Posts for June 13, 2020

Feb. 7?  1996   (28 years old-found in a journal)
What is my plan…?
to climb a mountain
to see the stars
to cry out
to pet my cat
to sew my life
into a seat
to sit upon 
a mountain.

June 13?  2020   (You do the math  years old.)
What is my plan…?
I sit upon this mountain
I see the stars
real stars
I cry out 
to nothing
pet two cats &
a dog
I see my three teen children
plus one man
I sit upon 
this mountain
soil on my hands
wondering how I built it
and where I want 
to stand.

a web of lies

spun so tightly together

entrapping anything that dares try to enter

i never found the time to observe,

to see if there was more to you than what met the eye

if i had maybe i wouldn’t be stuck now

like a fly,

unaware of the danger coming

i waited

but the longer i stayed the more entangled i found myself

and i’d asked for help plenty of times

but i never realized in order to get out i’d have to want to

Flocking back to a prior life 
I take an extra pill to keep me awake.
This going home
can not wait until morning.
I have to go now.

For seven hours.
I listen to my dog snoring
and stare at the blurry lines 
and traffic cones.

I arrive before the others,
circling the neighborhood 
like vultures.
ive or if this is a dream.

underlying anger
which permeates every aspect of my being
music, a woman yelling on the street
an afternoon of sirens
otherwise, the world quietly marches on
it is going to take more than a smile to effect change though
on any front
we want a simplistic methodology
a checklist to ensure harmony
I can attest to the fact it doesn’t matter
peace sometimes comes with a price
but we knew that going in
what we didn’t know
is how much we can tolerate before morning

Remember the rainstorm
given flesh- soft spoken downpour,
there was a monsoon
brewing in her lungs. 
Color me windswept,
my ribs a wrecked ship in your wake,
do you ache for the maelstrom?
Do you envy the aftermath?
Debrisweaver, 
artist of catastrophe,
do you see the beauty in disaster?
Do you empty your canvas of the ocean?
Stormsinger,
will you drum me to sleep
before the day breaks?

the river, flowing endlessly
into the distance with
curves and mystery as it
passes beyond our line of sight:
there are the cool, calm
patches where friends and
family sit and laugh,
yet there are the rough
currents, too, that old
folklore says is where
a young boy died
way back.

but we’re on dry land
for now, sitting under
the gazebo, sipping iced
tea and watching the trees,
high above, blow in the distance,
and we laugh because
at least for now,
we couldn’t even think
of swimming.

They ask me what you do for living.

I reply simply, “he drinks.”

They nod uncomfortably.

Their faces tell me they regret asking.

What all girls know learn:
hunger makes you pretty.

Rotting logs and the hole in my left van
Hammocks and irony 

You always said sagittariuses and virgos were complete opposites
Maybe in another life our star signs would be compatible

The Storm God took 
a mortal man as lover. 

By all accounts he was 
average. Nothing exceptional. 

He liked to count, to catalogue,
collect. He inventoried 

every part of her, each ridge 
of her teeth, all the folds 

of her flesh. It took his 
whole life to number 

the drops of her from one single  
suprise summer rainstorm. 

He liked to say she must
have known the exact moment

she had slipped from his mind.
So if you are at the park 

on an otherwise perfectly 
sunny day, no chance of rain 

when a drop lands on your back 
runs down your hand, then more 

spit and splatter until you have 
to seek shelter or get soaked 

it’s a blessing for your love 
life, a reminder to think 

of all the parts of your lover 
and strive to know them all.