The Problem of Panic

i woke with the curves of my organs

crushing against each other

in a rush to make a straight line

invisible and thin

to fall through the cracks

and escape into non-being

you too have felt that way

the gravitational force pulling you to ground

urging you to vanish

before you are banished

with the cold finger and laugh

that can take the form of anyone

but almost always the face thats in your heart

still the promise of peace rings true

echoed in moments across the day

and one day i will learn

to string them together

weave them strong and thick

wrap that rope around my waist

and keep climbing 

out of this crevice i've thrown myself into

towards something that looks like

something like

light

do you want to come with me

face of my heart?

Superpower

c-c-c-call me what you please

on the phone

across the road

down the hall

i'm just another sillouette

in this world of shadows

but when you

give me a name

my own just for me

you give me form

fill me in with colours

hold me down with weight

tie me to you

and gravity

claim me as your own

some thing called into being

and meaningful

be careful what you call me

not all fairy tales end happily

Work of a Poet.

She scrawls sentences
On scattered scraps
Of paper
Inscribing shreds of soul
Indented in the looping lines
That slowly fill
With rivers of ink
The scraps are piled high
A veritable mountain
An anthology
Of points of view
Each a pair of eyes
Looking eternally
At a portion of the horizon
That unreachable dream
Quivering in the sunrise
And unraveling slowly
Against the half-light of twilight
Each scrap sketching
A face of its own
The face that floats in
The restless dreams
Of a nation
She writes gilded mirrors
That startle people
As they see their eyes
Looking back
From the looping script
Their eyes
And that horizon
Edging away from their dreams
Their face
And the face that haunts
Their softened moments
She sighs a scrawled line
And lets the scrap slip
Sliding silently to the ground
Another snippet of soul
Safe in the shelter
Of the written word

Be Not Afraid.

The closets hang open
Leading to the cold magic
Of who I make myself to be
Soft and gray
Choose your grave
Today
I don’t believe in mysteries
In cloudy possibilities
When I leave these swinging doors
I’m who I want you to see
Whatever I choose to be
Impossible to ignore
Unless today that’s what I’m looking for
Life will kill you
This I know
The only question is
How much decay you show
So here I’m dancing
Down your weary street
Daring all the death in the world
To come with me and meet
My shields of silk
Swords of savvy style
Face me here
In this mirror
Where my faces laughs mocking
Beneath its lace locks
And lovely layers
Let death come at me
I know my grave for me
But when you come
When you find me
In my own soft grays
Shut the doors tight
Burn my hidden magic
And teach the young girls this.
Death comes
Through wall
Through lace
Through mirror
Death comes
Be not unprepared

To grasp.

To soar or not to soar, herein lies the chasm
Whether tis the purer chance to wait
Out the long and lonely imprisonment of fate
Or to strike out and flee its grasp
And by fleeing risk the heights. The heights-freedom-
The dawn, and a new life to grab hold
By the throat and a thousand new sensations
To breathe in and delight. The heights-freedom
To climb-perhaps to fall-aye there’s the terror
For once stepped beyond there is no reversing
And gravity’s dread grip may claim a soul
And end a life. That’s the fear that holds
Here in this mockery of life alive.
For those who passion and power
Would drive them hence and to freedom
Yet falter at the lip this round edge
Upon which hangs so much and I
Who balance on the ledge dare
Dare i? To brave the reaches of air
Which no man has like me climbed
To laugh at death and dash against the wind
This is a well-tempered terror
That keeps me meek and mild in this room
This room of walls and no doors
But only this window –and the heights
This fear doth grip hard and long
And many tho young and strong as i
Grow pale and choose the stiller course
While the wind sweeps on in mockery
Oh freedom o heights o death
I lose the impetuous at this height.

Remember Orpheous.

was walking today
And wandered into a fairytale forest
With overreaching trees
And grass just longer then the shadows
It was two birds short of silence
As they sang just beyond the leafy horizon
I was startled into the first smile
Since grey crept from your hands to my eyes
And in this new world
Felt that I too could fly
I with the broken wings
And quieted song
Could also ascend to safety and beyond
Into the realms of brilliance that only lovers claim
And with that thought
The feeling swooped within me
And settled cement cold in my stomach
The chill rose among the cloudy vapours
And the birds were silent in the face of my sorrow
Till only a snapping branch dare mock my reverie
With an echo of the sound that broke my future
Into a thousand red pieces across the woodland floor
Another sounded and the leaves whispered at the sacrilege
Whispered ‘Remember Orpheus’
And so my feet did not flee
But slowly steadily walked towards the green light
Though my heart ached to hear the rustling dust
And my eyes drowned in the desire to turn
Turn and run into the arms that would never hold me again
I pushed on past the soft flowers of spring
And over the rocks still cold with winter
Never letting slip my head that longed to see
The phantom hope that was behind me
Two steps more
And the light poured in heavy sheets
One step and the shadows fled at my feet
They came up above me and swarmed
I could bear it no longer
But spinning saw
Your beautiful beautiful face hoping
And twisting into a scream as the redsmoke of your form
Blew away between the branches
Leaving me emptyhearted yet again

It has been two years since the echoing blast that rent your heart and my soul
One year since I went wandering in the wood and lost you yet again
This is the day again
And I shall not miss your coming
But run, running with red, to meet you
Upon death’s dark walkway

For a Texas Sunrise

If I could write you into a postcard
I would small words slip
In thin black ink
Like a thousand photographs
Into cheap plastic sleeves
I would slit the thick cardboard
And slowly inject the liquid life
Carefully and precisely
Sharp lines to outline an enigma
And curves that if you follow-carefully-
With your eye include eternity
I would use tall letters
Stretched out against the blankness
With the importance of a city skyline
A beehive of lives in one black streak
I would stack slanted strings of sound
One upon the other
But always leading-elsewhere
As though to pull from the hungry eye
To the feet
Till even the casual postal worker
Four minutes into lunch break
Would find himself staring at the streetsigns
That cross pointing into the horizon
Looking for the answers that lie there
Along some solemn street
That –at midnight- knows my pen
And hungry velvet coated feet
The ink in this portrait is still wet but potent
If I could write you into a postcard
In crisp careful letters
I would blow it dry-sign it love.
And address it here.

Bring me back

The mailman was at the door
When I answered it
Fingers smeared with chocolate
And my hair screaming
‘I don’t care’
while I pressed out the invisible wrinkle
in the clothes meant to remind me that
I was invincible
That I was beautiful
Which is the same thing
As any woman knows
And he noticed especially the latter
Paying the dubious compliment
Of an elevator glance
While he pushed a small package at me
And asked me to sign my name
So I threw my identity
Up against the page
With a quick scrawl of pen
And a grasping of the brown wrapped box
So he backed down
While I turned into the room and
Ignored the turmoil
That I had been creating and destroying
With a spotless corner
That stretched shining arms out from it
Amidst the stacks of photographs
And home videos that lay scattered
The package was going on one of the piles
But I remembered that I had canceled
All my plans
-forever-
so I took it and tore it open
more to tear at something
and watch it peel back in my hands
than to see what was inside
and when a cd slid out
I put it in
Mindlessly
With the automatic gesture of a cashier
Saying ‘have a good day’
And hit play and then again
Because there was nothing there
Or so i thought
Until there came a voice through hthe mesh speakers
That I thought I had chained up forever
But there it was sliding through that grate
As if there was nothing there
-don’t turn this off
please…
you told me once
inside of every lie theres a touch of truth
inside every song a story
I’ve heard a thousand times
That a song can save a soul
So I’m throwing this out there
Hoping it will remind you
what it was like to be whole
Remember what it meant
To have a hand that fit yours
A shoulder meant just for you
And a voice that answered the phone for only you
Oh baby come back please
I’m throwing this into the void
Hoping that in this song theres a story
That you simply can’t avoid
Because fate is real and it is true
And it stole my heart to give to you
So come home dear
I’m waiting here-
And even as I threw my hand towards eject (reject)
The notes drew chains around my fingertips
Caught me and held me
Pulling me through the melody
Back to how it used to be
When I believed in forever
And you believed in me
And we were not two
But one and I was won
My heart and soul by you
So I threw the clutter down
And I raced me to the door
Down the stairs and on the street
Because that’s what love is for
To give you fear and wings
To teach words that could be lies
And make them true instead
So you were still playing the last chord
Of your last shot salvation
When I came flying through the window
To remind you what love was like

Pop pop pop to the top.

All's fair in war

backstab

stab back

but in love

its all about the fare

how much will you give 

for that first heartbreak

and remember 

one heartbreak is a tragedy

a million is

a million is a pop song

and you've got to catch the beat

because you know thats all you need-

Love- or something like it

its as you like it

have it your way

as the Kings say

and if thats what they

*ba ba baa*

I'm lovin' it

cause i've got a wit

to launch a thousand quips

and Cupid was made for this

cause cute is what he aims for

and with skin i'll win

this game

Love is just a Risk

gambling on the dice

over the technicolour map

of this small world

and don't you dare close your eyes

to these glittering surprises

because diamonds are girl's best friend

but lovers could be heroes

and heroes aren't that naive

love may give you wings

but Icarus knows

how that goes

as we're tumbling screaming freewheeling

on this trippy hormone ride

and baby all we need

is a chorus

and all the world will adore us

because what's between us

and I don't just mean lust

is worth a million cardiograms

as fate carries us along

over the cliffs of insanity

as for you and me baby

we're a hell of a pop song.

what to do

when breathing is forbidden

when your heartbeat

is convicted treasonous

your lifeblood

a sacrilege 

what to do?

i've got to live.

birthing pains

i wake up wrapped around the world

warm and strong

with it resting secure in the pit of my stomach

my legs pulled up to build a wall

while my arms trap heat around 

this soft tender globe

andd all of life is in it

all the stretching future

of pulsing thoughts and actions

persons places things

all the nouns and dreams of

the thousands of years before me

and i claim them as my own

imprinting them with my face

my voice and words

my flights of passion and own dark fears

claiming it as i wrap around it still half-unconcious

as my responsibility to defend 

and the the cold air comes in

sliding along my skin

and outlining me

a solitary form

cut off from all the world

by thousands of thrumming atoms

that are cold as they force space between

reminding me that lonely i

and this teeming world

are two foreign things

and of the two

i am not great

nor even worthy of the same sentence

but only a vague perchance

in this midst of this clearcut reality

that future worlds

i dreamt would come from me

springing forth and singing and raging and strong

were out of my hands completely

and not of my concern

nor i of theirs

so i ot out of bed

built my own layers of individuality

in oclour and texture and cut

and stumbled forth

like all the other dreamers

who in their half sleep

wrapped themselves around the world

to love and protect it in its weakness

only to be stripped of even its dreams

and left shadowless

in this world of black and white

what a wonderful

terrible 

thing

to be a mother of dreamers

hope.

today i sit on the ceiling

feet pressed against the cement walls

slotting my toes in the crevices

and i am okay

with the tension

between gravity and i

the battlegrounds are clear

i am triumphant

with my spine burrowing into

these tiles that keep me from rain

while the ground waits lonely below

and maybe i don't have wings

but i'm still winning.

maybe thats what life's all about

finding the fairy tale ending

in these concrete caves

with nothing but the grit of gravity

to keep you going

Electra. Its Complex.

I'm ragingly infections with anger slipping from pore to poor and sweeping through the nations. an infraction of the highest nature its me against mother nature and all her denizens and demons her angels and angles all her green and gold and dank and mold and i am rank and wild a summers bouquet in the dead of night winters frost in autumns bite cutting crisp edges into the shadow and chewing the ice till my brain freezes over -- like a dark deep pool that sweeps and gurgles to itself in its small shelf of being pressing against these small shells that dream that they are a border on the salt sea and i am the mollusk in the pearly sheen that creeps and crawls and leaves its own sticky shine across the grey green mold. this burning acid that glows around me like a candlelight to start a forest fire and i am the rolling wheel that shatters and splinters and throws her brittle words into the air like icicles falling like rain collapsing from dreams to dust and muddying the ground in its brown blood and rolling and turning over and again a heaving mess of crust and cracking skin and flesh peeling and curling around my feet staining them red i, i look down and say thats a good colour for my nails. and go on calling out- life come out. come out and play. i want to see what you look like today. you haggard thing. withering corpse. what shall we play. and are there rules? i be the king you be the fool...not to your liking nothing ever is so come give your girl a kiss, i'm vicious and cruel and i learned it from you. aren't i darling, aren't i sweet? you're the one they're afraid to meet. i boil with rage and let you slide through i'm the one with a fever and they worry for you. i am death, life's daughter. and love was never mine.

to be read in as close to one breath as you can make it.

sometimes i must confess

i turn on music 

to drown you out

the type of music that was not yours

that you would never listen to

that has to do with careful fingers

crawling up and down strings

not fluttering in a spasmic explosion

but measured and calm that piece by piece

build something that seems solid

that celebrates its solidity

instead of your sounds 

which riotously tear themselves apart

collapsing at the end in a long  discord

that leaves your teeth on edge

and your soul in humble admission

of meaningless mortality

i instead flee deep among these proper chords

where these careful notes sculpt themselves

in order and precision

doing what i wish i could do

building firm walls in the midest of this plain

wehre nothing stands

because theres nothing to stand on

and they don't let that bother them

just go about their own way 

building their own world for themselves

and i am here crawling in through the windows while they work

hoping to cower in some corner

from the tumbling rush of who you are

in all your true glory and destruction

and i love you i do

and you tear me to pieces

these are true

and brilliant shining pieces of glory

in all this great gulf of life

but one is not more than the other

and so continue to be

perhaps if one day

one can cease to be true

i can survive

but you dear one don't even know these truths

only go hurtling on your comet way

pulling and pushing me with you

the fiery blaze in your wake

both beauty and pain

that is me

in love and in silence.

sometimes i try and hide from you

in my music

but then i realize 

that you're the only one that makes it

come alive.

tani

do you know how sometimes

they ship things

that might grow

in ice

wrap them good and tight

in layers of water and cold

and then scratchy fabric

stretched around the base

like saran wrap that bulges over the edges of the cup

to keep everything inside

and somewhere along the line

someone took cold cold hands

and shoved them through my ribcage

carelessly as if 

these careful bones that keep me safe

were knotted roots in stubborn ground

grabbing my thrashing heart

like picking up something

slightly unpalatable but meaningless

that you dont even have to think about

because it's not quit that important

and shoved it in a tank

of water that twisted and hardened

itself around what was left of me

while all the things i recognize

in the mirror or the windows

drifts away from me 

weakly flopping on the ground

and i think bla bla bla

and am confused

but then cloudy

and more so

as the water sharpens around me

tying me down in quick little filaments

bitter and brittle and strong

and i am numb remembereing my own contours

only vaguely like a street sign

you used to pass on your way to school

but never really read

because it was foreign

and not the way home

and then they pulled me out 

from the dark and the dank and rarified air

and threw me into soil

like a package 

that the owner hasnt yet claimed

and so may be treated as they like

love you forever.

it just hit me

(like stepping out of the door

where the windows are warm and moist

into the teeth of something that shrieks

and strips your heat to the bones)

that one day i'll be the face

in those old pictures

that little hands

still sticky with the chocolate

you always carry in your pockets

"for a rainy day"

(you didn't have any 

two weeks ago and an hour

all that were in those depths

 were your hands

as if shoving them in the dark

wouldn't let me know that they were fists

and shaking)

will one day point at them

and with small lisping tongues

ask "Daddy

(oh that hurts.

to realize that that dream too

was strong even though silent)

who is that?"

and you'll shrug and say

(like you were talking about

a sweater you outgrew

or a bad habit

silly now because it's been conquered)

"A girl i used to date"

and they will find it strange

that his eyes that follow her 

around the room so intently

(the way water follows

the stream bed 

as if there's no where else

it could go 

i know because that used to be me)

once watched another

and secretly not believe it

because the way things are 

is the way things always were

and always will be

this is what youth teaches you

and then life teaches you

that love leaves

and you grow up

into a photo on the back

of some stranger's yearbook

signed with xoxo4ever

hope dangles on a thread.

i stood in a crowd of dreamers today

they were watching the sky

craning their slender necks

upward

like foreign creatures

poised on the edge of flight

that if the light fell just right

they would be off and gone

and i didnt understand

what it was they saw

they were staring and reaching

with one hand only

and the other wrapped in each others

like some delicate engine

pushing them upwards and inwards 

and i 

i wwas gripping only a pen

like a weapon

the slender muzzle of a gun

pointed no where

at no one

they were holding flesh

and i

i'm poisoning myself on love songs

driving them through my feet

nailing me to earth

stitching them to my shoulders

like broken wings

and leaving myself a broken wreck

scraps of hopes and dreams

that weigh me down instead of lifting me

like they are lifting each other

and one by one

they are gone into the sky

leaving only the white sand 

and me

with an ocean of ink

and a bullet of pen.

confession

if you caught me at this moment

in a frame

maybe in oils 

or pastels?

something with class i hope

what would they say

those critics 

that wander the shined halls 

and point out the flaws and flakings

of portions of soul that have been

temporarily trapped

on some stretched canvas

would they comment on my face

the cast of my eyes

or the meaning behind my stance

what do you think when you see me like this

huddled over some hidden wound

laughing as if 

i was throwing up air

with the sharp ends of my eyes

hidden in moisture and shadow

the loose strands of my hair

drifting around my face

as if unsure if they can fly

do you find me-frightening?

some creature caught for a moment

in the half-light of this twilight reality

a crazed combination of woman and child

am i -even in this state- beautiful

to you

thats all that matters

to you

do you still want to slide me

against your heart

dropping kisses like stamps

on my shaking head

approving of me because i am myself?

or am i- fearful thought-something foreign

unfamiliar to your widened eyes

that pull back from me

as surely as your fingertips

while i climb into myself

and this darkness

like some sea-floor resident

crawling into her hiding place

What would you say

if you caught me at this moment

on the cold concrete

wandering along the avenues

of fear and frenzy

laughing at the shadows

because i recognized them

and knew that in a battle against myself

i would always lose

would you dare...

to love me?

empty

i want to throw up

and i dont mean poetically

im not speaking of words

or tears

feelings or darkness

i'm talking those unwanted portions

that we turn away from

because some poor fool

has lost their cool

has lost control

thats where i am 

at that place huddled on the sidewalk

looking for something to expel

someway to separate myself from me

to reject what i thought was good

to throw it up 

coated in portions of me

because you cannot receive without giving

and every cut leaves a scar

but thats not for me

im just here crumpled on the pavement

retching

wishing that there was more to give.

Newsline.

There was a TV screen

running in the back of my head

with bright lights and bold faced type

streaming below the solemn face

of the too-pretty-to-be-smart woman

reading crises off her prompter

with a cue card that reads 'slight frown'

She's talking about something

it must be important because there's a banner

streaking yellow across the screen

talking of rupture and shattering worlds

breaking news in bulletpoint

-There's a killer on the loose-

and I blinked

maybe to change the channel

or to just absorb the hidden conflict

between her pitch perfect tone ( 'concern' )

-reported in the area of-

and sculpted make-up that declared

I am invincible untouchable

and I agreed with her

- around 5'10 dark-complexioned-

Nothing could touch her

could reach through those layers of light

the semi-solid fragments of ground commodities 

coated around her careful bones

and fragile face

She was the face of perfection

and safe in her well-lit world

-perhaps posing as a salesman-

I mentally sighed at the comparison

pushing my hair back

with the soapy hand still wrinkled

from water and wear

and go to answer the doorbell

looking up into the tanned face

of a a man who smiles and says

-may i come in- .....

Ode.

i woke up and so did you

and we faced each other

panting

-did you just...-

-you saw it...-

and then i couldn't look any longer

at you

with your same skin and smile

your hair falling like something forgotten

turned and ran

like drumbeats

like fire

like all the lonely thoughts 

that shoot towards the stars

and bend in the atmosphere

to fall warped and broken

at the feet of some casual god

who nudges them aside not looking

and comments on -the way people litter these days

it's shocking-

i was in a new world

that was somehow

being created just beyond my eye-reach

and i spun and whirled

and drove my feet trhough grass

as green as kindergarten colouring

over hills and valleys

what a beautiful world

laughing and loving and alone

alone and laughing

loving these spaces and these skies

that unfurled like a flag behind me

i turned around

and then stopped laughing

because i had no breath

no lungs to breathe it with

because the world

just out of eyeshot

was deconstructing

in a massive jaw-tearing way

like shreds of cardboard caught 

in some infernal machine

that shrieks and cries and is silent

dying without dignity

without despair

with only noise and motion and silence

as if nothing was nothing

and always would be

so i kept running

in my small sphere of existence

with crazy colours

and the world wrapping up to hold me

like an embrace

of suffocating grave

i did not know

and did not stop

but turned and spun and climbed

like a creature escaping the hunt

i fell down a hill and onto a road

a sand road

that hardened and grew

into small loose gravel

that spit out as i passed it

and then sheets upon sheets

of concrete that would not bend

nor notice me as i ran

and then i was at a gate

and lines of gates

with iron and tin sharpened and curved

like a portion of spring

causght in something solid

i slowed but kept going

unitl i turned without knowing and opened

the door the black and white door

and up the steps and through the hall

in my monochrome home

watching while my fingertips

took on shades of grey

i looked and climbed

like the small cars that children place

on careful magnetic tracks

that spin and turn

always on the verge of losing control

as they go where they were destined

climbed into bed

next to what could be

a pile of pillows

or a person

as black and white as i

and closed my eyes

for only a second

-did you see it too..-

-did you just...-

and i ran again.

to megan.

i had a dream last night

that you were lost

and looking for me

that i was far away and caught

by something silent and small

that had cold fingers

with small sharp nails

that coiled around me

leaving me still and silent

while i heard you far far away

wandering and wondering

looking though the shadows for me

and there we were

in the dark alone together

you and i

and all the things keeping us apart

Balcony

baby baby

hey baby open the door

cause i'm riding the moon

outside your window

and the shadows are going to throw me in

throw me overboard

sliding down the rooftops 

a careless scrap of bark

coasting the cement waves

and i'm here i'm here

so open up

cause who we are

is going to change

and i can feel time draining out my soul

so grab me quick

in this moment where

theres a doorway between us

and not the careful silences 

of everything that has gone before

throw open the curtains 

let the moonlight slide in

and down and down

across the cold floor like water

and baby i'll take you sailing

out on a cloud 

we'll climb aboard

and sail off on the streams of wind

i'll shuttle us along

for a pole i'll use a song

and for a sail a dream

we'll be ones they sing about 

those that just peeked through the shutters

and muttered in their dreams

 we'll be the effigies

they burn on their silent altars

with the incense of prayer

and sacrifices of despair

'let me be like them'

they'll pray to the wind and the stars

who won't listen

won't care

they only love the lovers

who know the taste of air

slide open the sash

let the night pull you here

cause baby this moment's what we've got

and no time for fear

fingertip by fingertip

we'll make a way beyond the rips

of time that cut us to shreds

let's go cause baby

someday love won't be enough

lets grab this moment and run

cause the moon is only good

when there is no sun

climb aboard

we're off on the dream of a lifetime

leaving the dreamers to toss

and turn back to daylight

wondering whatever became

of their lives

Romeo called.

Juliet answered.

We know how the story goes...

loss of blood

she asked me once

and this is true

-do you ever get tired of the smell

that smell of blood all the time-

i was confused

and did not know what to say

this not the thing i thought

would come (could come?) from pretty lips

still sticky with whatever flavored shine

she had spread upon them earlier

like the old men in leather

used to spread lime

to stick the pretty birds to ground

and capture for their own

and so to buy time

and to perhaps unstick myself

from the way the corner of her mouth

turned inward

like a secret trail to some wonderland..

i asked her what she meant

and i think she was waiting for it

that she was used to pulling others

onto her headlong train of thought

because she didn't hesitate 

not even to poke her light pink tongue

and run it over her lips that i still had

half of me stuck on

-all this leaking around us

the important things that keep us from death

in life and living

the blood. Dont you get weary of it?-

this time i was ready

and keeping my eyes firmly on that

amber curl that slid smoothly down

the side of her face 

and pushed my tongue into some sort of action

while my mind flailed for something

clever to say

or deep

perhaps if i said something solemn

catching just the right shadows on my face

she'd lean in 

and that sleek curl would spin

across my face and coil tighter

pulling those lips closer until...

but she was waiting for me to speak

so i said that maybe death was part of life

that finding about the one 

teaches truth on the other

hoping that was enough

and she sighed

pushing with her little breath

herself away from me

and said with a quiet voice

that cut the air to tatters between us

simply by being soft 

and expecting air to reform itself around her

-i thought you were one of us

but you are, just another blind one.

watching the sunset

and thinking of nothing but colours.-

and with that she went to turn

but paralyzed

i managed to turn the seizure

in my red-striped heart

into words that stumbled about

coming out something between why and no

so she paused a second

before turning and saying

-this is what a poet is

one that sees the broken veins

in short conversations as much as in 

wandering leaves with spots of brown

that notes the spill of life

along the tattered sidewalks

and the spaces between hands

and smells the blood of lost days and dreams

in the midst of sugar fumes

and lonely paper bags

that is what a poet is

and somedays. we grow so tired 

of the smell of blood.-

she went to turn

and i was left a statue 

caught in the light of something

on a far horizon as it faded away

and all that i could notice

was a metal taste in my mouth

and the smell of something sticky sweet

clinging to my nostrils 

and the cuffs of my sleeves.