Bereft

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

Beautiful Escape

I don’t really know what to say, I tell him.  Well, I do, but I don’t want to write it down.  

We could obliterate them into a million zillion pieces, he answers.  Or turn them into cartoon characters that we can erase, and then crumple up and throw away.  

I want to fly amidst the stars I want to fall splat on the ground, I return.  This could go on forever.  Fat and wore cheap suits.  There, how’s that for something?

He rolls his eyes.  How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

An excellent question, I reply.  But unfortunately there is a party conference going on.  

Yes, he says.  And no one is winning.

Lonesome

I lost my travel book centuries ago

burned the forest where you

were my favorite 

tree

You are the reality I cannot close in on

what flew through my hair that 

I mistook for 

permanency

Survival

Just when I was about to crawl out of my bed and find something to hang myself with, an elderly man wearing a clerical collar walked into the room.

I stiffened.

He held up a hand.  It was covered in age spots.  “I know I’m probably one of the last people on earth you want to talk to, so I won’t stay long,” he said.  “I just wanted to sit with you for a little while, if that’s all right.”

My finger that had been hovering over the call button relaxed when he smiled.  It was not the smile of a maniac.  I knew what that smile looked like now. 

He took a step closer, enough for me to better see his face.  There was nothing special or particularly memorable about it, except for his eyes.  Green and blue swirled together, so that they reminded me of satellite photos taken of the earth from outer space.  “Don’t be afraid,” he told me.  “God is with you.  You can rest now.”

He then patted my hand. 

I wanted to ask him where God had been yesterday, but the words didn’t come; exhaustion had, for the moment at least, extinguished my rage.  He settled into the chair next to me.  I could hear him whispering prayers to himself as I fell asleep.

Awake

I wonder what those big oak doors

are saying

I wonder if I could read something carved

into their polished lines

because I am down here searching for some

sense of believing

when God isn't sending me any dreams 

tonight

Aftermath

I am sinking straight through

right down to the 

briny deep

You were the tank full of

butterfly breaths

I so very much wanted 

to breathe

The Ugly Cannot Always be Made Beautiful

Tell her the devil is pounding
on the gates
salivating
waiting
God reserves a special place for you
it is where the clouds burst and bang
the loudest
It is His business to forgive
not mine
His
Because now even the furniture is different
And the ugliness way down here
it smells like you