The second…
The second the stimulation ends…
The second the stimulation ends it all goes…
The second the stimulation ends it all goes silent

The moment…
The moment it disappears…
The moment it disappears I feel…
The moment it disappears I feel trapped

The instant…
The instant I start to think…
The instant I start to think, I start falling…
The instant I start to think, I start falling into myself

Immediately after…
Immediately after lying down…
Immediately after lying down I let go…
Immediately after lying down I let go of the weight I’ve been carrying all day

For but a few minutes…
For but a few minutes, I stay…
For but a few minutes, I stay in the darkness…
For but a few minutes, I stay in the darkness that I know will keep me safe until the morning

Right before…
Right before I sleep…
Right before I sleep I write…
Right before I sleep I write the thoughts holding me down
To lift my sorrows if even for a few seconds, moments, minutes

River, river makes me shiver
Wading into waters deep
River, river makes me shiver
As its sounds send me to sleep

River, river in the depths
My dreams wake and evolve
River, river in the depths
The mythic creatures crawl

River, river rushing o’er
The rocks, my spirit runs
River, river rushing o’er
Yet can’t outpace the sun

River, river tumble down
And with it take my sleep
River, river tumble down
As morning light I greet

Yesterday
I slipped with
The steak knife with  which
I had just
Cream cheesed
My bagel.

At this point I handled it OK.
Don’t bleed out, girl, I whispered over
And over.

And I didn’t. It hurt. But like. It was OK.

Then I started overthinking it.
My god, if I didn’t just impale myself
Right to the bone,
Through my left thumb web,
The purlicue.

OK then.

Part three, I got a tetanus shot
This morning.
It gave me a reason
To listen to
The Pet Shop Boys for a while.

Well. She has you now and I hope
I’m not imagining it.

It would make sense
And for once I would
Be glad to have
Seen something
Coming.

Woman’s eyes chase burning dust across the sky, as soft paws knead her lap.

I PROcrastinate
    way
        too
            much.
I need to
    be
        more
            PROactive.
It’s been PROven
    time
        and time
            again,
I’m too much
    of a PROfessional
        at this.

Dear God,  

My friend, Jay, died unexpectedly. I’m sad. Hurt. Angry.  In disbelief. Numb. Jay didn’t deserve to die. Yes, I know death is a part of life. Grandmother always said, “We weren’t put on this Earth to stay forever.” But this wasn’t even close to forever. I would have never guessed that he’d die    now.   It doesn’t feel right. Not questioning You. Not mad at You. Just trying to figure this out.  

Jay was a great guy. Full of life. Personality. Loved to laugh. Would help anybody. Never expecting anything in return. Didn’t share what he did for others. He was the type of person this world needs.  

I don’t understand why so many good people die. And we’re left with the evil    nasty ones. I asked my brother why do You take the good ones but allow the ungodly to live. Eric said You’re giving them an opportunity to get things right. Repent. But how many chances do they get? I may have even mentioned a few names of people whom You can take     now.    

I’m not trying to be disrespectful. I realize the rain falls on the just  AND   the unjust. But I’m asking if we (the just) can have a reprieve from the rain.  

I hope You don’t think I’m questioning You. Just trying to sort things out. Are we good?  

Please forgive me of my sins. Love You.  

Love,
Lisa A. Brown

This poem is a salve for when you avoid responding to that text because you have had too much of yourself to make any sense to anyone else.

This poem is a deep breath for the days when you must go out into the world.

This poem is a sigh for those hours when you know your best friend is awake, but you don’t want to bother them.

This poem is a wave for the beach shaped like a couch that you have found yourself marooned upon.

This poem is a sneeze to clear the stale air that you have allowed to gather inside your heart.

This poem is an arrow for the direction you want to go when you lack the affirmation to know for sure. 

This poem is a pedicure for the weary feet you have not allowed to rest.

This poem is a thunderstorm when you least expect it during an afternoon that has already been lost to you. 

This poem is a song to find other like figures.

This poem is a reflection at your absolute lowest moment of being.

This poem is a trap for the ghosts we thought we had banished in our past.

This poem is a conversation that you have been trying to have for months, but after having it with only yourself for that long, you have found so many holes in your logic that only dust now holds it together.

This poem is an alarm to stir yourself back to insanity.

This poem is a home for everything you have thrown out.

This poem is a world bountiful enough for everyone.

This poem is a lunch meeting that is never long enough no matter how many times it happens.

This poem is a chance.

This poem is a lie.

This poem is a truth.

This poem is whatever you need it to be.

Sometimes, like today, I do not
want to be a poet. I do not want
to understand how it feels to hold
my short-bursted weeping, as if
we were passing glances between 
purpose and clock. Sometimes, like 
today, I do not have the patience to
coo and aah over the newborness of 
tender thoughts, or release the strength
required to sort through the bee-sting
philosophy of depression’s burned-out
ash embers. 

Oh, how I love you, I love you, I love you.
It isn’t for anything, really…this lamenting…
What will this dirty-cloth life do next …
how does it sleep at night? Over and over,
I’ll tell you I love you as if you, alone, 
culled the harmony of my inspiration from
a fresh-cut field of geranium memories. 
Over and over, the cardinals choose to bathe
in the old plastic bucket by the garage. 
I am only telling you this, so you may
wear my curiosity, too. 

Yet, somehow, there is a chance that I may be
a poet, that I understand, when the
porch swing has stilled its crookedness, and the
worried haints have settled onto the broad shoulders of
a night’s long emptiness, that soon I will cry
because there are plenty enough words to
get me home. 

closing my eyes in the black
I count the bright dust spread
across the inside of my eyelids
that recollection of night sky
manifested by what? cappalaries
or retinal lightning storms, a
charybdis arising from grey matter 
challenging my thoughts, me desires
my memory of olden times that
I’d sooner forget