too young

her fingers splayed against her flesh

felt the beginnings of despair

seep in at the tips

curling their roots around her womb

sending shoots into her veins, to her heart --

cracks skittered across its surface

paper thin concrete overpowered

by insolent spears of green defeat

finally tightening on her breath, declaring

victory with a vicious sigh.

with every twitch of that microscopic life,

her own seeped out, uncontrolled

like death, her dreams glazed her eyes

and evaporated, tears impossible to cry

no release, just brutal pillage

ravaged and emptied

for a twitch.

whores

so that's why a whore can auction off her flesh

and laugh as the sun streams in

a spotlight roving glaring

illuminating the empty sheets where a man once

lay, came, left, forgot

the hollow casing (he thought) he penetrated

in the shadows of night.

she laughs at the joke she's played

a body is just a cardboard pop up prop

without folded stand and frozen smile

a decoy that preoccupied people mistake

for well blended body/soul/spirit

"divide and conquer," she whispers,

slowly coating her skin in plastic apathy

peeling away any soul-full remnants

existing as three, not one

fragments scattered where they cannot be

pieced haphazardly together.

metro musicians

they perch on their crates

mounted in the grime of the metro

and we march on by

like soldiers single-minded on a mission

shutting out their music.

(they're just lazy or poor or 

perverted anyway)

but as their worn fingers caress

the strings, they coax

a song of passion

that cannot be simple begging.

are they here to fill

the worn case sprawled at their feet?

or do they perch, close

their world weary eyes,

entertain a callous audience,

to arouse the fire 

in their slowly beating hearts?

written nov. 2, 2006

the circle

they stood in a Circle

hands clasped, eyes locked,

swaying in tune to their own melody,

only aware of those who

belonged in the Circle,

like a paper chain of pilgrims

cut by a child learning with scissors.

darkness surrounded their

cluster of flickering candles --

with eyes dimmed by the light

the darkness was a curtain of 

uncertainty.

i stood beyond,

one step outside

like a child that didn't belong

one empty hand reaching toward

yet eyes scanning the darkness.

my feet followed my gaze

no hands reach for my 

slowly slipping grasp.

as i disappeared into the circle of darkness

i turned one last time

seeking out a pair of flickering eyes

an invitation back into the Circle

one last farewell.

they stood in their Circle

hands clasped, eyes locked,

only aware of those who

remained.

turning to the darkness

my eyes cleared.

a speck of light grew in my

vision -- the Circle was the only

life to live. i

belonged in another 

circle.

written aug. 24, 2006.

love's value

love is overused

like a toy thats been

shredded or tossed in the air

and then discarded,

given no more deference than

tired hand-me-downs

in the hands of a child.

years pass, the 

value fades,

hinting toward a once glorious

pure gold, but now

only twinkling the last

of a remembered reflection.

tarnished with everyday use

what is love

but a flippant four letter 

word, slipping off the tongue?

i love you.

does it mean anything?

give it meaning

throw your weight behind it

like a boxer behind a knock out punch

blow your mind, blow his

mind, give it an intensity

value it higher than just a 

toss of the tongue

for how else will we

tell the secrets of our hearts?

written aug. 26, 2006

fighting blindly

he stabs at her from behind the curtain

seemingly haphazardly but with

deadly accuracy. how can he

see through the folds?

why does he wait until she can't 

see to attack?

impaling insults to the end of his blade

and thrusting them into her

face, heart, being

maybe he's gotten so used to the game

he plays behind the curtain

its easier, letting the cloth do the work

less effort to hide the

withering soul

than to shore up the crumbling wall

pretending to protect the you

you can't let anyone see.

the slashes left from former fights

lead to wounds still leaking life

and her shield does nothing.

maybe a secret source of strength

keeps him behind the curtain

or maybe he is just too weak

to be revealing.

movie scene

this could be a scene in a movie:

girl in her underwear

perched

alone

tears streaming down her face

with no one to comfort

no one to understand

her phone is her bottle

her only escape

from her loneliness

written march 2, 2007

windmills

tall, regal, silhouetted

against a sky of

washed out blues

they stand.

shoulders thrown back,

chin high in

defiance, spine rigid,

daring the stream of

insignificant populace

racing past to defeat them.

nonchalantly, they swing their

arms in tune with the wind,

like warriors confident in

indestructible immortality.

they draw my eyes

in awe of their quiet rebellion

yet struck by an 

ethereal beauty, a 

delicacy belied only by their strength,

a vulnerability reminiscent of

sweet summer days.

we pass them, their lines

advancing and retreating

from my changing perspective.

the moment has passed,

and the warriors left behind,

tall, regal, defiant.

written aug. 24, 2006, on the road to new york

understanding

dust whirls, caught up in the sunlight,

smiling, breathing, tumbling

she stretches a set of regal fingers

into the ray of gold

twisting them through the dust

grasping at the particles

one moment, capturing one on a 

moon shaped nail

another moment,

disrupting the flow, threads of dust

forever disappearing, matching

her thoughts which

smile, breath, tumble,

forever elusive, always on the edge

of understanding

she wished she could capture the thread

hang on, tame it

knowing that the dust would

always float through the sunlight.

written aug. 2006

peanut butter loneliness

what is this emptiness?

not really a hole

more like a crevice

that i keep stopped up with

peanut butter and false laughter

smeared haphazardly

but never disguising

the widening ache

why am i the outsider?

why do i stand on one side

of the cliff

and reach, invisible to the joy

on the other side?

i have love

and my independence

why do i need more?

written nov. 20, 2006