Rush of Wind

Muse morph to appear as whomever the viewer

Wishes to see, stare back silently offering a door key

To a portal that does not exist

Just a phantom room with ersatz shelves

With souvenirs of the occupant’s desires

For that moment rented like a hotel bedroom

To be what a tourist thinks a town is

The colors glittering and no one grips

The skin on the bone shaking in the midnight’s cold

The aromas of illusion are like an opium den

Blasted away and talking to an end

That everyone likes to hear his or her own voice

Except for her dancing around questions and burns

The sting of air, the creep of concern numb in a closet

Dodging the entomologist’s pins to the butterfly’s wings

Flapping in blue, black, and, blonde underneath

Keep the dagger within its sheath

Stab him a thousand stings with the silence

To make a man believe God was still alive

The path had purpose and a mutual hope was in her eyes

He laughs away the mistake like an atheist still awake

The collar to the hound werewolf breaking shackles unbound

Rage and love bloody in the hunt for teeth to tear through the dove

Selfish creature playing games with hearts barely alive

Rather never had a word than be listened to for weeks

Found the house ransacked in the breech

Let it be, let it be, let it be

Wild and wrapped like a Persephone gone in winter’s tap

Without explanation beyond a pittance 

Just wanted to understand so that the memories did not become exhibits

Of lies half-made and tries at what poor men dream

She made him feel alive like a warm rush of wind

Now all he feels is a deflated absence

Wishing for ignorance of want to ever feel that way again   

Shifting Thursdays

Vanity I wanted you to want me

Loneliness I wanted you to release me

Darkness I wanted you to give me greater distance

Happiness I wanted you to have a group talk

The presence and rotation of sitting at the patio and having hope

Thinking of how mosquitoes might irritate her skin

And attempting a connection in this world

Even if the blood spills and abdomens explode

I hungered for the clearness of a moment of joy

In piercing the atmosphere of normal

That there were two people who elected the other

As the most important in life for them for that day

Before the other was an unknown phantom of an idea

A hope, an expectation, a what if, but

Today the other is a focus of exploration, of potential foundation

The mind projects and glitters with the anticipation of neural fireworks

The stimuli of inquiries and festivities of childhoods and adult should,

But do not because one is or is not brave enough to break a mold

Of familiar or conditioned or clearness

In a second the other changes tilts the fulcrum

Want, desire, planning and need shift

Like destitution and glory whirling in the pinnacle of a soul

Betting on the tapestry of another to come through

Even though the other is flawed, weak, and well-intended

The water bleeds the bedrock of palms dripping to fields

One may never get to drink; poured every once in

And getting none in return

Such is the shortfall of loving still

In a madness ocean

Howling want me, never release me

Hold me tight in the darkness, happily speak together 

Coffee Spoons and Counterweights

The visions of God, purpose, and plan

Slip like a sun beam curved off a cheek

How quickly a smile can shift into indifference

Passing innocuously in a parking lot

As she thinks about a cell phone in her purse

Who to call, who might be ringing to turn

The sounds of operations into that hope

Tingling of how a world might bend

The light of expectations refracting in

The sentiment of possibility extrapolating

From a line in a poem to the sound of an open door

Coming home and the dog detecting the pheromones

Wafting in olfactory measurement

Like coffee spoons and counterweights

Telling time in the fading absence

Of who departs in the morning and returns in the evening

Feeling the seasons in the embrace of wrinkling skin

All the apples traded to dare forgive a human for being human

Creating these fault line crevices for a purpose for the other

Need like structural integrity to the skin and bones

Haunting, her trepidation feels like loveliness

A place for him to give

Flown and fly, built and spilt, known and gone

The snow and silt gives him nothing but darkness

Forget the angles; adjourn the math; the horn it blows

Deaf ears for muted wind against the mast

His voice is a hollow well, dried and he does not know

Let him go; let him go; let him go 

Do Owls Need Parachutes?

Verbalizing promise, hope like the smell of an explosive about to blow

The scent aroused nostrils 

Beasts on the savanna startled 

Welcomed into weird little worlds 

Intoxicating, extrapolating underlying meanings 

The effect like sinking into a warm bath

Reconciling the calming waters

With fear of intimacy

The liquid cannot get too clear 

The animals will spot each other

Better the algae and the lilies make safety zones

She wants molasses speed and an emotional veil like a bulwark 

But is encouraging a poet to write to her, for her, 

To make palpable magic in the night 

Become theater on the page she and he experienced without speaking

Poetry is like making love to the enemy, indulging in the forbidden 

Cryptic emotions and Kandinsky contexts distorted to bend her regulations

That no intruders are allowed through the gate, but these feel good 

Ok only for a moment, then I’ll boot the bard  

The expectation in the hearth is not that she is a wild owl 

Swooping down on snakes and rats, but that 

She is afraid to even decide and ask for what she wants 

Getting that would be like flipping a switch for a sunrise 

At one a.m. glaring wide hooting eyes jaundice and dilated 

Having to immediately adjust from the perch of telling others no 

To facing the possibility of saying yes to her self 

On the level alone in a temple of past, present, and future 

Like a bauble she hangs around her neck in a pendant 

Personal and ephemeral, ungraspable but in plain sight 

Surprise, acknowledgement, and warmth like blood to a nervous callus 

Swelling, monitored and bursting in acquiescence 

To the weight hung round her nape

Knowing she is venturing into the prohibited taboo of the emotional 

Like she had her hand on the lever the whole time, the stick-shift

She can’t let it go on anymore 

Always in control knowing fire burns 

Redwood limbs in cinders fanned under departing wings

Floating towards moonlight’s cradle 

Characterizing a quintessence into an enigmatic selfish creature

Owl putting rules on tortoise as if feathers were shells 

One cannot fly and the other cannot make him into this pre-patterned specter

It’s easier if he’s a ghost like all the boys she’s sent away 

To slip into a script she wrote before he ever opened his mouth

That way when she tries to forget about him he can be just like the rest

Morphed into a footnote to the pages she speed-reads

A treble clef to the dance beat for regulated choreography 

Of who wants who and how much and when 

That this feeling is optional if she chooses it to be 

The book can be closed, the record needle lifted 

The power of a heart held in storage shifted 

She has fear she will hurt him worse later as she has so many before 

So she swipes her talons and he folds-in his turtle-head 

Not out of fear of shedding blood, but out of respect for the space 

She needs

He sees her just as well as who she always was from inside his shell 

As out in the open air, her breasts beat anger facing his daring audacious vision

She sabotages the bridges and the flightless will be left in Vietnam 

The gasoline used up setting fires to scare the cavalry 

Scarlet Hamlets, banned Buddhist flags, Hmong tribesman, phantom Tonkin torpedoes 

All wars end 

But not every soul comes back with the soul they entered with 

Tortoise just wanted to talk, not negotiate a surrender or trying to win or capture

He just wanted take a slow moment by the side of the road and trade war stories 

Reptiles and birds both lay eggs, bear a nest 

Even if they’re in tree hollows and logs 

Just wanted to share, knowing she knows so little about him 

He knows so little about her 

And he feels judged not for being a poor fit to the locket hung from her head 

But for being potentially a good key, like they both knew it, and she spooked, flew off

The scent on that is like saccharine caked icing spelling titles on confections 

With block letter names come definitions, the potential her mother taunts 

The wry rebellion itching of ‘You want me to be this

Well I will be that, why because no one will ever choose for me again 

I am getting out of this swamp to be a great-horned bird of the desert.’

Happiness requires a mutuality of election 

By definition each party ultimately chooses the same foundation

One saying I would like to proceed in this direction 

Is not disallowing the other’s choices or future volition

There is more than one path to get to the same destination

So in the turtle is placed upon the altar of paradox 

Sacrificed in the barter of love for fear 

As she tickles his ear for poetry and beckons him into vestibules 

To approach or to run, either way the owl sustains her first lover 

The darkness  

In one swoop like an elixir to make them both forget

As if the words were never read or spoken only the flat blackness remains 

Of strangers phasing back into strangers 

The marshmallow softness was always her toying with her permissions 

Dance, play, ‘I am no good at this and I am an arsonist baby!

I’ll burn you down, pushing the boundaries to remain untouchable 

I’m feeling quiet and not sure I want to be in a crowd 

Of even one, anxiety has got me, the darkness has me captive, and she always wins.’

The way he looked at her felt like rape, 

Violated for what was not his to know 

Costumed and tight-lipped with that chin

That descends and eyes open silently listening 

No one is supposed to hear her in that pose, but he does 

The alarms and the firebombs, too much, too soon 

If not now when, when is her heart supposed to blossom again 

If that is not what she was looking for why did she sign in to be matched?

He was enjoying ever so their time together

He knows she was too; thinking she is so afraid because all her cities lay in ruins 

So she blows this one up so that she is not standing in center square 

If he ever bails first; sad cliché as if when he asked her if she loved herself 

He was asking, “Do you think you are worthy of receiving love?”

From who, who has loved you if you say you think you might have been in love once 

But that’s it; the show was cancelled, like affection or concern is some dirty jargon 

For marmish soccer moms who give blow jobs to their lawyer hubbies once a solstice 

As if she has to lay down her antlers or start sleeping in camisoles and Spanx 

Slurping whole milk obeying Captain Crunch driving car pool 

And if she gets a speeding ticket he’ll ask for another divorce 

As if to share a home, to have a home, she’d have to fit in some stereotype 

In her head, not his and all he wanted was a god damn woman he could talk to 

Spend a little time with, maybe take care of on occasion and play in bed 

He wanted a lover to sit next to him flying to Seattle not be a sleepless cookie-cutter

Whatever she thinks he expects, he wishes she would have bothered to ask 

Maybe she did and he said a life partner and whatever that meant to her 

In no way could be him, 

Maybe in every way would not have been her 

But he wanted to try; he wanted to play the game, not just show up to an empty field 

And never know if things would have worked out 

He feels judged and used, taken advantage of and jilted 

Because he feels like she knows she is cheating herself from finding out too 

He feels like she is taking the easy way out instead of taking a chance 

Because happiness scares the hell out of artists 

How does one create from such a bright place?

How does one supplant the darkness an artist has spent his or her life alongside? 

Baby, all I got is poetry and you used me

You lit me on fire encouraging me to write for you

It is like me asking you to choreograph a dance just for me

In the quiet where only I could see to look at your body 

Vulnerable in true nudity and then closing my eyes and walking out 

Because I claimed it was too much, too soon, saying,

“I was not ready to look at the sun; I’m blinded by the light 

I don’t know what to do, but you got to go; it’s too intense” 

You have no idea what it took for me to hope

I may have hinted at it, but if my hoping startled you 

That’s a bitter irony  

The rule says when the airplane starts shaking uncontrollably

Put your breathing mask on first so you can help others 

And I was writing to try to sew us parachutes, to leap together

Because even if you can fly, maybe I can’t   

Maybe when I said I needed to go slow too 

I meant it and if you ever asked me why maybe you’d know 

Maybe you wouldn’t be so damn scared 

Maybe you’d open up a little and the world wouldn’t explode 

Because I am not the one who said there was a bomb on this plane

Maybe you wouldn’t have to fly away when the airplane starts to shake

You are built to sail the skies alone; I get it

The thing is I was built to walk this Earth the same way 

People are not meant to keep their hearts in diaries and makeup cabinets 

I would never try to convince you of a damn thing

I certainly am not doing that here, 

But I don’t want to watch you walk away from me without fighting for you

I was not done; there is too much you shared of yourself with me

Whether you intended to or not that tells me you are just running away afraid  

Breathe 

I am just a human being, a very kind empathetic human being 

Looking to share part of my life with a woman who might actually get me 

And I get her; what are you so afraid of?

Doorways and Shipwrecks

The words always come back in trickles

Dribbles and mute like the faded echo of slammed doors

Wanting to twist the lock’s knob, peek out into the vacancy

Imagine and power the portal closed once more

Just to hear the pound jeer the silence off its perch

Staring at the cell with its infinite retort

The madness of an ocean of lines to express

A muse peering to listen like a siren

Whisper, whisper and dove to her home in the coral

Flash and the way the moonlight glistens in her hair

One knows this is all it can ever be for her

Shadowed alcoves and glimpses

She has no legs to walk on boats or stairwells

Just dancing flippers and a hell of dark side

Men dragging themselves to try to breathe in her fathoms

She knows not to pretend too long, because she does not want to be a killer

It’s his damn fault for not listening

Speaking poetry and hope to a mermaid prying eyes on the surface

Each simile is an anchor, each metaphor, a plank

For a vagabond opening and closing doors on a pirate frigate

Islands and beachheads shoot for attempting to replenish his stores

“I ain’t got no home in this world anymore”

Woody sail me, sing me to sleep for the thousandth time

“A hot and dusty road a million feet have trod.”

Arrogant part is that he thought she might be looking for a man like him

He thought he touched a tender place and the line between love and a wound

Is like razor wire, opening the patient might bleed her out on the table

Better to just be a body of feel nothing, save the secrets for the worms

Good listeners for every Goliath to become food for the lubricus terrestris

Annelida wrap leaching bands absorbing the arrogant absolutes

Imposing the idea of demand onto the other: mother, stepfather, colleagues, him

Expectations generating from within the waters, not from above

Stay swimming; “It ain’t me babe,” asking you to change

That’s just your own voice echoing in the waters rounding back in the tide

Bored Cliché

Feel like doing something stupid

Jump off a bridge, gun in a mouth, anonymous sex

Bored cliché

Vomit in a parking lot at a Wendy’s lunch time rush

Shit, back to this

Atheism how are you doing?

Interpreting sky lights and innuendo from a place beyond the atoms

As if equations balance to observers so close to the mathematics

Back up shit for brains

Romantic-dreams of poets and burlesque-dancing psychologists

Have no stage to share

She wants to muse and every man is a glass to pent the butterfly to her

Fuck that; she puts her own shackles on to get off on it

Rough in control no, you be in control, no give me the reins back

Oscillating like a dam lever-pulley simple machine

He’s better off without the drama

But the alternative tastes like Saltines and geriatric oat-meal excrement

Spoon up the banality in a suburban tether

It all comes back to the kid he didn’t let die, kill

Afraid so damn afraid he disgusts himself sometimes

Pick a side, alive or dead, lover or family-man

Neither wants you so jump motherfucker, jump

Pull it asshole, pull

The numb ache contemplations just make the pill bigger to swallow

What needs to be washed away, drained, forgotten

Hope, you had me for a second, bastard poetry you made me imagine

Like a glimpse for peeking at a sun

She knows she is just a big flaming ball of kill

You did too sport; at least you got to read Thunder Road for that minute

Town full of losers….  

Blanked

Blanked

Words dribbling like a man aged from thirty to ninety in six seconds

His mouth wrinkled over a taught jawline incapable of flection

The angle splays minute

Sounds garble in the guttural chamber

Like the dirt from the grave is already mixing in the dusty waves

As attempts at language fecklessly rise

He knows no matter the combination of alphabet

She will make no retort

He is responding like a letter inevitably lost at sea

Which if ever found will be read by an entirely different being

Than the woman he cared for

She flicked a message like an arsonist oily ragged bottle through the window

Tires peeling about who she is, what she needs

Freedom like a mandate to contraband shackles

Like what we could be

Fucking plural pronouns drenched in flammable assumptions

He was happy just reading together on the couch

Like some bizarre form of heaven to Fahrenheit 451

A man cannot exist between an artist and her darkness

In the comfort of isolated sanctuary

No one can pull you out there, expects you to perform, show up to their event

What they want you to be, between waking up and slumber

The decisions are never kidnapped

He knows the longing to sit in a room with that marshmallow pillow of alone

The sweetness of non-judgment of not having to be what you felt you never could be

Or wanted to be and resented the idea that someone made you think for a second

You were less than for not wanting or capable

He knows the battle; the staring between an alone and a God

Cursing both and incapable of embracing either

He knows trying to begin again and a what-the-fuck sunrise

Batting a head screaming for midnight to make this all go away into hiding

As if life is an inescapable orb of self one must abide

Attempting to grow, seeds sprouting disappointment, regret, better not have tried

The season never wound its tendrils out from winter    

Pretending human connection was optional