and she said she was proud

holding the guts twisted with baling wire;
finding intensity in bloodless eyes:
a peek of bone–
a glimpse of polished foundations.
(i always felt that worry would get me through)

rock hard underneath all the skin,
the hesitant organ that belongs to faith
and faith alone–

skipping stones.
every other one
poking a finger at the calendar,
and going,
it goes around.”

but not the same spot:
never the same reasons!
we make fun–
grant perplexities
to every ambulatory season.

do i seem scattered?
it happens
when your night is alone once again,
and tears don’t cry into a pillow…
no, not here:
they can’t afford to leap to such conclusions,

passed from mother to daughter;
each drop
billowing to greater heights.

sometimes i wish excitement were more human.
sometimes i bleed insanity, and blush distraction,
but i never got used to the anticipation.
the things you told me to be,

and the other things
(all those other things)
that i decided to own,

they are mine now:
skin and bone.
and i think a heart, that beats for the sake of rhythm,
complicates a mind that decided you were right;

you were right all along.


reincarnated to get along

i lived a thousand years,
or maybe it was slightly less….
but i do believe these old bones made it
and the one thing–
the world needs; you
is for that smile, and
that touch, that says we’re friends
as every sibling: bows
to build in haste,

but for whatever reason,
you would rather stand apart
and give me everything i don’t need!

there was a time.
it would have been enough,
but for now:
i just needed all these absolutes to care;

to die within our implications:
a deceptive crooning that explicitly confounds
how to pass, calmly into shadow,
a stricken mask
that never bleeds. (why should tears be such a crimson death?)

the last call that grasps for an:
i love you.
invoking every desperation, (dear god, could we get any more desperate?)
we both speak the bond;
like saying it
means belief!

like the reality isn’t there:
staring at us,
hatred so strong:

even this time around,

how many times
must we repeat our litany
to make it true?
i love you.

at least
at the very least
what we have at the bottom of our stinking barrels
are the lies to chew on
the deceit

the poor excuses
to grip in watery teeth

this time around:
sometimes a person feels like they failed for good
i lived a thousand years,
or maybe it was slightly less….

chained to three piles of gold

should i describe the sky?
the ground?
the trees? the mountains?

should i lament my pain?
my past?
the shadows cast
in a convoluted mirror?

should i explore the truth in logic?
the lack of logic in so many truths?
are answers to be found for each desire in all existence?
or is hunger ghostly bound–
forever chained to haunting youth?

today, every cloud smiled:  with glints of heat between their curves,
i was lost for awhile.  holding perfection engraved upon each sorrow,
hurry now and storm your treasured consequence:
beg and borrow,
kiss the last and cover the first;

hold the most,
and leave with nothing

but an aching, ever-delightful thirst.

my own white knight

I’m my own white knight

To think all these years


And I was here all along

.. ..

Throwing stones at stone houses

Bobbing for apples in a pickle jar

Sharpening a blank sword

On the rock of a granite heart

Gripping a stubborn lance

That time would dare call sanity

.. ..

Armor nothing that anybody would expect

Proof against me

Proof against argument

Proof against all

My kingdom has one house

one maiden

One lost child

Holding the reins

Kicking the spurs

Dust foaming to an ever aching sky

Left to punish the horizon

.. ..

I’m my own white knight

Riding in to my rescue

Sage advice on the tip

Of a silver deviled tongue

Dripping regrets and storms of insecurity

Bound to be the best

Bound to deliver all

To a God that laughs

To keep up the fight

Strength something heavy we carry

To make us light

You may think “alone” is wrong

But practice

Life and purpose

never felt so right

.. ..

I’m my own white knight

I was here all along

and yet christ threw it all away

I want to not hurt–
Too much to ask,
This “not hurt” business;

The pain sort of reaching into the gut,
Through the back,
And up into the head

Where the head has some pressure
Going on
Of its own.
Like that basketball
Your coach blew up too tight.
As it would spring up off the floor,
You could see the skin cracking–
And the ball had this feel
Of muted explosion.

Today gets to suck and I don’t know why.
Should try to remember all the good things:
All the rainbows
And unicorns,
Or at least poppy fields.

All the times I could have said “Yes!” I believe….”
This side of the grave
There’s a little less


crumbled cataclysms–
institutions–knowing how to reach into every gut
And up to the head
(it’s all worthwhile
i always thought it

level playing fields are for
pussies and pineapples and placating paradigms
practicing perfect pontification

maybe today will be good!
maybe it’s the waking that sucked:
maybe i just need to learn to smile
at the audacity of hell;
at the fact that i wanted to be here,
and you’re there.
maybe i just need to get going.

maybe i need to shut up and find my feet,
or shut down and find tomorrow–quickly!
maybe i need to thank the hurt….kiss the hurt….make love to the hurt:
because being alive

is better.
at least perseverance always thought so
on a different day–
look at my hands:
they never bleed.