- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
There's no coherent logic
And yet, I can be wrong!
Your power is unjust
But I can't sweat for long.
The curling smile On your face
Hisses that I choose.
Weighing options wastes my time
Heads or tails I lose!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
WHAT CAN I DO WITH ALL THIS POETRY? WHEN WILL I KNOW
MY PENULTIMATE VERSE? I FAIL TO SEIZE DIFFERENCE
BETWEEN LADY’S LACE AND WIDOW’S WEB; A CRAFTY,
PERILOUS CURSE!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
My hands have lost their color.
I haven't always been paling,
my blood was fresh at the cusp.
How I crave vertebrae able to fold.
I am a paper crane in my mind's eye.
Soaked and absorbent of the plasma, the
oxygen
Buoyant, porous, reborn.
To change form is to reverse aging,
A circle knows no start nor end.
And a vein never forgets.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The cost of reassurance
To an unraveled center
Is slid between quilt
And cradle.
Warm shadows
In circadian crescents
Lie sleeping inside
Shallow fetal caverns.
Warm thread
Winding past
Beating hearts
Together.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
There is a transvestite pride in ugliness. An almost gloating
‘I-told-you-so' when grime is buried beneath cropped fingernails and untreated cuticles.
Battered faces are scabbing in the prying mirror;
pores, like a post-harvest field, plowed and uprooted.
Raw and burning, I am anything but lovely...
anything but what a girl should be.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Living with clipped wings has taken its toll on me.
Will it hurt to stretch them for the first time?
It has been a blessing that my perch is so comfortable,
so sheltering and warm.
But…
I am growing tired of this view;
this view I’ve worked so hard to love.
It’s time I migrated, I think.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
What are you thinking,
When smoke is
Pouring from your mouth.
When nonsensical becomes normalcy.
When your moth lashes lose their dust
As you blink dreamy blinks.
Time is maple slow
When carefree words
Pour from your mouth.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -