Parasite

Like a tapeworm you have slithered
into my life
settling yourself cozily
beneath my skin.

You use your gaping mouth
to suck the life force out of me.
Slowly draining me of my strength.

My skin is gray
my eyes, sunken.

Why, thank you love.
But I will no longer let you try to kill me.
I am better than you.

Hello Thursday

Icy clouds fall
splashing roar on black
yellow paint with the contrary tendency
to drip into pools of oil
light blue lightning
slips past brick
and rumbling grey
a gold wall appears
red lights blinding
squealing, screaming, struggling
pulling back on rubber
and slowly, peace.

Five

Back and forth
you shake me
like
the carnival's green and gold viking ship
(with just as much nauseousness)

Swing left
loving, compassionate
Swing right
cold, calculating
you thumb the ignition button with glee

You are fresh coffee
and rainwater

leaving moderation in your dust.

How the Rain Falls

Why do we hate?
Why do the children of today
have to know what it is to discriminate?
Why do they even have to know the meanings
of the words bigotry and race?
Why is it a race
to the top
without a second look, a second thought
of the people we have stepped on
the lives we have crushed.

Why do I deserve to know hate?
Why do the words shoot, terrorize, and bully
make so much sense
while love, honor, and cherish
seem like the lines
of a long forgotten song.

Look in their eyes!

the eight year old at recess
the eighteen year old in college;
they have seen violence


the twenty-five year old at a new job
the eighty-five year old enjoying retirement
they have felt the swift blows of judgement

Judgement, unlike understanding
falls down like rain.

Where I'm From

I am from hardwood floors

From candles and glass

I am from the big backyard       

With the perfect swing for sleeping in the sun

I am from the five gardens

The apple tree

Whose long gone limbs I remember

As if they were my own

I’m from Secret Santa and freckles

From Veronica and Michael

I’m from loud mouths and short tempers

And from long weekly road trips

On The Cross Bronx Expressway

I’m from do more and work harder

And family first

I’m from back alleys and green mountains

Thin-crust pizza and pot roast

From a stolen station wagon      

Filled with Christmas presents

Floral printed photo albums

Splayed across the house

Like art.

Congratulations, You

YOU are the wrecking ball of lives
demolishing everything in sight

YOU are the kid who feels powerless
taking a magnifying glass to a family of ants

YOU are the California wildfire
burning indiscriminately

YOU are the bitter ice
that chokes the life out of spring grass

YOU are the glaring, red 'F'
crippling the high-achiever

YOU are the hot sun
that burns up cool, white skin

YOU are destruction
in an impressively deceiving package.

I Dabble in Haiku

you are perfect God
i will share you with the world
share of your glory.

Ode to The Mirror

I am a lady, do not mistake me for a bitch.
I am a champion, do not mistake me for a loser.
I am beautiful, do not mistake me for horrid.
I am strong, do not mistake me for being weak.

I am friendly, don't call me a loner.
I am sincere, don't call me a fake.
I am intelligent, don't call me dumb.
I am interesting, don't call me dull.

I am important, no longer worthless.

Maybe the glass is broken.

Oh, Wisconsin

a sculpted silver sardine can
decorated tastefully
in teal and navy


the shuffling of life
in and out

warbled conversations
about travel
and culture
and GOSSIP
blend together
in a fine pureé of noise
and life.

1035

Stress is a man
in a trim suit
putting things into a briefcase.

Slowly yet surely
it begins to fill up.
and the hinges groan
and the leather swells
and the lock un-clicks
and the edges of it open
like the agape mouth
of a confused child.

So the man opens it up again.
and what he sees inside is a whirlwind
of work
and love
and social obligation.
a living environment
teeming with
paperwork
and errands
and tough choices
and boring conversations
and seemingly impossible tasks.

Call in sick.
Take off the suit.
Light a match, and watch the briefcase burn.

Bitches, Fury!

Sloppy, moppy, blonde hair,

Hides underneath it, rage.

The fury of a lion wrapped up

In a quaint, little package.

Neck muscles constrict

With such suddenness

One would swear he was simply

A puppet.

The boy, he will swear he is.

A puppet of capitalism, and ignorance, and shamefully cold hearts.

He fades, just slightly, into the forest-colored chair that envelopes him.

Now he sits quietly, sipping.

Just sipping on tea, tea like ambrosia.

The storm within him quelled. 

And Skeletons Dance

Life is peeling away the strength
from his bones
stealing his breath
making each step hurt
like a schoolyard bully

Looking into the face
tired and bright
and seeing pain

Every day is a battle
the toughest struggle
between trudging on
and letting go

Pulling himself along
on tattered, battered feet
praying for a day of peace
that seems impossible

or
The waking nightmare of loss
slipping, slowly, silently
into the abyss
that seems inevitable.

Rebirth

We are slowly falling back
into "comfortable"
into finishing sentences
into soft words
like beautiful
and miss you
and baby


the pressure is released
late night conversations
trickle in like starlight

dark baritone
and bright soprano
paint the sky
with friendly, happy words
laughter

broken wall of trust
building up, slowly
sharing parts of myself
not seen before.

I've missed this.

White Melancholy

White, melancholy cylinders

Perch themselves on tall, thin tree pieces

And wait.

Soon, giggling monsters

With bright eyes and empty bellies

Will lumber into the picture.

They will fumble around anxiously

Until they wrap pink fingers around

Those tree pieces.

A bonfire they will start

With great pleasure

They lick their lips,

And walk over to the blazing pile

Of what was once

A maple tree

They hold the tree pieces holding these cylinders

High above the flames

Some, dipping down farther

straight into the glowing embers

  

These cylinders, once pure white

Will crinkle, and burn,

Until finally they are released

From their blackened skin

In a gooey rebirth

They are placed on a taupe tomb,

Covered with a deep brown funeral cloth,

And the coffin in closed with another taupe plank.

The grinning monsters are pleased.

“S’mores anyone?”

ZnO

A small, cool, lonely stone
washes up
on the sandy beach
at mid-day

The sun warms my skin
and  the smells of
saltwater & sunscreen
invade my senses

bright colors pepper the tawny scene
beckoning smiling children
and calm-seeking adults

Through all of this
my eyes are stuck
on the small, cool, lonely stone
that has washed up at my feet.

Fields of Me

I am a sovereign identity
with an energy all my own
I am fluid, ever-changing
never able to be held down

I escape from worlds
with words
and I find my muse
in music


I am sudden, and vibrant
I shine light on my world
I pass through lives like air

I am hardheaded
and I am wonderful.

Moonlight Blazing

The cool shadows of flames
lick my feet
The hot evening sand
burns deep into my soles

I walk steadfast up this path
head forward
With no idea at all of
what will happen next.

I've walked this way my whole life. 

Lightning Hunter

I capture lightning.
I scoop it up and put it in a jar
to save for winter.
Do not worry about the flashes.
The lightning is merely restless.

It illuminates my eyes
reflecting blue on blue,
an ocean of light.

Setting it free would be a waste
so I choose to keep it.
High on a dusty shelf
To remind me that I am powerful.
I am a lightning hunter.
The best of my kind.

Untitled III

Cool, wet sand
opens to the sea
loud, booming crashes of blue and white
lap at the beach like a cat at milk
every grain of sand, bowing reverently to the water
trusting in the fact that, eventually,
they will be allowed to touch sweet air again
every day is a guessing game.

Untitled II

Running through soft, white silk lilies
open air and sun kissing my face
shouting to the sky
"everybody must love today!"

Untitled I

Children playing in the house
and in the streets
in the cold, the wind
the heat
living life by pllayground rules
in the streetlights, children's shadows dance
never pausing to realize it.

Kent, Connecticut

I always liked summer
best
you can go on adventures
to far-off places
and climb
and laugh
and sing
and dive into water
that is blue
and deep
and cool
and clear
where the day is warm
and busy
and happy
a day just for falling in love.

The Dream

Love in a thunderstorm, caught up in each other
Keep me at peace love, eyes of intensity
Road trip blood rush
Slow dancing under a waterfall
Revive the dream of a gentleman
Late night, Irish-lilted conversations
Whispers about our future

Shelter in a Café

Shadow of Skyscrapers
a jump rope song
orange marmalade
rose petals pressed against
a cheek
salty ocean air
holding hands in the park.

Ocean City, Maryland

I always like summer

best

you can watch volleyball games

on the beach

and people

and waves

and seagulls

and sunrises

and breathe in saltwater

and fresh strawberries

and the smell of sun

and not have to worry about time

or money

or schedules

or homework

and just live

Sábado

Laying in bed

early morning pours in

chilling my arms and face

I lean into you

pressing my head into your chest

searching for your comforting heartbeat

I wrap my arms around you

and squeeze to show my affection

Sleepy-eyed you look at me

and smile, warming my heart

With fawn-like tenderness

you lean down and place

a kiss on my forehead

You take your arms

and wrap me up in you

not too hard a task

I have been all along

And from your lips

my life-blood comes

"I Love You."

The New School

Playdough was my tutor in wildness,

Piano my teacher in concentration.

Basketball, Swing sets, these things taught me how to rise,

While Trampolines and Slinkies showed me how to fall,

Legos were professors of building,

And my Nintendo, my best trainer in destruction.

The little things that mean so much.

Celestial Sodapop

Sitting at the weeping tree

Slouched and white

Like defeated love

Harsh bark breaks off in my hand

Strange etching in the wood

“Novus Universum”

Leaves erupt with gold

Wind whips my hair

Against my face, blinding me

Eyes clamped shut

I stand, perfectly still,

Until,

The storm quells.

The newness is beautiful,

And frightening

The small backyard that I once knew is gone

My petite bare feet barely fit

On the tiny island

Holding just the tree

And me

What surround me now are shadows

Of trees too high to see

And other things I must assume.

The water is painted

With lilac and silver and mystery

The depths of which

I could not dream to guess

So I stand there, patiently

Thinking of what to do next

I seem to do the most curious thing

And I am not quite sure why.

I kneel down on the grass,

Cup this water in my hand,

And drink.

I did not expect this.

It is sweet, and bubbly, and tickles my lips.

I do believe that I have found

The very first sea of

Celestial soda pop.

The Minotaur

Darkness
Sweat
Muffled Voices
Tearing at
Paper, plastic
One another
Angry silence
Shaking
Scurry
Heart racer
Door slam
Squares of white
New flourescence
No shame here
A smile
Dancers
Back and forth
Second chances
Shout
Hurt
Happiness
Fin.

What now?