns.
protesters don't hide bombs in buildings.
protesters don't use teargas.
At home we watched grimly 
as a mob of ugly 
red-faced apes, waving flags 
and wearing red hats and military uniforms
broke windows.
And watched as police officers
stood by, watching,
and opened doors,
and gave out bottles of water.
How could this be?
That when peaceful BLM protesters
were shot and tear-gassed
Dec 27

My love

My love is made of shadows,
and chocolate,
and gummy bears.
Of grit and sunlight,
and cold, bare skin.
My love is made of pink fingertips,
and stars,
and giggling.
Of secrets and dreams,
and a quiet pencil,
and a page turning.
Dec 27


which sits,
on the lips of flowers,
on the tongue of a hummingbird.
which wanders,
through a field of yellow dresses,
through a forest of tangled hair.
which slips,
between drunken pages,
between the sheets of a baby's cradle.
which calls,
through a haze of anger,
to a lover's sleeping ears.
And poetry
which falls,
through the cracks of the city,
through the window of a man,
who sleeps, eyes open.
and finally
falls from the mouth, 
of a child left, waking. 

Dec 05

Broken Teeth

Broken teeth 
eat crusty bread
over a table made of wine

Broken arms 
hold crying babies
over a blanket made of tears

Broken hearts
keep salty secrets
over a river made of blood

Broken minds
make dirty music 
under a sky made of oranges
Dec 02

My Hand

If time took a cigarette
and put it in your mouth*
then time took your body
and put it in my head
as god takes my words
you take my heart

If time took the photos
which line my pockets
then time took your voice
and laid it on my lips
as the world turns
my skin burns

If time took you
and put you in my dreams
then time took the daisies
let them wither and die
as you read your novels
I read your mind

If time took your stomach
left it hungry and small
then time took the leaves 
watch them tremble and fall
as your mother's distrust is a feather
your love is my own hand.

(*David Bowie)
Nov 21

A solemn affair

It is a solemn affair,
As I take a knife to Grandmother’s hair,
One little lock
Dark and silvery,
Which sits beside my own,
Between the paws of a cardboard box.

It is a solemn affair,
As Joshua takes up the spade,
A hole is dug amongst the trees,
Where roots crawl through the soil,
In the hopes of putting an end
To the funeral.

It is a solemn affair,
As Grandmother weeps,
Running her shaky fingers,
Over soft as velvet furr.
In the wake of her hands
Are cedar twigs and flowers.

It is a solemn affair,
As my hands reach for fresh brown earth, 
Cold, but not as cold as my pink tipped fingers.
Every handful helps the ground to close her lips,
Finally swallowing that cardboard box, 
The headstone is our final kiss.

It is a solemn affair, 
As Grandmother weeps about my shoulders.
She forgets her coat,
Her gloves,
Her hat,