Bad Egg

You were a good egg.
You were waking me up.
"The Awakening."

A Beautiful Thing
this idea of slow.

But our long hugs
were too fast.

And it's bad to take advantage of people.
And That's not how slow works.

Funk.

The pressure is more down here.
I try to be mysterious.
Constant analysis slows slanted conversations.

I have good questions
but I don't care to listen to you.
I feel a certain way.

"You're going to have to let go," I say.
Soon I forget what you look like
And I breathe relief.

My Escape

Hand-write
type
print
sign

My people, hear this:
I love you, goodbye.
I choose me.
You will not miss me when I'm gone.

I couldn't change my heart.
Pilot, copilot.
Escape hatch.
I led the way.

A sad face is good for the heart.
But
How much longer?
The cat is out of the bag.
Tell me, how much?
Patience.

I did not follow.
I led.
I was quickly provoked in spirit
and I led.

Sorry.

On a day of jokes,
I walked through a gate
into the garden of Different
surrounded by friends.

Hedges

Whatever my hand finds to do there,
I will do it.

I foresee tears
I will fail spectacularly
I will feel trapped
Aimless
And I will start a revolution.

I will bring others to the garden and speak well of them.

Good Show

Go ahead, slam the door.
Notice -
that I never did.

You saw it coming:
that one heated decision.

Actions have consequences.
And to one heated decision
there is one cool consequence
Like a slamming door.

Let your no be no
Will I ever know?
I put on a good show.

They thought I loved it
But they prayed anyway
A web
Something big
For something big
For a plan, a will, a use.
A desperation.

I will never know.

(I put on a good show)

Beach

I slept late.

I just noticed you are in my car.

"Get out of my car.
You do not deserve to be in my car."

This I think to many.

Their embraces are rushed,
and they cruise at a single altitude.

I kiss no one who lives monochromatically,

I take no communion with those who are incredibly unattractive.
Let me explain:
beach.
- Because that has to mean something.

Divorce from your ugly.
Walk with me.
Let's go somewhere.

Bridges

threatening eye contact
You like where this is going.

Kiss my head
And blow out a rung on my ladder, which
Worries
my fog fog foggy mind.

I am running into things
like open door frames
and bridges I haven't burnt yet,
and entire ladders I haven't destroyed.

It has been a pleasure working with you,
But I will presently take advantage
of a rash decision

and crazy in love
with my
manic
choice

I will skip the bridges
the ladders

I will now across the great divide
from winter to spring
leaving you behind.

"I could get used to this" you say with your eyes.

But there is now no bridge behind me
and I am used to that already.

Here's to Uncomfortable

These are actually painful, these
Chiropractic backbends
to rescue us

Now good, now bad.

I can't finish my food.
This is like last time.

dork.
I'm sorry it's true.

I reference a song
we both laugh
a good laugh
change of disposition

Here's to small blessings.

Here's to being extremely good-looking,
and to friendly people.

Here's to desperation,
nervous laughter,
and grasping at straws.

Here's to indecisive eye contact
racing thoughts
and mistakes.

We fill in gaps and connect dots.
and sending mixed messages
and dumb texts

You've been there.
I've been there too.
I'm sorry that it's true.
I'm sorry I forgot.

Here's to not actually doing this again.

Trash

If you are a unicorn,

I am a narwhal

swimming in a sea of new blood.

To be horned means to be radiant.

We both are radiant,

but you can’t see.

You just have pictures in your mind.

Just so you know,

you held my hand too tight

and let go

and left me outside the gates.

You didn’t mean to hurt me.

Nobody ever does.

It is beyond words,

the way you see all these things that I’ve done.

I have thrown my pearls before the swine,

and they all turned to devour me.

They break through walls and call me trash.

"Trash."

"Trash."

"Trash."

You are a unicorn.

And I am a narwhal washed in the red ocean.

And I hear your silent words

“Adulteress.”

“Temptress.”

And you think you have done nothing wrong –

But you haven’t even stepped in my ocean.

If I am outside the gates

They are the gates of the wrong city.

I have a gigantic soul.

I am art.

Apart from you I am not condemned.

I do not want to cry.

And I remember that even trash has infinite value.

Sketches

"Come and look at my sketches.

They will help you to hurt yourself."

Technical understanding, but

They are disgusting sketches, really.

Technical adulteress - I am aware of this.

Very aware.

Where to go from here?

I won't stop.

Or fall apart.

I independently close my eyes

to separate

and deny.

Nothing's wrong.

Jars

Check out my list.
Like flies to honey.

Anyone?

Like fireflies in a jar.

Anyone else?

A badge for each flicker at the bottom.

You may now exchange hearts.
Sweetheart,
Beautiful.

A jar of marbles: a quarry;
A jar of hearts: my own hand.

A change of heart, and my hand is still heavy.

"Hold on to that heart of yours"

It's too late.
Too late for all or us.

You may now exchange hearts.

Anyone?

Free to Fall

Fireworks squash my list soon after I write it.
Neat lines cut cleanly through nightmares,
and I am giddy.

I walk barefoot over oil stains on my driveway.
I am going to the beach
with a book to read
about someone who is not like me.

She looks away from blooming evidence of burning lists.
She is careful.
She stands fearful on the precipice of her nightmares.

I am fearless,
and I am free to fall.

She Has it Bad

The sun is hot.
It brands fifty songs into her head
and threatens to melt her heart.
She muses.

Her muse,
Her replies.

She flirts with the tangles of true love and distraction,
Waiting.

Waiting with curiosity
impatience
Waiting for trust
and a happy ending.

After the light fades she will still be crazy.
Smarter and full of muse,
her replies wed to his.

A genuine girl on the go,
she sees 32% of them through bug-eyed sunglasses
and 100% of them through the filter of dreams.

Bubbles rise to the surface in the pond of great mysteries.
Two bathers marvel in the fizzy water,
100% reverent,
100% submerged in one another's secrets.

There are no secrets.
Distracted, fascinated,
they stand married by God and the sun in their hair.

She

The wheels turn of something very special.

The glue is drying and it brings tears to her eyes;

it brings hope to her life -

a great, good unknown.

The Common cannot touch her.

She is new every day.

Her book has no lines.

She adds vanilla to taste, because it is right.

She sweetens and beautifies trails of destruction.

"This is my life," she says.

Like a black walnut tree, she holds secrets inside.

She spins through generations and stretches the confines of time to find true love.

Our spirits bump together as she speaks.

"I'm a mess," she says.

I'm a mess, too.

We will part soon;

We will be far away, 

and running together toward the end.

She helps me to understand.

We will never be far apart.

Hang Up

Ostentatious and deliberate ignorance -
I am drawn to it.

A rubber band of a thought flings across my mind,
and you reach for my hand.
You are only a man.
But I am greater than a woman.

I am more than nonsense in the air.

Driving fast.
You did not speak the word "goodbye."
Instead my future spoke to me.
I am more than a woman.
I have a lion inside.
"I should go," I said.

I am impressed because I know who I am.

But then he told me a truth -

I have had enough of the fiesta.
I hang up.

New Moon Dance

There really are New Moon Dances
Where polite women strike their husbands -

Where fathers pay for their sins
and men receive justice
under a dark sky and around a low fire.

Where sticks and clubs crack open what cannot be spoken
and will not be believed,
human souls are born again,
and the stones sleep because they did nothing wrong.

The very stones in anger and found nothing.
They broke each other and found justice.

At night bitterness is pounded into shoulders and fists.
In the morning, there is healing and honey.

Before God balance is restored.
The bees sting but the forgiveness is sweet.

When it is dark, the smallest of fires lays every heart bare.

Nard.

One weeping angel
Stops
and dances with abandon
across the stars, across history
to the feet of Jesus
And he is forgiven.

He will not be damned.

Perfume pours from his eyes and onto the feet of the Holy One.

The others do not see because they are still weeping,
their faces pressed against granite hands,
hands wet with tears that fall
and sizzle in the stars

I have a fragile spine
I am not made of granite,
and I do not dance through time and space to Jesus' feet.

The Lion and the Lamb sit together with license to condone or condemn
Their eternal loving stare crushes me
as I approach carrying nothing

Oil of Joy

Where is your oil of joy?

Come with me, I'll show you.

You can't stay here for the rest of your life.

You mustn't swim alone. 

Get out.

I have something for you.

We've shared tacky necklaces,

and here is one with a peace sign.

Let it turn your skin green;

let it bring you peace inside.

Keep the necklace.  

Here is another one.

It says "BFF."

Here is my counsel:

When you cannot unravel the chains,

Remember that you can

But don't bother.

Let me lead you to your oil of joy.

Let me tell you a secret:

I don't actually know where it is.

Can you handle that?

You can.

I remember you.

Just keep the necklace and never go away.

End of Story

The hot, dead tree enraged me.
The leaves burned off and my future lay in their ashes.
My burnt skin smelled of injustice.
An injustice had been served to me.

I crossed my arms and awaited the bitter, bitter end of my story.

The roots of bitterness grew quickly.

They met something coming up from below:

An eye,
an all-seeing eye
and it was looking that way,
and it took away the long, deep roots of bitterness
that had grown under my hot, dead, ashen tree.

I uncrossed my arms.

I walked on the sand and was not burned because the eye had told me the way to go.
I came to the water and roots of sweet things began to grow.

And that is where the bitter, bitter end of my story washed away
because I was home.

Babylon

Spiffy.

I covet everything.
I say
"I have done nothing wrong."

My feet lead to the grave;
They are fortified with the blood of the saints.

I stand silently with my feet in cold water and knives in my hands.
My eyes are closed.

Lying in wait.

I consume the saints
as they degrade themselves to the very pits of hell
for me.

I am impatient for them.
I am Babylon and I covet them all.

Mirrors

I sparkle at night, sometimes.
I am a myth;
And sometimes not even that.

I am a deer illuinated
Covered in mirrors.

Those who see me speculate with their sharp eyes.

Sometimes they do not like what they see.

What is dark must always be brought into the light.

I have collected many words on my body.
(My body, a book.)
The forest holds my stories.
It is made light by my words.
Someday these words will be illuminated by men.

Tonight my body is illuminated by a man.

I see jealousy shine through my forest of reflection,
and frustration glaring down a pair of sights,
and I am afraid.

I am not all-seeing.
I only see what is in front of me,
and sometimes not even that.

But I saw his eyes:
But the hunter looked at me and did not like what he saw.

When he looked in my mirrors,
he did not like what he saw.

A bullet from a car window,
a gift to mankind.

I am in demand -
I am the pretty things,
The pearls.

I am what it is to be known, and to be remembered.

Hell is laid bare before me and I see your heart.
Your story is on my body,
somewhere.

I did not die that night as the coils of the grave overwhelmed me.

A furious bullet is sweet,

But my image is still sold at home decorating stores,

And I am, in fact, alive.

Stars

Thank you for the stars:
the old light,
the ancient light watching us,
the wise, wild eyes cut into the sky.

Champagne bubbles discovered by a Catholic Priest:
He heard the echoes of the
Pop! -
its reverberations

The bright little freckles tell stories of signs on a big highway:
None of them point to us.
They point to the saints;
They point to the bold.

I can't believe
Bang!
I can't believe I said
Bang!
Bubbles in cold water

I look at the ancient eyes cut into the sky and my eyes are bright.
I am bold.

The priest bathed in the warm water
and got out of the tub into the cold bay breeze.
Pop!

"Thank you for the stars,"
he said.

He removed his eyes from the ceiling and affixed them to the highway of the saints -
the highway of the righteous lions.

He saw the lions' eyes.
His eyes shone and he became a lion himself.

He became bold.

I believe
Bang!
I believe it's time
Bang!
To look at the sky