red like deceit in the streets betrayal glimpsed through reflections

Red
my darling, my dear
put away your jealous ways

tidy up your vanity
cap the cup from which your bitterness flows

Red
my sweet, my baby
the happiness of others does not
signify
the loss of your own

Red
my blossom, my dove
put your fear away
allow your heart to love

B L U E

a day of blue

is a day like any other

a day of blue
is a day

when night creeps into the sky

a day of blue
is an evening of red

and

and an evening of scarlet
bleeds eternally white

Artist's Soul

I do Not own
my Artist soul
because that would mean
She does what i want

no One owns
my artist Soul
and not even she
can decide what to think

but we are Grateful
to Be together
for I Anchor
her wanderings 
a n d she
loose ns the Bond
that tethers us Both
to mereLY Existing

silent humming

there are notes in my throat
content to stay unsung

silent little syllables
jumping
in the muscles behind my tongue

why can't I sing
these sweet little words
following the cues
left by the birds

Worth

who would the girl
be
if she was only a little less
and a lot more
who
would the girl be
if she was only a little more
and a lot
less

meek

words
are a contract
I have signed
my soul
to

words
are a lover
who cannot commit

who leaves
scented promises
wherever their memory
remains

who vows
upon the world
yet
only
proves
the diamond

stones on the floor of my tongue

there is a torrent of words I long to unleash

from behind the ivory bars of my teeth

and the prison guard of my tongue

my body is a vessel

a capsule

a container

my body is a mess of symbolism

and imperfect perfection that trembles on the edge of resplendence

I could not name

my pulsing organs

or introduce you to my nerves and capillaries

but

I can show you

the way they sing

in the depths of my being

knit tight and held close by blood and bone and gristle

string my blood vessels along

and tie my hands tight with their ends

drain my fragile wrists dry

and drink deep from the well of my eyes

where are my pearly bones hiding

that you must search so avidly for them

how can I hide my tendons

after you have asked so nicely for them

how did I manage to lose

the only lungs I ever owned

and why did they elope

with my silk walled kidneys

my heart has lost her head

and weeps into the skirts of my bladder

while her lover

my ears

long for what's inside her

a chill

reminiscent

and fond

whispers sweet nothings to my stubborn spine

while whatever else inside me

                   shivers

deep

           and dying

help is a cry for the desolate

there is a word
trapped in the bars of my throat
sinking slow
to the depths of my belly
heavy
heavy
heavy
in the doorway of my lungs

someone
pry it
from my sandpaper tongue
from my paper paste saliva

someone
set
me
free

Sleep Soft and Desperate

fatigue
swims
in the pools of my iris

sporadic
energy
curling in my fingers

why
should
I exist

when
existence
weighs upon my heart

delicate
sad
lost to the ravages of time

and
my
blood cries for fear

of
what
lurks in my breast

Rhythmic Repetition is Really Rather Revealing

repetition scares me
it scares me
scares
me
repetition scares me

when I repeat my letters
I worry
worry
that some will find me simple
simple

when I say what I mean
too many times
when I say
when I say
when I say
my words too many times
an abyss opens up
opens up
and it screams
it screams my words back at me

What do I do
with my repeating letters
where do I put
the overused
overexposed
syllables on my tongue
how do I console
my depreciating
punctuation
how
how do I stop the declining value of my soul

There is a word market
smelling
of paper and paste
ringing
ringing ringing ringing
with pages turning and covers singing
a stall of phrases
and a vendor for articulation

I stand on the corner
pen in hand
heart
in
my
ears
and I write
with curling lines
words that mean things
in another's eyes
I write
and I write
and I write
until these ink and paper letters
have a twin sibling each
until
each line
is identical to another
until one is the same as the other and another is a brother to a word that could be his mother and they are all being smothered by a repeat performance of one more

"words!" I cry, "words for sale!"
and in a basket at my feet, there are a dozen price tags each to words that are all the same
dollars for some and cents for most
and some
many
all
do not have a price
because I cradled them gently
and whispered their worth
where only they could hear

"words words words words words words to good homes!
words for you to sing
and words for you to love
and words
words
words
for evenings spent alone
and dinners eaten in silence
and moments eternities instances when your thoughts are too loud!"

I pitch my sales
and shout my deals
and the words in the basket
at my feet
smile sweetly
and know
that they already have a home
and that it is with me

because
I love my repeating words
that I handled with care
when I placed them there
in the basket that shows no prejudice to the spares
they are my words
I love them
and they
love
me