Category: Poetry

Scattered  across  my  arms  like  constellations  in  the  skyA  kaleidoscope  of  butterflies,Wings  painted  in  silky  smooth  inkEach  with  its  own  unique  design,Its  own  enchanting  name.But  each  with  the  same  purpose:To  keep  me  from  harm Two  instruments  sit  in  front  of  me,One  that  draws  in  crimsonAnd  the  other  in  ebony  ash,One  with  a  dangerous  edgeAnd  one 

Where I am fromit’s a late August morningfresh eggs and Canadian baconit’s my brother’s old flannelcowboy bootsand work clothesit’s the tender sun on a dusty truck dashboardwith sleep still in our eyesit’s John Denver on the radio Where I am fromit’s a late August afternoondriver seat pushed all the way forwardpink boots barely touching the

I am sitting by the oceanAnd I’m thinking of youof inky wishing stones and straw hatsFloating on the surfaceConsumed by viscous memories slipping my mind I am watching the loonsThey call for you stillBaying in the smoky portsEach methodical note rippling away forever in hopes to reach you I am in my roomA hope chest

I can see her,everlasting ripples along glass.The river is carrying her through the earlymorning light —a linen sheet soaked with sweat.Chemtrails overhead, silky seaweed below.Sadistic figures crossing the creaking bridge,cursingan embodiment of monogamy — of loyalty.A supercut of innocence within one frame.Did you see in between the valley of her wing?A streak of mud, of

Whereforestrange things surfacesuck souls barely knowingthey are alivecry as they’re lostto hate.

I choose to be seen for whoAnd whatI am To let it be knownThat I would rather shiver in the coldThan let one person stand aloneIf I enter these spaces by the grace of my face I betray my sisters, My saviors Who are shut out from this placeAnd I do an injustice when I

Waiting for the wind to changeHer mind to rearrange a strangerWhose face is fear, flashes of death and dangerPresiding inside hallowed halls of bathroom stallsAn image, shattered glass shards, a life apart from all that was With ease and simple pleasuresTo wander freely in the night, to speakWithout the need to make it a fight

A deep double-Throat, singingFrom beyondHeaven (or hell)Echoing in natureAs it finds itself Heard inA human voiceLike a whale’s call PerceivableBy its likeEven afar acrossThe whole Pacific

-519- Iheardthe flittering ofbumblebee wingsamidst the dandelions,beckoning the mothers,whose babies heads poppedoff,to weep milky whitetears for the wind their childrenwill never know.Shorn free of their emeraldfabric lashesandleft to bake on pavementfor the blue jays, sparrows,and garden hose.Lifted bythe cool smell of wet gravelon this,the day the rusted spokescarried me through the dustand out into open