Saturday, December 27, 2008


Holding the left hand of sunrise
Above the fogline, thin spires cut the blue
Stars still sprinkle the shrinking dark
Like little punctuation marks of kisses
Sunrise’s right hand cups my flesh, pulls me to waking
Traces orange patterns of veins and bones
Traces my lips
Bright replaces the purples I wrap around me when I sleep
Just a few more minutes
I want to hold the sun
Right here

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Shadows and Ghosts

He opens his eyes, reassures himself that I am here, not a figment, the weight of me in his arms not enough to disprove dreaming, and falls back asleep.
But that was yesterday. Or perhaps the day before. Or a lifetime before.
I'm not sure anymore. He's not here now.
I stare at the blankness of my bed, cool, smooth. A bird caws, the others sleep on.
Sun still down. Stars fade, taking the silence.
It wakes up and leaves to find a new home.
No train whistle to replace it, provide harmony to the dissonance.
And he is not here, not here to keep me warm, to wrap around me and slide his fingers up my thighs. Not here to keep the monsters away, to lock up the demons that chew my brain.
My bed is empty.
All it holds is me. That's not enough.
It holds a shell. My words pour out, spill over the edge, puddle on the floor.
See the light peaking in, and flee.
Farewell, goodbye. Silence, wait for us, we are on your tail.
We won't be back.
You've used up your allotment.
You are as empty as your bed. Replace us, but you'll still be empty.
Ghost fades, put my hand out to touch the space. No trace.
When you are gone, were you ever here?

Another Happy New Year

He asked her, but not me.
His ex-wife, the mother of his children, but not me.
I'm just the not.
Not girlfriend, not lover, not future.
I will never be more than I am right now, this minute this second.
Which isn't saying a helluva a lot.

Candle Lighting

She lights one candle, then another
A whole row of candles, the first melted away before she's lit the last.
Turns to me, looking for approval, looking for a sign.
A sign that I love her, that I'll always love her, that I won't leave anymore.
It kills me, the leaving, the constant leaving.
Leaving is being.
Unless I stay
and another part of me leaves, so I can breath.
The candles burn, use up the oxygen.
Where does the fire go, after?
My fingers climb the smoke wisp, looking for a way out.

Empty Frame

The voices go on, a hum? a buzz?
She can't make out the words, static in her head.
Upset, always upset.
She wants perfection, some Norman Rockwell fantasy.
She's never seen a Rockwell, doesn't know.
He saw fantasy, memory, a snapshot moment and the reality behind it.
The hurts, injustice, cruelty.
The evil.
And he saw the good, the loving-kindness, fulfillment.
All she sees is a picture
and that she isn't in it.

Dec 6 1994

It's empty, the rink. The eighty-four foot spruce casts no shadow at this hour. Soon, the street will be filled with happy, laughing families, or at least the appearance of happy laughing families. Does anyone know the inside of another's heart? Can you? Can I?

For now, it's empty. I have it all to me, this grey-pink hour between night and dawn.

I've watched it, cars honking at 4 a.m., plaza crowded with partiers, too much to eat, too much alcohol, too many drugs, drowning sorrows they don't know they have, filling their insides, their physical insides while I watch and compose metaphors. Hug themselves against the cold, giggling, going up and down the stairs, round the tree, and then?

Everyone leaves.

No one will see the sunrise except me.

I have no where else to go, no one to miss me, to wonder where I am.

Maybe when the sun comes up, I won't be so cold.


Whither Thou Goes, I Wish I Could Go

It's different here. Different kind of cold, goes through me-
Oh god, the train.
Take me, take me, take me, the whistle says.
Come with me. I'll be waiting at the station.
I'll take you anywhere you want to go.
Take the first step.
But you can't look back. You'll be salt.
I lick my arm. Squeeze of lime, shot of tequila.
Yes. I am salt.
The train pulls out, silent now.
Standing there, I don't wave goodbye.
I don't take the next train either.