Living the dream
We all wish for it 
Hope for it
Long for it

The dream marriage
A life partner
A romantic, passionate lover
A best friend to dry your tears
And share your joys
But that’s why they call it a dream
Because you wake up
And your other half 
Is banging the neighbor
Down the street
And you’re left alone
No one to hear your cries
Or dry your solitary tears

The dream job
A fulfilling vocation
Using your talents
To their fullest potential
Money, prestige, pride
A comfortable living
A retirement for the future 
But that’s why they call it a dream
Because you wake up 
And you’re handed a pink slip
Bad economy, downsizing
Standing in the unemployment line
Waiting for a check
To keep the wolves at bay

The American dream
Life, liberty
The pursuit of happiness
Basic freedoms
Peace and harmony
But that’s why they call it a dream
Because you wake up 
To riots in the streets
The looting of human souls
Death and destruction 
And sheer emptiness

Living the dream 
We all wish for it
Hope for it
Long for it
And pray the dawn never comes

ate my omelette. 

getting drunker by the sec. 

philip told me to. 

lost my way
don’t even know where to put my thumb
background is foreground
and I’ll point out that the puzzle
pieces are on the floor under my bed
where so much weight has been lifted
this long time since it’s been empty
don’t think this is a lament
after 86 years pity holds zero’s place
and the age of kindness has kicked in

how can one be honest
when fictional lives have more merit
badges than us haphazardous characters
of real life?
Penelope wanted to know things
not the truth necessarily 
but the spirit of the time
the rebellions she thought novel
and instead found a worm hole
for which she had no patience 

bi love is spell checked to by love
ok then 
it is by love i have lived
and if you’re one who keeps count
only once has my love been flawed
(and that in the ignorance of youth)
it all seemed natural free funny
loose and never wrong
Can you say the same?

packed my heart into the pantry
sharing shelf life with saltines,
almonds, and ghosts. i left my 

lungs in the freezer, under ice
cubes and last year’s harvest

my bones are stored in the
utensil drawer, my palm
a ladle for soup. 

as long as you reach for me
reach for me, reach for me. 

Have you ever heard of time?
She’s an elusive woman,
yet somehow she always finds me
in the darkest alleys lit solely
by a streetlight and cigarette.
And she greets me as my feet
hit the pavement knighted by
million dollar homes. Fresh concrete
never felt better on my knees.
That woman sips black coffee
on my porch, forever at six in 
the morning. She nods at the 
strollers and wheelchairs passing
by. Time never ceases to impress
me when my roses are fading in
the garden and my table begins
to rust. She teases me before crossing
busy streets at rush hour and
after lighting fireworks on the 
holidays. She smiles softly at me.

Howling moon, a deep belly echoing out from a raw throat

Call of her wild carried with the whistle of the wind

Crimson dripping

Puddles intermingling with the wetness of the dampened grass

As if the power of this pool of red

Energetically connecting with the grounded

Force of that deep pull from below

As above her womanhood

Freeing itself conjoining with the force of Mother Nature

A history of sisters

The coven of power pulled from the blood

Not the blood of the mysterious patriarchy

That has attempted power and control

Demeaning and punishing the flow of this energy

Casting shame and doubt over the power that is our bodies

Here she is

gently,
for once
i’ll forgive myself

undo all the harm
myself: physcial
& emotional

i’ll climb
the sun-beam staircase
bursting through the clouds

i’ll hug her again
i’ll get to touch him forever
i’ll love myself

Again and again, 
you spring up every year. 
you’ve invaded my heart crowding out
all thoughts that were native and my own.
My younger self delighted in your blooms,
how your taste and nectar prevaded
my tongue and words.
A safe space for the rabbits and coyotes
in the woods, shelter in brush.
But now I constantly battle you, with hedge
trimmers, push mowers, snips, posion,
fire, diesel, tears, anger, fustration, 
why wont you leave?? 
I cannot breath with the crowding foliage, 
and ohh so brittle, sharp limbs. 
Have you not taken enough? Have 
my fences and boundaries not 
suffered enough from your continual 
push, your inability to to understand this 
place is no longer your home? 
begone from my garden, my farm, my memory.
leave me and the brambles, the dogwoods, and lillies behind.