Saturday, October 22, 2011

mars o'clock

Stealing beside me like an ochre whisper
Your phantom presence
A whisper . .
classically soft
erasing all negative space
Blooming into darkness &
the quiet burn of a million stars
"Make a strong line, don't sketch it out -
be sure when you draw", you once told me.
"Be sure"
Drawn then . . .
Held strong
With a kiss that carries the weight &
spin of this blue rock
Exquiste & containing the 1939 World's Fair,
the soundtrack to Fantasia
& maybe The Partridge Family
Calliope Hummingbirds land on our tongues
Flying into our stained-glass souls
As the 2:17 rolls thru town
A kiss . . .
Stealing all measure of hurt & rumpled sorrow
Pheasant feathers & words are weaved into
patchwork succulence
Skin is diffused & forgiven - effervescent almost
Inconsequential to the heart of the matter
Draw sure &
Linger into this slumbered ghost kiss

Thursday, October 6, 2011


. . . still that girl who gets picked last
too tall, too skinny to be good or fast
 at anything
she listens to led zeppelin & csn&y"
too much of a perfectionist
to swing the bat
to take a shot
to discover a way
to untie indigo knots
deep inside
perfection had to be instant
too blond & too weird
so much fear
knowing i had landed on the wrong fucking planet
cat stevens, heart & james taylor were my companions
all the while peering over the edge of souls canyon
playing at sex & seduction
 . . dressing up as a playboy bunny in pink lace & a fuzzy-white earmuff bra
i served kings & polar bears, little joe & yogi bear
i heard the silent desperation of the lost & terrified
wrapping my heart in thorns & glass armor
but it was there on my sleeve for all to see
silent,  everyone assumes apathy
& emptiness
ice coolness
but it is a feeling pounding & profound that trembles the earth  - paralyzing
tapped into something bigger, brighter, grand
is there ever a master plan ?
too much of everything
perfection becomes the mask, the game
and it's not about who gets picked at all
but who finally stands alone with pink lace, heart & a white earmuff bra

Monday, October 3, 2011


A train platform
It's cold ...
Early evening, antiqued & sepia
Movement, noise . . a hurried pace
Left & right down, to & fro on this platform
Suddenly.... in one snapshot moment
We pass by one another  . . .
From my dreaming place it is :
Jack & Louise, Laura & Yuri and
Yes, Bracken & Rebecca : serendipity falling
It's lightly snowing now,
Big, surreal flakes
We stop, turn & enfold
You wore a dark blue uniform
There were silver medals & it was simple but refined, elegant.
We were younger
Our arms entwine, treasuring tender hungry kisses, touching ..
Slowly, we walk in the direction you were heading,
People and trains. . .
Steam engines and bright colors,
Sounds & smells ; jarring & constant... food vendors, magazine stands, shouts & whistles, people with dogs, birdcages ....
Findings & losings, large trunks & suitcases everywhere
Movement & cacophony
Rather hazy & no longer vital
There was this window - long & infinite above us
Aquarium-like from inside the large, ornate train station
Black & mahogany woods, glass, gold & reflections.
We paused to linger in a kiss; laughing - your eyes shining
thru the window
I could see 3 young children. They continually shifted or morphed ;first 3 boys, then 2 boys and a girl, 2 girls and one wonder-eyed boy
Pressed against the glass
Their faces concerned, their clothing odd; shades of brown, yellow, beige, loose and layered with sweaters & heavy boots & stockings
I pulled away slightly & held your face ;  knowing I had to let you go on - without me.
Such a brief, bright respite,
That time & space of reaching home.
Hanging in that together-space, sure & rooted, all longing & desire lit & knowing
Parting - intense, private. I was swallowed whole by your love
I held on to your hand until my steps forced us apart
Heavy snow swirled in cold & dense ....  swallowing everything
A train whistle sounds . . .