laundry

a feeling, fleeting in thought

fled from my still-beating chest 

carrying with it

wings spread wide in lofty sky, 

a momentous journey 

upon which I idly wonder 

as the ever-breathing script of life, 

follows me, step by step, 

all the while, I fold the laundry 

spaces between goodbye

i love you

in every bright

and quiet

place

until the stars

have joined us

and the silence 

is final

and even then 

i love you

until the  very moment

"a little further"

has become a lifetime 

stretching 

our little eternities

to forever

and beyond 

spring 2019

religion

will not be contained within letters

it will not even be contained within me

religion                                       

in itself                            

can become containment if we allow it to be                     

       I've become a hollow religion                       

seeking the sanctity of hallowed ground                

I'm becoming an empty container

thinking that what I was meant to hold will save me

               stagnant

                            remnants

                                          cling to my walls

I hoard them jealously                                                                         

and don't understand                                                     

perhaps I did once

maybe I never have

SurRouNd

when I was young
Colors had Faces
letters had genDers
And spoons
Never got along with the forks

now
Now my emotions
Have feelings too
And when my pen
spills out
numbers
they tell me their life stories

4
Is my favorite number
Because she knows what it is like
To be told who she is
And 9
Will always be my CAMpfire villain
My water bottle Is a she
And she
Does not much care for tulips or birds
My pillow
Is a diVa
Who never gets her way

Months are Never just Days
days
Are slightly more than just dates
And when I spell out their names
Their letters greet each other i n d i v i d u a l l y
Before becoming the word as a whole

So

sO
So

So who am I to say I am never Alone
When every pEtal on my bedspread
Never Fails
To welcome me home

neither are nigh

I'm pulling from within

expecting something brilliant

I've forgotten

the universe is not as inseparable from me

as I am from myself

grenade

I remember when you pulled the pin in our relationship

I weighed it in my hands
gave it back

walked away and tried to forget the fear in your eyes

now I wonder
if I'm a bad person for not allowing it to kill us both

the chill of a Happy graveyard

Every time I wish I was dead 
I write a little letter inside my head 
Of wishes and history 
Things better left unsaid 

Seldom do I find the time to rhyme 
These secret little thoughts 
Or allow them space to shine 

They're rather a selfish bunch I think 

For hoping for a day 

The world would be better if I stayed

Bug Tanka

little bumbling bug

so busy doing his chores

why do you live bug

when you crunch quick underfoot

your life as fleeting as rain

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

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

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