4 a.m.

i've tree filled thoughts,
at this frail hour
wondering how......

through all those freezing winter nights
or 
beneath the heat of scorching summer suns
below your deep, deep roots
absorb water from seemingly
desert dry places

causing beautiful leaves 
on broken limbs
that provide 
shade for weary travelers, 
nesting for the homeless wren,
fruit for a hungry soul

beloved tree
blooming in a silent soul
how i wish
that i could be more like
thee

closure or hope?

all those things 

you say through prayers -

i've said a thousand times

i know god is tired

whether it be 

a 

slap 

or 

nakedness -

there are just some things

that cannot be said

with those 

twenty-six letters

we call

"the alphabet"

of illness and circumstances

the painter 

does not know

the invisible source

of his work

the interpreter 

ignores the meaning

 of the painting

the source

is not unconscious

at all

inspiration deserves

derision

i am giving it

life shows there is a vision

an ideal that 

stays vague

if not altogether

unknown 

threesome

despite the protest

of my conscious

i've decided  to

surrender to temptation

give in

consummate this love affair...

everyone tells me

my lover is 

beautiful, witty, endearing

our chemistry is palpable

it's as if

i acknowledge this

stellar dynamic

there will be no return

to my

carefully orchestrated complacency

a daring step

for a dame like me

to hell with convention

i am surrendering to this

menage a trois 

with

me, myself, and i

pulsating honey pot

to say that

she 'felt alive again'

would be

an understatement

it's as if

there are arms on

the inside,

reaching heavenward

through her thighs, 

with silent 'hallelujahs'

at their fingertips

beehives in her breasts

buzzing with a nectar

no tongue had ever tasted

and

in the middle of her forest

birds chirped

in blissful tones....

as if they had just

heard their melodies

for the very first time

it was a modern miracle, 

an unobtainable tale 

for non-believers,

a willing resurrection

where

there had never been death

sleepless

flashing lights

through broken blinds
her head 
under old sheets - 
contemplating
incomprehensible things 
such as
light years, galaxies, dinosaurs
words, desire, and god

she felt like 
a character in an
old bukowski poem

you know the type
- the girl in a cheap hotel 
after days of stale pizza
and
great sex
leaving a whiskey ring
on the gideon bible
for someone less fortunate
to clean

childhood
had taught her
to not be at ease
with this side of herself
his overwrought messages
about her soft undertones
had soiled
a soulful song
with stale seediness

conviction's caress

last night it recurred

the potential of 

this pain passing

you were there

at 3 a.m.
somewhere between my
cognizant cares and dreamy deliriums 

wearing warmly toned

prison orange

with a roughly honed  silence

sitting upon

an old and creaky pedestal

baring a placid peace 

from your private purging

i was far away

with this tattered, 

pale gown -

openly exposing

the messiness of my physical being

placating 

the purgatory of placidity

but somehow,

as things always were,

our rough imbalance

soothed me back to sleep -

a prison like cell

that freed

the bedridden parts

of my solidarity

water whispers

after heavy days

and

revolting sleeps

a wind has 

deliriously blown

my head of ugly hair

above 

those blood filled scrapes

of raw skin

and bewildering thoughts

i know

i will swim again

beneath the blue skies

despite 

the distant shore

and the loss

of my life's raft

'let down your glare'

my tale began simply enough

straight pines

margins wide, endless words

pages perfect for

bending, underlining, reexamining 

but

after a few

careless readers

'tenderness' turned into 'tattered'

and

the construction of

my tower began

brick by brick

mortared carefully

with

 apathy, indifference

able to shelter against

the most 

debilitating debonairness

or 

weltering, winsome wiles

when i imagined 

my fairy tale future

rapunzel

was not what 

i had in mind

  

madness

i decided this morning
to spend a little extra time
and see if they'd come back

we have a temperamental relationship, 
words and i
- it worked

my coffee was "luxuriant",
i'm certain sunrise
left god "breathless"...
the silent recollections
of your caress
caused prolific "cachinnating"

it seems we 
waltzed again
gracefully
in this field of knowing

if a dab of sandalwood
and hints of turquoise
did this for my linguistics

then darling,
i am sending you
crates

why, eh?

i rode home today

against the wyeth like landscape

and wondered

which i had been

to you

helga or betsy?

i identified with helga. 

her braids

and 

your rash ideals

about watercolor behavior

but, too,

the gristmill resolve

of betsy

realizing that often

silence is the most 

aggressive tone 

tempestuous seizings

they say

i cry in

delirious screams,

crush my tongue 

in repulsive rips

that life,

after these blows

urges

a sordid sea 

of staggering storms

but,

i see that

the enormous moon

rises above

cloud filled skies

and 

the windy water

whispers music

to the skin

of sailing ships

therefore,

i vow to this sea,

we will travel,

against the turbulence

and arrive

at our destination.

hands are truer than the heart

they can not conceal the certainty,

that is told by a firm grasp

nor disguise their doubts,

baring all with bitten nails

they do not lie 

about their center's warmth,

wiping sweat from anxious palms

or utter words of falsehood 

for what they write, time will withstand

so recognize in cold me

that when i say 'hold my hand',

i mean 'you have my heart'

then, 

i will incorporate the fingers of your thoughts

through the parts of me that matter

well traveled

quietly,
she packed
her telescope,
so that she could 
search the night sky for the 
"constellation of consolations"

handing the conductor
her tickets of apathy,
she reached down
calmly
for the callous burlap bag
of soulful burdens -
the one
containing her 
barely beating heart

she boarded 
the train of determination
striving to arrive
at that 
old familiar destination
of
solitary contentment

celestial observations

i want to lie
with your feet on mine
under
the lilac sheets
and
count the stars

they are plastic
and
made in china
but
you make them
sparkle
anyway

what happened aphrodite?

today
i feel stone
nothing
not even restlessness
a cautious break
from usual angst
a bit like
the little boy
in the gilded red fez
near a crowded
moroccan market
monkey on his shoulder
catatonically turning
the small tin box
a dance
he is deaf to
wafting above
the persimmons and pomegranates
i tried
coffee
a book
hot shower
old photographs
the news
i’ve one last ploy
i’m leaving this warmth
straddling
the winter grass
palms up
bare body
beneath freezin’ rain
to see if
i am still
capable of cold
then
i’ll know
if
today
you won -
but
just today

the blue one

i searched frantically
through
this scattered chaos
that is my domesticity
for the
blue one
cornflower
it matches my eyes
gathers gracefully around
the ankles
caps perfectly
these mountainous
breasts.
there i sat
quietly
serenely
waiting patiently
neck scented
hair tied
- but no you.
blessed perhaps
had you been here
with
the blue
you'd want
to name
your next ship
after me,
when you stare
at the midnight sky
from the bottom
of a wide canyon
you would swear
the stars spelled
my name
and
on cold winter twilights
you
would ask your memory
a thousand
different ways
were they
hyacinth
azure
robin’s egg
or
royal?
it was
a near miss
of cosmic cravings
capable of
catatonic collisions
count your lucky stars
the gods
of vulnerability
have spared
you
yet again

undressed

she needed to be
treated tenderly,
reminded
that there were
emotions
other than indifference,
expectations
besides society’s
and
warmth worth
anticipating
instead of the
solitude
of flannel sheets
but
that would
involve
unbuttoning
carefully fastened places
and
allowing
her dressed up
emotions
to
fall softly
around
her
ankles of apathy

is there balsam in gilead?

you called today
fervently
about nothing
radishes
i think
that’s what we discussed
insignificant adieus were bid
we reminded me
of a story
about a girl and her raven
“i let him run free
he explored the gutters
picked at some stray leaves…
always he returned.
i knew i was as
necessary to him
as he was to me.”
i suppose
when we have
outlived beauty
and are
richly upholstered by life
we can finally recline
upon the divan of each other
i familiar with the color
of all your stray leaves
and
you always on my pillows
at ease

just mamas

i can see
by the
quiet hesitation
of your handshake
that you think
i don’t get it

i’m the white girl
in the black suit
behind the large desk
in a tall chair

you’re the single mom
with
five to feed
that he left
with no time
or money to spare

i promise though
we’re really not
that different
you and i

we hug our kids
each night
say a silent prayer
wait ‘til we reach
our pillow to cry
hope
the bills will get paid
things will be better for them
maybe one day
love’ll find us again
and
in the meantime
that they suffer no harm

i’m sure you’d
be surprised to know
it’s 3 a.m.
and i’m wonderin’
if your warm