in pursuit of abandonment

Jelly is a tattoo artist
in pursuit of abandonment
A hermit living inside flesh
she no longer recognizes
Primitive symbols characterize
lack of faith inked between her thighs
where once laid a man
His powerful chest mapped with wings
and of her hands
failed tools in a sterilized world
Beauty once pronounced itself
her skin rippling with pleasure
of his touch
of their flight
how high they moved
clouds bursting at nothingness
artifice of design
Where fiscal movements placed flat objects of desire
on bodies desiring
husks of fake color
Meaningless and watered away
Peering into crystal rocks
the masses tattooed
trying to coverup who they are
Jelly’s body nearly blue from the cold
every follicle of flesh stabbed with pigment
her crimson heart broken from his pain, not the needles
now
naked, she lies down to die alone
with her artful hands
like elegant gloves

emma

“ROME – Emma Morano, at 117 the world’s oldest person who is also believed to have been the last surviving person born in the 1800s, died Saturday at her home…she had stopped breathing in the afternoon while sitting in an armchair at her home in Verbania, a town on Italy’s Lake Maggiore…”

will I turn into an old woman
who chatters about birds
while fondling my thin paper hands
weathered timelines
repeating fond memories
will this make me
like other old women
who have taken to soft chairs
with hard backs, 
curving spines straight as possible
am I to gaze upon wisp sails of clouds
by a humble lake house in need of repair
a shawl
hope I don’t
cover my bony shoulders in a shawl
while bobbing on a front porch with room enough for two rockers
will I hear soothing cricket songs in the empty silences
of my own making
the voice articulating from my throat
let it not scratch like an eviscerated cat
let my speech float as unpolished clarinet notes
playing a backyard symphony
will there be foggy mirrors and tarnished hair pins
and dutiful visits
will they one day listen to my sleeping words
promise their consciences
to lay down these musings between antiqued pages
cloth-bound and closed
so we can remember her
will I stare at the dying trees
and imagine
worn paintbrushes against a diluted prussian green sky
will I exaggerate the view
for the sake of beautiful words
if tomorrow is my end
against the cerulean canvas
where I paint myself
may I be remembered as more
than just an embossed name on a closed book

swing dancer

I’m working on a new writing project – not sure what it will shape into. I’m pushing things around and returning to some older posts (nervous about what I might find). If I discover any piece worth salvaging, I’m going to do my best to attempt improving its lyrical quality and meaning. Thank you.

thieves of humanity

Many years of life
How tall our shadows
How lifted our minds
Rising above their tiny shoulders
we watch over them
until the day their eyes meet ours
We savor surrealist skies for beauty’s sake
relishing in the sun-fire ebb and flow
But when fires of chaos burn their bodies
beauty dies in a charred hole
and there is only repulsiveness
Violence bears down
pressing away their childhood
squeezing out the right to a life filled with sunsets
Humanity is a selfless compulsion
its depth fills the soul, the heart, the mind, the spirit
For some, this form reduces into flat, discolored rage
These people are not the of keepers of innocence
These humans are the thieves of humanity

Every child is a musical instrument
take just one away and the harmony weakens

in the blueless

back and forth back and forth back and forth
splattering rain, this redundancy of motion
the last hopeful sky un-recalled
this bleak morning, too early for the sun
a thousand immolating balls can’t bring warmth to this day
God is false hope manufactured by bible companies
angels are myths playing dress-up for lingerie chains
a broken deer on the side of the road
wonder if she knew
from the looks of her cracked torso, I doubt it
some car folded her body like a dollar store blanket
the lifeless trees are no better than emaciated throats and fingers
nothing for them to swallow
nothing to grab onto
nothing for me
nothing for us
they will remain naked
I remember you, inside me
moonlight and indigo lovemaking
tick tock tick tock tick tock
blinker irritating
another road, same lousy scenery
silver lining lately on a bottle of red and designer label
paying a bit more than usual for spirits, cheer costs
this blueless is overwhelming
the radio melodies on
gently at first
she floats into my interior dystopia
Sarah Vaughan’s nuanced soul
and I know, I will believe in angels again
someday

leonada’s earring

 

she gotta be mine

“There’s an Old West saying that if you stole a man’s horse, you had condemned him to death…”

In 1824, I wer hung, hung out wit hemp thick as Nellie’s mane
but twice as deadly ‘n ten times as quick to ther choke
they dun hung me, dried boots ‘n all widout a reckon ‘o my side pockits
my neck it snapped ‘n dat fucker hurt sum, befer the snappin,’ not after
I dun stole a man’s horse, a white gorgiss thin’ wit sharp fetlock ‘n marble eyes
don’t know what made me do thar impulse
wuz her Godful beauty, I’m a certin
ain’t no crime in thar, stealin’ wutz perfict
do ya know wutz ’tis a see’in that Godful beauty ‘n not hold’n it
not bein part ridin’ in that sunset after dem saloon duz kick yer hide inta the sand
they dun hung me out thar, hung me out ta dry ’til I very, very disgustin’ly die, yup dem basters
black crows a diggin’ at my sockets ‘n balz

a beaten white station wagon, the last white stallion in this town
she’s in my rear view mirror, prancing on the hill
just admiring her I am
my eyes flapping faster than wicked-quick saloon doors
the white beauty of a generation long since past
men were men, at least that’s what my dad was and is
my elegant mom, remaining a woman who transcends time
so many white horses chasing down the freeway, miles of galloping herds
so many it’s impossible to believe they will ever disappear
lightning white buffaloes by the thousands
and there she is, the sexy white wagon, long and sure as sugar
Custer’s battle scars, blood-rusting her panels, but she’s still smokin’
revving that big engine, purrin’ like a puma
at times, she breathes smoke to wake the dead
I hear tiny family fannies sliding across her vinyl bench seats
all the way to the Catskills
to the Jersey shore
to Vermont’s Green Mountains where her body plays with light
my SUV is climate-controlled, too controlled
Oh, here she comes, the last unicorn
driving by, I’m a body ensconced in sealed air
stuck behind tempered glass, I can’t caress her hide
she knows nothing of tightness, she has always been free
a drop of air escapes my lungs
a grain of water falls from my eye
I feel the hangman’s noose a callin’
come ‘n git me ya dem basters
I seen dat dar white beauty ‘n she gotta be mine

painting dun painted when I be a kid, ta small fer dem dar saloons

a garden of peace, child

A garden of peace, child
Bowed lips, each a cherry blossom petal
Cheeks, satin and pink-rosed pinched by heaven
Your small hands–the hands of an angel, clasping their hidden treasures of bees balm and forever dreams
Diamond clusters of baby’s breath adorn your wrist, delicate dewdrops on wind and wing
How your dark chestnut hair swirls with endless copper beech highlights–so warm and inviting, the soft yellow ducks have come to slumber beside you
Blankets of hyacinth and lavendar protect your perfect skin, white as daffodils
You, a beautiful, sweet Lily, to forever bloom in the loving heart of your adoring mother and all those who cherished and nurtured your blessed life
for my cousin, Marie and her sweet, Lily

we are fighters, Jill

Jill,
you and me
explode through our mothers’ thighs
the same year
It is 1963, Jill
you and me
surrounding ourselves with winged creatures
clutching word and song
wisdom and farce
eyries we construct, yes Jill
you and me
where they belong
up high so our children can observe the world
before they depart for earth
It is 2017, Jill
you and me
we are fighters
protecting all those shadowed beneath our extending wings
we spar, laugh, punch, caress, comfort
we are educators
you assist students
I create teaching tools
It is 7 am, March 27, 2017, Jill
“fought a long hard battle…carried husband and family with great courage…love of her husband’s and children’s life”
It is 7:05 am, March 27, 2017, Jill
you and me
we have just met
I promise you, my dear friend
to keep loving and supporting and cherishing and fighting
to live up to your amazing life
God bless you, Jill
the dearest person, I never knew

boiling bedroom thoughts

My body sweats like a cornered animal–
one in full knowledge of its doom.
Are you mocking me from up there?
Maybe you know, I’m not supposed to be here anymore.
There is a need to escape.
Cross the land bridge before it sinks into oblivion–
like the cornered animal with its inedible bones.
Nothing of value produced, save a pair of usable offspring, one must not appear completely heartless.
I do thank you for calming me this evening.
The wine bottle has poured dry and empty.
Closets are bulging at the seams with meaningless feathers.
The single-bulb, reading lamp is casting shadows longer than my pen.
Whatever my scrawl is this time of night, it is difficult to interpret.
And you, up there mocking me–
allowing me to fantasize over hope and comfort and dreams.
In denial you are, the sureness of a life’s work–
round and round and dumbly satisfied.
Well, how does this move you;
Your starburst shadow against the ceiling, long and lean–spinning, always spinning–
begs for mercy and a final escape it will never realize.

baby mask

baby mask

 

enter the vampire

I have conspired with a literary den-of-thieves to make you desire Them
To entwine your soul in Their stronghold of rampant lust and brute strength
Inescapable wide-eyed innocence will burn away the layers of mistrust
One decadent love bite to draw out your pulsing demons–
those that made your flesh crawl and quiver, long before They arrived
By high mindedness of the amber moon chained by gravity–
I call to sisters across ocean and earth
Fly beyond otherworldly barriers–
keep your diaphanous forms from heaving bound werewolves
I summon, for both your sake and mine
You see, they were born of necessity and likened to mankind’s crucible–
monsters, beasts, leviathans, introverts, extroverts, banshees
Welcome Their rounded limbs to engorge your body with Godlike fear
Wretch you will, over and again until there is nothing to the insides
but your blood
As Her beautiful teeth impale your flesh, you float among the stars
You collapse, the agony of life fades into a dull memory
The tide eventually finds you and we float into the universe
Aren’t they worth dying for…
4-vamps-good