untitled as well
it all boils down to semantics
i mean that’s the bottom line
love, the adjective sadly
mistaken for love,
the verb
it all boils down to semantics
The moon is all
One more glass before bed.
(you started at lunch)
You slur a bit, fumble.
Your greatest strengths
and your greatest folly,
born out of your youth,
borne out.
Your beautiful identity
bobbing on the surface of living.
shredded carpet
one hundred pairs of shoes
eight names in sharpie on wooden drawers
winding stairs
voices in the walls
secondhand furniture
leftover pizza
forgotten laundry
half dead dog
grandfather clock
children’s drawings on the fridge
mewling kitten
stained glass windows
faded floral wallpaper
red door
antique key
frame with no photo inside
The mosquitoes lay their eggs
Inside my open mouth. I am still
As I stare at the white sun.
My garden melts around me.
In the heat I become a stone angel,
Dead leaves pooling in the crook
Where my wings break through skin.
I have seen seasons and none
Have shown me enough beauty
To ever be satisfied. So instead
I become the mother of so much
Suffering. Look at all I can give:
These thousand unformed wings
Inside my throat are bound to rise
In the damp afternoon and scavenge
For blood. And there is so much
On this fertile soil to freely take.
Coconut Fried Rice
Walnut Broccoli with Tofu ~ not too spicy
Fish Filet with Black Bean Sauce, red bell peppers & garlic
Mu Shu Vegetables with four pancakes & black bean paste
Topped off with Mango Lassi and
two free
Tropical Fruit Custard Pudding Desserts
Joyce, our favorite waitress, calls out to us each time we come
“Oh, so happy see you, makes my heart so so happy ~ your regular order?”
“Yes Please!”
“I make best one for you!”
The deliciously artful Coconut Rice Boys and generous Joyce
never fail to please
she bought me a shot of moonshine
at the town social
didn’t get arrested, then we
waved at friends, shook some hands
hugged a few people even
never mind the last two years
we’re soaring now
there’s always a danger
when this thing happens
because sometimes
things don’t turn back on
it’s happened
standing in the dark
on a road with no car
or no promise of tomorrow
sitting in a narrow hot trailer
with no room of my own
while people got high
and laughed in the living room
sleeping in an office
pretending to everyone
that I wasn’t scared
of not having a place
to call my own
I cannot count
the amount of air matresses
that I’ve slept on
in an empty place
knowing it’s going
to start again
then you came along
and told me I was better
than what everyone said
something
beneath your voice
that I found in the sweat
on your skin
to make me believe you
and all those things I lost
before
didn’t seem like losses
at all
but a means to an end
to get to this moment
of you and I
How many brushstrokes would it take to capture you?
Can you escape the static
The static landscape that distorts you?
Your voice?
Your needs?
Must we invent a new art of synthesis
In order to quantify your pain?
Her strange face
Painted in his familiar way
Stoically she begs for us to see her
See every argument
See every fight
See every struggle that she’s ever had.
His violin the gateway
The gateway to her music
Her stars the road
The road to his secrets
But the path is deafening.
She turns away
Her back exposed
Her skin forsaking the usual flesh tones
Yet her energy radiates with color.
Thoughts drip from her presence
My ears hearing what can’t be heard
Her words forbidden to be spoken
But everyone who walks by can feel her
Can be intimate with her
Can touch her in places that darkness attempts to hide
We are all victims
Victims of her violence
That violence the aggressiveness of her colors
But through that violence,
We catch a glimpse of ourselves.
Your simplicity too complicated
Too complicated for us to ignore
For your twisted truths war with our stereotypes
Our paradigms disintegrate
Disintegrate with every glance
Our aroused minds penetrate
Penetrate with every dance
The Wild Beasts pant
Pant to drink from your spontaneity
Yet who understands?
How many have drank from your fountain?
Because of you
I’m imbued with serenity.
I begin to rip apart the perspectives
Tear away the curtain of accepted style
I want to know what lurks underneath
What in me dies to live?
What area of my existence hides itself for me?
Am I a deliberate incompletion?
Whatever shall be
Shall be in me
And it shall be born from the solitude
The silence
The absence
Because of you
I shall climb out of this maze
I shall hang on the walls of scientist minds
For the oppressive climate of war stirs me
Births me
And at times even curses me
Yet who can deny the ballet?
The ballet of oppression
