And then the sun came...

I want someone to trust.  There was a girl who kept trying.  But then she got tired and stopped.  She was the girl who wanted to feel smart and special, except that got tiring, too.  It was just so much work.  Now she isn’t a girl anymore.  She is just another person full of panic and desperation.

Yesterday's dancer

How I would like nothing more than

to feel the cadence of your

pulsating love again

Nothing more than to know it is me who

you tried with your heartbreak

to protect

Instead I am left waiting on the hill

shaking with knowledge of

lost connections

I am left on the pier with memories of the dead

their sorrow pointed toward

the horizon

The waiting angel

Tiredly I leaned back against the damp, cold ground.  When I closed my eyes I heard some more snuffling, and then felt her fuzzy head against the palm of my hand.  We will be safe tonight, I thought to myself.  Tomorrow was anybody’s guess.   Absolute safety would never be mine to have.  It simply didn't exist. 

The view from above

Yes you were a picture in a book                    nestled between a cranny and a nook             where I could close my eyes and see       but the library locked its doors        and I am prostrate on the floor                    you do not belong to me               you do not belong to me

Letting go

It cost me the ravage of an atomic rage

poisoned the air with its smoke-orange memories

maybe it will melt my blistering heart

maybe it will leave me to freeze in 

the drift of its nuclear winter

when the death that crouches in wait for me

crouches close for you, too

The coming frost

She waits for dreams but they are so often the same.  She waits for someone to tell her something.  She is so used to accepting.  Accepting and accepting and accepting.  Some say this is a virtue, but acceptance can be the first stage of surrender.  She no longer fights, because she accepts.  She gives up.

Reflections

Listen to me.

We are the paint peel chipping,
dangling over the prickly
bushes,
waiting with an eye
toward falling.
I wonder who I will be
when I am cut and
bleeding -
I wonder who I will be
when I have
given up.

It is like the blanking of
a color screen,
the bleaching of dark
green carpeting.
Hold my hand for just
a little while.
We are moving
and fading
on and on.

And you have become all
of what is to go.
Once you were the buttercup
dripping,
dislocating the litter
lodged inside of
me,
when now I have
nothing inside
to lose.

Yes, I wanted to hold your hand,
for just a little while.
But we are a love song
moving and
fading
on and on...