The Year (aka Rubber-necking Dust Bunnies)
The year that knew something had to change
edges of blame
The season that took us under it’s leaves
converged on violet spiked hair and Cole Hahns
arms compelled stretched out wide beneath starlight pleas
The month Grandmother Wind blew open her door
rubber-necking dust bunnies stooped on their haunches
witness the end of a languid tug-of-war
The week sleep dreaming bore rainbows of sound
warrior arpeggios journeyed through limp forms
cavorting with rivers of blood run aground
The day the trees climbed into her heart
deep in a forest as she sat near a stream
on leaves that tickled her thighs with their edges of sharp
The hour the red-tailed hawk perched high
in the top of an autumn pine watching her
as she sat by a stream on leaves that tickled her thighs
The minute Spider climbed the leg hairs to my knee
in the strong of the wind with a lunch of red ant
snapped shut in her jaw as we sat by a stream on leaves
The second night fell shut thick deep black
and clasped our body tight to her breast
in a chorus of aromas and freedom of silence as we sat
Rewrite of "Red Cap" from the Wolf point of view
One July a woman child carried some butter buns
in a wicker basket with an arsenal of guns
through my forest wearing a red cap on her head,
baggy camo-pants, a black T-shirt and navy hightop keds.
On my foot she stomped real hard with no apology.
“Ouch!” I hollered, grabbed my foot and propped up on a tree.
“Hey you little red capped freak, come right back this way.
You have caused me to be lame just now. What have you to say?”
Camo-Red cap turned to face me, smirking bold as pink.
“What should I say? I only tried to kill a horrid stink.”
“Fair enough,” I did reply. “There is no love lost here.
but if you will not help me walk, I shan’t survive I fear.”
Camo-Red Cap thought a sec while standing on the path.
“I’ll help you to my grandma’s house where you shall take a bath.”
I liked that idea fine because I lacked the proper feet,
and hoped to find at Grandma’s house a little bite to eat.
When we arrived old grannie was all propped up in her bed,
reading a Dean Koonz paperback with rollers in her head.
Camo-Red Cap shoved clean towels and soap into my arms,
and pushed me towards the stovetop like a bossy old schoolmarm.
“Bathe here in this pot of water, so warm and big and wide.
I’ll hold the soap and clean towels while you climb to get inside.
And hurry up or I will stomp upon your other toes.
I’m getting tired and cranky from this holding of my nose”
It did not seem a good idea to me to be twice lame,
but on the other hand seemed worse to climb atop that flame.
And then I spied a catalog beside the flour bin
with order forms for new wolf pelts partially filled in.
“Ah ha,” I thought, “so that’s her game. She plans to steal my coat.
This Camo-rat has tricky sleeves, but I can bite her throat.”
I lunged at her and ate her up before she blinked an eye.
It was an act of self-defense. I’m not an evil guy.
Granny did not seem upset, which I thought rather crass.
She said she feared this child who was a cruel and wicked lass.
“Wolf, you’ve saved me just like that. One bite is all it took.
So stay with me and take your bath and grab yourself a book.”
The moral of my story is if you’re a wolf with hair,
stay off the path cause camo-girls are really on a tear.
Love Like A Bullet
didn't want your love on me
but you aimed it like a bullet
felt it pierce my skin, my heart
and I tried so hard to pull it
didn't want you in my dreams
with your astro hypno-eyes
getting close and confusing me
now I am the poster child
for a heart that can't help show it
a dance that's never done
like celestial objects spinning spinning
fun isn't always fun
with a midnight sun
some how I cannot get around the sound of you
I know your walk, hear your gait, I'm glued
Are you my magnetic north and my true?
to be free is to let you go as I fall
You have my heart
I keep my sanity
you lean on my left arm, my legs go weak
I put my headphones on, let silence speak
you close the last hall door and drop love crumbs
Will I give them all back to you when the right time comes?
is it not too soon for a morning moon?
I saw a predator
and compelled to defend
I took a stance
a dangerous romance
If I Come To You (song)
If I come to you - when we meet
across this summer silhouette of lovers strolling through the streets
will you be holding a cigarette -
you see, baby, I just don't know you that well - yet
If I come to you - when we meet
will your chin be tilted down, glancing shyly at your feet
will your hands be tucked inside the pockets of your blue jeans
or reaching for my smile
If I come to you - when we meet
will your lips be softly parted - your eyes undress my need
will you be standing off to the side
or lean into my body and straddle my desire
you see, baby, I just don't know you well enough to believe
if I come to you, you will come to me
Who Are You (or You SUCK) (song)
Who are you - what's your name
I know you told me - but you did not say
no you did not say - you would take my heart
and give me nothing - but a cold false start
yeh you gave me nothing - I thought you gave me love
you gave me nothing - just an empty glove
so beautiful and dangerous
the way you sit up on that cliff
companion of Persephone
all ships are stopped on the open sea
mariners jump into the starboard waves
a desperate swim to the siren caves
your irresistibly seductive voice
called me to make a foolish choice
with music and song that enchanted me
I dove into your dark unstable sea
I think it gives you such a devil's laugh
to knock this sailor off her windward path
when I find a way to stem this tide
I'll reverse my course and save my wounded pride
climb back aboard my super dreadnought ship
if I may be so blunt, you SUCK - may your tide rip.
Young Buck Series
I know a young buck who needs to chill
she'll never read this, she can't stand still
wild and aggressive fallow deer
seeking out her doe, repelling as she goes
instincts gone awry
though she's no monster or cacodyl
she's swimming in vodka and rye
she'll soon meet her match and collide
and when she falls off her Man O' War
tumbling into the kind overlord
what was she doing up on that horse
precarious posturing on high
the offended will breathe a sigh
I know a young buck who needs to chill
If she doesn't back it off, somebody else will
she seems a bit of a Lothario
her walk a slow prowl
half panther, half privileged executive
her name is I want you now
her plan is to keep you off balance
push you to risk your virginity
pull you off your vows
her eyes are
nearly as piercing as mine
and in a competition
swampy mood swings
untether and slip
rotted cypress branch topples
I hear it crush my head
yet I am dead
I beat my own chest back to life
she is still in the bog
compassion gets the better of me
and with a long red mangrove root
I touch her sheltered spine
and see her ungrateful eyes
and smell her wine
Twisted Heart of Stone
I get sucked into your
twisted heart of stone
melted by the burning and the broken
and you know
hard is softened by the urgency of release
I'll put my hands where you need them to be
someday - when you come
Is it easier to be alone?
the eye of a child come out
from hard face self-exiled from heart bruised
in places love ought adorn
old in places too young to be worn who
when yanked from the safety of oblivion
and thunderous pain
into the womb of this work that
God has made of you slowly over time
smiles softens and plays,
I must believe you are precious, and I
must believe there is grace.
Fear can bring me to
cause me to stop breathing suck the
air right out of my lungs
pretzel my mind maze my thoughts sharpen
move me to
collect arsenal to use
give me the blues
won’t let me wear red
tell me not to Go home tell me not
to Leave home curl me up into a ball move my
move my feet race my heart convince
me seduce me control me refuse me make me save me
educate me shock my sleepless mind open the door
this woman I loved so much that
I spent six years of my life with her,
climbed inside a completely unnatural bird to Paris,
an overbooked, oxygen deprived 757 jumbo jet,
irritable sticky-faced kids
crawling across our United Airlines laps
in search of their over-caffeinated parents.
There was this woman
who loved me so much that
she spent six years of her life with me
watching the sun go down over
asphalt highways coming home from
the sandy shores, terrified to be the one behind the wheel
to drive across the Chesapeake Bay bridge.
shotgun in the dusk, holding her shoulders,
stroking her hair, balm for her death-grip driving,
stubborn and determined to steer us clear, her big
tears soaking into my old denim jacket that she
always had to borrow, just to feel safe
looking out of his eyes that day.
lost his balance
a few times.
most of the outside view
from the inside of his eye sockets was blurred.
he appeared silent, a little low, to anyone looking.
feeling trapped, restless, stir crazy
put down the paperback life he’d been living
to relax the tension at the sides of his eyes.
his thoughts turned to his lover at work
and his stomach turned over, again,
some virus or flu
wasn’t sure which.
better to stay home in bed
then risk a walk and shitting
uncontrollably down his own legs.
The Woman Who Sits in the Chair
I force the weight
of my anger
when you reach
too deeply into
took me all year to tell you
I feel close
my voice a bit too loud
bleached by desert sun
not even with both our loves
do I feel safe
in this room
feeling closer feeling wrong
I don’t want to live
the rest of my life
with my shoulders up to my ears
my mother from
smiles upon you
holds you in her arms
nudges you on
just how you love me
she loves you for that too
she fixes your coffee
winks like the dew
I wish I had stories
from the old ones who knew
mine were the wandering jews
gypsies from south Peru
our stories all scattered
I am afraid
I will never see
your appointment book
February 3, 2001
Confessions of An Unwed Mother
"Get it off your chest."
"Lighten your load."
"Confession is good for the soul."
"You're only as sick as your secrets."
How shall I ease my disclosure? I have wanted to tell you for years the things I will finally say. Mostly, I live the unexamined life deemed not worth living by Plato. I don't wax philosophical with the same passion that buoys my children and lovers. For me, a mountain snow is as breath-taking an experience to behold as a plowboy leading a team of mules. Imperative, urgent, seasonal. A civil rights group marching on Washington as graceful a dance as a red-tailed hawk circling it's prey. You may laugh, but I am a product of natural law. Yes, you do forget this often.
I feel little discomfort in telling you that I have had many lovers and married not one. This, I'm quite certain, you already know. A few have written songs professing my beauty and their undying love, forthright and committed while in the throws of passion. I don't recall sending any one of my lovers away, though they leave. With a clash of ideals I see the first signs of unrest and they are gone. Though I am saddened by these losses of adoration, I am not broken or seriously harmed. So, alone, I bear the beauty and the grief of hurricanes, fires, floods and downed 747's. The mischief of clear-cutting forests and slash-and-burn. Even so, I am still convinced there is a brave new world.
I am witness to the grand confessions of rich men, poor men, serial killers, thieves, pyromaniacal corporate slugs, presidents and priests. I listen in on the small, precious "ownings up" of children; toy breakers, puppy tail pullers, class bullies, little sister pushers. With each of these I may always be as compassionate and understanding as I am judgmental and cruel. Still, disclosing my secret to you now is not made easier.
Catholics receive Absolution and do Penance. Criminals receive Immunity and do Freedom. Homosexuals receive a seat on Jenny Jones and get Murdered. Presidents receive a Subpoena and get Impeached, or not. Addicts and Alcoholics receive The First step and do Eleven More Steps. And I? What will I receive when I give my full confession? A hug, kiss, golden locket? I cannot afford to be concerned. I must tell you now.
You have broken my heart. I begot you children that I love and adore, yet, I am not proud of everything you do. For all for the lovely qualities in some, I cannot abide what others have become. You are arsonists, terrorists, rapists and thugs. You commit unspeakable crimes of homicide, genocide, suicide and abuse of power. Are you the children that came from my womb? The sibling rivalry, elitist drudge. You are deranged and inconsolable. And you are not only a few. I cannot disown you. I am your mother. I am the keystone. I will always do what I can for you. A good provider, I have sheltered and fed you, strengthened and guided you. I have given you the means to heal your wounds. Still, you are out of control. Some appear soulless. You have harmed yourselves and others, including me, and I am angry.
Having kept silent for far too long, I ache as I write these words. Still, they are not my most difficult secret to confess. I won't be making the same mistake again. In warning I tell you, the most agonizing confession for me is this. My beloved children, before you can kill me, I will kill you.
All my love,
an amiable cat
yours was found
in a gutter of rain
a panicked and fearful catten
with a brain
She doesn’t believe
you love her
she mustn’t be foolish
if your apartment provides
eat when she’s ready
Your habits don’t begin
to amuse her
that toilet disturbs
her day nap
and you are enormous
and terribly high
how will a cat
get a look in your eye
she’ll skitter and scatter
‘til you come to her size
a moment to be
her name is inside
she’ll give you a try
she’ll say it just once
then she’ll hide.
Wait ... Don't Answer
Why do you
I will take you
with me I
any place we do it
is tight enough
against my thigh
hard into the side of
a mountain your
wet cavern slide
suck my fingers
sunset your naked
just your voice on
your surrender to
tiredness from long work
is sexual undress
my cheeks flush
wet yearning swells
seductive vocal overtones lick
I will take you in the rain forest
get you biten
full of earth
passion me hold
you down your back snakes
along cool brown soil leaves
we have never
on my couch
why do you make me
wait you say you may
shock me one day
the lover you keep
the emotion you feel for her
back stroke breast
salt water beads nipple tease
torrential desire full
blood heat surrender secrets
palm on palm we flame each
other we fluster
your soft tongue hot
wet melts my hard
spasm your full lips
where will you take
me while we get it
that we love each other
that you have a lover
passion in a
fight for freedom we
have I been banished to my
room self sex touch
my luxurious tribal
wave to your lips on
why do you make me
My Part I
We find each other like
trackers in the snow
we smell each others
we recognize our allies
we trap ourselves
we hang on so tight
we cluster into fear groups
who’s had the scariest life
who’s the angriest
who hangs in the balance
who’s cool can never be blown
who never had a chance
My Part II
The ones who arrived before us say
one of our worst enemies
one that will guarantee our failure
lays waiting in the recesses of our own minds.
They tell us we must always be wary of
contempt prior to investigation.
I have become exhausted beyond
my own sick experience with depletion and hopelessness
lowered myself into the deepest crevice of my insanity
stumbled over my own emotional feces
and fallen into cracks I swore I’d never enter
for fear I’d not return to the crevice
I challenged with my willfulness
in search of my home.
This much I know.