In Texas,
outside the city limits
you had to get okay
with the taste of dirt
swirling upwards
from the ground,
where it had been
scorching slow…
baking in the sun
I used to squint
while out in the glare
extracting color
from the air
making high contrast
like film noir movies
that will always last
so stylish
black and white
Because
when the sun moves over Texas
there is always great drama
Once I had a beautiful voice, rising
to the height of angels where its allure
summoned mystery and wanderlust.
I believed in myself then
Life can be cruel; it can cut you down,
shred you into pieces that no longer
remember where you belong, with
only a trail of memory left behind
You become a husk cracking as it
dries, your broken spirit withering
while those who have used you gloat
that what was yours is theirs
I only sing in the woods now where
trees dance to my songs and sprites
with no voice to call their own giggle
that they know my secret
The old escape
of psychedelic bliss
sings its siren song
the last time was at his place.
His cats were playing with eachother
the floor was spiraling.
He had nothing but a silk robe on
He called me to the bed
Even with the greatest effort
no words could be formed.
As his hand brushed against
the tits that had just grown that year
he commented how this was only
my 21st lap around the sun,
how in his own seasoned perspective
he saw me as just a child.
At three am
he wakes me up and ushers me out
citing the moon and his need for isolation
in that moment the spiraling
of the world around me
clerified into the cycles I had repeated
since the choice was mine.
By the grace of something greater
I made it to my friends,
went to work the next day,
and blocked him.
Yet I can’t help but retread
and long for the temporary enlightenment
those chemicals bring.
Please forgive me
but I cannot
not devour the earth,
cannot not pry
open my jaw
like a tear in
space-time and take
the universe in,
the stars and comets,
the moons and green
men screaming,
I cannot not
lie on my back
and open a hole
in my head so wide
the laws of physics
fall in, I cannot
keep myself closed,
cannot sit with
my own blood and sinews
and the fingers
wrapped in my fingers
and let that be everything,
cannot not chew up
all that matters
into gristle.
You butter my bones
Sense me silly with your riot
of lemony limbs
Your canary wings taking flight
that wildness of freedom
What a heavy burden to carry
the sun’s yellow lust
All Hallows’ Eve Eve, and I
dress in lambskin,
slip a dirty book
into my bag,
make a pilgrimage
to the reading,
where you’re waiting
to wink at me
and see the rose petal
I keep pressing
to my lips,
to my knee.
You trot
to catch me,
walk me
past lamplit buildings,
talking of igloos,
close enough
that my body forgets
where it stops,
until the sidewalk ends,
and I turn
while you keep going.
this lead organ peeking beneath
my rib cage sheath, cracked and weary
turn this dull heart to noble gold
and promise to hold it dearly
just behind front door autumn wreath
making out, tongues soaked in whiskey
we puddle up on the landing
love soaked arrows keep us tipsy
My young garden calls out to me, chirp
by chirp, where sparrows sing sweet, sweet, sweet,
then trill in gratitude for bee balm—
blazing purple bursts of fireworks—
and lavender sparklers of liatris.
They praise dahlias’ dinner-plate heads,
folded creamy petals where legions of bees flit,
and the upright sunflowers,
the tallest birdfeeders in this haven.
They belt out for all the flowers in between.
To whom did these flighty creatures
once call out their gratitude?
Color from across the centuries-old
pasture catches my eye. Wildflowers populate
the grasses, sown by years of northern
cardinals, Carolina chickadees,
and tufted titmice dropping seeds with blue
jays and gold finches. A mourning
dove’s familiar coo-ah coo coo drifts
down from above. I look
back at my new sowings, then out
again at what their scatterings have built.
I close my eyes and bow my head
to the true keepers of this color-filled song.
