A Spiritual Crash Diet

A black and white strip from a photo booth
Clementine soda and a green armchair
The third mic from the right at church
Bandages, bumps, and bruises
Towering carnival rides
Pen scribbled into skin
Bare feet all year 'round
The color blue
The melodic beeps of a video game
238th Street and Bailey Avenue
Plane rides and road trips
Adrenaline pumping through your veins
A remade, renamed, rethought work of art, never quite finished.

The Olive Branch

plain, uninspired words spill from pursed lips
dead eyes and a half-assed smirk belie your true curiosity
not even a question really, more of a statement in passing
oh, if you could see the effects.

my face warms and my eyes blur and shake
i clench to hide my answers
and i laugh, through clenched teeth
brushing off my back
years of doubtful insecurity
bowled of by a handful
of simple, mean-nothing words
in a perfect conversation.

Geminus Sententia

Light splashed hiccups
sauntering daintily into space
wrack my brain with
twine made of rainbows
hearts, the invisible darkness
quashing unseen disaster
leather and mesh
wrapping tightly around
your air supply
barnyard smells and error screens
wash over grey painted dawns
witches, elemental explosions
lullaby me
blood-stained cobblestone
you alone have saved me
ravaging midnight fires
consume pictures
sunglasses, hamsters
and the number twenty-four.
flute stands and purple curtains
cloth made of butterflies
river-swimming history.

Simple Questions

If I shot a paper plane to the moon
who would read the secret trapped inside?
If I dove from the leafy bassinet of a tree
would I survive? Would I know what it's like to truly be alive?

I surmise
that I will die
from the fear I try to hide.

The Winter Field

The winter field is not full
the field of summer lost in snow: it is strangled in a coat of white
another thing, a different thing. a month early, nine years too late.
"We shouted, we shook you," you tell me,
but there was no sound
only bright, confused eyes.
After they'd pierced a lake and fished me up, I laughed
after they'd reeled me back they packed me under snow and ice, I was the last blade of grass
The summer field, a trampoline and garden
has its many tasks; weeding and walking and cleaning out
the winter field has melted in the sun
For those hours I was young
and my body cold
which you have loved long well
time did not love you. It has left you behind.

804

Soft lilac orthopedic shoes
and a faded "green peace" bag
short silver curls
with pallid gray glasses to match
what a deceptive disguise

Jumbled text on a white index card
the bottom boldly shouting
"There is no Halloween here"

She stands proudly
on a concrete doorstep
looking down with nothing more
than judgement and contempt

Breathing fire
the wrinkled judge
excitedly condemns us
with trying happiness in her voice

Oh, heresy.

Sandstone

Have you ever  just sat in a lakebed and prayed for rain?
It's as dry as Arizona up here, and twice as hot.
You could pray, and beg, and plead
but you couldn't see a spring if you looked all the way out to the horizon
Thirsty is more than a word.
Thirsty is life.
Thirsty is waking up in the morning and breathing
sucking in dark brown dust
just to calm your burning lungs.

And the last thing a thirsty person wants to hear
is that you're hungry.