rainy

days, windy days
maybe snow

demi-tasse, please
--a little is not too much
to go on

i'll, i'll
--oh, i admit it
on the intake of breathe
when you, silly, didn't count
letters between letters

ill
my fortune is not so ill
in a hurry i mark down
up, yes, wall, green
gray, lady, stay

i'll
say, that's better. look

the birdcage in the bottle
stings
but see, the sun rises: yellow
feathers brush and
he sings

parthenogenesis

messenger or mercenary, these

angels appear

proving certain things can slip away

and give a simple answer 

"do not ask. everything

can come from nothing

and this is not a dream"

i sense the familiarity of

contracting ribs, like bruising

and the threat of pressing

tiny bones into powder

but these are just decorum

in the glow of listless power

and the unity of extremes

i want to believe

there is no meaningless love

to do as you say, i want to do

more than just come close

and i want to know it is right

or at the least, alright

i am not sure what it is

you're telling me, but

if i listen hard

"you go on ahead

and hush now, child

it's nothing to you

you go ahead and close your eyes

and sleep and do not dream and just believe--"

just believe--

life in a northern town

35 minute miles
from one charm to the next on a
necklace of fence posts
painted with snow
with miles to go, tying up daytimes
when we are frosted in

the lukewarm wash water
swirls around ears
swinging the storm, the settee and me
we are daughters of liberty
thoroughly modern girls

come along with me
when i run away to the south
where the heart is, where we can find
the brightest blue eyes
and learn the face value of saving grace
then dream of miles before we sleep
and fall so deep
into longing for frost and floorboards
and our sleepy northern town

today for me, tomorrow for thee

it is not an epitaph. i refuse

because i fought for my fight, for my
body, my dance, and you are the one
who exists in a state of romance
but it was the couch cushions which saved you
and it’s not that i don’t understand
but when there are so many people who
would hold your hand
you should take one
or more
and just try to stand on the floor
where, perhaps, the pain would go away

just try
and i know it was in your head
but mine was in my stomach
because i’m a moron
but never on purpose

so i keep trying to say “hush”
to all things bittersweet
hot sweet, and just sweet
and i try so hard
but she
just wants me to be small
and how the hell is that fair
to let so much bitterness poison the winter air
as i pull my red fingernails through my hair
kiss the window
and wish i could say

please, just once
cause a riot for me
build me a fort to hide behind
protect me
like i have a hundred times for you

mimosa

i seem to remember a time
when other things lived in ink
and burned my blood
with a killer’s instinct
a victim’s instinct

mimosa: i have just learned
that is the color of the year. yellow
for the stars that shine for you, or
more probably for cowards who cut and run,
cut chem, and
can’t count

perhaps the art supplements
or the black! white! black! white! nature
of one side’s view of nature
made me wonder about bravery
red cloaks
and funny boots
or wonder if there was any time when the pleiades
signified pleading reality
if i can handle the kid gloves
and what the hell even happened to me

mimosa? please

lucky fourteen

he glared at her
playing her russian roulette
when he was ten feet tall but
not quite ready yet
for seven days of possible snow

he ordered a white russian
while her underwear spelled the week
and she bewildered herself
bewitchingly
seeking seven-day salvation

when he pulled the trigger out of her beautiful hair
he saved himself for the saving
and the touch of two sweaters
and i won