it was a dark dance
of an immovable body
as she was taken by the throat,
death, causing stupendous distortions
and entrancements of lunar landscapes

she reeled pirouettes between smothering
and seeing through a miraculous inner eye
deepening her sense of nothingness
as if pickled in a jar, and suspended in
formaldehyde

goddamn fly
tormenting me for hours
in the likes of a post-modern drama

"you're ruining my life" I cried
with all the histrionics
of a possessed James Dean

"I'm on the verge of something special.
quit messing with me"

the fly continued buzzing
like a fighter pilot
I flailed and swatted
like a squirmy little girl

"I hate you, really, really hate you"

I had now become as pouty as
a petulant princess

going to the horror films
at ten years old
i wanted to be bitten by the vampire ladies

you know the ones
red brides from the netherworlds
all heaving blouse muffins
divinities of evil
with that dah look
in silky white gowns
a little messy from sleeping in the dirt
culture vulture goth girls
with upside down crosses
slags, all gauzy bats in the belfry
deranged

but after all they were
dead
and dreadfully appealing
and I'm pretty fussy
so what the hell

If i am alone
I still have the
sun, moon, and stars
the wind, rain
the wild storm
and all the beautiful things
they share with me

the sunlight and shadow
the whispers in my soul
the words beneath my skin
fragile things
self-worth, promises
hearts, flowers

that is how i survive
moment by moment
with flowers and poems
silent, aching, and beautiful
living out the waiting

like a river that runs
through tight slivers
in the rock
a snake in the crack

and then spreads its arms
and back out
its broad shoulders
golden
like a bear
beneath the sun
for miles and miles

sometimes your thinking
must be narrow

sometimes
wide wide wide

Too many errors, corrections,
crossed out memories,
facts forced into forgiveness.

Some parts of life
I'd rather live without.
What if I take these pages out?

Some people think,
I would be incomplete,
I'd better underline what's right.

I'd better frame the things
I have perfected dearly
through many trials.

Yes, people talk,
but I don't have to listen.
I grab and tear book to pieces.

a brush and paint
color tips and toes
to reflect the moods

but it's winter
mittens and socks
keep them in wraps

snow capped hills
await the summer
to reveal their charm

but winter's too long a wait
for toes to curl, and
tips to leave their mark_

July and August
edge out the rest
to welcome joy

sketches
created
on memo pad

measured
cut pieces
sewn together

wonder
if the suit
is aesthetic

i love
adventure
not barriers

my brand
is free spirit
flowing like ink

I count
all stitches
holding pieces

leaving
enough room
to imagine

each suit
I design
reflects my mood

a need
turns to want
then a desire

I cover my head in stony burlap
a hair shirt fleece
for humility I do not possess
a praying preying paradox
climbing upwards
to the heavens
while being dragged low
by every hate and love
in a gravitating descent
with huddled wings
pulled into fires and maws gag
a terror terrified
like a spider
waiting for a fly
waiting for a bird

he rode roughshod over language
pc coppers on his trail
he never flinched
or gave an inch
yet lived to tell this tale
.....................................................

I walked into a bar
sat next to a midget injun
I said "howdy"
He said "how"

a big fat hill-billy broad
stood behind the bar
the injun said "don't get any ideas,
that's my squaw"
I nodded, said ok