Wednesday, December 06, 2006

China Doll

Imagine, as a little girl,
for your birthday
you didn't receive a wrapped gift
instead you received two curved-
tightly wrapped feet
toes curling under
breaking arches
breaking balance
crippled to the world
you so deeply sought to see.

Monday, November 20, 2006


a madrone in a thicket of oaks
bending, arching wooden spine,
twisting, stretching for light
searching for its missing element-
in its photosynthetic life.
she is energy
fuel for growth
beautiful brightness,
consent for stripping bark,
smooth revealing skin
a reason for longevity,
rambling bramble-
never to be trimmed
veins reaching for spherical burning
the tasteful combustion of molten memorabilia
reaching for warmth, growth, and reason
she smolders.

Cynacism between the lines

I could squeeze your neck just to see how blue your face could possibly be, a blueberry balloon ready to burst in the clutches of my dwindling patience. Hit you just to see how much damage I could do in one blow. I often wonder because I’m not an aggressive person. A hand slap, crack to the rack to slow your dome. Straighten your eyes! Think before you speak, you ranter! Over excessive comments in the most ear cringing tone, so dull and monotonous, tumbling, stumbling once in stride, on monosyllabic words. Inuyasha-cross around a neck, skewed belief and culture, open your door, be expansive, be realistic, but take a chance, “high school lovers” don’t dance in the fairy-lit-moonlight and how would samurai feel about your words?

Google-e-eyes on la professora, forcible laughter at silent moments, (eyes roll,) keep your head straight, not like a curious dog.

Take your fingers off your chin your not profound! Body language speaks louder than words.

Respect has broken the sound barrier.

Stop drinking mountain dew, it is legal crack and you might choke on your own words. Just calm down, gather yourself. Stop twitching and recycle the habit, renew it for something worth sipping.

“The …dot-dot-dot,” those are called ellipses.

A couple of mice should hook up. He could organize a musical essay, strum the keys on his palm pilot, just for her, while she creates her own cultural dance, the twittipated-shimmy-shake with a geeked out twist, and yellow-5-dye stained teeth.

Vibrant chartreuse, lines like an illusion game, laced up heeled boots, and patch pants, all under a velvet green cloak, keeps the room interesting, lit up like a Christmas tree in a theatrical roll playing game, and I expect her to roll dice for the next thing that she wants to say.

Sitting close to me the next “sane uni-bomber” recites reflections for his new screen play called “Life.” He touches on all the tasteful things, and all the abstract images my mind can handle, and leaves me wanting more. In order to take a stand against what we don’t believe in, violent forcible acts are necessary, and this man should be followed into battle.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Reflections of White

I thought of you today.
It wasn't the bush monster
guarding churchill
and our lives
wide-open eyes
watching every step
and breath
those were gone
they may have left with you
and the spear he held
towering over us
a medium for our breaths
swirling in the light
that was gone too.
It was underneath our tree
the memory leaped from beneath the leaves
and nearly knocked me over

I stood and saw the smoke curling,
billowing out from under the green-golden pages
strewn across the ground,
like a lemon-lime-quilted-patchwork
smothering the smoldering cigarette
yet giving it enough air
and cover from the water
that seeped through the deciduous canopy of light
down through rising bending trails,
like we were sending smoke signals
and maybe we were
it was a magical moment of incomplete combustion
we stood around the hidden fire
as if to keep warm
to stay dry
we were cold
and the water ran down us like sweat
we didn't acknowledge it
we stood in awe
the smoke swirling around us
and we wondered how,
but we knew what it meant.

Saturday, November 11, 2006

An old soul with eyes that crawl a few strides then
to a convexed-lensed-belly
veins like limbs sprawled out as a slightly melt
ed s
t a
neck tucked close to the centered dark pupil heart that's let so little light in in twenty-two years
although it seems they've seen so much in the dark while walking the border between dreaming and reality.

diverged golden boughs
a limb lifted, bowing to its Goddess
a hunch backed shimmering-shady ruffled robe
limp with strength
leaning toward its mothers hand
balancing red balls on every edge-
of every piece of perfect plumage
while holding a silk sewn doyle in it's hand
you could see every thread shining,
breathing with the breeze.
A fly landed on it's shoulder
crawled around for a moment
and was lifted by the breathing

Sunday, October 08, 2006

The shadow of the past is the wave of the future
consistent outlines of black chalk;
pictures of omnipresent deviance drawn on the streets by the sun
printed and reflected off the moon
the stars are projectors
keeping the reels rolling
intangible birthmarks of darkness
ubiquitous shadows
irrational inkblots of what morality isn't:
people standing in a resevoir of rebellion with the shade pulled over their eyes.

Monday, May 08, 2006

"Gifted people that take their lives are spirits of the universe simply exiting the world, letting their words be heard somewhere else."
To The Patriots

Tattered flags flap then sag
stained stars and unraveled threads
we represent.
Wisps of wind and rain
we send
symbolize our name
as it descends in the eyes of the world.
Power monsters devour
wealth mongers hoarde
and waste...
away like the stripes that fade
from the solar rays
our people project on the monitor
throughout the days.
If only we'd communicate
paint our names the bright colors
we love to wave
let the people explain
democracy our founders sought
tell the world we're not all monsters
the conquering
the killing must stop
let our stripes be sewn tight
our stars shine bright
and peace be given to all!
A Peace of Kindergarten

Wring the wrongs
from this right wash rag
twisted in my white hands
bleeding bright through dirt
the color of the blue earth
spoken words smeared,
merely inert
creativity colored flesh
this intriguing mess
of smiling faces are contagious
eyes wide and round,
like the rug held down
by fifteen bright paperweights
wiggling, waiting to create.
Days pass like pages turned
and letters traced
squiggly curves trying to replicate
but each minute is different
each mistake is a lesson
we naturally contemplate.

Friday, February 10, 2006

Unexpected Gifts of Unendurable Bliss

pixies propel from rustling reeds
traces bend into the indigo night
they burn bright then fade,
like expectations of life
bottle rockets
packaged up by bows
short shrieking shocks to the soul
imagination explodes
shattering the molds of love
dead wings flittering against physics,
turning traces of dust
gifts to the universe
touching the crust
in the silence of indigo dusk.
Rhythms of the Universe
If you could hear me from such a distance
your hips would be slaves to my drum
pale pads pressed, puncturing your pendulum
just enough not to break the skin
to control the rhythm with in
to shine through the glare of your diamonds hidden.
A spoken word amplifies my soul
the rhythm in my hands-
is the rhythm in your bones
like the universal force that acquainted us
a psychadelic whim at a raging rave
your energy breathing fate between my teeth
I inhaled you
centered my peace.