bff

Dead Pidgeon during my walk,

with leaf veil covering its face

As if to say, "don't look at me."

Then the t.v. showed women

In Iran cutting hair, screaming

"Look at us!" And the image swiftly

Arose in my mind, you in headscarf,

all the women you knew, I started to cry.

Not because I was sad, but because

You would be sad, if you were alive.

It's all a waste, my tears, your life, the lot.

So instead can I tell you all the things

You'd love? Like your brother bought

a house. It's in Indy where there's now 

an Ikea. I baked cookies and It's perfect 

autumn weather. NASA shot a rocket 

and hit an asteroid it's so sci-fi.

Tomorrow's my birthday. 35.

We must still be best friends. Must be.

What other reason am I talking 

To someone who's been dead 13 years?

like people

Stacking sheep to a silent and soft wall,

A warm little loaf of cat on the small

of my back, slumber. Healing vibrations,

Contented purrs. I am far from sharp, 

staccato claws' click on ceramic

Tile and the round meows which buldge

Like My English. Sometimes, Like People.

And I wish I could be like people.

That I would like people and in twin reflection

People would like me. I would like to

Hold and stroke people; I want to

Be held and stroked by people.

We could be wrapped together close-

Big blanket of humanity, be lost within

the pools of each other's eyes,

Float merciless in the universe,

But always touching and never far.

If I was like people. If you were like people.

But we are aliens asleep at the control panel

Of flashing lights, radar beeps, UFO,

Saucers in the sky, alone and questioning,

Swinging close to stars and sun, just

Stuff of rumors and whispers, never real.

loops

If my life is a movie

opening with sealegs

building suspense

nostalgic and classic

self-aware and reflective.

If I live long enough 

to see each act.

I wanted to call mom

But she's dead. 

I forgot- so easy to.

I'm in college again

sinking into the sofa

the angular questions

Is it Banter? Between us;

larval people.

barely a personality combined. 

We continually reflect

the pieces we stole to each other.

Life moves as a spider, tickling

eight moments at a time.

skipping and tripping

through a life, like the same

role but different actress.

Everything is just shifted

to the right one inch. 

I'm six years ago and

new set, new costar,

but my script it the same.

I am in the kitchen baking;

He in the living room video games.

Because I am a mother without

labor, tears, and birth.

Little lives scurry and work

ant colony home, busy but

so small we go no where.

Just us-antennae touch

chirping words into air,

secret codes and language,

It's the general direction,

But never talking. 

Decades soar by with jet-speed

Yet I am the same fears, anxieties

Jealousy and ticks.

I am wiggling bee dance,

pop a cookie in my mouth

push down the times before

sink deeper in the couch

Just another edit, version,

production

of a hundred other

times before.

flea dreams (parasite life ain't bad)

Pot belly bears drinking on their backs

verses the lonely lives of fleas, or so

I would assume. Do fleas have sisters

or fathers or best friends? Do they notice

a missing neighbor I combed out and killed?

Have they ever wished for a bigger thorax

or jealously admired a tick's sharp teeth?

Do they have terf wars or squabble over

who has the best God or hope and dream

of a better life on a dog or goat or deer?

Are they grateful there is plenty of blood

and skin to go around, for all them and 

their host? Wild bear scratches an ear,

are they thrown into earthquakes, tragedies,

disaster? Little flea aid teams disperse or

they just hold themselves, tight, grateful

to not have fell off, grateful to survive 

the storm? I must admit I know nothing.

Nothing of the world of fleas or bears or

even cats in my own home. Without

biologist hubris, I don't pretend I could.

All that I will never know, dead and dumb.

clownboy

If I fail; I'll flail

in every direction.

It's tickled Tetris

tried and true.

Thought my life

I'd be a cowboy

Like John Wayne

but, longer I live

the more I feel

a clown like

John Wayne Gacy.

Parking the car

I'm a child crying.

stop that.

Turn the cube.

Business woman,

professional side

faces out and enters

the building.

Everything else

that I am, or

could be,

a dismission.

my tiny castle

Brand new furniture

covered in sheets

silent ghosts 

without cat hair,

Trash can guards

line the streets,

and lone bird

sounds an alarm.

My tiny castle,

rivels Colleen Moore.

Big, pine princess bed

to climb up in and

round, pine table

for feasting 

in the great hall.

My tiny castle,

grander than any

Dream I could have

pedalling as fast

as I could, poorer

than poor, to get

crumbs from the store.

This little kingdom,

Tiny castle, it's not all mine,

But a start.

Six

"Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character."

God, am I ready!

Ready to be rid of these

These defect uncontrollable

As hiccups and as surly

As a wild animal live trapped

As cruel as a child with magnifying

Glass as self absorbed as an 

aging actress peering through

The looking glass.

Goddess, am I ready!

To exfoliate all this diseased

Skin off, all 34 layers, till I'm

Pink and new, till I never feel sad

Or scared or shake as tree branches

In a storm, till I never wear shoes

I found orphaned in a parking lot,

Till this is who I am and no one

Knows any better.

Jesus, I am ready!

Since childhood I chased joy

And love like the coyote pursues

Roadrunner, but only got firstborns

Dead and locusts instead.

I want happiness quiet like 

A catnap in Spring and imposing

Like a mountain range.

Buddha, I am so ready!

I thought your sumo belly

Would want to weigh in.

I am ready to release it

All into the vast blackhole

Of space to be burned up

Solar flares and scattered

Ashes of star dust to be

Made new.

Aphrodite, I am really ready!

You can see I'm desperate

Please kiss away my eagerness,

My loneliness in love, how I am

The only one you see, 

Who needs your kisses 

From above.

George Washington, I am very ready!

Let's try anyone now, I pledge to do

the work, the labor, chop cherry trees,

Stack wood, wipe brow sweat,

and build a wall, to wait patiently

till I see the white flags in their eyes,

In you we trust, to make me heal,

for a growing public, in which I stand,

To be liberated from it all.

x

we both got dead moms and divorces

I saw your mom died in June

and I pushed it away with yoga

we met in downward dog

the past, when I had been

in this position in a former

room made ours by vows

when you brought me a glass

of water from what was our sink.

Past me smiled and today's me cried.

That's years ago, some other couple 

rents that room, that sink,

pays the water bill and i

wish more luck to them kids. 

I can't be mad at the dead

but cry over their last memory

of me just twisting and turning 

Till I can exit their lives, gutless,

without explaination why.

repetition

Here again

Yet again

Always

Picked each brick 

Like a loving mother

Picking out clothes

For her child.

Placed nails 

With the care

Of an artist

Selecting brush.

The iron bars

Casted as a blacksmith

Honors his craft.

The designs handled

As quilter pins each

Square in uniform.

And here again

Yet again

I awake

In a prison of my own

Making seeking

Paradise.

How can I resist

Fight these windmills

When I am the warden?

never sorry divorce

When I was just another feeding tube

machine to pulse air in your lungs

modern marvel, medical advancement,

cutting edge science out to defy God

keeping you alive, propped up

and not withstanding.

I was just another 

miracle and scapegoat, 

resentment for you to hold,

hostage from the world.

As you waste the life 

I fought for you to have. 

When the time came,

and it did come, I woke up

from my own personal spirit coma

There was only one option left 

and it was to run and never

Look back.

morning movement

Dogs with noses

powerdered sugar dipped,

and sweet corn chip feet,

Bark. 

Birds whistle,

clear and sharp,

a glass knife

cut through the

low morning mist.

I'm awake again

in cool mountian

valley.

Bite the air

crisp as an

Apple.

The world beacons.

To behold.

To be Alive,

despite all that

led here.