Once your hands reach my calf
Nothing else exists; I’ll lend you my dollar store halo
For faithless lips’ devout place to linger.
Ether confusion fueling
Selfish respite; weary counterparts, you and I.
Shedding doubt, we believ’
In Immaculate impairment; our single silhouette,
Orchestrates guilt and omission,
Negligent speech, crowds silence.
Apathetic visceral kisses
Lie when darkness fades.


Do You at Least Know I Love You?

Sometimes even diamonds crack
she’d say with a nervous laugh and pain in her eyes.

I’m not sure she remembers,
what he said or
if I’ve made her proud.

Glass of time draining memories,
the only treasures she can’t bequeath.


Weeding the Garden- It’s All Poison Ivy

In response to my disrupted plans and leisure,
I stomp out into our front yard

The air preceding dawn, thick with moisture. But this is summer in the south, everything’s wet, all the time.

My steaming coffee evaporates the dew though not quickly enough,
viscous doubt covers my skin, goose bumps mingling with a steady stream of sweat.

I sink, knees dampening in clay and topsoil that doesn’t belong here, like me, perhaps, a transplant from an outside world- all concrete and noise as familiar and unfamiliar as the mulch clinging to my knees.

Prostrate, weeding the garden for answers about how to mend broken sense and clear out rabbit holes,

I beg for forgiveness, devoid of remorse.

I half-mimic, half-mock examples of propriety with their gloved hands and sun hats but fall short or somewhere in between, not that I really care.

Holiday wreaths and seasonal flowers are blue ribbon prizes on display by every mailbox except the weed-eaten patch I’d like to grass-over. Stupid waste of my time.

With each yank of weed more furious than the last I pick through shrubs and trees, dead flowers and poison ivy, oblivious.

One hand trembles, the other aches closing around responsibility and anger, exasperation beginning to win this little battle.

I am saving plants I hate, because I’m supposed to care.

What do your sunny buds have to hide? I wonder and smirk perusing my neighbors’ yards. The same secrets and deficiencies camouflaged in my lipstick and heels?

But my hair doesn’t fall as straight as yours, does it, and it blows wild in the Georgia storms.

I know a lot more, though, than you like to pretend.
Is this ample consolation for someone who’s lived in the shadows for so long
or kindling for a new game?

You think I don’t remember, when you put me on the spot – exhausted conscience trying to decipher your words,

But I recall too much for you to stomach and for me to remember.
I’m not sure how to maneuver each moment into its space, muddling time irrelevant.

I keep running into roadblocks and assholes and I’m tired.

Decades of training abandoned, piece together my warped foundation. This ain’t no yellow brick road, baby, I’m telling you that. But it’s a pretty damn eventful way to go.

On the beach we purge our minds draining $10 beers, mine with a torn paper napkin shielding my hands from the cold.

You know I can’t handle the cold any more, or do you with your important neuroses and your own struggles?

The ocean laps up our need for conversation
or maybe it’s those little white pills all the doctors give me when they’re out of answers,

but those things usually diffuse my thoughts.

I can’t hide when I’m naked, you know, though they still find me appealing.
I love the freedom born in veritas

And you like the idea of my wit and confidence;
my openness and don’t give a shit attitude are refreshing, but I do give a shit all too often,
don’t you think?

You like the way my deep cherry kisses mottle your palms, the perfect place for you to hide me after my smooth curves have arced beneath your rough hands.

I clear your mind and lay guilt on your conscience,
a regular old Jimmy Cricket though much more fun, clad in my lace now littering the floor of your thoughts.

That infernal incense and pomp frightened me out of life.
I had forgotten there is righteousness, of course, but not without human error.

Why are they calling into question my integrity,
all of those floral spotted gardens?

I know them for all they are, and you, for all we are,

just a bunch of mismatched and battle-scarred warriors in a quiet sideshow parade.




I wish I could bend the light at dusk just like the lake,
Deep and gold
Full of a million tales,
It’s nourished as many minds and souls,
Cool depths knowing more than I ever will.

How many dreams have drifted away on this current?

I don’t know how to bend the light for you
Your voice silenced under winter’s coat
Are you really there beneath frozen earth, I know you aren’t but the
Carved stone crushes me

How many dreams have drifted away on this current?

My angel statue has lost her wings
Sitting on my dresser awkward and bare
Holding a child to her breast,
Her wings are sitting somewhere in a box, I hope
Collateral of an unexpected change

How many dreams have drifted away on this current?



Failure needs

A place to hide, not in
my mind where it burrows, but an escape.

My mistakes drift onto
the page and into your arms where
Apathy abounds. I wish I were
stoic but I wear

Him in all of
my misgivings.

Every opinion, a marred
self-portrait reflecting

My worth in
perceptions of strangers.

They call me friend and
hold me to assumptions.

Must be nice,
being exempt from contrition.


A Solitary Companion

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls prepare to be astounded as I take you through a tumultuous journey into the great world of illusion! I beg of you to keep your wits as I call upon the practices of ancients. Decide for yourselves whether you have been deceived or if I do, indeed, possess these long-storied abilities.

For your senses, surely, do not lie nor does your heart…

And so, he moves from sleepy town to big city the world over
This lonely drifter
Rolling in on presumption and attaching to a vow.
He collects fascination and sacrifices innocent desire
Infecting the minds of those who so want to believe,
The constructs of men, binding them to myth and envy.

“Fools,” he mumbles under his breath, “So easily convinced.”

Devoid of lasting companions save a treasured cache of hope amassed from his victims, skeptics and believers alike,
This traveler slips into hearts just as the clouds pour their riches to earth.

He continues his journey over manicured lawns and through fractured souls
daring anyone to expose him as fraud.

But befuddled and trusting whimsy to logic these simple creatures defy reality for illusion.

Blindsided anger and confusion rein in the wake of our traveler’s departure.
Trust is a fickle companion for those who deny nature.

Just once, I want to believe in his magic.


At the Barre on a Saturday Night (Distraction)

Stand straight, first position, heels together, neck long, back up, shoulders down, left hand on the barre, inhale…
Demi plié, two and straighten, four
Demi, two and straighten, four
Grand, two, think up to go down, heels rise, thighs long not gripped, seven, eight
Forward, nose to your knees,
Up and over to go back…

Second position…

Think up to go down

Lying alone in our bed, again
I abandon my spot and find the middle
Your scent erased from our fresh sheets

Relevé. Use the floor; think down to go up…
I draw strength in solitude.

Weight forward (or you will fall back)
Life demands my attention and distraction
“How do you…?” What choices have I?

“What did the doctor say?” Slap on a smile and lie.

Don’t forget to Breathe
I inhale your sentiment sinking deep
Words running up my legs,
Press me tight against your assurance

I can’t anymore, my legs won’t hold me there like they used to when I thought it was impossible, and anything was possible.
My body breaks.

Energy through your fingertips!
Mine reach, hungry for someone not here.

Tendu, preparation
Taste of you on my lips

Eyes up
I know you’ll come back

Let go of the barre and stay, stay, stay…