The Divine Lie

so I strapped on my wings

took to your sky

                blinded by a million sparkling dreams

                snowflakes falling into infinity

the howling drums of wind and war echoing

around me…

  

and then the

candle

went out

                                

The waiting dragon

           Josie was in the process of creating a make-shift bandage in front of the sink when she realized she was no longer alone—and yet, no one had come through the door. This could mean only one thing.  Hoping to see a friendly fuzzy image, Josie raised her eyes to the mirror.

Just behind her own reflection stood the figure of a blurred, elderly clergyman.  As she struggled to maintain her composure Josie considered attempting to casually stroll out of the ladies' room to the relative safety of the bus depot lobby, but her arm was still bleeding all over the counter.  She didn't really have a choice.   She wasn't a good enough actress to pretend no one was there. 

There was nothing for it.  With a deep breath Josie turned around and waved at him.  “Hello,” she said, in what she hoped was a genial sort of way.

            “You can see me?” the Minister exclaimed.   

             “Of course.”

            “So I was right—you were following my friend.”

            “I don’t know what you mean,” Josie replied, rapidly deciding that the best course of action was to act as stupid as possible.  It wasn't as if she wanted to earn the Minister’s respect—she just wanted him to leave her alone, the sooner the better.  And god knew Josie really had no idea what was going on with this whole Interior business, anyway, so acting stupid wouldn't be that much of a stretch.  “Following who?” she asked.

            Ignoring her question, the Minister demanded, “How is it that you have come to be involved in this?”

            “Involved in what?”

            The Minister sighed expressively.  “Where,” he said, “is the file?”

            “What file?”

            “The one you stole from us.”

Josie held up her hands.  “I’d love to help you, but as you can see, I don’t have any file.”

“I saw my friend chasing you.”

“What friend?”

            “You obviously think I am a fool.”

            “I think nothing of the sort.”

            “Why are you helping the King?”

            “Which king?”

            “You are not from the Interior.”

            “The Department of Interior?”

            “Why can you see me?”

            “Can’t everyone?” Josie asked.  “And, hey, what are you doing in the ladies’ room anyway?  You don’t look like a girl.”

            For a moment Josie could have sworn the Minister was going to explode.  But when he smiled instead, Josie almost wished he hadn't.  Nothing about that smile felt like a warm fuzzy.  “You must be a queen in your world,” he said, but Josie shook her head.  “No.  Only a girl.”

“There is nothing ‘only’ about it,” the Minister replied, in such a way that made Josie’s skin crawl.  “Well, my dear, I would love to chat and learn more about you, but it appears that I must take my leave.  Until we meet again.”

And the image vanished as mysteriously as it appeared.

My crooked window

Let me tell you what I know about

my broken heart

this is the rhythm of it falling apart

toss the stones in the river because

we are

we are coming up for air again

What did I even know about

guilt and sin

all of the dreams that

I was dying in

it was a curse it was a blessing it

was utter nothingness

until it skidded and came crashing

home

No telling how the earth will

record this disaster

whistling dixie in the wind

as if I had the answer

            ballet with fractured form

tripped up by vengeful rapture

the hammer flung against

the wall

Dismantled piece by piece into

a million parts

buried back with Santa at

the Christmas tree farm

what is dead is what is real to

the falling apart

we heard the siren but not the

alarm

I wonder how I will know when

the sky becomes my master

when dreams of yesterday stop

mocking me with laughter

tomorrow is today tornadoes

circling my trailer

I was wrong over

and over again

Now I whisper to the wind about

my broken heart

failing in slow motion

not a subtle art

toss the stones in the river because

I am

I am here alone at the end

Far away

But the storm came rolling in
the storm came rolling in
a million miles of prairie grass
and your golden-haired girl
exposed once again

Wandering around my mind

The pen bothered me. So I asked him about it.  “Where’d you get this pen again?”  It was fat and full of multi-colored ink cartridges.

The strange animal character on the screen jumped over a crumpled brick wall with an appropriate boing sound.  “I found it,” he answered.

“Oh.  Okay.”  I walked into the hallway.  But I wanted to know more, so I asked, “Where?”

“School, I think,” he shouted from the other room.

“Okay.”  But I still didn't remember.  I knew I remembered at one time—and that was the worst part.

In stasis

And just when I thought I had made

myself old over wishing for

something to whisper

like a kind stranger into

my ear,

            I understand, and I do not

            blame you

I find myself catching the edge of

every movement of

atmosphere even the leaves

have forgotten.

Listening,

waiting...

Tomorrow and tomorrow

Diary entry, April 20, 2014

You think you know.  You can never know.  You will never know anything other than a name that means nothing to you.  You are trapped in the network.  The hallway has no exit.  The bicycle has no wheels.  If you step outside of the red lines there is nothing to stand on.  You will fall.  You will fall, and you will not even remember how to scream, but it won’t matter.  Because no one would hear you even if you did.  You are a story I sold for a million howls of laughter.  For a million screams of pleasure.  You are nothing.  You were just one more born to serve a purpose, and now you are used up.  No wonder you question living.  You know there is no purpose left for you.  I tore you into tiny pieces and gave bits to any who asked.  I did this because you are useless.  No one cared then, and no one cares now.  You are a piece of lint to be flicked away, blown into nowhere.