Tuesday, March 27, 2012


it's all swaying like the trees
warm and alive
just reaching
and i wonder if you hear me
standing and waiting
the shuffle backward
would it awake you in the night?
or would you sleep through the alarms?
same old blood that i cannot...
i've tried
but, i cannot get out
it won't come out
without bleeding myself dry
and that thorn
its parasitic head buried just beneath
unknown, undetected in the back of my neck
a friend with misgivings
covered in misspellings
dressed in white
but inside...
nothing but squalor
but i... the "good gentle woman"
invited her into the parlor
forgive me
under my breath
praying for a murder
or painless escape
or something marvelous to spring up
because we're on the edge of something
like the atmosphere is groaning
like the very soil is in labor
ready for something beautiful to become of all of this
to be made of us.

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